“She’s fine,” I reassure the nosey woman then begrudgingly make my way over to Charlotte. I kneel in front of her and ignore the statue with every fibre in me. “You’re making a scene, Charli—“
She drops her hands from her face with lightning speed and clasps mine which I’ve placed on her knees. Her eyes are wide like saucers, wide and dry; completely tear free.
“He’s not real,” she whispers, focussing intently on my face.
I feel her lift my hand and move it toward the statue. What. The. Fuck?
I go to pull my hand away but she secures it with her other hand, now having both hands wrapped around mine. Intrigued by the determination in her face—because let’s face it, I could lift her up and out of this seat with my pinky finger—I play along for a second.
“I’m not touching the statue,” I say with stern words.
“Yes, you are. You need to,” she retorts, just as sternly.
“Charlotte. I. Am. Not. Touching. That. Statue,” I say again, placing her hand back on her knee.
She doesn’t let go of mine, and this time her faux sadness becomes real. “I don’t want you to be scared.”
In this moment, my heart fills with love. “Sweetheart, I don’t want to be either. But I can’t help it.”
“But Bryce, look at him. He is just paint and...” she knocks on his leg. “Plastic?”
I drop my head, knowing she’s right—apart from the plastic—technically, he’s fibreglass.
Breathing in deeply and drawing on every bit of will power I own, I look up and place my hand on Ronald’s knee. “Is that better?”
“I don’t know, you tell me,” she says with a tear filled smile.
So much like her mother.
I stand, pulling her up with me and placing her on my hip. Then I lie. “Yeah, much better.”
Later that night after the kids are in bed and Brayden is asleep for what we hope is at least six hours, I walk into the ensuite to the sound of the shower running and Alexis humming what I soon make out is Cold Chisel’s “Flame Trees”.
Propping myself against the door frame, I watch as she soaps her body. She has her back to me which I’m thankful for, because it affords me a little extra time to take in the curved silky body that rocks my world.
Grabbing my t-shirt from behind, I pull it over my head and drop it to the floor, quiet so that I don’t alert her to my presence—I want to surprise her. I unbutton my jeans then pull them down over my already hard dick. And taking myself in my hand, I slowly palm my length to ease the intense throbbing that has surfaced.
I’m eager to touch every inch of her, so make way into the shower and secure her from behind, cupping her pussy with one hand and placing the other on her neck. She jolts in surprise for the split second it takes her to realise I am the one holding her captive.
“It’s been 27 days since I’ve been inside you, Alexis. 27 fucking agonizing days,” I whisper harshly into her ear.
My finger flexes and massages the soft skin of her clit, while my other hand firmly clenches her neck but not enough to make her feel uncomfortable.
She moans and her legs weaken, but being so attuned to her body, I predict this movement and support her waning frame.
“Can you feel my cock on your arse?” I question, nipping at her ear before running my tongue along the back of her neck. “How hard I am?”
An indistinct word is mumbled from her mouth as I press my finger deeper into her wet skin. Alexis begins to rock her hips against my hand, and her head falls back onto my shoulder, baring her neck. I loosen my grip and lightly trail my hand up and down her neckline.
“Please tell me I can fuck you.”
With her eyes still closed and water streaming down her chest, she licks her lips. “You can.”
I let out a growl, something I do often when around this woman. “That’s not what I asked you to say.”
I want her to tell me I can fuck her; hear those dirty little words beg for it.
Alexis tilts her head to face me, grabs a handful of my hair, and brings my mouth to hers, all the while forcing my finger inside her pussy. “You can fuck me,” she mumbles, aggressively.
My body responds to her request, tensing and magnetising to her soft wet skin. I slide my finger in and out of her and join it with a second, gently stretching her in preparation for my cock. The last thing I want to do is hurt her, after all, it’s only been four weeks since she gave birth.
“Does that feel good?” I ask her, making sure she is enjoying what I’m doing.
Her body indicates that she does, but I want to hear her say it...purr it.
“Yes, it feels...so good,” she moans.
I press my mouth to hers again and stroke her tongue with my own, tasting all she has to offer. She is my delicacy; my desired flavour.
Alexis breaks away from my mouth and bends forward, placing her palms flat against the tiled wall and widening her stance. Dropping my hand from her throat, I glide it down in between her breasts only to rest it upon her hip.
With a delectable moan slowly pouring out of her mouth, she presses her arse against the crown of my dick, allowing me to glide and swirl it around her opening.
“Fuck,” I ground out, now desperate to feel her pussy walls clenching around my cock.
Slowly, I press into her, closing my eyes with the superb sensation of her warmth which has been 27 days in waiting. The air surrounding her mouth is sharply inhaled, and it worries me for a split second that she isn’t quite ready like she says she is.
Just as I am about to withdraw, she lets out the most erotic sounding moan with enough ardour to rival the steam in the shower.
“Oh God, Bryce. I’ve missed you, I’ve missed this.
“I’ve missed you too, Hunny, more than you’ll ever know.”
Encouraged by her gratification and obvious euphoria, I proceed to hold her hips and drive into her with timed precision, my glide effortless—she’s so wet and primed for me.
When I’m feeling this fucking ravenous and alive with pent up sexual tension, I need to remind myself to be careful and not get carried aware for fear of hurting her. So I pull out and spin her around to face me which always brings me back to a safer momentum.
Lifting her back up onto my cock, I impale her and press her against the wall, my sudden change of position forcing her to gasp. With her lips now parted, I ravage her mouth, seeking out her tongue with my own as I continue to drive into her, relishing the feel of her body once again joined with mine. I realise just how much I have missed being inside her, holding her, hearing the raw, carnal noises reverberate from within—I’ve simply missed making love to the woman I love.
Okay, so I realise this can be seen as ridiculous. In hindsight, it has only being less than a month since last having sex with her. The thing is, the power of addiction is a force to be reckoned with; a dependence that can only be cured with fortitude. And where Alexis is concerned, my resolve is non-existent.
Feeling the build-up of pressure at the head of my dick, I explode into her like Mount Fucking Vesuvius and growl like a God damn barbarian, my release too long in waiting.
Following our love making from the night before, you’d think I’d be one happy, relaxed, and fully sated man. But I’m not, not completely anyway. Yes, my balls now feel a little more like the billiard variety and a lot less like the bowling variety, I can’t dispute that. The thing is, today I’m anxious for an entirely different reason, for today is Gareth’s birthday and I can’t seem to get him out of my mind; out of my conscience.
Sitting here at my desk, I replay the final conversation I had with him on the morning his psychotic DID alter, Scott, held Alexis hostage and nearly killed her. I’d been so wrapped up and absorbed in my own life, I had not paid attention to Gareth’s state of mind and body language, completely failing to see just how out of control his condition really was. I’d fooled myself into believing that he was taking his meds because I’d asked him to do so, never having thought to check that the pills he was actually taking were, in fact, the prescribed ones—apparently, he had been popping vitamins in my presence.