by Dee Palmer
I stop on the gallery landing where it overlooks the rear courtyard, and beyond to the extensive and overgrown ornamental gardens and untamed grounds. This view will be stunning one day.
“That ugly annex over there is going to be demolished.” I point the torch off on my phone toward the hideous seventies building that butts against the west wall of the garden. “We have detailed plans approved for an architecturally sympathetic extension, which will provide additional accommodation. I was thinking at some point in the future we could open the Manor up for events, weddings maybe,” I muse out loud, only realising a huge smile has plastered across my face, when Jørgen’s sardonic retort wipes it off.
“How very romantic of you, Ms Williams.”
“Let’s not confuse commercial sense with fairy tales, Mr. Jensen.” My comment mimics the patronising tone he used earlier in the car.
“Why so cynical, Ms Williams?”
“I’m more than happy to sell the ‘idea’ of romance, a magical day and a happily ever after, but I just won’t ever be the sucker buying it.”
“I was married,” he counters, and to my horror, my response is an automatic quip that I fail to censor.
“And that ended well for you?” Too late I slap my hand to my mouth, mortified. ”Oh, god! Jørgen, I’m so sorry. My brain-to-mouth filter is pretty much non-existent after hours. I didn’t mean…” Shaking my head, I fall silent. Anything I can say is never going to rectify such a cruel and thoughtless comment. It’s not enough, but I settle on repeating my heartfelt apology. “I’m so, so sorry.”
He turns to face me, and his eyes bore through me. Although tension is rolling off him in seismic waves, he doesn’t look angry. The sadness of his loss is etched deep in the lines of the faint smile he is forcing, which is miles off from reaching his piercing eyes. “You are quite correct, Hope. My marriage didn’t end well, and for a long time, I was heartbroken.” He draws in a long breath through his nostrils, and for some reason, I find I mirror that breath and only release it when he speaks again. “Madeline was my first love, and because of her, I have a million memories to cherish and recall on a daily basis. The risk of loss doesn’t put me off wanting that again. Love is the purest emotion one can share with another person; it elevates the soul. Besides, anything in life worth having, is worthy of a little risk.”
“Being heartbroken doesn’t sound like a ‘little’ risk to me.”
“You surprise me. Taking on a venture like this displays a high tolerance for risk, in my opinion.” He waves his hand around, indicating all we have surveyed.
“This place is a calculated risk. Love is neither calculated nor a risk I’m ever going to take.”
“I’m just curious: If you have never loved, how can you be so adamant it’s not for you?”
“I’ve seen it first hand, in all its devastation, and no Disney ending will ever match holding your mother’s wrist closed long enough for the paramedics to get to you and stop the bleeding.” I clench my jaw, instantly regretting my outburst.
“I’m sorry.” He reaches to touch me as unbearable sadness washes over me with the memory and leaves me trembling. Still, the overwhelming desire to feel his comforting touch has me stepping back, stricken with a mix of fear and confusion. I fold my arms across my waist, and I take a moment to check myself. I have never told anyone that. Why the hell did I tell him, of all people? It’s not that it might jeopardise the investment if he decides, in light of new information, my mother is an ‘unstable’ partner. Right now I don’t care about that. It’s just that this isn’t my story to tell, and I feel like I’ve betrayed her.
“I’m sorry I told you.” I swallow the acrid taste in my mouth and force myself to brush over my disclosure. “Look, I’m not against the notion of finding ‘the one’. I think, for some people, that’s a life goal; that’s what they want. Like my best friend, Finn. She just wanted to be married, and now she is, and she’s happy as a pig in shit with four men who adore her. I just don’t see it happening for me because I’m not a fan of love.”
“Not a fan?” He steps closer, and since I’m now pressed with my back against the balcony rail, I have nowhere left to go. He places a hand on either side of my body in a redundant attempt to trap me, my feet are like lead on the floor. I couldn’t move away if I wanted to. What the hell? Something akin to a bolt of electricity crackles and sizzles between us. I have to shut it down. I close my eyes, and with a firm push to his solar plexus, he steps back, and I make my escape. Sucking in a steadying breath, I rally my senses.
