Page 85 of This Woman Forever

I stare at the top shelf of the fridge, frowning. None in the cupboard, none in the fridge. How? How the hell has this happened? I roll my shoulder, wincing at the sting her fingernails have left behind. Turns out my wife needed a Retribution Fuck after her Reminder Fuck. Not because she’s been utterly unreasonable this past week. But because, according to Ava, she should be punished for refusing to eat. Insatiable. I’m here for it. So I handcuffed her to the bed and fucked her like a madman. I don’t even feel guilty that her throat must be sore. A bit like my muscles. I feel like I need a good stretch. Maybe I’ll go in the gym later.

In the meantime, where the fuck is my peanut butter? I’m not panicking. Maybe just a little. This has never happened.

If you can kick drink, you can kick this bad habit too.

I snort to myself. It’s not a bad habit. I like peanut butter, that’s all. “And so did you,” I remind him. Although crunchy rather than smooth. Yuck. I cough, disgusted, searching again in vain. “Damn it,” I mutter, turning away from the fridge. Ava’s on the other side of the island, her smile wide and amused. “What are you grinning at?” It looks like she wants to earn herself another fuck of some description. I’m not complaining.

“Why the compulsion for peanut butter?” she asks, her delight at my mild meltdown obvious.

“I like it,” I answer, feeling a bit defensive.

“You like it?” Her face looks like it’s about to split.

“Yes,” I grumble. “I like it.” Smooth. Only smooth.

Freak.

“You’re in a bit of a pickle,” she muses casually, “considering you just like it.”

“I’m not in a pickle. It’s no big deal.” I can take it or leave it.

Liar.

“Okay,” Ava says easily. She doesn’t believe me. Do I care?

I roll my eyes to myself and go to her. I might bend her over the island again. It’s been over an hour since I had her handcuffed to the bed. But all forms of fuckings are forgotten when I cop a load of what she’s wearing on her bottom half. Or what she isn’t wearing. “What the hell are they?”

“Shorts.”

I beg to differ. They are not shorts. “You mean knickers?”

“No,” she says slowly. “I mean shorts. If they were knickers, they’d look like this.” She wrenches them up her thighs a bit more, and I very nearly choke on my tongue. Her smooth, tan, firm thighs. Around my waist. Gripping me.

“Ava, come on, be reasonable.”

“Jesse,” she breathes. “I’ve told you, if you want long skirts and roll-neck jumpers, go find someone your own age.”

I recoil, offended, as Ava pulls the offending shorts back into place and ties her laces. “I might go for a swim at The Manor.”

“In a bikini?” I ask, looking across the kitchen for my phone. I’ll call John. Have him close the spa.

“No, in a snowsuit.” She chuckles, mocking me. “Of course in a bikini.”

Whenever has Ava wanted to go for a swim at The Manor? I suppose I should be grateful she’s even coming. But then again, Sarah’s not there. Which is why I have to be there today as promised. We’re in a fucking mess.

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“I’d like to go for a swim.”

“I’d like to strangle you.” I feel like she’s constantly testing me. Setting the standard going forward. I look down her incredible body on a pout. My eyes only. “Why do you do this to me?”

“Because you’re an unreasonable arse and you need to loosen up.” She flips me an accusing look, which is fucking rich. Her level of unreasonableness has been off the charts recently, but since we’ve only just got back on track, I won’t risk derailing us again by challenging her. “You may be an old man,” she goes on, and I roll my eyes, “butI'm only twenty-six. Stop acting like a caveman.” Only if you stop being so fucking defiant. “What’ll happen if we go on a beach holiday?”

It’s a nonissue, because if we go on a beach holiday, the beach will be private. “I thought we could go skiing. I’ll show you how good I am at very extreme sports.”

Her smile lights up the room and my life, and I catch her in my arms as she launches herself at me, carrying her out of the kitchen. “You smell luscious,” she says into my skin, hugging me hard.

I’m sure I saw a jar of Sun-Pat in the fridge in my office. “You feel naked,” I grumble, squeezing her arse cheek. I grab my keys off the side.

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