19. Nineteen

Nineteen

A rt kicks open the door to his office so hard that it nearly ricochets off the hinges and puts me down on the floor, slamming the door behind him.

I know we're about to have an almighty row, and I'm determined to get in first. "Don't you dare do anything like that ever again."

His eyes narrow as he turns to me. "Like what? Like saving you from being felt up by a drunk?"

"No," I cry. "You created a bloody scene outside for no reason."

"There was a fucking good reason. I warned him to keep his hands off you, and he didn't listen," he snaps. "I told you, no one else gets to touch you. Ever. End of."

"There was no need for you to punch him. I'm only glad the other guests were too busy watching the first dance; otherwise, that could have been a disaster."

"He deserved it. When it comes to protecting you, I don't give a fuck." His stare hardens. "I asked you to come up here."

"And I told you, I needed to speak to Lucy because she was upset."

He slowly advances towards me like a tiger circling his prey. "That was nearly an hour ago."

"I couldn't leave her."

"Why not?"

"I think she and Mark are going to split up."

He grinds to a halt. "We're literally at their wedding."

"Yeah, well, apparently, they don't love each other anymore."

Art scrapes a hand through his hair, digesting what I told him, and suddenly, the reason for his foul mood clicks into place.

"Is that why you're pissed off?" I demand. "Because I didn't come up here, so you could shag me?"

His jaw tics with irritation, and he glares at me with renewed anger. "I thought …" He stops himself suddenly from admitting whatever he was about to, and I really want him to carry on. "I asked you to come up here."

"You're pissed off because I disobeyed you?"

He frowns. "No, that's not it."

"Yes, you are. Lucy's my best friend. I was making sure she was okay." I stop as an uncomfortable thought hits me. I've been here before. Why the fuck am I justifying myself to him? I said I'd never do this again. And I won't. "You know what? I shouldn't have to explain myself. I've got news for you. I'm not going to do everything you tell me to do. I'm not one of those women from that club of yours who likes to be controlled and dominated. If you want someone like that, then I'm not the one for you."

"That's not what this is about." His voice rises to meet mine.

I'm not sure whether it's the two shots of sambuca I downed or what, but I'm on a roll. "I'm not answerable to you. You don't own me. I can do what I want, when I want. I'm not spending my time walking on eggshells and obeying your every command. I put up with that shit for four years with my ex, and I'm not doing it again."

Anger flashes in his eyes. "Don't compare me to that bastard. I'm nothing like him. I'm not pissed off because you didn't come up here; that's not what this is about."

I know he's nothing like Theo. I know Art would never hurt me. I've never felt as safe and protected as I do with him. Theo was dark, and Art is light. But he still hasn't told me why he's pissed off, and I'm growing tired of his bad mood.

"Well, when you decide that you do want to tell me what this is about, let me know."

I turn on my heel and go to walk off, but his hand lands on my shoulder, pulling me backwards, and his lips crash against mine as he delivers a punishing kiss. For a second, I push my hands against his chest and try to resist, but it's no use. My lips fail me, parting to grant his tongue entry. He kisses me hard, and I can almost taste his need for me, and then he tears his lips from mine.

"I'm sorry I've acted like an arsehole." He plants a line of kisses all the way down to my collarbone.

I close my eyes, and I feel myself unravelling.

"Fucking arsehole," I correct.

I tilt my head back as his lips work down my chest. He licks a scorching line all the way down my cleavage, and then he plants a kiss between my breasts.

"I was worried."

The rough stubble of his jaw scratches against my soft skin, and the feel of his head between my breasts causes the dull ache between my legs to grow. It takes me a few seconds to gather my thoughts.

"About what?"

He rests both hands on my hips and spins me round so that I'm facing the desk.

"Bend. Over."

Hot breath fans my ear, and my swollen lips throb from the kiss as I bend forward over the desk. He plants a hand in the middle of my back, firmly pushing me down, and I tilt my cheek to rest against the dark wood. He pulls the chiffon layers of my dress upwards and impatiently yanks down my lace thong.

He curls a hand between my thighs, and I grip the edges of the desk, closing my eyes as he pushes two fingers inside me, no doubt checking I'm ready for him. I hear him moan with pleasure at what he finds. Even when we're mad at each other, we want one another.

"Hold on tight," he growls, replacing his fingers with his cock in one thrust.

We cry out together as he enters me, and my hands tighten around the edge of the table as his fingers find my burning clit, dragging my restraint to the edge.

"You drive me crazy." He thrusts into me, hitting the back wall of my vagina, sending a ripple of desire through my body.

My deep breathing clouds the veneer tabletop as I take gulps of air. He keeps one hand on the middle of my back, holding me down.

"I want to control you in bed." He withdraws all the way to the tip. "Nowhere. Else."

He pushes inside me twice, emphasising each word with a thrust. Desire builds, throwing my muscles into spasm, and his fingers increase their pressure between my legs, making me moan.

He's reinforcing what he told me when we first got together.

He pulls out. "You're. All. Mine."

I whimper as my body soars closer to orgasm with every thrust. His words and actions are making my mind swim.

"You're"—he pushes into me and stills, giving me a moment to get my bearings before pulling out of me and driving into me again— "the"—my muscles tighten around him, and I groan as he pulls out. I prepare myself—"one," he growls, searing into me.

Even though I've braced myself, it's too much, and it sends me hurtling over the edge as I ride the crest of my climax, moaning into the wooden desk. He carries me through, pounding into me as if his life depended on it, and then tenses, exhaling a long, satisfied breath as he lets go.

I release the edge of the desk, wincing as my palms throb from where I was gripping the wood so hard. My mind's a mess from what just happened. He just told me I'm the one while subjecting me to some of the most animalistic sex I've ever experienced.

