He isn't lying beside me when I'm dragged awake by the alarm.  My eyes feel puffy and tight from last night's crying and there's a knot of heaviness in my chest and in the pit of my stomach. I'm also a little sore.  Jake's rough handling of me on the couch had left it's mark: my wrists tender and my thighs achy and tight. That normally delicious soreness feels tainted now but I don't mind.  Because I deserve it, this mild lingering pain. 

I hurt him. I let him down. I betrayed his trust. All for someone I was now certain didn't deserve his forgiveness. Do you? The more thought I give it the more betrayal I feel. Not only on his behalf, but on my own. She made me pity her. She told me half truths and one side and I swallowed it whole. Why? Did I so badly want to believe in the goodness of people? The idea that a few apologies and a promise to forgive and forget was all it took to undo past deeds.  What had I expected to happen exactly? Jake had shone a light on that and revealed my lack of afterthought to be just another ridiculous misdeed.   I should have listened to him.  And from now on that's exactly what I'd do.

What was happening to her now was sad, of course it was, but it did not undo the harm she had done to her own child. This was done. Susan's absolution would not be by my hand.

As I lie here in silent contemplation, the sound of him moving crockery about and opening drawers downstairs floats up and through the partially open bedroom door. I've an inkling of tension and dread at the thought of seeing him this morning.  It's odd.  Reverse butterflies is the closest thing to describe it.   Where was his head this morning as he first opened his eyes? How dark and angry had his thoughts gone in the early morning light?

He'd said nothing more after he'd carried me upstairs last night. He'd stripped out of his clothes and got into bed beside me, then pulled me close to him so that my back was pressed right to his chest. I'd fallen asleep as he kissed soft half kisses across the back of my neck, stroking my hair in the same tender way he always had.  Last night I felt as though I'd moved out of the way of a fast moving vehicle just before it hit me.

As I sit up in bed, the dread and tension is replaced by something else.  Sickness. A deep churning, dizzying rush that bubbles up fast and shudders over the tops of my thighs and across my abdomen. It propels me out of bed and into the en-suite, the bathroom floor hard and punishing on my knees as I lower myself down next to it and lift the lid.  It feels less like a hangover and more like a mild sea-sickness.  Nothing comes up. Not a single thing. My head spins and my mouth fills with saliva but nothing comes up.  Oh god, seven months more of this.   

I'm there a few minutes with my head propped up on my hand on the toilet seat before I hear him behind me. He wraps my bathrobe around my shoulders and smooths a hand over the top of my head before untucking my hair from it.  Then he lowers himself on his haunches beside me and I feel his gaze settle on me.  There's a moment then, just a single instant, where I'm terrified that the forgiveness he promised me last night might be a fantasy. Maybe it had distorted as he slept.  Maybe his rage and fury at my betrayal had recovered its energy overnight and risen up between us again. 

But when I lift my eyes to his I see immediately that I'm wrong. His eyes are warm and filled only with concern. 

"Tell me what to do,"  he says softly. His hair is still wet from the shower, the longer lengths styled back from his face, and his beard rugged but neat.

"You've already done your bit," I smile, smoothing my hand over my stomach in an obvious way.

He nods, giving me a guilty look before taking a brave peek into the bowl.  "Can you stay home from work?" 

"No." I shake my head. "I still have things to organise for Sam's replacement. Anyway, I'm not sick - just pregnant." I try a smile. God, I feel sick. 

His concern doesn't fade. "Have you told them yet?"

"I haven't even told my parents yet," I point out.  "No."

"Well, they need to know Alex — they need to be looking after you." He shifts closer and rubs his hand in a small circle over my upper back a few times. I sigh in pleasure, his hand warm and large and soothing to my cold jittery bones.

"Mmmm, that's nice," I tell him after a few moments. "I feel better." I'm not sure I feel less queasy, but certainly the feeling of his touch is definitely an absolution of its own.

When he stands, he lowers his hand out and I let him pull me up from the floor.  His eyes are still heavy on my face.

"I'll let them know after we have the first scan."  I assure him.

He looks like he might disagree but he doesn't. "I've made coffee," He says. "Can you try and eat something? Toast?"

"I'll try. I need to start cutting down on my caffeine though, so maybe some sweet tea instead?"

"I can do that," he nods and turns to go from the bathroom.   "Shower and then come down. I'll have it ready for you."

