Page 66 of Savage Obsession

“What did you do with the body?” I demand of Baz one evening, after Lily has gone to bed.

“Nothing. I left that to Andrzej. He did the cleanup.”

“I don’t understand. A body doesn’t just disappear into thin air.”

“Doesn’t it?” Baz shrugs as though disposing of corpses is the most normal thing in the world. Maybe it is, in his world. “Let it go, Julia.”

“I can’t.”

“What’s the alternative?” he asks me gently.

“If they can’t prove anything, then maybe we could?—”

“No! There’s no ‘we’. Lily stays here. She’s safe, and she’s happy.”

I fall silent, because I know he’s right.

The sex is good. It always was, and we fall back into that aspect of our relationship effortlessly, despite my determination to remain angry and resentful. When Baz turns on the charm, he’s as irresistible as he ever was, and within days of arriving here, I’m curled up, purring in his bed.

“We shouldn’t be doing this. What about Lily? She’ll be confused…”

“I doubt that. She’s a bright kid. And she’s just glad we’re back together.”

“Yes, but?—”

Any further discussion is stifled by his mouth on mine, his tongue sliding between my lips to dance and tease until my senses are full of only him and I forget what my objections were. His clever fingers coax my nipples into hardened peaks, his sensual touch rekindles my memories of those early days of our marriage when all things seemed possible.

I spread my thighs at his urging and relish the moment he slides inside me, filling me, deliciously stretching my inner walls.

“Baz,” I sigh, squeezing around him to increase the friction even more.

“Julia,” he murmurs in response, his hips setting up that compelling rhythm which edges me inexorably towards my climax. “I’ve missed you.”

“You should have stayed. We could have been happy…”

He pauses, frames my face between his hands to look into my eyes. “We couldn’t. Not then. We were… too far apart.”

“And now?” I whisper.

“Now, we’ve both moved. I want you.”

“I always wanted you.”

His lips brush mine. “Let’s make it work this time.”

“Can we? Really?”

“I think so. Perhaps. I want to try.”

I close my eyes. “Fuck me. Hard. I need that.”

“Answer me first.”

I hesitate. Can we really bridge the gap of a decade apart? Do I even want to? “Yes,” I grind out eventually. “Yes, we can try.”

“I need you to look at this.” Baz slides a colourful booklet across the breakfast table.

I pick it up and flick through. It’s a brochure for a school, the Cartwright International School, to be exact. The brochure depicts traditional buildings, sports fields, attractive landscaped gardens, and an Olympic-style swimming pool. Smiling students, decked out in maroon blazers and straw boaters with striped ribbons round them, extol the virtues of the academy.

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