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random-mha-thoughts · 5 years ago

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Ice Cream (Bakugou X Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Genre: FLUFF!!! WHY DO I KEEP FLUFFING MYSELF TO DEVASTATION!!

Summary: Bakugou and you are coworkers at a summer job in a department store. Both of you have feelings for each other but don’t know how to confess.

Word count: 1,918

Tags: @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog @bunnythepipsqueak

a/n: Based on a true story. Seriously this was me about 3 and a half years ago. Except the first part, that was filler’s sake and to show off tsundere baby Katsuki. I’ve been neglecting him, he deserves better. So I hope you all combust from fluff uwu bc the next one might be baku angst

"Ah, it's so hot," I groan, fanning myself. "I almost wanna turn around and go back to work just to stay in the air conditioning."

"Tch, speak for yourself. I've had enough for the day," Bakugou huffs. He's unbuttoned his black polo shirt. "You can't pay me enough to go back there."

"It's really not that bad, I don't know why you're complaining," I shrug.

"Says the one who gets to sit in the storage room sorting those stupid colored things all day." He pushes his shoulder into me. "I'm like the stupid lackey. Every stupid errand the manager needs done, I have to do. I don't get paid enough for this sh-"

"Let's get ice cream, Bakugou!" I interrupt, spotting an ice cream shop across the street. "Come on, it'll cheer you up, crabby pants." I grab his arm and pull him towards cold heaven.

Once we get inside the shop, I immediately fly to the window, scanning over the flavor selection. I'm not exactly sure what I want to get, whether I'm craving something summery like cherry or lemon or if I want a classic like cookies and cream.

I catch myself flipping my head back and forth between the two sides, still unable to make a decision. "Hey Bakugou, what are you getting?" When I don't hear an answer, I flip around. "Baku-?"

For the smallest moment after I look at him, I catch him staring at me blankly before whipping his head down to the window. "Probably just chocolate," he answers quickly.

My heart skips a beat, but I tell myself to calm down. It's not the first time I've caught Bakugou staring at me. Sometimes at work, he'll be passing by and he always somehow seems to find me in the sea of clothes while I'm rearranging the hangers. There are even some rare times when he comes to the back room while I'm in the middle of sorting the size beads and helps me before the manager summons him to do something else.

I shake myself out of my thoughts. "I'm feeling something fruity. Lemon is really calling out to me, but so is cherry."

I end up getting one scoop of each and Bakugou gets two scoops of chocolate. We take our cups to go as we walk down to the train station together.

"Bakugou, what the actual hell?!" My eyes widen in bewilderment at what he's just done.

"What?" he growls, "This is how I usually eat ice cream!"

My eye twitches. "Y-You...bite...ice cream? You have some deep rooted issues, dude."

"Shut up! I'm not weird!" Though he's defensive about it, the blond starts eating with the spoon the shop gave him. "You're the one eating fruit flavored ice cream. At least get something unhealthy like you're supposed to!"

I huff in response. "There's nothing wrong with trying to make your junk food as healthy as possible."

"Come on, you know that's something Deku would have."

"And what about it?"

Bakugou makes a face at me and says nothing else about it. "You can have a taste of mine if you want. One bite won't kill you, and I'm fine with sharing."

My heart throbs again. "Sure, I guess. Is it good?"

He answers by sticking his dessert-filled spoon in my mouth, catching me off guard. His crimson eyes bore into mine as I let the treat melt in my mouth, the rich chocolate encompassing my taste buds. "How is it?"

I don't trust my voice to answer without shaking, so I take my time to swallow. "Delicious."

The boy smirks. "See? You can't go wrong with the classics." He takes another bite of his before side-eyeing me. "But I guess it wouldn't hurt to try something different," he mumbles.

I'm still stunned from what he just did, the remaining chocolate still an aftertaste in my mouth. "You think?" I think I know what he's implying, but I didn't want to initiate it just in case he's not. I wish I was more confident in my flirting skills, I think as I scoop another bite into the little spoon.

"Hey."

Bakugou grasps my wrist with my spoon and takes the bite for himself. We lock eyes with each other as he tastes my ice cream, my heart hammering like a drum. O-Oh.

His eyebrow quirks in interest. "Couldn't you tell I wanted to be fed? Mmm, this is actually pretty good for summer."

I find my voice again, "R-Right? Told you so! It's refreshing and not too heavy."

We continue our walk in silence, which is uncharacteristic for Bakugou. He always has some random thing to talk about, which is something I like about him. He's not necessarily an open book, but he can talk about anything without making it sound weird, able to fill the awkward pauses in our conversations.

I sneak a peak at his face to find his cheeks dusted slightly pink to match my own.

Our relationship is admittedly in some kind of limbo. Ever since we met each other at our job orientation almost 3 weeks ago, we've been pretty inseparable. After hitting it off immediately, we exchanged numbers and text each other nonstop even after work, sometimes late into the night. And he always texts me in the morning, teasing me to wake up or else I won't be productive and he'll have to cover for me. We take our lunch breaks together every day, and we take the same train to the same station before transferring to go our separate ways. My coworkers tease me because they thought we were already a couple coming into the job. It seems so obvious to them that Bakugou and I like each other, but neither of us have made a move yet.

Truthfully, I haven't done anything because I don't know how to initiate anything. He's the first person I've had a crush on that actually reciprocates my feelings, I don't want to mess it up. Though, he's also mentioned that he hasn't dated anyone either. We would be each other's firsts.

We finish our ice creams and finally get to our train station, swiping in and catching the train right before almost leaves us behind. The car is thankfully somewhat empty, so we manage to find some seats.

Bakugou pulls out his earbuds and plugs it into his phone, handling me one side so I can put it in my ear.

This blond head listens to hard rock and metalcore. Is it really that surprising though, being how aggressive he is?

I'm open to anything as long as I like the lyrics, so I don't mind listening to it. When the music starts playing, I throw my legs over his lap like I usually do and lay my head on his shoulder. "You're shoulder is so bony, it's uncomfortable," I tease.

"Then don't rest your head there if it's so uncomfortable," he scowls, placing a hand on my knee. Out of the blue, Bakugou snorts. "It's so funny how we have to wear all black and you're wearing these bright red Vans."

"Hey, the manager said we can wear any color shoes we want as long as it's closed toe," I point out defensively, closing my eyes while the shaking of the train hypnotizes me into calm.

I feel his head shift towards me. "Didn't sleep well?" he asks, just loud enough for me to hear over the rattling.

I shake my head, not bothering to verbalize my answer. I have this strange talent of being able to sleep anytime and anywhere, especially when there's ambient noise and rocking.

Bakugou leaves me alone to my relaxation until we're about to reach our stop. "We have to get off soon. Get up."

"I don't wanna," I nuzzle myself into his warmth.

There's a pause. "Does that mean I need to carry you out?"

My eyes shoot open. Oh. But as I'm about to protest, something makes me stop. "Sure." I realize I'm only half joking.

The doors open. "Okay then," he shrugs.

I don't have any time to retract my statement. Bakugou tucks one arm under my knees and the other around my back as he stands up, my body cradled in his arms. My heart loses all sense of rhythm and blood rushes to my ears. I barely hear the sound of some guy whistle and say, "Wow, look at these two!"

He walks off the train as if this is the most normal thing in the world. Other passengers glance and smile to themselves when they see us, but my vision is too blurry to focus on any of them. I bury my head in Bakugou's chest in shame. "Okay, you can put me down now, Bakugou," my voice comes out feebly.

"Just a little more, I want to get you to the front of the train," he responds with a hint of teasing.

"N-No, please put me down." Before I die of shame and all these people see us like this.

Bakugou obliges, setting me down on shaky legs near a pole and I shift away from him. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

I don't know if it's the adrenaline, the nerves, or the act of Bakugou exhibiting real boyfriend behavior towards me for the first time, but I build up the courage before I can stop myself from saying, "See? T-This is why everyone thinks we're dating."

A moment of pause. "Well, we can try, if you want."

I finally spare a glance at his face. Everywhere from his cheeks to his ears up his forehead is burning red as my shoes, and he's rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly to try and keep his cool.

My heart thumps in my ears seeing Bakugou this flustered and bothered. It's happening. "I'd like that."

The sight of his smile melts all my anxiety. He closes the distance between us, grabs my shoulder, and asks, "Can I kiss you?"

I shiver at his breath caressing my face and nod before he presses his lips to mine, crushing our noses together and sending waves of weightlessness in my stomach. His hand moves up to cup my face before pulling away with a smirk. "I've been wanting to do that for a while. I think you did too."

I avert my eyes from his teasing gaze. "Maybe."

He pulls me back in for another kiss, this one more needy as his lips move quicker, almost like he wants to devour me. Time seems to slow down around us, not caring if people are watching. Bakugou's other hand grips my waist just as my train rushes through the station. He parts our lips but keeps our foreheads together. "Your train doesn't want us together," he chuckles before placing another quick kiss on my nose. "Go on, I'll see you Monday."

I nod, still dazed as I board my train and grab the nearest pole for support. The train pulls out of the station and I'm speechless and shaking, still tasting the faint chocolate from his kiss against my lips.

I sit in a chair and slump down, my heart rate coming down and the adrenaline wearing off. My phone vibrates when I get a text.

