Everything You Want: Everything For You Trilogy 2

by Orla Bailey

  “I think we’ll leave Harry’s room alone. I’m not leaving you alone, however. There’s no knowing where on the planet you’ll turn up next.” He yanks the t-shirt over my head so fast I squeal. I dive into the corridor, head for the bathroom, slam the door and lock it.

  Is he that worried I’m going to disappear again?

  After a quick hot shower, I clean my teeth. I wrap a big towel around me and emerge to find Jack already lying in my bed, on his back with his arms thrown up behind his head.

  “What took you so long?” The quilt stops halfway up his broad chest and it looks a comfortable place to rest my head.

  “I could ask you the same question.” I pad over to the far side of the bed and climb in still cocooned in my towel.

  “Does France always brings out the sass in you?” One quick rummage under the covers, which I’m powerless to prevent and Jack throws my towel across the room. He pulls me hard back against him until my naked back is flush with his front. This is a move I’m beginning to associate with Jack. He likes to cuddle up in bed. He likes me where he can see me. I feel warm and safe, which is a dangerous perception.

  “Sleep first,” he murmurs.

  “First?” I twist to look back at him over my shoulder. His eyes are shut. He pulls me tighter against him than ever. “Sleep first,” he repeats his order, sleepily. “Sex later.”

  And that is despite evidence to the contrary nestling snugly between my body and his, pricking my conscience and my behind. This bossy man has some self-control, it would appear. I ponder for a moment how easy it would be to tease him into reversing his plan but suspect, it might be tantamount to poking a sleeping Grizzly Bear.

  “I approve of no panties,” he whispers drowsily. His tone changes. “But only when you’re with me.”

  Has he had any sleepless nights since I left? He’s definitely happy to see me again and I have to question the reason why. But I drift off with a relaxed smile on my lips anyway, a muscular arm clamped across my body with one large hand cupping my breast and a rock steady breath breezing gently through my hair. I’d almost forgotten what it was like not to feel pain in my heart anymore.

  * * *

  Lying on my back, draped in Jack’s body I ice up instantly, waiting for the lightning bolt of agony to strike me through the heart as I gather consciousness. But he’s kissing my breast gently and glances up when he senses me stir beneath him.

  “Hi, kitten.”

  The familiar dream has come to life.

  Waking free of all that torment is such a blessing. Jack simply makes me happy. “Hi.”

  Our voices are soft and sleepy. I think he must only just have woken up too.

  “I want to make love to you.”

  I love that he asks me. Well, sort of tells me really but coming from such a bossy man, prior notice is as good as asking, I reckon. I nod and his mouth returns gently to my breast. I feel him smile briefly against my skin before he gets seriously focused.

  Lacing my fingers through his thick hair, I remember the last time he got it cut. I was even a bit jealous of the stylist who touched him when I couldn’t. I never thought I was a jealous person before now but it would seem Jack can turn me into something I’m not after all.

  He stops moving momentarily. “I won’t ever share you, you know.”

  A strange thing to say but it makes me hot for him. I only wish that I could make the same demand of him but I’m scared of what he’d tell me. About her.

  He suckles my nipple deep into his mouth making me arch up beneath him. I’m rendered into a mass of raging need with the things he does and those little noises he makes at the back of his throat.

  He shifts attention to the other side. One hand explores the curve of my waist and hip making me writhe beneath him. I think he likes that he makes me moan so much and I am only just beginning to learn this man’s preferences. He slides down the bed licking and sucking his way to my belly, swirling his wet tongue in lazy circles around my navel, until he has me squirming. I bend my knees out to either side under the direction of his hands as he slides his body between them.

  “Patience, kitten.” He sets to the task of nipping gently at my inner thighs with his teeth, ensuring I have no patience at all.

  Questing fingers tease all the way across my skin, stroking first inside my ticklish knee, going higher and higher, closer and closer to the place I want him to be. His mouth carefully follows behind each touch, lapping and flicking a tongue all the way to the top. Then he starts again, blowing over the wet trails he’s created on my skin, driving me crazy. His attentions simulate a butterfly crawling across my flesh which I cannot swat away. An eternity of this and I am edgy and intolerant but much as I arch my hips towards him he will not hurry. Sometimes I think he wants me to suffer.