"Jake," I call before he disappears from the room. When he turns back his eyes are soft but alight with curiosity. I swallow before speaking. "Are we okay?" I hold in a breath. "I really am s—." God I don't want to tell him that I'm sorry again.  Not because I don't mean it.  I'll always be sorry. I don't want to tell him I'm sorry because anytime I think of it, particularly the look of hurt and betrayal on his face last night, I feel suffocated with shame. Just the memory of it makes my heart hurt and my chest ache. 

His response is immediate and it floods my body with warm relief: his mouth falls into a soft smile as he comes back to wrap me in his arms. "Course we're okay," he murmurs gently, touching his nose to my forehead.  "Nothing gets to touch us, you know that."  

I squeeze my eyes closed tight and lay my head against his chest, pulling my arms tight around him.  "I love you so much," I tell him, inhaling the scent of him deep into my lungs. 

He makes a deep soft contented sound, like the purr of a large cat.  "I know you do, baby, I know you do." He raises my mouth to meet his and kisses me hard, his tongue lapping greedily against my own. "I love you too," he murmurs against my lips.  "It's you and me, yeah? Nothing gets to touch us..." he says again, pressing his nose against mine before he leaves me to shower.   It's amazing the power his words have over me. How strongly they affect my mood and emotion and even my body.  As I climb into the shower I feel a thousand pounds lighter than I did when I first opened my eyes and the last residual tension melts away in the steam.

***

I nibble on a piece of faintly buttered brown toast as he sits across from me slicing into one of his egg white omelettes. Today it looks far too soft from where I'm sitting. The sight of it makes my insides feel like someone's stirring them with a large wooden spoon, and though I hadn't thrown up yet, the threat of sickness hadn't dissipated any. Lowering my toast, I pick up my breakfast tea instead, lifting my eyes to his face and away from his horrifying looking plate. Its better but not by much. Even the sight of his beautiful mouth and it's way of devouring food doesn't detract from how nauseating that omelette looks right now.

"You're taking Caleb to nursery today?" I ask, swallowing carefully. 

He nods, swallowing his mouthful before speaking.  "Yeah, I need to shoot soon," he glances up at the kitchen clock above my head.  "Getting him after too.  Then I've got some stuff on," he drops his eyes as he tells me this vague piece of information - "...so it could be a late one.  I can stay at home tonight if you want - so I don't wake you up?"

"If I want?" I ask, as something panicky moves over me.  He's barely left me alone for a moment since I told him about the baby but he's suggesting staying at home, now? After what I did?  Am I being paranoid? It's certainly possible. My head was a thick bubbling gloop of panic and paranoia these days. Since Jake isn't looking at me I can't see what's in them. What subterfuge he's deploying if any.

"Yeah, I've been keeping you up too late," he tells me.  "You need a rest." He shrugs his shoulders and lifts his cup again.  

"A rest?"

"Yeah."

"From what?"

He gives me a look like it's obvious. "Me."

"A rest from you?'

He gulps his black coffee loudly and smiles a lopsided smile.  "You going to question everything I say?"

I stare at him harder. "Only the things that don't make sense," I counter.   "Why would I want a rest from you, Jake?  What does that even mean?  Do you want a rest from me?" Christ I hate when my voice goes all high pitched and flapping like that. 

He lets out a half sigh. "Course I don't, Alex."

"Well, then what are you talking about? Why would I want a rest from you?"

Another soft sigh. "You just look tired baby, that's all I meant," his voice is soft and understanding but I still feel disproportionately irate.  I look tired? Which means I look like shit. Everyone knows looking 'tired' means looking 'shit'. Which means he thinks I look like shit.

"I look pregnant Jake, that's how I look," I bristle.   "I've never done this before. I've never carried a child before and I've never worried about whether the man I love is going to come home to me or not, or whether he's going to be discovered in a ditch somewhere with a bullet through his bloody skull.  This is all new to me. So maybe that's why I look tired? But no, I don't want a rest from you.  In fact, I don't ever want a rest from you. I love you. I need you, here... I always need you here..." I say in a panicked breathless rush. I feel something thick lodge itself in my throat and I drop my blurry eyes from his.  These bloody hormones.

His hand is on mine a second later, large warm fingers linking through mine, pulling my attention to him. I lift my head to meet his eyes.

"Alex... Jesus fucking Christ... this is where your head's at??" He looks shocked, horrified.  "Stop that right fucking now. I mean it.  You're going to make yourself sick, and that isn't good for the baby.  You need to stop thinking this stuff - how many times do I have to say it?  I've got this.  I know what I'm doing." His eyes are hard and firm and they warn me to heed what it is he's telling me.  I want to, christ I want to.   "I'll come home to you.  It's done. If that's what you want and what you need then it's done, I'm here. Okay?" He tells me, eyes rounded with promise.