You taste sweet ;) Can't wait to see you again

Babe

I almost choke hearing his voice say that inside my head, but I can't stop the smile from splitting my face open. I'm mentally kicking myself for confessing on a Friday.

#Bakugou x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugou fluff #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou imagine #bakugou scenario #gender neutral reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction

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dotthings · 5 years ago

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Okay SPN 15.04, here we go, where I feel weirdly self-conscious about posting a meta post about an ep that had so much meta on itself and now I’m going to write meta about it, so it’s meta on meta on meta, while I’m having my feelings.

THAT COLD OPEN HOLY CRAP DIRECTOR JENSEN. As a director Jensen always pulls out warm performances from actors and he’s a really kinetic director too. That opening fight sequence I held my breath for a lot of it.

BENNY OH NOES IT’S BENNY (this must be the character Jensen said was one of his favorites and the actor came back to set for one day to do it). “I’ll see you on the other side, brother.” Thanks so MUCH, spn, I thought I was over this and then you come in and reopen that and now I’ve got feelings gdi. Benny was a good friend to Dean. My heart hurts.

Ohshitohshitohshitohshit demon blood Sam. Noooooo. And he kills Dean. I can never erase these images from my mind, thanks a LOT spn.

Just a nightmare of Sam’s except no probably not given Sam’s god-wound, so wow this maybe happens on one of Chuck’s other worlds, that’s fine, oh that’s okay I’m fiiiiine, it’s fine. *covers face*

So we have a flip on early S14 here where Dean was turtling to cope with his trauma which is a healthy thing to do but hiding from the world wasn’t going to fix anything so Sam coaxes him out with a hunt. Dean coaxes Sam out with a hunt only I don’t think hunting works for Sam the same way, it’s not Sam’s mental comfort food the way it is for Dean, but still I appreciate the mirroring there.

Sam’s struggling with Rowena’s death and I think those horrific AU nightmare visions aren’t helping much either, but it’s clear he’s feeling the loss. Her loss, all the recent losses.

Dean trolls Sam with real bacon, which seems like Dean is maybe trying to cheer Sam up by pranking him and trying to cheer himself up via food pranks. Dean has quite the case of the munchies in this ep.

I noticed almost every scene Dean is snacking or drinking from his flask. How’s that whole “Cas walked out and left apparently for good” working out for you Dean, wow, you’re suspiciously chipper while stuffing your face and drinking and Not Talking About It. Did Sam and Dean talk about where’s Cas? Who knows, the ep didn’t mention it, hey SPN you needed a Cas mention, OH WAIT THE EP IS GOING TO CALL ME OUT FOR SAYING THAT.

Seriously though, this is very Dean MO, and I have thoughts about his mood in this ep and how Cas’s absence was felt, and what it means, I’ll get to that later, but even before the last scene Impala talk, I was thinking Cas is a reminder of pain--and no it’s not all about Dean’s anger at Cas, it’s not because Dean is angry at Cas. Cas is a reminder of some things Dean just isn’t coping with very well and part of the problem is Dean cares so much.

So Dean’s snacking and drinking and Sam is feeling the weight of them knowing all the scary things out there while people go on obliviously with their lives and I’m not sure if Sam is envying them or Sam is feeling some existential angst about the state of the world, how people can go about their lives unaware there are real monsters ready to pounce and tear their lives to shreds. And feeling the weight of the job they do in every bone of his body. Sam’s in a dark headspace.

Ok I admit I was not thrilled to see Becky again given her previous episodes and role. SPN’s later in-canon fan characters were much more nuanced and successful and respectful depictions of fans. But as with many other things, this era of SPN is revisiting some things to move them forward in a different way than before, and subvert some things that needed subverting and Becky has had--wait for it--character development. How about that.

Yes, Becky, run, you do not want anything to do with Chuck. Run, Becky run. I’m rooting for her now. RUNNNN.

Along with finding a more constructive way of channeling her interest in the Winchesters’ lives, and having a satisfying fandom creative life and a full life of her own, Becky has funko pops of Sam, Dean, and Cas. LOL. I see you spn.

Dean, still with the case of the munchies. So this is like the eating a whole pint of ice-cream after a break-up, only Dean does it with junk food while hunting vampires.

I enjoyed this conversation between Becky and Chuck about writing immensely. Becky is actually right. Speaking myself as someone who’s suffered from writers block for a while, it’s miserable, and not writing just perpetuates the cycle. You feel cut off from an important part of yourself. And--oh here we go getting meta within meta--I find writing meta on SPN a positive outlet.

“Writing is writing.” Damn Becky’s takedown of Chuck’s derisiveness about fanfic was sizzling and oh excuse me Chuck, what is it you think you were doing with those Supernatural books about your favorite story. Even though he’s the creator, I know. But still. Also seems to be a sly comment on how male-authored “fanfic” based on someone else’s characters or historical characters gets to be professionally published novels and nobody wants to admit it’s fanfic but it is, but women write fanfic and women write novels based on someone else’s characters or historical figures and it gets derided.

Did not expect commentary celebrating the creativity and validity of fanwork of women in particular an episode of SPN, especially not with Becky of all people, but here we are.

Uhhhh is Chuck writing this episode, as it happens? I am seriously uneasy now. What is going on. What is real. Which is what I think Dean is going through because of Chuck and OUCH the Winchesters think they’re free but they’re not but also they are their own people and Chuck isn’t controlling them but it’s like he’s still making the framework?? Or would this case just be happening on his own and Perez is just messing with our heads in this script right now.

Oh damn because this ep wasn’t sadness enough now here we go with the Jack parallels. “I can’t control this.” “I’m a monster.” “I killed someone I love.” Parents doing anything to save their out of control teenage kid or does he need to be killed, so the parents are Cas, while Sam and Dean are Dean.

Interesting that Dean lowered the gun and didn’t kill Jack, but tells Sam they would do that for Jack if it was necessary. You didn’t, though, Dean. You couldn’t go through with it any more than those distressed parents of the vampire teen.

Becky is voicing various non-dire fan complaints here, every lane of the fandom is being gently called out right now. Hahaha including lack of Cas mentions in an ep that pointedly is not!Mentioning Cas because it’s not a mistake there’s actually reasons for that which is just lampshading how much Dean is pointedly Not Going to Talk About Cas.

“Where they sit around doing laundry and talk” -- again every lane of the fandom should feel very called out right now. Seriously, fandom lanes that hate each other’s guts all have that common factor of craving more domesticity, and would like to see the laundry ep of SPN and for many, it has better include Cas, or we’re working through our need for this via fanfics or fanart. Even Jared and Jensen have expressed interest in a “Winchesters do the laundry” kind of episode.

But here’s the thing--here’s the thing about SPN...it depicts domesticity. In small bits of pieces. Even in this ep there’s domesticity. SO HA. It’s not that SPN is against depictions of domesticity, it’s definitely in the toolset of its storytelling, to give the characters more layers, to make their lives seem more real, but there needs to be mostly an action plot because that’s the genre so they mostly kill monsters and we only get nibbles of domesticity.

Becky and Chuck arguing about Chuck’s incredibly dark story ending, after Becky criticized him for the story not having enough bite, was so interesting. While the episode’s dark story ending was actually quite well done IMO and not overdone and yes it’s bleak but it’s supposed to be. So it’s not that sad is always terrible writing, no. It isn’t. But its overuse has been a raging hot topic in spn fandom for years and SPN is a hopeful narrative as well as a bleak one. Overuse of loss of hope and misery can hurt the story, causes a number of fans to become desensitized and lose their emotional engagement for it (which has happened to be at a couple of points in SPN’s long run). So that conversation interested me a great deal, yes it did.

So.....SPN had its current biggest of the biggest of ultimate big bads, the ultimate power God himself, the author, and made him the enthusiast for overuse of the misery pr0n like that’s the only smart way to tell a story. The season’s big bad villain is a misery porn enthusiast.

I’m just gonna....sit here and absorb that for a moment.

Oh and this while all the PR for the show keeps warning us about how sad this story is and how bleak the ending will be, not a happy ending show. Are they warning us? Are they trolling us and misdirecting? Because they made their villain a misery pr0n fanboy and this intelligent, self-aware positive depiction of Becky the fan taking him to task for it.

I feel like could be headed for every story needs its darkness and its light, you need the darkness to appreciate the light, and you need some light or the story is less meaningful. We’ll see.

“I’m a writer,” says Chuck and then takes away everyone Becky loves and then unmakes Becky. This is a purposeful depiction of a writer creator as a sadist. It’s a diabolical reversal on the Stephen King’s Misery scenario. Becky played the deranged fangirl in the past, who kidnaps an object of obsession, now she’s the victim of the deranged sadistic writer who breaks into her home, destroys her life, and then effectively kills her because of his own obsession with making Sam and Dean wretchedly miserable because he thinks that’s the only way to make the story exciting.

*blinks*

In the last scene, oh thanks Sam, for vocalizing the Jack connection.