“Tell me exactly what is so great about it? Love makes sane people do stupid shit. It makes strong minds vulnerable and guarantees sense and judgment take the first plane to LaLa Land, where suspicion and secrets blur into a soft focus filtered litany of justifications and excuses, which someone in love just eats up.”
“You’ve just not met the right man,” he counters with a wry smile.
“Says every straight man to any lesbian they meet, and I’m going to give you the same response. There is no right man.” I turn away and begin to walk down the stairs looking over my shoulder when he replies.
“That sounds like a challenge.”
“Does it? It’s meant to sound like a statement of fact.”
Present Day—Back on the Ranch
“MIND IF I JOIN YOU?” Charge stands gloriously naked at the edge of our wet room shower. I’m sure his lids are heavy with lust, but I’m shamelessly not looking at his eyes. Musing, I playfully tap my pursed lips.
“Let me think. Do I mind my smoking hot husband with a glorious erection joining me in the shower? Mmm, that’s a hard one.” My pout spreads into a wonderfully wide and wanton smile as he cups himself and saunters closer. The serving plate sized showerhead downpours a torrent of scorching water over both of us.
“Rock hard for you, angel.” His dark hair is instantly drenched and falls like inky curtains over his piercing indigo eyes.
“Need a hand with that?” I place my hand over his and squeeze. He clears his throat and tilts his head.
“No hands, angel, just your mouth, tongue, and your deep throat.” He draws his tongue over his full bottom lip, so slowly I swear I can feel it between my legs, teasing a languid stroke along my folds from my clit to my core.
“Mmm, that I can do.” Well, I think I can; he’s fucking massive this morning. He folds the towel he was holding in his free hand and drops it on the floor. I sink to my knees and place my hands on his thick muscular thighs, savouring the sight looming over me. Talk about pole position. He releases his hold, and his cock bobs heavy with its own weight, yet is still straining to reach his belly button. My nails dig into solid muscle as I pull myself to the right height. Looking up, I open my mouth wide, allowing it to fill with water before he leans over and shields me from the main downpour. Pushing my tongue and the water out of my mouth, I place it flat at the base of his cock. Pressing firmly, I drag a steady path from root to swollen tip. Managing to keep eye contact I’m rewarded with a throaty moan when I swirl the velvety crown of his cock once, then twice, with my tongue.
Dropping my jaw wide, I shield my teeth and wrap my lips over him, moving my head so I’m able to take every thick inch of him as far as I can into my mouth. It’s not far, and he fills every bit of space when he hits the back of my throat. I draw in a deep breath and relax, swallowing and tilting my head just a little until I feel the tip ease further down, past the muscles at the back of my throat. His cock swells, and he groans, a guttural sound that’s so fucking sexy, I shudder despite the heat consuming me. It takes all my concentration to fight the gag reflex and enjoy this moment. He slides deeper, and I feel the stretch and burn when he finally fills my throat completely. My nose is flush to his abdomen, and I can’t breathe; there’s no room for even a single molecule of air. He rocks his hips, fucking my face, unable to control himself, and I can feel my toes start to curl with the need for oxygen, but I love this bit. That sound he makes when he’s gone, when he
’s mine, all mine.
“Fuck, I love it when you do that.” His voice is strained, and he sounds like he’s the one that’s choking. Still, I melt when he praises me like that, and I swell with pride that I can make him feel so good as he comes undone.
Pulling back, I draw air in through my nose and fill my lungs so I can rinse and repeat. My hands move to his fine arse, loving the way the muscles twitch beneath my fingers as I draw him back into my mouth. Slow, deep, and unbelievably erotic, I can feel my own desire trickle from me like warm honey.
“May I use my hands?” Looking up, I can see his effort to control himself has his lips clamped and jaw muscles pulsing. He looks lethal, and I take no small amount of pride that I’m able to drive the sexiest man on the planet as crazy as he drives me. He manages to give a curt nod. His face is too schooled to give anything other than a strained smile.