"Okay then...." I nod again. "Good..."

"Okay," he says, his eyes lingering on me. The concern is evident in the depths of blue-green and his brain ticks loudly across the breakfast table as he looks at me. Finally he slides his hand out of mine gently and lifts his cutlery again. 

The sound of the birds outside drift in through the open back door to compete with the sound of crockery and I watch him eat in silence. I keep my eyes away from the white and focus instead on the mesmerising movement of his hands and his mouth.  He flicks his eyes to mine every now and again as though to check I haven't fallen apart again.  He by contrast looks strong and stable and completely unshakable. He must have a million and one things running through his head but you wouldn't know it to look at him.  You would never know it to look at him. He's strength to my weakness. Bravery to my cowardice.

When he's finished he sets his knife and fork down and lifts his coffee cup to drain the rest of his coffee.  Then he wipes a hand over his mouth and points at my plate. "Finish your toast," he orders softly.  

"Yes sir," I smile.  I do as I'm told, washing it down with my cooling sweet tea. "So, you spoke to Vicky yesterday? Are you going to tell me how that went?"

He tenses, reaching across to pour himself some more coffee from the pot.  "She won't come anywhere near you again, that's how it went."  

"Okay..." I nod. "...and Caleb?"

"He'll be here tomorrow night like you wanted," He says simply. 

I stare at him a few long moments to see if he'll expand but he doesn't.  Do I actually want to know how he got her to agree to this? Does it even matter?  I should just be thankful that Caleb is going to be in our lives like I want him to be. Like Vicky threatened he wouldn't be.  

Jake lifts his cup again and slurps it loudly like he is prone to do.  His neat eating didn't extend to liquids.  He was a loud drinker.  I'm certain if anyone else did it I'd find it irritating and slightly repellent, but because it's him I find it endearing. Because I see him the way I want to see him, I always have.  

"Guess we should start looking for a new house then," He says after a moment, tone conversational.

I give him a look of shock. "What?"

He shrugs. "We could be doing with another room or two I reckon," He throws a casual look about the kitchen and out down the hall before bringing his eyes back to me.  "It's gonna get a bit cramped here pretty soon."

"Is it?"

He raises an eyebrow.

"I love my house," I say, a weird stirring happening in my chest.

"Yeah, I like your house too," He nods. "But Me, Cale, and the baby are gonna take up more space than you have here," He tells me matter of factly. As though he has given this a great deal of thought prior to this moment. Has he? Since when?

I've honestly no idea how it takes me so long to get there, but when I do, the grin starts to spread over my face.  He wants us to buy a house together? He wants to marry me and he wants us to buy a house together. And just like that, the coil of irritation and paranoia is shaken off. I'm smiling across the table at his serious buying-a-new-house face.

"We could get an extension?" I suggest, smiling. I'm kidding. Because I'm already imagining house-hunting with him. I'm already lost in images of us moving into a large house in the country with a huge garden. Jake is wearing paint splattered joggers and a torn white t-shirt as he carries out nameless DIY tasks. In my imagining, Jake is good at DIY, though I have nothing to base this on other than his skilled hands.

He glowers at me.  "You and my baby and my three-year-old living on a fucking building site? No fucking way," he shakes his head.  Jake takes my thoughtful silence as reluctance and shifts forward in the chair towards me.  "So let me get this straight, you don't wanna marry me, and now you're telling me you don't want to live with me either?" He's still frowning but there's a flicker of amusement in his green-blue eyes now.

"Ugh, that's not true and you know it," I laugh, reaching across to hit him playfully on the shoulder. "I want both of those things. You know I do!"

"Prove it then," he smirks. "Let's buy a house."

"I don't need to prove it, I asked you to move in with me! You said no," I pout playfully.

He sighs and relaxes back in the chair again and smooths his hand over his beard a few times. He looks thoughtful and serious again. "Think about it Alex - me plus a toddler plus a baby. We come with a lot of shit, and we're kinda a package deal." He flashes a canine smile at me then and it's like he knows. It's like he knows the effect that smile has on every single nerve on my body. The same effect it's always had. Debilitating. Life affirming. I know for a fact that I've never been more in love with him than I am right in this moment.

The living room of our new imagined house. It's large and the sun streams in though large bay panelled window. Boxes everywhere. Caleb is at his feet and he's holding a baby in his arms. I think I might implode or cry at the amount of pure white joy that I feel at the idea of it.

