Falloir (Passion Noire Book 2) (26 page)

‘Of course. Is this where I should say that I’d only grab a tit if it’s what she wanted?’

‘Jones?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Fair enough.’ I can’t help but chuckle. I’m pleased to see that she’s grinning too. ‘It sounds like we’re more alike than I thought, or at least our predicaments are,’ I say.

‘What, that we both prefer a handful of tit? I’ve no objection but personally, I’d rather a handful of cock.’

I almost spray the last bit of my hot chocolate over her but I manage not to. It’s good that she’s smiling and making quips. Even if I can’t get her to open up fully, at least I’ve made her smile. She looks a million miles from the broken-looking girl I found in the shower.

‘Jones, when did your desire to let a woman take control first come to light? Is it something you’d had for ages?’

‘God, no!’ I shake my head. ‘It’s very recent. I ... I ...’ I don’t think I can tell her.

She leans into me and nudges me with her elbow, just as I’d done to her. ‘Go on, spit it out. Sometimes swallowing is not an option.’

I can’t help but laugh. It seems I’m not the only one trying to keep this light. ‘When it stopped feeling so satisfying, I began to wonder what it would be like if the woman retaliated instead of letting me do whatever I wanted. You know, what if she fought back?’

Her eyes widen. ‘Like consensual non-consent?’

I shrug. That phrase makes no sense to me. ‘Like something to make it more of a challenge or make me feel that I was actually achieving something—besides blowing my load as quickly as possible.’

‘A rape scene would do that,’ she acknowledges but I’m shaking my head.

‘No! That’s not what I meant. I’ve had a few women suggest that but, as well as it not really appealing to me, even giving it a go would be too risky. What if she changed her mind at some point? How would I know? What if the neighbours heard her shouting no? What if I left marks on her, trying to pin her down? I could end up in court being labelled a rapist.’

She’s nodding. ‘Yeah, it can be a dangerous game. It can work, so I’m told. It’s really not my thing as I’m sure you can appreciate.’

I gasp as the penny drops. ‘Oh fuck, Veuve. I’m sorry. I think that’s why it doesn’t appeal. I don’t ever want to risk forcing myself on a woman or being accused of doing so. I’ve made it clear what I think of abusing bastards. Let’s leave this here.’

‘But if you want the woman to be a challenge in bed, how are you going to achieve that without running the risk of ... ah, I get it. That’s when you started to think about letting a woman take control and that led you to me.’

I shrug. ‘Kind of.’ Maybe that’s where my desire to let a woman take control does come from. I only know that I feel I need the challenge. After years of banging docile women, I’m bored with it.

‘Couldn’t you get your challenge from aiming higher when you set your sights on your chosen conquest? Choose someone whom you have to work at getting into bed? Someone who’s not going to put up with your
lie there and take it, bitch
attitude.’

I wince at her harsh assessment of me. It stings. Mostly because it’s grounded in truth.

‘I have.’ I say, simply.

‘Who? Your girl from the nursing office? Well, well, well ... actually, now I think about it, you were back late so what was it? Did it take you hours to get in her knickers or was she a feisty bitch who kept your cock hard for longer than you’re used to?’

‘Neither,’ I snap, a little harsher than I’d intended. ‘I was crawling around underneath Thierri’s nurse’s car, causing criminal damage so he won’t be able to do his morning visit. That was after I’d met the girl from the agency to hand over a fake application form and persuade her to unwittingly break the law and call me if they need a nurse tomorrow. That’s why I was late back. That’s where I was while some fucker was getting in your knickers as you kept his cock hard.’

Before she can reply, I turn and stride off, through her bedroom and into the living room. I need to get some sleep because, fool that I am, I’m still planning on getting up early so that I can get inside Thierri’s when Brittany calls. I pull my tee-shirt over my head, unfasten my belt and I’m about to drop my jeans when she walks in.

‘Well, that escalated quickly ...’ she says, raising an eyebrow. ‘Do you want to explain?’

‘I was just pointing out that not all of us had the luxury of fucking our hearts out tonight, that’s all.’

‘Jones, do you have a problem with the fact that I fucked someone else tonight?’

I laugh. It’s a bitter sound. ‘Get over yourself, Veuve. Two of us were doing your bidding tonight—both of us got fucked but only one of us got their dick wet.’

‘Are you saying that I’m fucking you over? Or are you implying that I should be paying you in kind?’ she demands, her voice rising to a near shriek.

I glare at her but I don’t reply. I’m so angry that I daren’t open my mouth. I can’t believe that just a few minutes ago, standing on her balcony, I’d been about to tell her that the person I’d found, who was worth the challenge, was her. But after her vitriolic spewing about Brittany, I’m glad I didn’t. I wish I’d not lashed out in return; doing so has lost me the higher ground and she knows it. She walks closer, a defiant gleam in her eye. She gets too close: if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was deliberately provoking me.

‘Did you hear me, Jones? Is that what you think? That I should be fucking you to pay you back for all that you’re doing for me?’

I ignore her, staring straight back.

‘We agreed that I’d take you on as a client which I did. And, in case you’ve forgotten, I stopped you from going out, getting pissed and smashing some poor fucker’s head last night. I knew you needed a release so I took you to Vouloir. I began your training by giving you a taste of what you could expect. Then, completely against my rules, I offered to let you angry fuck me to get the release that you needed. I think you’ll find that goes over and above what constitutes taking you on as a client. It’s not my fault if you weren’t man enough to bend me over and fuck me until you lost your load, is it? So don’t be pissed with me when I do have the bottle to try to fuck something out of my system.’