Hey Dean, that’s really a nice speech and yes Sam did give you a great pep talk but Sam wasn’t the only one who told you what you did still has meaning. This is like 15.01 where Dean is pointedly erasing Cas again despite Cas very obviously having done something Dean refuses to acknowledge. In 15.01 it was Dean leaving Cas out of his us vs the forces of evil speech to Sam, despite Cas having spent most of the ep shooting ghosts in the face and saving Sam’s life twice. Sam and Cas both have given Dean pep talks about the meaning of what they do but only Sam pulled Dean out of it...uhhh yeah that’s not writer error or canon ignoring Cas. That’s Dean trying to push Cas out of his mind. Something there hurts so much Dean isn’t dealing with it right now.

As I said, as I’ve been saying, it’s not so much that Dean is that angry at Cas. It’s not just about Mary. Or about Cas keeping things from him. Although those are all valid reasons for Dean’s hurt and anger. Dean seems to be afraid or hurt over more than that. And his love for Cas, IMO, is part of why this is weighing so heavily. What does he fear. I think it’s connected to the whole existential crisis about Chuck. What if none of this is real. I’ve talked about that in other posts, if none of this is real, if Dean still doubts, then what if what’s between him and Cas isn’t real, what if Cas doesn’t really care about him because none of it real.

Dean valiantly puts a brave face on things here, they keep going, they keep fighting for the sake of those they lost, no matter what, “keep putting one foot in front of the other.” Which makes sense. That’s how you honor those you’ve lost. It’s just that I don’t think Dean has really reached that. He is Not Dealing with an awful lot of stuff here. And we have seen again and again how hard Dean reels from losing loved ones. So what’s going on with Dean here. This is a healthy concept, but not if Dean is just whistling past the graveyard again. This might look like character development except look at what’s been going on with Dean. How deeply losing Mary, losing Jack affected him. The impact of those losses needs to be acknowledged and dealt with in order to truly move on and move forward. It’s like Dean is voicing a healthy outlook but isn’t actually experiencing it. I think Dean is posturing because if he lets all the hurt it right now, it will devour him.

There’s also the part where Sam and Dean have in the past displayed a lack of ability to just keep on keeping on if they lose each other, so they used to sell their souls, or violate the other one’s wishes and autonomy, or let the darkness free, but we’ve also seen them let each other go, and “keep putting one foot in front of the other.” Sam and Dean have done both ways with each other. Dean didn’t exactly just keep on keeping on no problem when Cas died at the end of S12.

Sam voices the other side of things, he can’t just move on right now. He’s feeling all the losses. They’ve piled up and piled up and it’s crushing him. Sam says he "can’t breathe” at times. He brings up Jessica, a loss he suffered 14 years ago.

So Sam and Dean are airing the two aspects of loss and grief on SPN. One the one hand, you don’t just give up and quit because of loss. Honor who you’ve lost and keep on fighting. But losses are deeply felt, and it’s not all okay either. Sam and Dean don’t just shrug off these losses because they have each other. That’s not how this works. They need more than just each other and SPN is increasingly having more and more open dialogue about all of this.

S15 so far has been so much about the impact losing people they love has on Sam and Dean, and why their isolation isn’t a good thing.

And there’s Chuck, the big bad, typing away to add more misery. Because Chuck gets off on giving them loved ones and taking them away, over and over and this isn’t presented as a good thing or a satisfying thing or a desirable thing or a celebration of anything.

#Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Chuck Shurley #Becky Rosen #spn #supernatural #supernatural spoilers #meta #Sam and Dean: a work in progress #Destiel #Team Free Will #Jack Kline #Castiel

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anavoliselenu · 7 years ago

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Confessed man chapter 11

‘Where are we?’ I ask, searching around for any sign of something appealing. There is nothing, only derelict land, this hideous, dusty, shambles of a road and a few houses. No, not houses, shacks would be more apt. There can’t be any people living in them.

‘This is paradise, baby.’ Justin says, deadly serious. I almost laugh, but worry is preventing it. I’ve seen paradise, in pictures mainly, and this couldn’t be any further removed. I’m about to demand that he turn around, but then a colossal set of wooden, planked gates come into view and my attention is captured by the high, whitewashed wall stemming from each side and stretching out into the distance. And then I see it.

Paradise.

There is a sign on the wall next to the gate and it says Paradise. He cannot be serious. Paradise? Not only is it not paradise, but could he have picked a cheesier name for a place to stay? Paradise? Those walls don’t look like they’ve been touched by any white-wash paint in two decades, and I’m starting to feel nauseous from being tossed around in this lovely car. He’s brought me to this dump? He has me to himself for three days and he’s brought me here? I would rather sleep in the car. My tranquil mind isn’t feeling so tranquil, not now that I’m surrounded by this most un-tranquil vista. Yes, it’s quiet, but the whole deadness of our surroundings is just making it feel eerie, rather than peaceful.

‘Justin…’ I’m not sure what to say. He doesn’t seem in the least bit perturbed by all of this, which leaves me thinking that he’s been here before. If he has, then why would he return? I’m not given any explanation, he just flips a switch and smiles fondly as the wooden gates start to creak open. He has been here before. I choose to keep my mouth shut, despite my better judgment. I’m not staying here. No way.

I’m having a good mental sulk in my seat when we breach the gates and we’re immediately closed in by darkness, a canopy of the greenest green I’ve ever seen, draping over us and the driveway ahead. Clusters of white flowers are spotted here and there among the foliage and the most potent fragrance is seeping into the car, even with all of the windows closed.

‘That smell.’ I sniff deeply and exhale on a sigh.

‘This is nothing. At nightfall it’s pungent.’ Justin breathes in deeply himself, humming in pleasure as he exhales. I’m totally intrigued. He’s mentally reminiscing.

Whilst the smell is heavenly, I’m still concerned by our location, but then the sunlight flickers towards the end of the concealed driveway and the shards of flashing lights stabbing at us through the windscreen makes me squint, even through my shades. It’s like a light has been abruptly switched on and all of a sudden, I’ve been transported to…

Paradise.

My breath catches in my throat, and I unclip my belt to sit forward, blinking to ensure that I’m not imagining this. The grimy, concrete and wasteland jungle is no more, and in its place is an idyllic haven, bursting with greenery, neatly trimmed lawns and pergolas dripping in pompoms of red flowers. We’re suddenly not moving anymore, and I waste no time ejecting myself from the car, shutting the door and absorbing my new, improved surroundings. I start walking across the rumbled, cobbled driveway towards the terracotta villa up ahead, not bothering to wait for Justin, or even to check that he’s following. I take the steps up to the veranda that circles the entire property and turn to get the full view of the grounds.

Paradise.

When I think that I’ve taken it all in, I turn my attention back to Justin, finding him sitting on the bonnet of the DBS, legs stretch and crossed at the ankles. His arms are folded over his chest, too. And he’s smiling. ‘What’s my beautiful girl thinking?’ he shouts over to me.

My hand reaches out and pulls a stray leaf from the shrubbery hanging from some trellis on the veranda. I smell it and sigh. ‘I’m thinking that I’ve just officially arrived on Central Justin Cloud Nine.’

‘Where?’ The confusion and amusement in his tone is clear.

I grin, drop the leaf, and start running towards him, only vaguely registering his increased amusement as he stands and readies himself for my attack. I launch myself at him, my body taking up the usual baby monkey style hold, and I tackle his mouth, full of enthusiasm. He doesn’t stop me. He holds me under my bum and smiles around my brute force.

‘It’s my most favourite place in the world.’ I say, easing up on his lips and looking down at him, noticing immediately that his wayfarers are still fixed to his face. I pull them off so I can see all of him.

‘Are you happy?’ he asks, despite it being transparently obvious that I’m delirious with delight.

‘Delirious.’ I thread my fingers through his hair and give it my usual little tug.

‘Then my work here is done.’ His mouth goes to my neck and bites lightly before he disconnects me from his body. ‘Let me get the cases.’

‘I’ll help.’ I say automatically, following him to the rear of the car. I‘m soon halted when he turns and flashes me a cautionary look. ‘Okay, I won’t help.’ I hold my hands up and fetch my bag from the car instead, then follow Justin back towards the single storey villa.

He drops the cases briefly while he tries at least three different keys in the lock before finally arriving at the correct one. The door opens, and I’m ushered in to complete darkness, with only slices on light penetrating the gaps between the closed shutters. I can’t see much, but I can smell, and that perfume is rife inside, too, the potency incredible and lingering everywhere.

‘Wait here.’ Justin instructs, dumping the cases by the door and disappearing outside again. I stand, gazing around the walls for a light switch, but I can’t see a thing, even with the faint light pouring in from the doorway. And then it’s like a spotlight has hit a blackened stage when a sudden gush of sunlight shoots across the room and collides with the wall opposite. Then there’s another, this one coming from another window, the arrow of light sailing through the first beam, creating a bright cross of light in the dimness of the room. And another, then another. I watch as the space transforms into a busy crossroads of light lines until there is no more darkness, just sunlight streaming in from every window and door. My sensitive eyes want to close, but it’s impossible when there is so much to focus on. The walls are smooth and white, the floor is laid in giant honey coloured flagstones, with cream rugs scattered randomly and a giant U shaped couch facing the doors that lead to a pool surrounded by bright green grass. And beyond that, a beach.

‘Oh wow,’ I breathe, walking tentatively forward, my excitement building the closer I get and with the more that comes into view. Before I know it, I’ve crossed the terrace, padded my way over the lawn, and I’m standing, fiddling with a cast iron gate that’s getting between me and the beach.