"You'd want to live in London I suppose?  I don't think I can live in the city Jake, it's just not me. I wasn't happy there."

He reaches across the table again and takes hold of both my hands. "Alex, I'll live wherever the fuck you want to live, I don't care," he shrugs. "As long as you and my children are there it doesn't matter where it is."

My heart. His children. 

Yet again I have to bite back the urge to burst into tears. Happy tears for a change. 

"Okay then," I nod, squeezing his hand back.

"Okay then," he grins, satisfaction filling out his body. A second later he's thoughtful again, nibbling his lip furiously as he gazes at some point on the table.

"What?" I ask.

He lifts his head and meets my eye, not speaking right away. "What about California?" He says finally.  

"What about it?"

"You said once that you always wanted to bring children up over there."

"I did say that..." my heart feels a little fluttery, my breath accelerating. When he raises his eyebrows at me my mouth practically falls open.  "Are you... serious?"

"Is that something you still want?"  He watches me carefully, as though he doesn't want to miss a thing, or as though the possibility is there that maybe I might lie to him about this.

"Well, I haven't really... I mean I knew that you weren't... I mean I didn't think you..." seriously Alex?? I nod at him instead, which comes far easier than the words. "Yes.  It's something that I still want," I tell him. I'd stopped thinking about it as a possibility after I realised I that I was in love with him. Because he hadn't seemed interested in the idea. Because I would never leave him behind. "But do you?  What about Caleb and your club and...."  And what else was there....?  The dark shit. The dark pile of shit that was his life.

"Fuck the club, what if there was a way for us to do it with Cale, would you want to?"

California. Sunshine. Our Children. Jake. Half a world away from his past and the people who know his name and what it means.  When had he started thinking about this? Why wouldn't he mention anything if this was this his plan all along? A new life away from here. It made sense.  It made sense that this would be his plan.

"Yes, I would," I nod, emotional again.  "With you and our baby, and Caleb"  I say, the emotional impact of the words punching me somewhere in the chest.  This was fantasy. Vicky would never allow this to happen.  Never. Yet, why would he even consider it a possibility if he thought there was no way it could happen? Why mention it?

"You'd be happy there though?" - He goes on - "Away from Rob and away from your family?" his creased brow signals his concern. 

"I mean, I'd miss them, of course I'd miss them, but they'd visit.  And Tash is there," I explain. Nights at Tash's house. Wine and late night chats. Cars packed with toys and clothes and weekend necessities as we made our way up the coast to their place. "Yes, I'd be happy." I nod, taking his hand again to squeeze it.  "Would you?"

"I told you. I'd be happy anywhere you are, you know that. You and my children are all I need." He says.  He stares at me a long time, a serious thoughtful expression on his face as he nibbles away at his bottom lip.  Then after what seems like hours, he lets out a breath, nods, and stands up from the dining table.  

Moving around it towards me he leans down and kisses me on the cheek, inhaling deeply.  "So then let's make it happen, yeah?" he says, his mouth soft now. He says it like it's the most simple achievable thing in the world. I know it isn't but I still smile like an idiot when he brings his hand up and takes my chin between his thumb and index finger, turning my head to face him fully. 

"Let's make it happen," I repeat, the smile tugging at the sides of my mouth. He smooths his thumb over my lips, tracing the smile, and then he leans down and kisses me.

"This is close to being done baby, I mean it this time.  So close," he promises, inches from my mouth.  "Soon you won't have to worry about anything anymore, I promise you. Then we're gone."

As always, his words sound definitive and strong and I almost believe them. 

"Okay," I reply - a half whisper, half prayer. He nods and lets go of my chin and heads past me for the door.  When he gets there he stops and turns back around, remembering something. 

"Send me her number," He tells me, his eyes harder than they were a just second before.   I'm so drunk from the swell of hope and happiness that I don't know who he means right away. "I'll talk to her, I don't want her contacting you again." He says.

When I realise who he's talking about my body deflates a little. I want to ask what he plans to do about his brother but I don't. I stay quiet on that too.  I lost the right to have a say in this.

I give him a half nod. "Okay."

***

California.

I hadn't stopped thinking about it since the thing had left his mouth. The word itself had taken on some transformation in my mind so that it meant more than just a place, it was now wrapped up in some votive purpose; like a pilgrimage for some religious devotee. We'd find happiness and enlightenment if we could just make it across the bloody atlantic to the promised land. It was dangerous for my mind to travel too far down this road before we had even had a proper discussion that was more than five minutes over breakfast, yet, for most of the day I'd lost myself in the idea of our house on the cuff of the beach and our lives in the bleach of the Californian sun. This was 'almost done' and we were going to raise our family in California.  I felt lighter than I had felt in weeks.  The dark heavy cloud had burst apart and the sun was streaming through it, warming me.

