Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
“And you refused to go.”
“Yes, I hadn’t ventured into the rooms of The Manor at that point. I was still a manor virgin, but on my eighteenth birthday, Carmichael let me loose in the bar. Worst thing he could’ve done. I slipped right in. It came naturally. Too naturally.” I look down when she moves, gazing up at me. She’s taking it all quite well. “If simply being at The Manor took my mind away from my troubles, then being drunk and having sex at The Manor eliminated them completely.”
“Escapism,” she says, and I nod. “What did Carmichael think about all of this?”
“He thought it was a phase, that it would pass.” Pain. “Then he went and died on me too.”
“And your parents tried to make you sell The Manor.” She whispers her words, hesitant, building the picture.
“Yeah,” I breathe, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I see my father’s face. His fury when I calmly and confidently told him I wouldn’t. I remember so vividly how I felt in that moment too. Immovable. The Manor had quickly become a safe haven. The thought of losing that was . . . well, unthinkable. It was like losing Carmichael all over again. Jake too. Now, though? I inhale through that thought. Now, what? Would I feel differently? “They soon flew home from Spain at the news of my uncle’s death,” I say, robotic, my mind elsewhere. Like on a golf resort. “They found me, a younger version of the family black sheep, lording it up, drinking, and gorging on women.” Emancipation. “I’d experienced freedom without them trying to mold me into suitable son material.” No pressure. “I’d grown cocky and confident, and I was also extremely wealthy.” Approval. Fucking hell. “I told them where to shove their ultimatum. The Manor was Carmichael’s life, and then it became mine. End of.” But not the end, apparently. The Manor. It’s just a building. And yet so much more than bricks and mortar. And for the first time ever, now I’ve let my mind venture to potentially selling it, I consider what my parents were doing.
Trying to save me.
The thought comes from left field, shaking me. Jesus Christ. They were trying to save me. I shake my head, feeling a bit dazed and confused, and offer a small smile as Ava stares at me, taking it all in.
As I’m trying to take in my revelation too.
Her chest dips—a breath—and I breathe in too, waiting for what she will say as she braces herself. “Our children will be whoever they want to be.” She slides up my body and licks my chin, nibbling. “As long as they don’t want to be playboys.”
I laugh to myself, clawing my fingers into her soft, peachy arse. And there it is. They can be whoever they want to be. So long as it doesn’t involve The Manor. Isn’t that how my parents thought? Was that love or was that continued judgment? Rejection. Scorn. Because what would I do if my children wanted to become a version of me in my past? I’d try to stop them. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, lady,” I whisper, swallowing.
“I think it does.” Her breathy words in my ear sends bolts of pleasure directly into my dick, which is a welcome distraction from thoughts about my parents.
And I’m running with it. “You’re right, it does.” I push her up my body and pout at the bruise on her boob. “My mark is fading.”
“Freshen it up, then,” she teases. So I do as I’m bid—with pleasure—and suck her flesh into my mouth, smiling when she groans.
“Nice?”
“Hmmm.”
Yeah, really nice. My tongue traces the edge of her areola, flicks across the stiff peak. She tastes phenomenal. “Ava,” I mumble, feeling my dick begin to throb demandingly. Down boy. “I’m not sure how I feel about our babies taking to your breasts.” I peck her gently and let her slip back down my body. Epic mistake. The friction of her sliding over my groin sends blood surging unmercifully. “Oh no, we can’t. I won’t, Ava.” I try to get her off my lap, wary of the steely determination in her eyes. I’ll never be able to say no. “And don’t you dare kick into temptress mode, either.” Christ, she’s six weeks. I can’t even bring myself to recall all of the brutal fuckings she’s received in that time. But now especially, off the back of a car accident, there is no way I’m putting my dick in her. No.
“Cornwall,” she says simply, and I still. She didn’t just say that.
“You’re not going anywhere.” I leave her on her knees and stand. Look down at her. Fuck. Her eyes on my erection sparkle with want, her wet skin glistens. Hot. I need to get out of the tub. I engage my muscles and freeze when her dainty hand wraps around me, bolts of pleasure shooting through my wet body. “Fuck,” I hiss. “You little fucking tormenter.”