‘Here,’ Justin’s hand is suddenly on mine, and a key is inserted into the lock, opening the gate and allowing me to pass through.

Ten wooden sleepers formed as steps and covered in sand and grass take me down to the beach. It’s deserted, and as I look each way for any sign of life, I realise we’re in a bay. There are no other properties in sight - no beach bars, no hotels, not anything. It really is just us, this beautiful villa, and the midnight blue warmth of the Mediterranean.

‘Still on Central Justin Cloud Nine?’ he whispers in my ear, slipping his forearm around the tops of my shoulders and pulling me back to rest against his chest.

‘I am. Where are you?’

‘Me?’ he asks, kissing my cheek softly and sliding his palm onto my tummy. ‘Baby, I’m in paradise.’

I close my eyes on a contented smile and sink into his body, my hand finding his on my stomach, our fingers intertwining and feeling each other. Central Justin Cloud Nine really is Paradise.

* * *

We spend the rest of the afternoon unpacking, taking delivery of groceries and Justin gives me a guided tour, showing me the six en-suite bedrooms, all with doors leading to a different part of the veranda. The kitchen, which is white and modern, has wooden stained worktops and little touches like the suspended wooden grid with cast iron pans hanging over the cooking area to maintain the rustic feel of the villa. As an interior designer, I’m in awe. I couldn’t have done a better job myself. The bedrooms are all plain walled, but with sumptuous fabrics dressing the beds and billowing voile hanging at the windows. Sporadically placed canvases take the edge off the sparseness of the plain walls and all of the randomly placed rugs break up the vastness of the flagstone flooring that runs through the entire villa. This place features in Justin’s history, I’m sure, but I don’t press it. He told me only that the renovations have been underway on and off for many years, so I gather he owns this place. But I didn’t have it confirmed.

Now we’re sat at the gigantic wooden table between the kitchen and the lounge space with a jug of ice water, and the questions are not prepared to stay in my brain for much longer. This place holds significance somewhere in Justin’s life and my curious mind is struggling to hold back.

He watches me with a small smile as I lift my glass to my lips before he proceeds to quench his own thirst, still keeping his eyes on mine. I’m desperate to ask, and he knows it, but he’s making me suffer. Instead of volunteering the information that he knows I’m craving, he’s going to make me ask, and I promised myself that I would never push him for information on his history again. It doesn’t matter to me anymore, but its lack of importance clearly fails to prevent the inquisitiveness in me. I can’t help it.

I’m thankful when he speaks before me, preventing me from firing off a round of questions. ‘Would you like something to eat?’

I can’t prevent the surprised look from jumping onto my face. ‘Are you going to cook for me?’ There’s no Cathy here, and he knows I hate cooking.

‘I could’ve had staff, but I wanted you to myself.’ He grins that roguish grin. ‘I think you should look after your husband and fulfil your obligation as my wife.’

I cough a little at his arrogance. My obligation? ‘When you married me, you knew I hated cooking.’

‘And when you married me, you knew I couldn’t cook.’ he counters cockily.

‘But you have Cathy.’

‘In England I have Cathy to feed me, which is a good job as my wife doesn’t.’ He’s serious now. ‘In Spain I have my wife. And she’s going to make me something to eat. You did a good job with the chicken.’

He’s right, I did, but that doesn’t mean I enjoyed it, although I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy watching him eat it. I was looking after him for a change, and with that thought I’m oddly keen to prepare a meal for him. ‘Okay,’ I stand up. ‘I’ll fulfil my obligation.’

‘Oh good. It’s about time you did what you’re told.’ he says candidly, no smile, no humour. ‘Get to it, then.’

‘Don’t push it, Ward.’ I warn, leaving him at the table and making my way to the fridge. It doesn’t take me long to decide what to cook. I grab some peppers, chorizo sausage, rice and mushrooms, along with some lamb cutlets, and transport them to the worktop before locating a chopping board and a knife.

I set to work, halving the peppers and deseeding them, and then chopping the mushrooms and sausage finely and frying it all off. I boil the rice, chop some fresh bread and pan fry the lamb. And the whole time he sits and watches me busy myself, with no offer of help and no attempt to make conversation. He just quietly observes me fulfilling my obligation to feed him.

I’m halfway through stuffing the peppers, when he appears in front of me, leaning across the counter from the other side. ‘You’re doing a great job, lady.’

I pick my knife up and wield it at him. ‘Don’t patronise me.’ I’m shocked when his relaxed face flashes black and the knife is snatched from my hand.

‘Don’t f**king wave knives around, Selena!’

‘Sorry!’ I blurt, glancing at it in his hand and quickly appreciating my stupidity. It’s a nasty looking blade, and I’m brandishing it about like it’s a rhythmic gymnast’s ribbon. ‘I’m sorry.’ I repeat.

He places it down carefully and seems to gather himself. ‘It’s okay. Forget about it.’

I gesture towards the table for anything to do, other than apologise again. He doesn’t seem happy at all. ‘Do you want to lay the table?’

‘Sure,’ he says quietly, maybe thinking that he’s gone a bit over-the-top, I don’t know, but his withdrawn mood and my scorned state have formed a clear tension.

Justin leaves me and quietly lays the table for two, while I finish preparing dinner.

‘Here,’ I slide his plate in front of him, but before I can pull my hand away, he grabs it and looks up at me with sorry eyes.

‘I over-reacted.’

I feel better already. ‘No, it’s fine. I shouldn’t be so careless.’

He smiles. ‘Sit,’ He pulls my chair out, but as soon as I’ve lowered myself, he stands. ‘We’re missing something.’ he informs me, striding off and leaving me wondering where he’s gone. It’s not long before he’s back, holding a candle in one hand and a remote control in the other. He finds some matches, lights the candle and places it in the centre of the table, then pushes a few buttons on the remote control, filling the villa with a distinct male voice. I recognise it immediately.

‘Mick Hucknell?’ I ask, a little surprised.

‘Or God. Either will do.’ He smiles as he takes his seat.

‘You’re willing to share your title?’ I ask, picking up my blunt knife and safe fork.

‘He’s worthy,’ he replies casually. ‘This looks good. Eat up.’

I acknowledge his nod at my plate with a small smile and carve my way through a piece of lamb, resisting the urge to brandish my knife again when Justin leans over, looking at my meat. He’s checking how well it’s cooked. I help him out, turning my plate so he can see the centre of my lamb cutlet. He should be happy. I like my steak medium, but I love my lamb cooked thoroughly.

I stab a piece with my fork and bring it up to my lips. ‘May I?’ I ask, completely serious and with no hint of a smile on my face, which is good because I’m matching Justin.

‘You may.’ he says, slicing through his own lamb and taking his first bite. He chews, nods and swallows. ‘You can cook, wife.’

‘I’ve never said I can’t. I just don’t like doing it.’

‘Not even for me?’

I flick him a look to gage his expression, and it’s as I feared. There is no humour and he’s not pouting at me playfully. I know where this is heading and whilst I do actually like cooking for him, I wouldn’t want to do it every day. ‘I don’t mind.’ I answer coolly.

‘I like you cooking for me,’ he muses. ‘It’s kind of normal.’

I pause and place my knife down. ‘Normal?’

‘Yes, normal. Like what normal married people do.’

‘Normal, like the wife cooks and the husband eats? That’s a bit chauvinistic.’ I laugh, but he doesn’t. He’s still concentrating on his careful cutting and eating. He wants normalcy? Then he should try being a bit normal himself. But do I want him to be normal? No, I don’t. He wouldn’t be Justin if he was normal. We wouldn’t be us if he was normal. I take another bite of lamb to busy my mouth, instead of calling him a caveman. We’ll never be normal, not completely, and I hope we’re not.

He shrugs, rests his cutlery on the side of his plate and sits back in his chair, slowly raising his eyes to mine as he chews purposely slow. What’s going on in that head of his? The greenness of his gaze has me engrossed, making me slow my own chews down to mimic his. ‘Isn’t this normal?’ he asks, his voice low and throaty.

‘You mean having dinner together?’

‘Yes,’

I shrug a little. ‘Yes, this is normal.’

He nods mildly. ‘What about if I spread you on this table during dinner and f**k you? Would that be normal?’

My eyes widen a little in surprise. I don’t know why because that would be perfectly normal for us. ‘Our normal is you taking what you want, when you want it. You can chuck in a meal cooked by your wife, if you like.’

‘Good,’ He collects his knife and fork. ‘I like our normal.’

I frown at him. What was the point of all that? ‘Is something worrying you?’ I ask.

‘No,’ He answers far too quickly.

‘Yes, there is.’ I fire back, and I think I know what it is. ‘Are you suddenly considering the possibility of no wherever and whenever with two babies around?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Look at me.’ I demand, and he does, but he’s looking at me in shock. I don’t give him a chance to scoff at my order, or ask me who the hell I think I’m talking to. ‘You are, aren’t you?’

His shock turns to a glower. ‘Wherever, whenever.’

‘Not with two babies around.’ I could laugh at him. He has. He’s suddenly well aware that his possession over my body is going to be curbed. I return to my dinner, delighting in this revelation. I can’t believe he hasn’t thought about this already. ‘They’ll need a lot of my attention.’

