Everything You Want: Everything For You Trilogy 2

by Orla Bailey

  “How are your culinary skills, Mr CEO?”

  He holds up a pair of globe artichokes, one in each hand, staring at them like they’re a couple of grenades with the pins pulled. He looks like he doesn’t know whether to throw them as far as he can or place them carefully back in the box he lifted them out of. When I see him glance toward the open back door, I giggle.

  “I’ll show you how to cook artichokes tomorrow. And how to eat them.” I’ve no intention of coming between Jack and his efforts at making lunch. This is far too entertaining.

  He looks somewhat relieved. “We never had to negotiate anything like that back in Dublin.”

  I like it when he talks about his past. At times like this he’s more like my old Jack. “What did you eat then?”

  “Bread,” he said, lifting a country loaf in one hand and a French stick in the other and waving them in triumph. His face reveals relief at having found something he recognises. “Lots of bread.”

  “Pain de Campagne et une baguette.” I tell him the proper French names for the loaves he has discovered.

  “Show-off.” He smirks at me. “Now if there’s ham, we can have a sandwich.

  I can’t help laughing at the limited extent of his knowledge of cuisine. He arches me a look that asks if I wish to question his decision.

  I wouldn’t dare. “Perfect. And a glass of cold milk.” Suddenly I’m so hungry I can smell the bread from here.

  Jack washes his hands at the sink as I rest my jaw on my knuckles with my elbows on the table and quietly observe. Jack slices and butters, and sticks two hefty great French bread sandwiches on plates. He finds glasses and pours the milk that was brought up from the farm after milking this morning and was set to cool in large earthenware jugs in the cooling fridge.

  I cross to wash my hands at the sink before eating and Jack steps up close behind me. The heat of his body and the hard planes of his chest against my spine as he presses against me, pushing me up against the earthenware, conquer my senses. He cages me within his arms and takes my hands in his.

  He rinses my fingers under the running water and reaches for a squirt of liquid soap, gently washing my hands between his. I look at the large ones surrounding mine and feel a sense of his power and protection. Suds trickle down the plughole as his fingers lace through mine and he rubs and caresses with smooth precision. He massages my palms turning my hands back and forth in his in concentration.

  The sensation of his touch, gliding over my skin, sends such a coil of suppressed energy winding down through my body, I rub myself sinuously back against him. I feel his firm erection through the light fabric of my dress at the slope of my lower back where my buttocks swell.

  He groans deliciously in my ear. Hands rinsed, he lifts my dress slowly past my knees and over my thighs. Splashes of water soak through the cotton and cool against my flesh. As he raises it continuously upwards across my thighs a rough sensation drags inside me.

  I reach back to touch the hands, all bunched up in fabric.

  “Put your hands back under the water,” he orders me. “And keep them there.”

  I obey, conceding to his need to be in command of the moment, allowing him to forget I initiated it.

  “Wash your arms all the way to the top while I reacquaint myself with you.”

  His game is exciting. I breathe fast and hard as I rub soap between my palms and caress my forearms with the foam.

  Jack draws the dress slowly up over my hips and bunches it at my waist. I moan, hearing the sharp intake of breath as he discovers something unexpected. It seems I have the power to surprise him.

  “You’re not wearing any panties.” His tone of harsh excitement is tinged with mild irritation.

  “You discovered my secret,” I whisper. I know which of these emotions will readily conquer the other.

  “Any girl who lets her secrets be discovered so easily only has herself to blame when a man decides he wants her.” He lightly caresses the contours of my naked buttocks.

  “Want me or want to fuck me?” I challenge, distinguishing the two.

  He leans forward and murmurs in my ear. “Do you want me to fuck you? Or was this meant for someone else?”

  His avoidance of my question is clear. It makes me reckless with my words but I like knowing maybe I can hurt him the way that he hurts me. “You discovered the secret first, I suppose. And to the victor, the spoils.” I stop washing my arms as I’m concentrating on his reaction to my words and what it might mean.