He'd be safe there.  Safe from repercussions and the twisted unbreakable ties of his life before me.  This was the only conceivable solution actually.  Why on earth hadn't I thought of it?  Mum and dad would be heartbroken because like Tash I'd have to leave them behind. But I'd have to leave my job and the rest of my life here behind. Jake was my life now, and nothing mattered but him and our children. In this I would be focussed and mainly selfish. Brave. Jake would do whatever he needed to do, like he always did, and so would I. 

I'm lost in a sea of Californian bliss as I grab a basket from the pile by the inside of the door. Waitrose is busy. Friday night shoppers grabbing the quickest meal option and the most accessibly priced bottle of wine just so they can get home and start their weekend. Tired bodies pushing past other tired bodies. Half attempted apologies and exhausted smiles.

In the vegetable section I spot Mrs Knight perusing the red onions with the air of a jewel expert studying a blood diamond. I try my hardest to slip past her notice towards the lettuces, but I hear her call out my name an instant later, loud and uninhibited.

"Alex!  Oh, Alex hello!"  She practically shrieks. 

With an inward curse, I plaster on my fake smile before turning around to face her head on.  Why oh why am I not in California already? 

"Oh, Jess, Hi," I say with a brightness she does not inspire.  "I never saw you there.  How are you doing?"

"Oh, you know, fine.  Getting on." I want to tell her that I wish she would get on, out of my line of vision.  "You weren't at the meeting the other night," she tells me with a tight smile.  When I give her a blank stare she almost rolls her eyes. "You know, about the old mill?  You did hear that they're proposing a hotel now?"  

"Oh, right.  Yes.  It went completely out of my head," I touch my hand to my temple and shake my head.  "I've just had so much on.  It's been insane really."  Jess stares, unimpressed by my excuses and for a moment I wonder what face she would give me if I told her that Jake, my nightclub owning criminal future husband, was working with the police to bring down his equally criminal and infamous gangland boss and that I was carrying his child out of wedlock while he did it.  "Um, so what kind of hotel?" I say instead. The last I'd heard about the old mill, it was going to be some kind of outdoor centre come museum.   A hotel in the village of Shere didn't scream money maker to me but what did I know about the hospitality industry. 

She snorts in distaste.  "One with a bar and a fancy restaurant," She says in the way one might say, 'a brothel and a live sex show'.   "Some chef from the TV: the one with the prosthetic leg - he wants to build an extension and everything.  Well no chance, we don't need that sort of disruption around here." 

"Don't we?"  I muse, before clarifying: "The hotel I mean, not the disruption." A nice restaurant run by a TV chef sounds great actually.  I'm selling. Leaving. A hotel with a restaurant run by a famous TV chef could potentially do wonders for my sale price.

She glowers at me.  "No, no we don't.  Think of the traffic, Alex?  The litter. People, cars, everywhere."  Litter?  Had I missed something? Were hotel guests notorious litter bugs? 

"Oh, I don't imagine it would be a very big hotel, Jess, that wouldn't bring that much traffic," I reason. I've no idea why I'm trying to reason with her.  Jess Knight has spent her life dispensing with reason.

"Sixteen Bedrooms and an extension for the kitchen and restaurant," she counters.  "They're saying it will hold weddings too." 

Oh god, the unimaginable horror. I bite back a smile and force a thoughtful nod instead, gazing past her as the near empty basket of romaine lettuces reduces by one more packet.  "Well, I doubt it will go ahead.  Not if everyone feels the same way as you do."

"Oh I don't know if they do, Alex, that's the thing, people are crazy about those TV chef's just now."

"Are they? I don't really watch much TV."

"Yes!  And well I'd appreciate your attendance at the next meeting, it's at the end of the month down at the Scouts Hall - the 28th, a Thursday."  She makes it sound like she'll come to my door and frogmarch me down there if I don't agree.  "Everyone listens to you, Alex, you're esteemed and sensible — and you have influence," She informs me.  I blink in surprise and undisguised shock.  Is she trying to flatter me into this?

"Um, okay well, I'll mark it in the calendar and try to make it along.  I'm certainly interested to hear more," I smile tightly, stepping past her to snatch a pack of lettuces before anyone else does.