He points his fork at me. Not his knife, but his fork. ‘Yes, you’re primary role will be the care of our children, but a close second, and I mean a very close second, will be for my indulgence. Wherever, whenever, Selena. I might need to control my craving for you to a certain extent, but don’t think that I’m going to sacrifice devoting my life to consuming you. Constant contact. Wherever, whenever. That’s not going to change, just because we have babies.’ He stabs at a piece of lamb and yanks it off the fork with his mouth.

If wanting me to cook for him was chauvinistic, then I have no idea what that little speech would represent. ‘Even if I’m knackered from night feeds?’ I’m poking.

‘Too tired for me to take you?’ he asks, shocked.

‘Yes,’

‘We’ll get a nanny,’ His lamb takes another vicious stabbing, and I mentally laugh my socks off.

‘But I’ve got you.’ I remind him.

He sighs and drops his knife and fork to his plate. ‘You do,’ His fingertips go to his temples and start rubbing calming circles. ‘You do have me, and you always will.’ He reaches over and takes my hand. ‘Promise me you’ll never say I’m too tired, or I’m not in the mood.’

‘You’re the one who tells me I’m too tired!’ I practically screech. ‘It’s okay for you to knock me back.’

‘That’s because I have the power.’ he says frankly. ‘Promise me.’ he presses.

‘You want me to promise you that I’m here for you to take as and when you please?’

He looks away, only very briefly, before returning thoughtful eyes to me. ‘Yes,’ he says simply.

‘What if I don’t?’ I’m being insolent for the sake of it. I’ll never be too tired for this man, but his sudden epiphany is really quite amusing. He should have thought about all of this before he nicked my pills.

He laughs, and then the arrogant swine only leans back and pulls his t-shirt over his head, revealing himself in all of his clean cut perfection. He looks down at his chest, as if refreshing his own memory of just how incredibly flawless he is. My eyes are on that chest, too. I might even be salivating all over my lamb, but I’m defiantly resisting his tactics. I drink in his godliness, my eyes skipping over every hard piece of him, my mind making a mental note to refresh my mark. It’s fading. ‘You’ll never resist this.’ He gestures to his torso.

My eyes whip back up, seeing self-assured, bright greens. ‘I’m used to it.’ I rip my greedy stare away from the equal perfection of his face and back to my plate. My eyes are not happy and are pulling in my sockets to get another fill. ‘It kind of gets the same old after a while.’ I add as casually as I can.

He’s on me in a second, pulling me from the table and taking me down to a rug on the floor. I don’t get a moment to register what’s happened until I’m barely breathing and he’s coating me completely. ‘You’re a shit liar, baby.’

‘I know.’ I concede. I’m crap at it.

‘Let’s see how used to it you are, shall we?’ He moves my arms to my sides and sits astride of me, pinning me in place. I’m immobile and suddenly very concerned by this situation. I’ve been here plenty of times before, and most of them I came out the other end a very unhappy girl.

‘Justin, please don’t.’ I beg, for very little purpose. I know it will get me entirely nowhere. He’s in a trampling mood, his sudden realisation of how he might be side-lined sparking his animal instinct to stake his claim, and probably mark me, too. He’s like a lion.

‘What?’ he asks, despite knowing damn well what. ‘You’re used to it.’

He’s fully aware that I was feigning nonchalance. I’ll never get used to it, and I’m so glad. I’ll look at him this way, appreciate him this way and become consumed with desire this way for the rest of my days. And I can’t wait. That desire is coursing through my veins right now. It’s always lying dormant in the background, simmering gently, ready for a few right words or a touch. Then the simmering transforms into a fizzing, deep in my tummy, and then impatience, and then torturous pleasure until explosion, whether it’s of the soft, rollover kind, or the mind-bending, screaming kind. I’m starting to fizz now. My tummy muscles are squeezing and he’s probably aware because unlike previous encounters lately, he’s resting on my stomach. Has he had enlightenment that he won’t hurt his babies, as well as being enlightened that I won’t just be his anymore?

My current position and the relentless beat between my thighs is not helped when he raises to his knees and starts unbuttoning the fly of his jeans. This is going to be painful. If he’s going to go full force into dominant Justin, then I want to make the most of it, and I have no hope of seizing the opportunity with my body and arms pinned down. I feel a yell of frustration brewing and as hard as I try to pull my insatiable eyes away from those abdominals as his hands work his jeans, I’m failing miserably. Used to it? Fucking ridiculous thing to claim.

‘Justin, let me up.’ I don’t bother wriggling because it will only tire me out, and I’m storing my energy for what I hope is to come.

‘No, Selena.’ He pushes the waist of his jeans down a little, revealing his tight, white Armani’s. This is getting harder.

‘Please,’ I plead.

There’s a glint of victory sparkling from his hooded eyes, even though we both know he’s not done yet. ‘No, Selena.’ he repeats on a husk, slipping his thumb into the waistband of his boxers.

I catch a glimpse of his dark blonde mass of hair and the unmistakable taut, smooth flesh of his cock. ‘Oh God,’ I close my eyes in hopelessness, hating him and loving him all at the same time. Keeping myself in darkness, I’m beyond mystified when I don’t get the familiar bark to open. I’m not mystified for long, though. Not when I feel movement, and then the sensation of something solid and wet slipping across my lips. Natural instinct kicks in and my lips open, but I don’t get mouth penetration. This might result in my throwing up, but I’m still praying for mouth penetration. I open my eyes to be met by his stomach from where he’s dropped a hand by my head so he’s leaning over me. Glancing up to find his face, I know what I’ll discover, but it doesn’t stop me. I know what look I’ll find, I know it’ll drive me insane with lust, and I know that I’ll be able to do f**k all about it.

And there it is. My Lord, braced on one stupidly solid arm, his obscenely addictive eyes dropped low, his sickening long lashes fanning that stunning face and with a little flick of my eyes, I’m staring at that stomach and chest which should be deemed a hazard. With the added bonus of him holding himself, grazing my lips with the broad magnificence of his cock, I’m ruined. ‘Mouth.’ I demand calmly.

‘What do I do to you, Selena?’ he asks, clearly confident of the answer I’m going to give and teasing me with another dash of contact to my lips.

‘You f**king cripple me!’ I yell on a pointless writhe.

‘Watch your f**king mouth,’ he practically groans the words out, only heightening my simmering state and my aggrSelenation.

‘Please!’

‘Are you used to me?’

‘No!’

‘And you never will be. This is our normal, baby. Get used to this.’ He slides himself into my mouth on a moan, and I accept willingly, elatedly, eagerly. I moan around his invasion, I suck, lap and bite, but I don’t have full control. He’s retaining the power, but I don’t care. It’s contact. ‘Keep it gentle, Selena.’ He forces the words out, and I glance up to indulge in the strain on his face as he watches my mouth indulge on his arousal. ‘I love your f**king mouth, woman.’ His free hand creeps behind my neck and locks on my nape, holding me in place whilst he gently thrusts forward, slow, evenly, deliciously. No hard necessary, but that’s not to say he isn’t fulfilling his obligation to be dominant Justin. He’s worked out the happy medium in our normal relationship, even if I haven’t, but I’m beginning to get it, and he is doing a bloody fine job of showing me the way.

Biting down gently mid-way up his steel length, the tell-tale signs of a regular throb, accompanied by the tensing on his legs which are securing my arms, give me all the prompt I need. My licks and strokes become more forceful, ignoring his demand to keep it gentle. He’s going to come. I moan around him, he bucks on a round of explicit language, but then he’s not in my mouth anymore. He’s pushes himself up to his knees, fists his swollen c**k and watches me with parted lips as he finishes. I’m annoyed, but one of my favourite mental images of all time is being refreshed—the erotic, extraordinary vision of Justin working himself to cl**ax, but this time it’s better because he has just reached up and swept his wet hair from his face, trailing his hand through his dirty blonde mass, ripping the muscles of his chest further. I nearly choke with satisfaction. Given a few more moments, I think I’d orgasm just watching this. Holy shit, he looks divine.

‘Jesus!’ he barks, resting back on his heels and yanking my vest and bra down before positioning his erection between my br**sts and spilling his seed all over my chest. He pants, sweating and wet, rolling himself around, spreading himself everywhere.

Marked.

‘Wherever, whenever, baby.’ he puffs, leaning down and hitting me with a forceful attack of his lips. I accept this willingly, too, letting him continue to take whatever he wants. ‘Fucking perfect.’

‘Hmmm,’ I hum, not needing to actually say anything. It was perfect. He is perfect. ‘Come here.’ He sits up, re-arranges my bra and top before standing and lifting me. He carries me to the table, puts me on my chair and points at my plate. ‘Finish your dinner.’

‘I didn’t throw up.’ I say, almost proudly.

‘Well done.’

‘Why didn’t you come in my mouth?’ I ask, as he buttons up his fly.

His serious face falters, but only a little. Taking his seat, he nods at my knife and fork in a silent instruction, and then takes his own. ‘Might poison the babies.’

If I had a mouthful of lamb, I’d choke, but instead I splutter all over the place in a helpless fit of laughter. ‘What?’ I giggle.

He doesn’t repeat himself, he just winks, and I fall in love that little bit more. ‘Eat your dinner, lady.’

Grinning at my plate, I resume my meal, utterly satisfied, despite my lack of orgasm. I’m still bubbling slightly, but I’m not concerned. ‘What are we doing tomorrow?’ I ask.

‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m bingeing.’

‘You’re keeping me locked up in Paradise all weekend?’ I don’t mind, but it would be nice to go for a walk, perhaps, or maybe even have dinner.

‘I wasn’t going to, but locks can be arranged.’ He slips his fork into his mouth and pulls off a piece of stuffed pepper slowly as he looks at me with raised eyebrows. I’m putting ideas in his head.

There’s no comeback from me. I just widen my grin, consumed with happiness as I continue my attempts to finish my meal.

‘God, I love that f**king grin. Show me.’

I’m not grinning now. I’m smiling properly, and he blesses me with his one reserved only for me, twinkling eyes and all. ‘Happy?’ I ask.

‘Fucking delirious.’

Chapter 24

I know that I’m smiling in my sleep. I don’t even need to open my eyes to grasp my bearings. The cool sea breeze wafting in from the open doors, the mix of salty sea air and that pungent perfume is all the reminder I need. Both of those aromas, though, don’t overpower my most favourite scent in the world that’s embedded in every fibre of the crisp cotton sheets that he’s slept in. But he’s not in the bed.

Opening my eyes, the first thing I see is a ginger biscuit, some folic acid and a glass of water. I smile, collecting the pills and swallowing with the water before munching my way through the biscuit. I shuffle to the edge of the bed and don’t bother with underwear or clothes. We’re alone on a deserted beach, and I haven’t forgotten his demand for me to come down to breakfast just like this every morning, except now I can without the worry of Cathy arriving. So I take my n**ed form out into the main part of the villa to seek out my Lord, but after a few moments of searching, no Lord. I notice the voile at the doors of the living area that lead to the veranda are flapping as the light wind gusts through, so I fight my way through the mass of moving material until I’m on the wooden veranda and taking a deep inhale of fresh air. Perfect. It’s early because the sun is low, but the heat is intense, only slightly weakened by the breeze which is whipping my hair all over my face. I fight to secure it in a loose, messy knot and once my vision is clear, I see him in the distance. He’s running, and he’s running in loose shorts, no t-shirt and no trainers. I lean on the wooden balustrade and happily watch him get closer and closer, his muscular frame shimmering under the morning sun. He could be a mirage.

‘Morning,’ I chirp when he’s a few yards away, sweating and actually a little out of breath. This is unusual. He’s a robot when running, never displaying any signs of fatigue or over exertion.

He grabs a towel that’s draped over a railing and starts rubbing himself on a smile. ‘Good morning, indeed.’ His eyes travel down my nakedness, which is only slightly concealed by the posts that I’m standing behind. ‘How do you feel?’

I have a quick think and do a bodily assessment, concluding that I feel perfect. I don’t feel sick at all. ‘Fine.’

‘Good,’ he approaches the pavilion and looks up at me. ‘Give me a kiss.’

I lean over and peck his lips, his signature smell enhanced by the clean sweat riddling is body. ‘You’re soaked.’

‘That’s because it’s f**king hot.’ He pulls away. ‘Breakfast?’ He asks it as a question, but he doesn’t mean it as a question. If I say no, then without question, I’d be growled at and possibly hauled in and force fed.

‘I’ll make you breakfast.’ I start walking across the veranda, towards our bedroom.

‘Where are you going?’ he calls after me.

‘To put something on.’

‘Hey!’ he shouts, and I turn to see a face awash with disgust. ‘Get your n**ed arse in that kitchen, lady.’

‘Excuse me?’ I laugh.

‘You heard.’ He’s looking at me expectantly, daring me to defy him.

I look down at my bareness and sigh. He won’t be making such demands when I’m fit to burst. I’ll put him off his food, but for now, I’m comfortable in my skin and he’s clearly comfortable looking at it, so I retrace my steps and enter the villa, via the doors to the kitchen, receiving a swift slap of my backside as I pass Justin.

* * *

If our normal is me preparing and eating breakfast with both of us butt naked, then I love our normal. If our normal is taking three hours to get ready because neither one of us can keep our hands off each other, then I really love our normal. If our normal is me putting on a summer dress and being looked at like I’ve totally lost my mind, then I’m not so keen on our normal.

‘Think again, lady.’ He rummages through my clothes, cursing and scoffing to himself as he assesses and tosses each of my beach dresses aside. ‘You’ve done this on purpose.’

‘It’s hot.’ I laugh, standing in the centre of the room in my lace, watching as Justin actually loses his own mind.

‘But Christ, Selena!’ He holds up a strapless playsuit with very short shorts.

‘You said I have great legs.’ I argue.

‘Yes, you have great f**king everything, but that doesn’t mean I want everyone to know it.’ He chucks the playsuit aside and grabs a long, floaty black dress with spaghetti straps. ‘My eyes.’ he affirms. ‘Just for my eyes.’

‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ I snatch the dress from his hands. ‘You were fine with the gown at the anniversary party and my denim shorts.’

‘I wasn’t fine at all. I made an exception, but I saw the way men were looking at you.’

Is he winding me up? ‘I see how women look at you!’

‘Yes, and could you imagine how they’d look at me if I was prancing around half naked?’ He nods at the dress. ‘You can wear that.’

‘You’re often shirtless.’ I point out. ‘You don’t see me rugby tackling you to the floor to conceal your body. Lighten up!’

‘No!’ he yells.

Our scowls are in competition, but his has definitely got the edge. ‘You’re unreasonable.’ I spit. ‘I’m wearing what I like.’ I chuck the black dress at him and retrieve my dusky pink, halter neck summer dress, stepping in and pulling it up my body.

He watches me violently yanking the dress on. ‘Why do you do this to me?’ he asks, impatiently.

‘Because it’s unreasonable for you to think that you can dictate my wardrobe, that’s why.’ I knot the dress behind my neck and smooth it down, ignoring the low, rumbling growl emanating from my unreasonable Lord. I’ll never back down on this element of our normal relationship. ‘It’s not so bad.’

‘You’re too f**king beautiful.’ he mutters sullenly.

I smile and slip my feet into my flip-flops. ‘But I’m your beautiful girl, Justin.’

‘You are.’ he replies quietly. ‘Mine.’

I take a calming breath and step into his chest. ‘No one will ever take me away from you.’ I don’t know how many times I have to tell him. I know this a fear, but I also know his problem is the army of n**ed women who have paraded around him n**ed for the most part of his life. He doesn’t want men to look at me like they look at those women—the way Justin looked at those women before me.

‘I know,’ he sighs. ‘But is it necessary to pick the tiniest dress on the f**king planet?’

I kiss his cheek. ‘You’re over exaggerating.’

‘I don’t think I am.’ he grumbles, pushing his freshly shaved cheek into my lips. ‘Can we compromise?’

‘Compromise how?’ I ask. He squats and picks up a cardigan, and I start shaking my head. ‘No way, Ward. I’ll pass out.’

Making a ridiculously over-the-top point of demonstrating his exasperation, he drops it and rises from his squatting position. ‘Fine, but I won’t be held accountable if some prick looks at you funny.’

I stare at him a little perplexed as he stands in front of me, looking all fresh and yummy in his heavy board shorts and white Ralph Lauren polo t-shirt, collar turned up, Justin style. ‘I have to deal with the funny looks that you get daily.’

He grins. ‘Yes, and you trample all over them.’

I laugh and make my way from the room. ‘My trampling ritual is a little milder than yours.’

* * *

Paradise just gets better. Whilst letting Justin have his way by keeping me locked up at the villa was really very tempting, I wanted to explore with him, walk along holding hands, have lunch and be together in another way. It’s not happened very often since we’ve found each other and though he had a little sulk about it, I know he’s taken pleasure from me in another way today. His arm around my shoulder has kept me snuggly tucked into him and when we ate at a beach bar, he made me sit closely next to him so he could keep his contact.

It’s dusk by the time we’re bumping down the pot holed road, back to the villa. The familiar fragrance hits my nose as we slip through the wooden gates and drive down the cobbled road beneath the canopy of green and white.

‘Have you had a nice day?’ he asks, shutting the engine off and looking at me almost hopefully.

‘I have, thank you. Have you?’

‘I’ve had the best day, baby. But now I get to pick what we do for the rest of the evening.’ He unclips my belt and leans across to open the door for me. ‘Out.’

I follow through on his order, ejecting myself from the soft leather. ‘What are we doing?’

‘We’re going to play a game.’ He’s on my side of the car now, looking down at me with a crafty, raised brow.

‘What sort of game?’ I’m too curious, and it’s obvious.

‘You’ll see.’ My hand is grasped, and I’m led to the villa. ‘Meet me on the rug in the lounge.’ he instructs, dropping a kiss on my bewildered face and leaving me like a loose part by the front door.

Where’s he going? My frowning face watches his back disappear out of the room towards the bedroom, and with little else to do, except follow through on his instruction, I drop my bag and make my way over to the designated rug, sitting myself down in the soft, thick, pile. My curious mind is racing, but not for long. He reappears shuffling a pack of cards.

‘We’re playing cards?’ I ask, trying not to sound disappointed.

‘Yes,’ His short, simple reply is an indication that we will, indeed, be playing cards, no matter how much I protest. Cards?

‘Wouldn’t you rather binge on me?’ I try temptress tactics, with little confidence. I know when I’m going to win, and now isn’t going to be one of those times.