I move one hand to the base of his cock and wrap it in a rim grip, squeezing like he taught me, which is so much tighter than I ever would have. My mouth smoothes the length of him, relishing the silk over steel, humming my appreciation. His body feels like carved marble, a work of art that wouldn’t look out of place next to Michelangelo’s David. Sucking and swirling my tongue, I start to pick up the pace, moving my hand from the base of his cock to his balls, using my fingernails to tug, twist and press the pressure points that make him see stars—his words. I drop my other hand between my legs.
“Fuck!” He slams his fist on the wall behind us, steadying himself. His knees lock, and with his other hand, he grasps the back of my head. His hips jerk forward, and I choke down the thrust, swallowing to accommodate every inch. He sets a rhythm, hard, deep, and relentless. I try to mirror the penetration with my own fingers inside me, but I’m clearly not that good at multitasking. He curses out loud, every muscle in his body tenses, and his legs tremble. He shudders and pumps his release, deep down the back of my throat before I even get the first twinge of my own orgasm.
His cock pulses, swelling as he empties inside me, and I struggle to swallow every drop. Dazed and throbbing with my own pent-up desire, I barely get a second to draw my breath when his hands are under my arms. He lifts me from the shower floor. His hands cup my cheeks, and he surges forward, crashing us both against the wall. I wrap my legs around his waist. His mouth is on me, feasting on my lips, cheeks, neck, like he’s starving.
Heat sears and steam rises from our scorching bodies as we writhe together, urgent for each other to satisfy our insatiable desire. He shifts his hips, dropping me a little, so his rock solid cock is poised at my entrance. One thrust and he spears into me, so deep I’m seeing stars behind my tightly shut eyelids and gasping for the breath he forced from my lungs. Pounding into me, I take every bone-shaking lunge. He’s a fountain of icy water in a desert oasis, and I’m parched. I drink him in and relish every drop.
The impending toe-curling orgasm rocks and shocks me.
Opening my eyes, I gaze at pure and precious love reflected in the passionate pools of crystal clear azure staring right back at me. I soar, floating high on a cloud of euphoria when a singular moment of serenity engulfs me, where we connect on a level above anything I’ve ever known—hearts beating as one, bodies joined, and souls entwined.
“You’re so fucking perfect!” he growls, right before his lips consume mine as the torrent of pleasure tears through my helpless body, and with thrust after thrust, he drives my release to new heights. I cry out, disintegrating into a billion fiery stars that burn bright enough to scorch the sky. I can’t breathe, and I’m only vaguely aware of Charge finding his own release when his head collapses heavily onto my neck, and he bites down softly on my skin, muttering something I can’t quite decipher.
Blissful minutes pass where tender kisses, delicate touches, and silent knowing glances are shared, and we breathe each other in. He carefully lowers my feet to the floor and sweeps his hand over my face, slicking my hair out of my eyes. He squeezes some jasmine gel into a natural sponge and spends the next twenty minutes reverently washing every inch of my body, and I mean every inch. I am super clean when he’s finished, but I’m also good to go again. He chuckles at my spoilt brat pout when he ignores my advances, helps me out of the shower, and hands me a towel.
“Round two will have to wait, angel. You wanted to talk, remember?”
“I did say that, didn’t I?” I grumble, but he’s already left the bathroom.
“Did Toxic say anything to you about what happened at camp?” Towel drying my hair, I step back into our bedroom. Charge is mostly dry, his dark, glossy hair looking like he wasn’t even in the shower with me just five minutes ago. He’s pulling on some pale worn jeans and straightens to his full height. Fixing me with a knowing look, he flashes a sexy, if way too cocky, smile after clocking me shamelessly checking him out. Frankly, it would be rude not to. He is panty-meltingly easy on the eye, from his bare feet to the gloriously naked chest, which still has some stray droplets of water on his pecs and his abs and his—
“He said lots of things to me about what happened at camp.” He clicks his fingers playfully when my eyes fail to meet his. I’m mesmerised by the trickle of water making it’s way down his ‘v’ and slightly envious of the droplets’ journey. The distraction is fleeting, though, and I drop the towel and my hip.
