“Come on.” I offer my hand, taking in the lovely cream dress. I have good taste. She should let me dress her every day. It’ll be a win-win. She gets to look out of this world without so much as thinking about it, and I’ll avoid unnecessary heart attacks. Perfect. The dynamics of our relationship are starting to figure themselves out, and I really like where it’s heading. More peace. More Ava. “I like your dress,” I tell her quietly, hoping she appreciates how much. She gives me a doubtful pout as she nears, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. Oh, give me a break. I can see by the look on her face she’s going to try and play the cool card. Pointless. I reach under the cream material, smiling darkly when she gulps. Nice try, baby. She grabs me for support as I breach the edge of her knickers—lace, of course—and delve gently into her saturated pussy. “Wet,” I whisper, circling slowly. So fucking wet. “Later.” I have no idea how I manage it, but I remove my touch. My consolation prize is licking up her condition from my finger.

“You have to stop doing that.” She’s completely exasperated.

“Never,” I promise, leading her out of the kitchen.

It’s like a second nature to me to buckle her up, and it seems it’s like second nature for her to let me. I slip into the driver’s seat and roar off down the road, my hand automatically falling to her knee and remaining there. Constant contact. It’s all I need. Not too much to ask.

I steal glimpses of her often, watching as she gazes out of the window, deep in thought. Is she thinking how amazing this is? Me and her? Natural? Easy together when we’re on the same page? She looks across the car and catches me admiring her. I smile. She smiles. Even our smiles are perfect together.

The road to The Manor is dense with trees, the light wind rustling the leaves above, the sun bursting in the sky. It’s a beautiful day.

“How long have you owned The Manor?” she asks out of the blue, cluing me in on what she’s been thinking.

Now’s the perfect opportunity to start slowly breaking some of my silence. “Since I was twenty–one.”

I smile when those gorgeous eyes widen. It’s quite surprising, I agree. And she thinks it’s only a hotel. “That young?”

“I inherited The Manor from my uncle Carmichael.”

“He died?”

I swallow. “Yes.”

The compassion on her face hurts. Perhaps she wouldn’t feel so sorry for me if she knew the circumstances. “I’m so sorry,” she says quietly, clearly struggling for anything else to say.

“Me too.” So sorry.