  “Do what I tell you.” His tone grows stricter. “Wash your arms. If you stop, I stop.”

  I stroke the slippery soap over my skin again and Jack’s hand slips around my hip to cover my belly. He thrusts gently against me, pushing me into the coldness of the sink in rhythmic surges. I press myself against it harder until the thrill of the chilled wet surface touching my bare skin makes me gasp.

  “Do you like that?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  Jack settles closer, pinning me firmly between him and the sink. His free hand pulls my hair around and throws it over my left shoulder out of his way as his mouth drops to my neck and I lean my head to one side to allow him.

  He ceases all contact.

  “Jack?”

  “You stop. I stop.” His voice is tense and low.

  I realise instantly what he’s referring to but it was hard to remember. I slide my fingers over my arms again. It’s difficult to concentrate on something as pointless as washing my arms all the time my body is reacting to the feeling of his hands and lips on my skin and my mind is focused on reading his mood.

  My touch becomes less of an ablution and so much more erotic. I close my eyes. It feels strangely degenerate to stimulate my own body in a way which mirrors his. I’m writhing before him.

  Jack drops the straps from my shoulders, nuzzling and nipping me with lips and teeth as I wriggle and twist. The sounds I make signal my pleasure and encourage him to lead me further into his garden of delights.

  He reacts to my murmurs with a deep, throaty humming of his own. I find my body responding to his voice the way it does to his hands. With a hot rhythmic pulsing deep inside me. I want him inside me. I need him to fill me, to satisfy all this lust.

  “Oh, Jack. Please.” I grow rigid and still, each muscle solidifying.

  “Soap your body.” He moans out the instruction, his own mounting need clear.

  The teasing motion of my hands over my upper arms, restarts, stroking and caressing and heightening my own whimpering pleasure as each finger falls upon sensitised skin.

  He growls against my ear, his breath sending a chill of excitement coursing through me. “How much do you want –?”

  “– This?” I interrupt.

  His sound stops, aggrieved like it wasn’t what he was looking for. “Well?”

  I can’t make sense of it right now. “Bad. Now. I want you inside me.

  “Soon,” he promises, intending the opposite, I know.

  How long ago was that idle assurance last given? “Now,” I demand, frustration mounting.

  He laughs tightly against my skin. “Soon.” He tugs my straps downwards until my breasts are freed. “Soap your breasts now.”

  He leans over my shoulder to watch as my hands attempt to enclose my flesh. The entire surface prickles with each delicate movement of my fingers until I moan continuously. I want to come now. I want Jack to let me come.

  “Touch me, Jack,” I beg him.

  His hands enfold mine and we manipulate my flesh together. Together we slide over the soapy surface teasing and tormenting. I grind my hips back into his erection as he pinches tender nipples between our fingers and thumbs.

  “Oooh, soon Jack.” I use his own word in a breathy manipulation to which he laughs tightly.

  “Yes, you’ll have… this…soon,” he confirms.

  I sense I’m being scolded and whimper in frustration at not understanding but wanting.

  “Pinch harder and I’ll let you come.” He grind
s out the words. “If you stop, I’ll stop.”

  I pinch and whine. “Don’t stop,” I plead, fearful he will.

  “Harder then,” he demands. “I want you to feel everything.”

  I pinch hard and cry out. His hand thrusts downwards over the delta at the apex of my thighs. “Still naked down there.”

  “Naked bare.”

  Fingers delve between my legs to skim my sex all too briefly. I jerk beneath them. When he pulls back, I moan out in frustration.

  “I want to hear you. Keep playing and I’ll touch you again.”

  “So bossy,” I moan savagely but I capture each nipple between my fingers and scissor over and over. I cry out in longing for more intensity in his touch.

  Jack’s fingers part my flesh and explore me. “So wet. Why do I want to fuck you so bad? Like a savage.”

  Just like that night at Belvedere, right after he discovered Benn Gunn with his mouth on mine? Is this because I flirted with Laurent? Jack’s way of asserting his masculine authority once more?