Fingers gently brush over the base of my spine.

"Please don't move," he whispers, pulling out of me.

And just like that, the anger and rawness from a few seconds earlier have vanished and are replaced by soothing words and softness. I hear rustling from behind me and then feel a tissue in between my legs as he tenderly cleans my thighs with a tender touch. Once he's finished, he pulls my thong back up and straightens my dress down, helping me to my feet.

Even though we've just done what we've done, a part of me is still a tiny bit annoyed. "Is that how we're going to sort out every argument?" I enquire, smoothing down my hair.

He tucks his white shirt into his chinos and lifts his eyes to mine. "If I have my way."

"It's just …" I can't help wondering whether I'm wasting my time, trying to make him see sense. "If another guy tries it on, you don't have to mark your territory. Trust me to deal with it."

"I don't want you to have to deal with it."

"I understand it's because you care, but you go from zero to one hundred pretty quickly and bulldoze anyone who's in the way."

"It's the way I handle things."

"Well, it's not always the best way," I snap, irritated that he's still not really listening to me.

Art's eyes search my face as he considers what I said, and then he gently cups my jaw in his hands. "I'm sorry if I come over as an irrational fuck sometimes."

At least he can accept that his behaviour is unreasonable even if he does need to have it pointed out to him.

"But I'm not going to apologise for punching that twat. He deserved it. I'm not going to stand by and watch while some guy makes lewd comments at you and feels you up."

And I wouldn't want him to. "Okay," I agree. "But you overreacted when I didn't come up here. Why?"

He looks me in the eye. "I know I can get jealous and possessive, but I need you to know that I'm nothing like your ex. I meant what I said – I'll never hurt you."

"I know you're not." I nod. "I know you'd never mean to hurt me."

He frowns, looking awkward. "I haven't felt scared or vulnerable since I was a kid. I don't like feeling this way; it's not something I'm used to dealing with."

I didn't expect that. "Why do you feel like that now?"

He lowers his gaze to the floor. "The way I feel about you, I've never felt this way before about anyone. This whole thing is new to me. It's uncharted territory. I feel as if I need to protect you; it's instinctive. Because you're so fucking special to me, and I can't bear the thought of anything bad happening to you. But I'm not good at showing it. It comes across in fucked up ways, like me beating the shit out of any guy who looks at you twice or not wanting you to show too much flesh." He steals a glance at me. "I'm new to this relationship thing. I know I can be unreasonable, and I also know that doesn't excuse it. I've got this fear that one day, I'll wake up, and you'll be gone, or you'll realise what a fuck-up I am and leave. I'm waiting for something to come along and fuck this up because I still can't believe I found you."

My heart turns over. "Is that why you were so pissed off that I didn't come up here? You thought I'd changed my mind about you? About us?"

He doesn't reply, but the pained look in his eyes tells me I'm right.

I know this is all to do with his past, and I want to make it right, but I know it's not that easy.

I take his hands in mine. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here as long as you want me."

He pulls me to him. "I want you forever."

My heart dances in my chest as his mouth meets mine, and he kisses me languidly, quietening my racing brain.

He pulls away and smiles. "Now, come on. We should get back to the wedding of the year."

The dance floor is heaving, and the party is in full flow by the time we get downstairs. I doubt my absence has even been noticed.

Hand in hand, we walk through the clusters of guests all having the time of their lives. Art gives a disapproving nod towards a corner of the bar, where Mark is drunkenly slumped, passed out over a table.

"Ahhh … you two!" Lucy appears through the throng of guests, a glass of wine in her hand. "My favourite couple." She peers at us both with a vacant look in her eyes, and I know it's not her first glass. "You know, you two are going to have very pretty babies."

"Lucy!" I can't look at Art. God knows what he must be thinking. It's definitely too soon for talking babies. "I think you need to slow down with the drinking."

"Like my wonderful hubby has? No way," she scoffs, swaying ever so slightly.

The cheesy dance tune blaring out of the speakers morphs into Van Morrison's "Someone Like You", and she pulls a face at the DJ's choice of music, clearly in no mood for a good old romantic ballad.

"I think I'll go and drown my sorrows and leave you two love birds to it."

I can't help but worry about her. This hasn't exactly been the perfect day she's dreamt of.

"Lucy, are you going to be okay?"

She wrinkles her nose. "Probably not in the morning because I'm gonna have a terrible headache, but yeah, I will. Stop worrying, Soph. Go and be happy with your man," she shouts over the din of the music. She takes a mouthful of wine and staggers off through the loved-up couples on the dance floor, swaying to her own beat.

Art wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me to his chest. "Dance with me," he says.

I curl my arms around his neck, and he kisses me on the lips.

"I want you."

I press myself against him as we instinctively move together to the music. "You just had me."

"I want you all the time."

And I want him all the time too.

He plants a light kiss on the tip of my nose and meets my gaze. "Lucy's right."

I frown. "About what?"

"We'll have very pretty babies."

My chest tightens as I stare up at him. "What are you saying?"

"Today's got me thinking about things, and when I saw you walking down the aisle"—he glances about the room before meeting my eyes once more— "I started thinking about the future."

The future?

"You know, for a kink-loving control freak, you're quite a romantic at heart," I tease.

"Only with you." He brushes his lips against mine. "You make me a good man."

My heart melts. "You're already a good man."

For a moment, a haunted look flashes in his eyes, and then it's gone. "I haven't always been, but that's my past, and you're my future." Then, he kisses me. The music falls away, and the other guests disappear into the night. Right in this moment, there's only me and him. "Let me take you home and make love to you."

I don't need him to ask me twice. After checking Lucy's okay, boogieing down on the dance floor, we do just that.