Earlier that night, after he’d asked her to seduce him, he’d taken over (of course) and half-dragged, half-carried her upstairs to his bedroom. They made love, well, not exactly made love, it was too hot, too needy, too urgent, too intense to be described as “making love”.
However, the second time, they did make love. It was slow and sweet and she had the opportunity to explore his body, touch him, tease him, taste him before it became out-of-control, gloriously insistent and demanding.
Glowing and satiated, they lay still joined intimately, her face in his beautifully-muscled, masculine throat and she whispered against the underside of his chin, “I’m hungry.”
They dressed slowly, Douglas pulling on a pair of jeans and a burgundy sweater, Julia putting her dress back on. He grabbed another of his sweaters, this one moss green. He yanked it over her head and she swam in it but it would help to keep out the chill and she was touched by his gesture.
They padded down to the kitchen, barefoot and hand-in-hand. The house had been put to sleep for the night and she couldn’t believe that at one time she found it frightening and sinister.
Now it was just home.
She knew its corners and its shadows. She knew where the edges of the carpets were and how to avoid the furniture in the dark. She was beginning to realise she loved it there, it was Douglas’s and now so was she and thus she belonged at Sommersgate. That sense of belonging made her feel wonderful.
They entered the kitchen and Julia thought she’d have to cook their food.
Instead, they found Mrs. K sitting at the kitchen table, her hands busy with knitting, her eyes trained on a portable television that had been hastily set up, probably by Mr. K.
Mrs. K jumped to her feet when they walked in and ignored Julia’s surprised face.
“Are you ready for your first course?” she asked as if it was perfectly natural for her to hang around until late evening, waiting for them to complete their sexual antics and come in search of sustenance.
Douglas grinned a sexy, devilish grin and then said, “Please, if you don’t mind Mrs. K.”
At that, he turned on his heel and left, dragging Julia with him, not understanding the profound moment he’d just created. But Julia watched her friend from over her shoulder.
Margaret Kilpatrick had never been referred to by Douglas in the familiar of “Mrs. K” as long as Julia knew him. She saw the other woman’s face flush with pleasure and Julia felt her stomach melt.
Mrs. K had removed the red roses and in their place was a magnificent display of the white ones Douglas had brought home with him.
Over dinner, she told him about Monique bringing Sean to the house then, after fervently urging Julia to listen to what he had to say, leaving. She told Douglas about Sean telling her he’d made a mistake at letting her go and asking her to move home to America with him. She explained that Sean even said she could bring the children, that she could sue for custody and even went so far as to declare that he’d use all his money and contacts to help her.
Throughout this, Douglas listened patiently, his face betraying nothing.
She did not tell him about her weakness, about being emotionally drained after hearing what the Kilpatricks had told her that afternoon and the feelings of disempowerment in the face of Sean that she couldn’t help but allow to creep back. She did not confide in him that she was devastated that Sean was going to ruin her much anticipated plans for the evening. That she was worried about a lifetime of the vicious Monique as her mother-in-law for, to bring both her father and Sean back meant Monique truly and completely detested her and that was not a nice feeling. She didn’t tell him that she was at a loss of what to do and what to say because she simply had nothing to say, not to Sean. The moment Douglas arrived, she was trying to think of a way to get rid of Sean and not coming up with any answers as she’d already told him to go but he refused.
What she said instead (looking down at the delicious panna cotta that Mrs. K served as a finale) was, “I asked him to go but he refused. I thought it best to shut myself down, let him have his say and hope you’d be home soon. I knew you’d know what to do and, it turns out, I was right.” She stopped and smiled at him. “Though I must admit, it was better than I expected.” Her smile got bigger. “Much better.”
At this pronouncement, dessert was definitely over (even though she had several more spoonfuls she very much wanted to consume). Without a word, he rose from his chair, pulled her from hers and led her back to his bedroom.
That time when they made love, it was very slow and very sweet. He touched her with a reverence that was mind-altering; it felt almost like he was worshipping her. It felt like he was memorising her and she forced him to allow her to do the same. When, at long last, she cl**axed, she was sure her body was going to shatter at the pleasure of it and she cried out his name but it was muffled as he absorbed her call into his mouth and then, very shortly after, she did the same for him.
That was when she fell asleep at his side, satiated and happy.
Now, he held her in his bed, what would soon be their bed, his mouth on just the right spot behind her ear. She lifted her hands and slid her fingers into his thick hair.
“What am I going to do with you?” she whispered into the night.
“Whatever you want,” he growled into her ear and she felt a shiver slice through her at her own words of weeks ago being repeated. She shoved his shoulders gently and cocked her head at him, the corners of her lips quirking.
“Anything?” she queried, her eyes dancing.
His mouth twisted in a diabolically sexy grin. “Just know whatever you do you’ll suffer the consequences.”
She didn’t hesitate at his playful threat but pushed him onto his back and then manoeuvred herself to straddle him. Her fingertips danced lightly across his abdomen and she watched as he lifted his arms and linked his fingers behind his head to rest it on his hands
He quirked an eyebrow at her.
At this arrogance, she laughed, she couldn’t help herself. She was beginning to adore his arrogance, it was so Douglas.
She ran her hands across his muscular chest and leaned forward, pressing her br**sts against him and nuzzling his neck.
“I love your neck, your throat,” she murmured against his skin, darting her tongue out to lick the length of it. She smelled the cologne she’d given him and trembled. “It’s my most favourite part of your body,” she admitted.
“Your most favourite?” His voice rumbled with desire that was tinged with amusement.