  Right now I don’t even care what it means. “Do it.”

  Jack opens his shorts, pulls my hips back and presses my back flatter until I’m leaning right over the sink. My breasts drop into my palms as they hang over the edge.

  “Spray cold water over your body then I’ll let you come.”

  Without resistance I pull the attachment from its housing with unsteady hands. I’m so close to orgasm I’m jerking and twitching all over the place but I direct the shower head to let the tease of icy water tighten my nipples and heighten my exhilaration.

  Jack raises a hand to feel the water pounding against my flesh. He squeezes my breast hard and tweaks at my nipple. I wriggle my behind back into his body to remind him what we’re doing here. He guides his stiffness against me.

  “I’m going to come.” I’m imminent. On the very brink. Tears of frustration well in my eyes and I pant through this preposterous delay.

  He thrusts and enters me fully. I no longer manage to control the jet in my grasp. My fingers are too weak to hold it. Water sprays everywhere. I drown myself in every conceivable way. My hair is wet, my face soaked. I gasp against it as a river cascades down my entire front and drips between my thighs, wetting both our bodies where they meet.

  He retreats to the point of leaving me entirely. I reach back desperately, grasping at his hip to stop him. “Don’t.”

  He rams home again, the friction making me wail.

  “Let me hear how much you want me.”

  “Yes, Yes. Want. Everything. Want you.” I sing a high note.

  He withdraws unhurriedly then thrusts hard and repeats the motion growing slower on the egress and more forceful on the surge, thrusting me up and over the sink in a rapid exhalation of breath.

  He freezes for a second to my moan of frustration, withdraws and pauses again. I grit my teeth together for patience.

  “Okay. I’m going to let you come now. Let me hear you, Tabitha because this is for me. Only me.”

  He pounds as I release violently, every muscle rigid. I make some really wild noises.

  “That sound is beautiful.”

  I’d be surprised if the remote farmhouse and all the labourers in the fields between don’t hear it. Before I can hold onto that thought, Jack tenses, thrusts and releases with a rapid gush of heat inside my gripping body. He makes some lurid noises of his own.

  “Ahhh.” As he spasms repeatedly, my body sucks greedily, demanding everything. “Fuck.”

  Spent, he relaxes, fingers stroking my neck to gentle my exhausted disorder until I stop twitching violently. Gradually I sag, expended, and he withdraws. Only the cold hardness of the sink and Jack’s arm about my waist prevent me from slipping to the floor. He leans over, nuzzling at me, his chest covering my back because neither one of us can move for a while.

  I feel his manic heartbeat gradually settle and steady before he pulls me upright in front of him and kisses the side of my throat.

  “God, I’ve missed –”

  “–this?”

  “You! I’ve missed you.” He spins me in his arms and his mouth seizes mine.

  Much as I want to hear him say those words, it isn’t what holds me here. It’s the knowledge that nothing that’s ever happened has changed my feelings for him one tiny bit. And that will be my undoing.

  My senses recover in a gradual awareness of my state. The dress is bunched around my waist and I’m drowned from head to toe but he doesn’t part from me as if he needs us close together. We even seem to breathe in unison. Jack crushes me to his chest, his arms tight about me. In his own good time he leans back, taking my face between his hands to stare at me.

  “You ran from me, kitten and I was very worried about you. Please don’t do that again.” His Arctic blues fix me to a promise.

  I shake my head unsure if I’ve been made love to or punished. But right now, not running is a very easy promise to make.

  Chapter Three

  Without a word, Jack peels my wet dress over my head. He takes a towel and pats me dry all over, like I belong to him. But it is with such solicitude I can almost pretend he cares. I don’t want to look too closely at the illusion because I know it will make me sad all over again.