"I'll call you to remind you on the Wednesday," She offers, pale colourless eyes gleaming with murderous intent. 

"That would be helpful, Jess, thank you."

And that moment I decide I'm supporting the famous chef's hotel. I don't care if it does come with a bloody brothel and live sex show. 

***

Back home, Jake calls me just before eight pm sounding frustrated and annoyed. 

"Hey, baby," he huffs. "How are you doing?"

"Um, I'm okay - I've just eaten, about to go for a bath.  How are you?  You sound stressed." Since I texted him his mother's number like he asked, my immediate idea is that this has something to do with her. Though that was hours ago. Also, his mother didn't make him huff, she made him explode. Only one person made him huff: Vicky.

"Vicky called.  She says Cale's coming down with something - been crying for me all night apparently.  I've just got here - I'm about to go in."

"Oh, god I hope he's okay. Did she say if he has a temperature? Was he ill when you saw him today?"

"Nah, he was fine today, just a bit tired and playing up, but he wasn't ill. She called about an hour ago and said he was hysterical," he sounds unconvinced.  "Can I call you back when I'm inside? See what the damage is?" 

"Of course.  If you want me to come over and have a look at him I can do."

"I'm sure he's okay... she hasn't done this for a while..." he grumbles.  I'm not sure what 'this' is but I decide not to ask.

When he calls back half an hour later, Caleb does have a temperature and is still 'playing up' but other than that sounds to be okay. He tells me he'll stay with him until he falls asleep and then come home.   It takes more strength than I care to admit to tell him just to stay with him. If Caleb wakes up through the night ill it will only be worse if Jake isn't there. I don't want to be the cause of any more distress to Caleb. We say goodnight and I promise to text him before bed. Then I go soak in the bath for over an hour with my book.

Felicity's tale of the Trojans, Greeks and their gods is engrossing, but I spend a lot of time between envy and awe that someone with a medical degree has also managed to write something so accomplished as a first novel. Historical romance didn't seem her thing either. But I always liked Felicity, so it won't even pain me to tell her how much I enjoyed it. I have her email in my computer somewhere so I'll get in touch with her over the weekend.  I'm far too tired to even think about reviewing her five hundred page novel tonight. 

I manage a goodnight text to Jake before my eyes grow heavy with sleep. My eyes stay open long enough for him to reply that he misses me and will see me in the morning. I slip under the weight of sleep an instant later, more than welcome since I've long since grown to hate sleeping without him.

***

I awake to the feel of his hands moving over the backs of my thighs and up under the thin material of my vest top. Urgent sensual caresses which make me moan out loud. At first I think I'm lucid dreaming - my sex dreams about Jake are always lucid - but my dream a moment before had been about sun and sand, miles of ocean stretched out behind him. Also, there's weight and heat to his touch which solidifies it. It also causes the desire to wash over me in waves.  It's no dream. He came home.  He came home to me like I needed him to.  Without having to ask him to.

"Mmmm, I was just dreaming about you..." I murmur into the pillow.  It was a lovely dream.  I scoop the memory of it up before it flutters off into the dark.  He was dripping wet and very tanned and smiling widely at me as he strutted towards me across the Californian sand. 

His touch is warm like always.  Male heat.  Desire.  Strength.  Power.  It fills me with satisfaction.  His touch roams over me possessively, sliding across the lace of my underwear before dipping between my parted legs."You came home..." I whisper. 

I feel his mouth on the back of my thighs then, his facial hair rough and scratchy as he bites at the skin of my behind. When I hear him let out a small groan, I echo it, moving against him as his fingers press against the knot of heat between my thighs.  When I try and turn around onto my back he stops me, pressing his weight down on my lower back to pin me beneath him.  His touch is a little rougher than usual, but I don't mind.  The rougher his touch the greater his need - I learned that long ago.

"Please come to bed... I need you..." I plead, turning my head to try and entice him into my mouth. The pressure eases off a little and I try once more to turn onto my back, but he shifts his body up the bed, covering me, thick heavy muscle pushing me deeper into the bed.  Why is he still fully clothed?

I'm not sure what happens first — the realisation as my waking body finally adjusts to the horrifically unfamiliar shape and scent - or the feeling of his hand fisting around the length of my hair to yank my head back.

"Dreaming about me were ya?" He hisses. "Not fucking surprised - Jay clearly ain't doing you right doctor if you're this fucking hungry for dick. Let's see if we can sort that out shall we?"

The scream rips from my throat but it's silenced a second later by Kevin's large odious hand.