She’s really starting to wind me up but I’ll be damned if I’m giving her the satisfaction of knowing that. Besides, I can see my refusal to engage with her is really pissing her off so I stand firm.

‘Are you sulking now? Is that what this is? Well, if it makes you feel any better, it didn’t fucking work, okay?’ She sounds almost hysterical. I guess I’m helping her relieve some stress after all, just not in the civilised fashion that I’d intended. Let her vent ... it won’t hurt her. I hope The Kid’s got his iPod blaring; she’s shouting now. Again, I show no reaction. It’s a bit like my initial Royal Marines training. I’d get shouted at and had to learn fast not to flinch, not to respond but just to let it wash over me. But just like that, this smacks of desperation ... of deliberately trying to get a reaction from me.

‘Oh you’re so fucking childish, Jones. You’re probably pissed that I’ve got to you. Got a reaction out of you. You think you’re so fucking cool and collected. So disciplined and tough. You weren’t so tough back there, were you? So what was it? The fact that I’ve gotten laid tonight and you haven’t?’

I feel my fists clench. I cannot allow my resolve to slip but she’s pushed a button that’s bypassing my control. I get a hold of myself before she notices.

‘You think you’ve had a shitty night, wining and dining some airhead from that office and wrecking someone’s car. Well, for the record, I didn’t ask you to do any of that. I asked for your help, yes, but I didn’t ask you to break God knows how many laws or do anything you weren’t comfortable with.’

There’s a tiny pause. She’s right up in my face now and frustration is written all over her features. ‘Yeah, well you weren’t the only one having a shitty night. I finally get that man mountain of gorgeous subbiness under my whip and you fucking spoilt it for me. Repeatedly.’

That’s news to me ... how can I spoil something when I’m a couple of miles away?

‘Then I get back here and you make me feel dirty. I’ve never felt dirty, Jones. Not since ...’

I swallow. That got my attention. She’s blaming me for something that’s triggering bad memories. But what the hell did I do? I open my mouth to ask but she starts again. It’s like now she’s started, she has to get something off her chest.

‘I had to get every trace of him off me before you got home. And the worst thing was, I didn’t know whether you were even coming home. I thought you were with her. All fucking night, I’d pictured you until I’d almost convinced myself that it was you. Every time I looked at him, he wore your tattoos. His cock stopped being his ... it was yours. It was
yours,
Jones! I fucking swear it was. Do you hear me? It was fucking yours. I wanted it to be yours.’

A sob is fighting its way out of her mouth but my lips catch it. I don’t want to see her cry again. Not tonight. Not ever. I reach for her and pull her that couple of inches so she’s against me. I kiss her roughly until I feel her begin to sag into me then I pull away, just for a second. ‘I wanted it to be me, too.’

Then I kiss her again before she can change her mind.

I WAKE AND REALISE that I’m not alone. I’m in my own bed and I’m not alone. In fact, I’m snuggled up against a warm, muscular chest and I’m not freaking out. I can hear his heartbeat loudly in my ear and I’m not freaking out. Last night, he gave me the stress release that I’d craved ... not from submitting to me, not from succumbing to my control ... no, merely by kissing me and holding me until I felt the tension drain out of me. Then he’d led me to my bed and held me all night long.

I’d thought about instigating something but, as much as I wanted to dispel the disastrous memories of the man who wasn’t Jones with actual memories of Jones, somehow falling asleep together was far more powerful and soothing. He hasn’t gotten laid for days so maybe he wouldn’t agree, but there was one thing we did agree on. Whatever this is, this attraction ... this
thing
between us, we won’t allow it to affect The Kid in a negative way.

For now, we’re going to keep it from him and see how we go during Jones’ sessions with me at Vouloir. I’ve told him flatly that if he can’t submit to me then we’re done. Of course, it may all blow itself out by then. The psychologist in me knows that those passions that burn hottest often do. The woman in me is still reeling from the fact that I’m embarking upon something new. At thirty-something years of age, I’ve allowed a man into my heart. I realised last night that there was no point continuing to fight it—it was just one more thing adding to my stress.

I know it’s uncharted waters for him too and that he was getting agitated because of his feelings for me. So here we are. We’ve stopped fighting it and we’ve decided to let it run its course. Whether it’s a week or a month or whether we can tolerate each other for even longer, who knows but, for now, it’s a relief to own up to what it is I’m feeling. Oh don’t get excited ... I’m not declaring my undying love for him or anything.

In fact, I don’t even know what it feels like to be in love. I do know, thanks to Jones, what jealousy feels like. I also know that it’s okay to trust him enough to open up and that sharing a burden with him lightens the load. I felt that the night that Dan died. I’ve felt it numerous times since ... talking about Paul, The Kid ... and my feelings for the man himself—although I can’t put into words what it is that I feel. It was scary enough just opening up and admitting to him, as well as myself, that I felt something. More than I’ve ever felt for any man. And for now, that’s more than enough.

The shrill ringing of a telephone elicits a groan from the body next to me.

‘I was enjoying pretending to be asleep so you didn’t move,’ he says, dropping a kiss on the top of my head.

We both freeze, I know I’m startled by how normal that seemed, despite the fact that it’s not. In fact, it’s the opposite ... it’s about as abnormal as it gets. I turn to see how he’s faring but he rolled away and grabs a phone from the bedside cabinet—I noticed last night that he has two phones. I didn’t ask. I can probably guess. Within moments, he’s bolt upright and agreeing to do something. Then I remember ... Thierri!