He eyes me warily as he lowers his arse to the rug, leaning up against the back of the couch with his long legs spread at full length in front of him. ‘We’ll play strip poker.’

I’m promptly fidgeting in my seated position. ‘I don’t know how to play poker.’ I’ll lose, but is that such a bad thing? ‘It won’t be a fair game if I don’t know how to play.’ I decide that it will be a bad thing. He’s smug, and I want to wipe that cocky look clean from his face. My competitive side has just raced to the surface.

‘Okay,’ he says slowly, shuffling carefully to match his thoughtful word. ‘How about pontoon?’ He must catch my confused face because he smiles a little. ‘Twenty one? Stick, twist, burn?’

I look at him blankly. ‘Nope, sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ I stretch my legs out and lean back on my hands. ‘Snap?’

He laughs, that head thrown back, fanning temples laugh—the one I adore. ‘Snap?’

‘Yes, I’m really fast.’

‘Selena, let’s save snap for when the babies arrive.’ He chuckles to himself and deals us two cards each. ‘Okay, I’m the banker and you need to take a look at your cards.’

I shrug and pick them up, noting a ten and a six. ‘Okay.’

‘What do you have?’

‘I’m not telling you!’

He rolls his eyes. ‘We’ll call this a trial run. Tell me what you have.’

I hold my cards to my chest. ‘A ten and a six.’ I say suspiciously.

‘Sixteen, then?’

‘You add them together?’

He’s going to regret this. He might be already. ‘Yes, you add them together.’

‘Right. In that case, I have sixteen.’ I flash him my cards.

He nods his acknowledgment. ‘So the winner is the one who is the closest to twenty one when all players have made their move.’

‘What moves?’ I restrain my grin when he flops his head back, looking up at the ceiling in exasperation.

‘The moves I’m about to explain, Selena.’

‘Oh, okay. Explain away.’

His head comes back down and he blows out a tired breath. He’s definitely regretting this. I bet he’s wishing he’d have opted for bingeing. ‘Right. You have sixteen and you need to get as close to twenty one as possible, without going bust. Bust means over twenty one. Got it?’

‘Got it.’

‘Good. With a total of sixteen, you should twist, which means I deal you another card. Got it?’

‘Got it.’

He pushes another card towards me, and I pick it up stealthily, like he doesn’t already know what I’m holding in my hand. ‘What have you got?’ he asks.

‘A king.’ I’m not a card genius, but I know that makes me bust. I throw my cards on the floor. ‘I didn’t want to twist.’

‘You can’t stick on sixteen, Selena.’

‘But at least I wouldn’t be bust!’

‘No, but it’s likely I’ll beat sixteen, so you may as well risk it.’ He turns his own cards over, revealing a jack and a queen.’

‘Twenty,’ I confirm quickly.

‘Correct. And I’ll stick, so I win.’ He gathers the cards back up and starts shuffling them again. ‘Get it?’

‘Oh, I’m gonna whoop your arse, Ward.’ I rub my hands together and make myself comfortable.

He smiles at my competiveness, probably thinking that I’m deluded. After all, Justin Ward is amazing at everything. ‘We need to talk about stakes, baby.’

‘I’m not hungry, thank you. You’ve fed me enough today.’

His head falls back again as he laughs really hard. I’m trying to keep a serious face, but I so love him when he laughs. ‘I mean what we’re playing for.’ His green eyes land on me. ‘God, I f**king love you.’

‘I know. What are we playing for?’ I’m liking this game more and more.

‘How many items of clothing do you have on?’ His eyes run the full length of my body, as if he’s mentally working it out.

Playing cards doesn’t seem so bad now. ‘Three. Dress, bra and knickers. Oh, and shoes, so five.’ I point to my flip-flops.

‘Take the flip-flops off.’ he commands. ‘I have two.’ He pulls at his t-shirt and his shorts.’

‘What about your boxers?’

‘They were too much of an obstruction.’ he flips casually, dealing us two cards each. I absolutely know where this is going. No obstructions. ‘The first one n**ed loses,’ he grins at me. ‘The winner takes the power.’

I gasp at his amused expression. ‘What happened to wherever, whenever?’

‘I’m being reasonable.’ He shrugs, nodding at my cards. ‘Don’t push it. I could always withdraw my offer of potential power.’

I snatch my cards up carefully and hold them close to my face. He’s as confident as ever, giving me an extra item of clothing. ‘There is nothing reasonable about bargaining for the power in our relationship.’ I glance down at my cards, seeing two sevens. ‘I’ll twist.’

He slides a card over to me, maintaining his grin. ‘It’s all part of our normal, lady. There you go.’

‘Thank you.’ I reply politely, pulling my card from the floor and placing it with my others. It’s an eight. I dramatically huff and toss them between us. ‘Bust.’ I grumble.

He smiles and turns his own cards over, revealing a Jack and a nine. ‘I think I’ll stick.’ he muses. ‘You lose.’ I shake my head as I watch him put the cards down and slowly crawl towards me, his eyes burning into mine with rapt intention. My heartbeat is quickening at the sight of his prowling frame nearing, and when he’s up close, he slowly raises his hands to the back of my neck. ‘Let’s lose the dress.’ he whispers, pulling the straps free of the knot. ‘Up you get.’

I force myself to stand when all I want to do is collapse onto my back and let him take me right now. He can keep the power. I don’t want it. Ever. I watch with lust filled eyes as he grasps the hem of my dress and lifts it up over my head, standing as he rises and chucking it onto the couch when it’s separated from my body.

Leaning into my ear, he bites my lobe. ‘Lace.’ he murmurs, blowing a soft stream of hot air onto my skin. I tense, despite my best efforts not to, and just like that, he leaves me standing like a built up bag of desire and resumes position on his arse. ‘Sit.’

I close my eyes and collect my senses. I need to be strong because this really is a game to him. I sit back down in my lace and like the complete temptress that I am, I spread my legs wide and lean back on my hands. If he’s going to play games, then so am I. ‘Deal again, Lord.’

The knowing smile that creeps across his handsome face indicates his awareness. His temptress is living up to her reputation. He deals the cards, I cautiously look, and then immediately declare my intention to stick. He nods thoughtfully and turns his own cards over. He has a nine and a Queen. ‘Stick.’ He looks at me, and I grin, chucking my two Kings down cockily before making my way over on my hands and knees.

I straddle his thighs and take the hem of his t-shirt. ‘Lose the t-shirt.’ I whisper, pulling it up. He lifts his arms willingly, and I throw it behind him, sighing and leaning in to kiss his chest. ‘Hmmm, hard.’ I grind myself into his lap wickedly, instigating a sharp intake of breath from him, but then I remove myself from his lap and resume my position across the rug. ‘Deal.’

It’s quite obvious he’s fighting the urge to tackle me to the rug. I can tell from the discreet adjusting of his groin area and the vicious biting of his lip. He’s really concentrating, and I’m really loving it. The view is improving with each hand I win, too. Just one more, and he’s mine, power and all.

He deals again, and I sweep my cards up, quickly calculating a total of fourteen. ‘Twist, please.’ I gesture for him to pass a card. A two. Total: sixteen. Crap, I really don’t know what to do now. ‘Stick. No twist!’ He goes to pass me another card on a smile. ‘No! No, I’ll stick.’ I wave away the card, and his smile turns into a grin.

‘Indecisive?’ he asks, taking his leaning body back upright, putting way too much emphasis on that chest.

I blink back my peeping eyes, determined not to lose my concentration. I’m not being distracted, but it’s hellish resisting the urge to steal a look. Or even just gawp at it. ‘No, I’m sticking.’ I affirm snootily.

‘Okay,’ He’s desperately fighting a smile as he turns his cards over. ‘Hmmm, sixteen.’ he muses. ‘What to do?’

I shrug. ‘Your call.’ I don’t reinforce his words from our trial run. I’m dying to, but I don’t. I want to see how Mr Amazing at everything plays this one.

‘I’ll twist.’ he says, turning a card over.

I don’t know how, but I manage to keep a straight face when he reveals a six. ‘Oh dear.’ I whisper, taking my eyes from his cards, up his torso, his neck, and then onto his lovely face. ‘You risked it.’ I chuck my cards at him—the ones that collectively total sixteen. ‘I didn’t. Lose the shorts.’

He examines my cards on a faint curve of his lips, shaking his head. ‘You beat me, baby.’

‘I have the power.’ I start crawling my way over to him, not wanting to delay getting my hands on him. That was the longest card game ever. ‘How do you feel about that?’ I un-zip the fly of his shorts.

He doesn’t try to stop me. He pushes his back into the couch to raise his butt so I can negotiate them down his thighs. With the revealing of his arousal, I struggle to contain myself.

‘I’ll ask you the same question.’ he rumbles, low, throatily and with one hundred per cent sex in his tone.

‘I feel powerful.’ I throw his shorts over his head and take the pack of cards from his hand, placing them neatly to one side.

He reaches forward and rubs his thumb over my bottom lip, dragging it, his lips parting his eyes flicking to mine. ‘What has my little temptress got planned?’

I should push his hand away, but I don’t. ‘She’s going to surrender the power.’ I whisper, placing my hands on his thighs and reaching up until we’re touching noses. ‘What does my God say to that?’