  I grumble in irritation but he only laughs at me as I rake my fingers through his scalp to try and force his head into position.

  Jack raises up, looking at me with mischief in his eyes. “If you rip any more of my hair out,” he warns. “I’ll make you stuff a cushion with it.”

  I laugh, staring guiltily at the loose strands between my fingers. “Sorry. I got carried away.” I guess I don’t know my own strength when I’m around Jack. It’s another revelation.

  I sigh contentedly when he kisses the naked mound I suffered the tortures of the damned over in the waxing room and his fingers part my flesh so his tongue can flick over the knot of sensitive nerves at my axis, making me twitch and squeal. He swirls around granting an occasional direct, leisurely connection until I am panting and desperate.

  I let him know it. “For God’s sake, Jack.”

  He stops and stares as if he doesn’t know what I’m after. “What’s up?” he asks casually. Such a tease.

  Why he wants to torture me doesn’t bear enquiry. I push up onto my elbows. “Can’t we go any faster?”

  “We?” He laughs at me. “Oh, you mean me. Faster?”

  I’ve got some cheek I know, as I’m just lying here doing nothing at all. I try to look apologetic but I don’t think it comes across right. He knows exactly how to make me needy.

  He pushes one of my knees flat to the bed and rolls off to the side, leaning up on one elbow. He looks down there at me, provoking a blush and then up into my face, making me blush even more. He wears that expression he gets when he’s considering something but I have no idea what he’s thinking. I wish he would just stop thinking and play with me again.

  “What’s up now?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

  His hand brushes the smooth surface of my denuded flesh. The gems I had placed there have all been removed. I left London with two remaining words on my body. Fuck. Jack. Which seemed appropriate but devastating nonetheless. My first night here I welcomed the painful distraction as I ripped the first four letters from my skin.

  Even with everything that had happened I couldn’t bring myself to remove his name. It took two days of misery before I decided there was no way back. It also took two hours, a few bottles of cider, some crazy violin playing and a bucket of hot tears before I was finally free of him. Or so I thought.

  Before I sobered up, I grieved as much for the loss of those pathetic little letters as for the man himself. I think it was around the time Madame came up with her new nickname for me – la petite folle.

  “I like having my name on my property,” he informs me.

  Some women may be insulted by such arrogance but not me. There is no fighting the truth. I want to be his and I want him to be mine. But some part of everything I ever wanted will have to be enough for now. To his bemusement I reach over and rummage in the top drawer of the bedside cabinet.

  “Is that where you keep all your back-up plans?” he enquires, reminding me he found the vibrator I kept in a similar location in my London apartment.

  I shoot him a look as my fingers curl round something much smaller and hand it to him.

  “Felt tip pen? I suppose it’s what you do with it that counts.” He manag
es to make me feel such a kinky fool I slap him.

  “Just sign on the dotted line.” I grin, pleased with myself.

  He smirks at me, understanding instantly. Those blue eyes haunt me both awake and asleep. I want always to be able to stare at them. He pulls the pen lid off in his busy mouth and bends his head to the task.

  “Always the wisest way to seal a deal,” he mumbles. I remove the pen lid from between his teeth before he swallows it and I have to perform a tracheotomy or something. “Hold still. I want my signature to be legible.”

  I laugh then and he swats me playfully. The moving pen feels like a fat caterpillar waddling clumsily over my skin. My instinct is to scratch it away but I clamp my teeth together and suffer in silence.

  When he’s done he leans back to observe his work with satisfaction. I am more interested in his smug expression than his handwriting at first, but eventually I can’t resist. I squirm upright and look down my body. He’s written Property of Jack Keogh. I’m shocked and amused in equally measure which he enjoys no end.

  I scramble to my knees, pushing him back down onto the bed and grabbing the pen from his hand. “My turn.”