“You know you can be incredibly irritating when you flip and repeat my questions.” My hands rest on my hips, the silk from my bathrobe making the grip slide against my skin.
“I do know that, yes, yet it still happens.” He steps toward me, and his eyes darken as they drink in every inch of me. I hold my ground, even if my legs feel a little wobbly. How does he do that?
“Cute, maybe I should tie you to the bed and torture you for being an ass.”
“Not how this works, baby. Sorry.”
“Yeah, I can tell by that shit-eating grin how ‘sorry’ you are.”
“Come here.” He steps toward me, curling his finger, beckoning, and just like that, I melt and flow like liquid to him. His strong arms lift me high on his hips, his lips hover only a hair’s breadth from mine, and the world stands still. The energy pulsing between us is palpable. Desire and unadulterated passion crackle like electricity as anticipation of what’s to come holds us both in a state of perfect paralysis. This moment, where literally nothing exists but us, his deep blue eyes searching mine, seeking solace in my soul and finding that he has that and so much more.
I am his; he’s my world, and this is us.
Round two…yes!
Our lips touch, and like a powder keg lit, our bodies ignite and crash together, as the erotic explosion consumes us both. He slams my back to the bedroom wall. He tears the flimsy silk from my body, and I try to do the same with his jeans. He captures my hands and holds them high above my head, both of my wrists in his steely grip. His body feels like a boulder against mine; I can’t breathe, and I’m dizzy with desire and need.
“Mmm, oh, god, I love it when you do that.” Exhaling, the sensual moaning tone echoes the neediness coursing through my veins.
“I know.”
“Mmm. and that,” I sigh and smile. This is fucking heaven. He sucks on the tender spot on my neck, making my toes curl with the tingles bombarding every nerve in my body. Pulling back, cool air assaults my skin as he lowers my feet to the floor. “Not that though. I don’t love that. Why are you stopping?”
“Because we don’t have time, and if we do what I really want to do, you’re going to accuse me of distracting you to avoid talking.” He snatches up his T-shirt and slips it on. I can’t help the unhappy droop of my bottom lip or the deep frown of frustrated disappointment darkening to a scowl. I’m having trouble recalling what I wanted to talk about in the first place. Naked and with confidence I only have because of the way each of them make me feel, I close the gap with a sensual sashay. His eyes dance the length of my body, and I think I might just sway his decision when he slowly draws in his bottom lip and bites down. His pupils couldn’t be any w
ider and his eyes still retain any of their colour.
“You are quite a distraction.” He lets me walk right up to him, only to capture my wayward finger as it trails a path from the indent in his collarbone to just below where his belly button is hiding under his t-shirt.
“Thank you.” Tipping my chin with his free hand, he softens the rejection with a deeply satisfying kiss. “Now, get dressed, and we’ll talk.”
THE SCENT OF COFFEE DRIFTS through the door just before Charge returns with two mugs and a slice of toast hanging out of his mouth. I take my coffee and follow him out onto the balcony and sit on the mass of cushions we sometimes use as a makeshift bed when the night sky is particularly stunning, and we can’t manage the enthusiasm or energy to drag ourselves inside.
“You sure you don’t want some?” He offers the remains of his breakfast, and I shake my head, coffee is fine for now. “So, angel?”
“So?”
“Let me ease that frown. Talk to me.” He leans back against the wall and pats the space between his wide-open legs for me to fill. I don’t need to be told twice. It’s my favourite place to be. Shuffling to get comfortable, I sink back. His warm body rises and falls with his deep and steady breaths, and I take a moment just feeling him. The sun is already blazing a brilliant light over the farm, crystal blue sky and uninterrupted views as far as the eye can see. This is also heaven, where the only sound disturbing this picture-perfect scene is nature and the thump of Charge’s heartbeat. I’ve truly never been this happy or conflicted.