He smiles, that glorious smile. ‘Your God says his temptress has learnt well.’ His big hands curl around my wrists and pull my hands up to rest on his shoulders. ‘Your God says his temptress won’t regret surrendering to him.’ His lips press to mine, and his tongue takes a slow sweep through my mouth. ‘But this God and his temptress both know how our normal relationship works.’ He cups me over my lace knickers and rests his forehead on mine. ‘And it works perfectly.’

I go rigid, but bear down on his palm to get some friction. ‘You’re perfect.’ My lips find his and my hands automatically seek out his hair. I’m yanking at it again. I just can’t help it.

‘I know.’ he mumbles around my demanding lips, sliding his hands around my waist and onto my bum. ‘I thought you surrendered the power.’

I couldn’t stop if my life depended on it, and I’m mentally praying on all things holy that he doesn’t stamp his authority because I’m desperate, craving, needing. ‘Please don’t stop me.’ I’m completely unashamed, still driving my tongue into his mouth.

He groans, pulling me into him and showing no sign of halting this. He’s letting me have my way with him. ‘You know I can’t say no to you.’

‘Yes, you can.’ I argue between firm, deep lashes of my tongue, although I’m stupid to remind him of this right now. He often says no, when I’m tired or if he’s really trampling me.

‘Not now.’ He’s standing with me wrapped around him, and I don’t even know it’s happened. I’m too consumed, but when the cool night air attacks my bare back, I’m pulling myself into his body, holding tighter and kissing harder. My brain isn’t given any space to think about where we’re going. I don’t care.

The rushing sound of the night waves gently lapping at the shore line is the first thing I hear. Then I smell the salty essence of the Mediterranean. There’s a chill in the air, but the warmth of his body fit snuggly to mine eliminates any discomfort. I’m burning up, and I don’t think even the Antarctic would cool me off. The wooden sleepers are taken with care as he carries me down to the sea’s edge, but he doesn’t take me into the water. He kneels and places me down on the soft, damp sand, ensuring our lips remain locked the entire time. My hands are wandering all over his muscular frame, my legs are writhing beneath him, and I’m fast losing my breath, my laboured breathing not helped when a gentle wave gushes up and breaks around my sprawled body, surrounding me in a shallow puddle of cool, salty sea water. My shocked, quiet yelp isn’t containable, my fingernails dig into his biceps and my back arches to try and escape the freshness, my lace covered br**sts pushing into his bare chest. My burnt up state has instantly cooled.

‘Shhhh.’ he calms me, ‘hush now.’ His soft words relax me in an instant. I don’t know how or even why, I’m still cold, but he never fails to soothe me. He kisses his way into my neck, biting and sucking before he’s kissing his way across my face again. ‘I love you.’ he whispers. ‘I f**king love love love you.’

My heart bursts. ‘I know.’ My mouth skims his. ‘I know you do. Make love to me.’ It’s what we need to do right now. No f**king. No hard. Just love.

‘I never planned on doing anything else.’ He’s pulling at my lace and pushing my knickers down my legs. ‘We’ll call this one sleepy twilight sex.’

My hands are sliding up his arms until my palms are cupping his cheeks. His face is perfectly clear to me, despite the blackness surrounding us. Sleepy twilight sex may be a new favourite. ‘Deal.’ I murmur, shifting my legs to assist in the removal of my underwear.

His arm slips under the small of my back and lifts me a little so he can access the back of my bra. It’s removed with one hand and slid down my arms where I leave it suspended between my two wrists that refuse to release his face. I want to keep my lips on his, the gentle caressing of his tongue on mine sending me right to the highest level of Central Justin Cloud Nine. My ni**les pucker further, tingling with coolness but mostly with desire. And then he’s pulling his face from my hands on a moan and rearing back. He studies me for a few moments before sinking into me meticulously, thoroughly, perfectly, halting when he’s only half submerged.

His face is unreadable, but those greens are telling a whole other story. They are seeping into the deepest part of me. They are spilling with awe and devotion. ‘All the way?’ he asks, so quietly I almost don’t hear him above the light rush of waves.

I nod and tip my hips, quietly impatient. My alluring ploy works. He inhales a shaky breath and quickly lifts me when another wave creeps up on us. I cry out at the coldness again, but his sudden full penetration is more of the cause. He’s holding me against him as the water recedes, my cheek pressed to his throat, and then I’m on my way back down to the sand. My hands find their place on his shoulders and his forearms find their place on either side of my head. And we just look at each other. This in itself is beyond pleasurable. He’s completely filling me, and I can feel him pulsating. I’m even contracting around him, but neither one of us has any urgent need to hurry this along. It’s chilly, we’re both wet, but we’re perfectly happy. Nothing around us exists, just how we like it.

‘Do you want me to move?’ he drops his mouth to mine. ‘Tell me what you want, baby.’

‘Just you. However you come.’

‘I come with uncontrollable love for you. Is that good enough?’

It’s more than good enough. I kiss him instead of answering him, but he pulls away, his heavy, hooded eyes looking for a verbal reply. ‘It’s good enough.’ I accept on a quiet sigh, feeling like I’ve probably just sanctioned his challenging ways. But it is good enough.

‘I’m glad.’ He rocks his h*ps upwards, drawing a quiet intake of breath from me and strained neck muscles from him. ‘You feel so f**king good. I don’t know how I ever survived without this. I existed, Selena. I didn’t live.’ He pulls gradually out and pushes lazily back into me, pressing his lips to mine to capture my small cry of pleasure, mixed with more coldness as another wave surprises me. ‘Now I live. And it’s only for you.’

‘I understand.’ I say around his mouth, because I know that’s his next question. ‘I understand all of that.’

‘Good. I need you to,’ Out and in again, and there’s a sigh and tensing from both of us. ‘I love our normal.’

I smile, and squirm beneath him on another meticulous plunge. Our normal. I love our normal, too. Our normal is Justin loving me so violently, it drives him crazy. It’s me returning that love. And it’s me accepting him in all of his challenging ways. I’m so over it.

I’m not even feeling the coolness of the sea lapping around me now. Desire is coursing through my veins, heating my skin, and I’m grabbing on to every drive with every muscle I possess. I equal his passion with my own, kissing him and feeling him, yanking at his hair and moaning. He’s swaying those h*ps back and forth so precisely, so evenly, that each thrust is hitching me steadily closer to cl**ax. The softness of his tongue exploring every part of my mouth and the hard velvet of his c**k sliding in and out of me is utter ecstasy, as always.

I let my displeasure be known when he breaks our mouth contact, but he ignores me, pulling back to study me while he maintains his pace. ‘I need to see you,’ he breathes. ‘I need to see those eyes smoulder when you come for me.’

‘Justin,’ I’m panting. He won’t have to wait very long at all. The switch is flicking, courtesy of my Lord and his expert way with me. Knowing I’ll get chastised if I close my eyes, I work hard to resist the temptation of throwing my head back and clenching them shut. It’s hard when he’s doing this to me.

He lifts his upper body and braces himself on his fists. ‘She’s close.’ he observes quietly. ‘Control it, Selena. Don’t make me stop.’ He increases his pace, never allowing his eyes to leave mine.

‘Please, don’t stop.’ My hands find their way to his arse and grab on hard, pushing him into me.

‘You know what to do, then.’ He circles firm and deep, almost purposely making this more difficult for me. I bite back a cry, mustering up all of my strength to delay the inevitable until he’s ready. This calls for deep, controlled breaths, so I swallow hard and begin a sequence of breath regulating exercises. He knows that I’m struggling. He knows because there is a faint shimmer of a knowing smile looking down at me, and he’s firming up his strokes. His biceps are bulging, too, indicating a shifting of his fists in the sand where he’s trying to gain more leverage to torment me with his punishing love making. And God does he succeed. Every single time it just gets better and better.

I’m lying under him, soaking up his attentiveness, biting harshly on my lip, and I’m sizzling, bubbling, dying to let go. Through my wild sensuality, I’m searching for any sign that he may be close himself, and I begin to despair when I find nothing, but then his greens disappear behind his eyelids, only very briefly, and his h*ps jerk. He’s struggling. Fearful that he might slow to gather himself, I quickly wrap my legs around his waist and use every leg muscle I own to push him into me. It’s his downfall. He hisses, bucks again, and I shout my appreciation, moving my hands to his forearms and gripping hard.

‘You little… FUCK!’ His head flies back and his smooth pace rapidly advances into firmer strokes. I take the opportunity of his gaze away from mine to squeeze my eyes shut. I hold my breath, too. ‘Eyes!’ My darkness was brief. My lids are open again, and they are looking at a damp, hard face of frustration. Frustration that he can’t control it. ‘Fucking hell, lady.’ he pants. ‘You want to come?’

‘Yes!’

‘I know.’ He pistons into me, yells explicitly, time and time again, and then he barks ‘Come.’ And I’m besieged, my whole body going into meltdown as it’s attacked with violent shakes and is palpitating from the consistent bursts of release that just keep coming and coming and coming. I’m heated completely, his cum flooding me as he stills, moaning and grinding.

His breathing is sharp. My breathing is challenged. He’s still braced on his arms and he’s sweating profusely, while I’m rolling my head from side to side, almost disorientated from the intensity of my cl**ax.

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