  He raises an eyebrow but allows me to have my way. I don’t believe any woman has really made her mark on Jack Keogh before – not even Amanda Devereaux – which makes me very happy. He plants his hands behind his head, watching me as I work.

  Pushing his wayward and very impressive erection aside with a great deal of deliberate fondling, which has him struggling to hold his position, I write in a gentle arch, at the base of his belly, just above his dark pubic hair. For the exclusive use of Tabitha Caid. I kneel back to admire my calligraphy.

  “Satisfied?” he asks, reading the words upside down and arching his eyebrow.

  “I should be in about twenty minutes.” I smirk like an idiot. “Unless you’re not up to the task?”

  He grabs me and twists, pulling me beneath him in one easy movement. His sheer strength astounds me. He covers my body with his, pinning me down so completely I’m going nowhere.

  “Let’s aim for ten.” Instantly his tone is a shade huskier. His pupils dilate turning the Arctic blueness to deep water darkness and I am stunned into silence by his total change of mood.

  He hooks my legs up and drops them behind his where my calves grip tightly as he slams into me, knocking the air out of my lungs with record speed and force. He plants his hands either side of my head and establishes a punishing pace.

  I grunt repeatedly as he propels his body into mine and continues until my eyes roll back beneath my eyelids.

  “Open your eyes. Look at me. I want to see what I’m doing to you.”

  I could tell him what he’s doing to me, if he wasn’t doing it so hard and fast. I’m mindless with impending orgasm almost before I realise what is happening. I can’t help myself. My eyes close.

  “Eyes. Open.”

  I snap them to his.

  He pounds into me. I want to come. I need to come. I beg him with my open eyes.

  He reads me. “Don’t. Come.”

  I panic. “I. Can’t. Stop…”

  “I said ten minutes. And I mean what I say.” He’s holding me to a time penalty as he continues to challenge my need to let go.

  Thank heavens he halved my original estimate. I puff and blow, trying to please him. I grab at his back, raking my nails through his flesh as hard as I can. Why should I be the only one to suffer?

  He stalls as he hisses through his teeth. “Time’s up. Now you’re mine.”

  I wail throughout the implosion. My internal muscles spasm in such hard rhythmic tension, my thighs knot and my entire body seizes, unbending beneath his.

  He grabs hold, convulses and releases inside me. “Oh hell, yes, Tabby. Oh fuck.” He hangs over me until I wring every last sensation from his body and he from mine.

  The power and pleasure at the height is almost too much to bear. He hangs his head down between his shoulders, depleted, and my frozen limbs slowly unlock until I’m soft, pliant and completely spent. I have no energy left to move.

  “Hold me, Jack.” I feebly pull him down, always needing his closeness at a time like this. Skin on hot, sticky skin as I descend.

  His weight compresses me but I love it. He knows instinctively when I start to feel I can’t breathe and need a less firm contact. Then he rolls to one side, taking me gently with him. He sucks my lips and strokes my hair and I love these moments best, when he is mine and I am his and nothing else in the world matters.

  He draws back to observe me. “Pretty well fucked in ten minutes straight, I’d say.”

  His comment embarrasses me. I’m still naïve that way. He laughs at my shyness, tips my chin up and kisses me affectionately.

  “We didn’t use a condom.” We didn’t use one in the kitchen either. Is that why these moments are so totally intense?

  “You told me you took the pill. Have you missed any?”

  “No.”

  “Have you been fucking someone else?” His brow furrows deeply.

  Laurent? “No.”

  “I’ve never fucked another woman without using a condom. Ever. Does that surprise you?”

  “No.” I wish I knew why I’d become so monosyllabic.

  “Then we’re good?”

  “Yes.” At least it’s a different syllable.

  He relaxes, slaps me on the rump and shifts. “Shower.”

  When he jumps out of bed he drags me behind him. Never mind I might like to lie here and think for a while. He’s the Boss and what he says goes and I’m sated enough with the amazing sex to do anything he wishes.

  Jack runs water and nudges me inside the cubicle with his naked body. He turns me around so I lean back into him. I love the feel of my wet skin on his and, it would appear, the feeling is mutual. He slides over me, murmuring in pleasure as he does so.