  He tears off his t-shirt and pulls it down over my head. As it’s almost as wet as my dress I don’t get it but I suppose a wet t-shirt is better than nothing. It smells of him too. And I get to look at Jack’s naked chest again. I’m trying to focus on positives. He’s ripped and toned and for an office dweller, pretty fit. I briefly wonder how he works out but that thought takes me in directions I don’t care to go.

  “You should be eating by now.” He states it like he’s telling me off.

  “That’s your fault.”

  “My fault? If you will walk around with no panties on what do you expect?”

  “You didn’t know I had no panties on when you started…” I wave my arm vaguely in the direction of the sink. He needn’t think he’s getting away with blaming me for that.

  “I have a sixth sense about these things. About a lot of things where you’re concerned.” It’s a feeble defence at best and I don’t believe it for a minute. I roll my eyes at him.

  And yet… “I know when you’re around too.” The Sirocco.

  “Do you?” He grins in delight.

  “Like a bad storm coming.”

  He narrows his eyes without comment as he continues gathering our meal.

  I wonder if Jack and I are that connected. He found me here, didn’t he?

  I mentally kick myself. Jack would have me believe anything was true. The trouble is I want to believe him. It’s a weakness I must guard against.

  I sit at the table, suddenly starving and wait for him to pass me a plate. He watches as I tear off a chunk of ham sandwich between my teeth.

  “A little healthy exercise and your appetite returns, I see.”

  I stare in disbelief. Such crudeness is hard to swallow. Unlike his delicious sandwich. He looks totally smug and contented. As well he might. He had a little healthy exercise too.

  “Any good?” he asks, clearly knowing the answer. I’m halfway through the first half with my mouth full.

  “If you need your ego stroking as much as you do your –”

  “– Tabitha!”

  I lift the remains of the sandwich in a salute and smirk. “Not bad, for a guy who employs a chef.” I laugh at the notion that he probably can’t cook to save his life. “But it’s only a sandwich. I’ll teach you how to cook properly if you like. It seems only fair. If you can teach me to be a CEO, I can teach you to be a regular human being.” I snigger at the mammoth task that seems to pose.

  “Well that doesn’t make my plans for you seem so insurmountable after all.”

  We both laugh. It’s good to talk and eat together. More like old times at CaidCo. The world of Belvedere and commerce balls is just too weird.

  “I’ll cook dinner tonight,” I suggest. “You can be my assistant.
Watch and learn.”

  “Only if you sleep with me this afternoon.”

  My mouth pops open. The guy is insatiable. “Another quickie over the sink?” I try to sound horrified and defiled but fail dismally.

  He shakes his head at my dishonesty and pauses for that perfect beat which makes me think he could have been a comedian in another life. “I travelled through the night to get to you, kitten. And you haven’t been sleeping much either.” He reaches across the table and runs a gentle thumb beneath my eye, as if rubbing away a smudge of dirt. The guy never misses a thing. “You’ve got dark circles beneath those pretty eyes and I don’t like to think I caused those.”

  “Feeling guilty?” He should be.

  “I don’t like the way we parted.”

  “Me neither.” But something bothers me more than that. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “I’ll always know where to find you, kitten.” He goes back to eating.

  Cryptic Jack isn’t going to tell me anything. I know there’s little point arguing about it. I finish off my final bite and wash it down with the last drop of milk. Stretching out the discomfort of a full stomach, I’m amazed at how stuffed I feel but put it down to not having eaten in days.

  I smooth his damp t-shirt over the little bulge in my belly. It’s not hollow now. I’m not hollow either. I glance up into his eyes while he stares at me with a serious expression on his face.

  “What are you thinking about?” I ask him.

  “You and a bed.” He isn’t planning to elaborate. He’s the most stubborn person I know.

  He takes my hand and walks me upstairs to my room. We both go inside.

  “Are you planning to sleep here too?”

  He looks at me with wry amusement. “Where else would I be sleeping?”

  “There’s Harry’s old room,” I say. “And quite a few more.” The chateau’s pretty big. I realise that although he may have bought it from Harry, he’s never been here before. It makes the circumstances of the purchase ring true.