Everything You Want: Everything For You Trilogy 2 (5 page)

I loop my arms around his neck and relax into him, wondering if he’s just another of my pain-induced hallucinations. If so, I want to remain insane forever.

“Why don’t you nap for a bit while I prepare lunch?”

“Not on your life. Jack Keogh cooking? I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” I’m adamant.

I think he enjoys having me near so he relents but I suspect he wants to keep an eye on me too. Perhaps he thinks Laurent and the others are concealed around the chateau somewhere waiting to pounce on me the minute his back is turned. I find the idea hilarious.

“You’re doing a lot of smiling today, Tabby. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” He looks at me strangely.

Bloody fucking marvellous actually. Sorry Harry. “I’m fine. Happy.” Delirious. Probably delusional but so very happy.

He throws me a quick smile when I admit it. He knows it’s because he’s here. He doesn’t know what I know though: that I’ll have to relive the misery all over again once he’s gone.

I think I might know something about successful CEOs that he doesn’t. They see what they want to see. They focus on the positives and totally ignore anything negative. On that basis, today, I’d make a successful CEO too. If agreeing to continue with the stupid deal we made means I don’t have to feel so devastated and miserable all the time, it seems a small price to pay at this moment in time. I can simply pretend Jack loves me the way I love him.

I sit at the kitchen table sipping ice-cold water and picking at a dish of olives as I watch him work. He unloads all the boxes from the little car and brings them in through the back door. He rummages through them to see what resources he has to get creative with.

“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 grinds 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.”