  “Let me wash you.” He soaps my breasts so thoroughly he has me panting. He trails a line down over my belly to the place he signed his name.

  I capture his hand. “You’ll wash it off.”

  “Then I’ll sign it again.” He nuzzles the spot beneath my ear which makes me shiver. “You can wash mine off too. Same deal.”

  I scoop copious suds from my breasts and reach behind me, touching his belly and feeling my way down the line of fine hair running from his navel. Slowly I dip my hand lower and as I hear his breathing change and his muscles tense I enclose his erection in my fist. He’s solid already and his flesh jerks beneath my hand.

  “Again, Jack?” He’s had me twice already and he’s only been here a few hours.

  “I can’t get enough of you, kitten. This just won’t do.” He spins me in his arms, presses me against the tiles, planting one arm beside my head and pushing two fingers up inside me. My mouth opens in a jolt of surprise. My breath stalls.

  Hypnotic blue eyes hold me steadily in my place. They show me I’m his secret pleasure. His thumb sweeps over and over my sensitive nerve endings until I’m gasping for the relief of him.

  “You’re so sexy when you shatter.” His fingers take me with passion and I orgasm right there in front of him like it’s from his words alone. He plays me hard. I think he enjoys seeing me weak and wanton.

  I hurl my arms round his neck when my legs start to buckle so he lifts me and I cross them behind him. He slams me against the wall and breaches me just at the moment my body clamps down hardest.

  “So tight.” But his body claims its victory over mine easily with a surge of raw male power.

  I pant in rapid, harsh rhythm at each thrust until his energy throws me over the edge again. My lips part and I cry out his name. My pelvis arches against the fierce upward drive, while I cling to him and bite my teeth down into his neck. He turns rigid as orgasm explodes through him and for a single second he is me and I am him. We are together.

  We don’t speak, either one, for minutes. Jack recovers first and starts to clean my body with a natural sponge. He shampoos and conditions my ha
ir and reaches out for a towel to wrap me in, popping me outside the cubicle door.

  “Go get some clothes on before I need to fuck you again.” He leans out to kiss me and sends me away. “And I might impose an underwear check,” he warns me, laughing.

  While I’m in my bedroom rummaging for a dress, someone outside the window catches my eye. It’s Laurent, striding up the track towards the back of the house. He’s coming to see me at the end of his working day. Although he’s my friend, I suppose Madame will have warned him to stay away until now.

  My heart gives a little flip of alarm. No-one here knows Jack like I do. If Jack spots Laurent I know he’s a dead man and it will be all my fault after that come-hither display I gave to annoy Jack down by the fields. My silly trick worked only too well. Jack’s already reminded me he doesn’t share his woman with anyone and beneath that civilised veneer he’s still all cave-male. By his own admission he’s uber-competitive. Laurent doesn’t know any of this and he won’t know what hit him so I’d better put him straight.

  I listen out. Jack is still under the shower so I quickly pull a short sun-dress over my head and fly down the back stairs in my bare feet.

  The back door is habitually unlocked and Laurent comes straight into the kitchen, as informally as ever.

  “Tabeetha.” He grabs me by the shoulders to kiss me on both cheeks in the classic French way of greeting an old friend. “Madame told us you arrive. She said you are triste. Sad. So we leave you alone. It is better now, I think?”

  His English is improving. “I’m perfectly fine, Laurent.” But he can’t be here. I’m conscious that Jack will finish his shower any minute and come looking for me. He mustn’t see me here with Laurent. I’ve marked the poor man for life already.

  And Jack owns the estate now so is Laurent’s boss too. This could be bad. I take his arm and walk him back out the door. I’m a rotten hostess. The late afternoon air is typically still and warm heading for an evening of the same; Laurent looks dusty and dry and I really should offer him a drink. But I’m too conscious of preserving his current state of well-being. And mine.

  “It’s lovely to see you Laurent but you mustn’t come here yet.” I have to make Jack understand first, that we’re simply old friends.