The Earl's Outrageous Lover Page 0,54

of her possessions had been packed up, moved to his house and unpacked by his uber efficient housekeeper.

There were no separate bedrooms she was relieved to know. But right now, she almost wished she could have her own bedroom. At least then she’d have some relief from Edward’s constant rigid control. Thankfully, he never tried to control her except when they were in bed. Every night, Edward would take her into his arms and make love to her until she was screaming out, begging him for release. He was relentless in his pursuit of her pleasure, but he wouldn’t let her touch him except towards the end. He would release her hands and she’d grab his arms or his shoulders while he drove into her and for a few moments, she was allowed to touch him anywhere she wanted. It was almost as if her touching him would make him lose his control, which is what happened whenever she started to climax. It was odd, and more than a bit scary.

She was applying for jobs ostensibly, but in reality, she was thinking about her marriage and what it was like to live with a man who was so rigidly in control of his life and his world that nothing ever happened that wasn’t scheduled. Even when she lost her keys, he always knew exactly where they were. Yesterday she was searching through her makeup, trying to find her favorite lipstick but because she hadn’t taken the time to set up all of her makeup on the dressing table he’d had built for her in the sunny side of the massively large master bedroom, she couldn’t find the particular color she wanted. That day she’d been muttering to herself about messes and missing lipsticks when he’d walked up behind her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his hand skimming over her back, his sure fire way to get her attention. Well, it didn’t have to be on her back. He really just needed to touch her anywhere and she lost track of what she was doing or thinking and was completely focused on him. She suspected that he did that at certain times just to see if he could, as if he wanted to know he still had that kind of power over her mind.

That day, she’d told him about the missing lipstick and how she knew she’d put it in her makeup bag last time. Edward, in all of his cool, calculating and impossibly logical way, peered into her makeup bag, stuck his hand in and then a moment later, pulled out the shade she’d been looking for.

“Is this it?” he asked.

Jessica had been so irritated she’d almost forgotten to thank him. He’d walked away chuckling and she’d nearly thrown her brush at his back. She didn’t because she would have either missed his back completely, which would only infuriate her further because he would laugh at her again, or she’d have lost the brush as it landed someplace she couldn’t see and both scenarios would have irritated her.

He left for work at exactly the same moment each morning, arrived home at almost exactly the same minute each evening, dinner was served thirty minutes after he arrived home, just enough time for him to shower, change and relax with a drink. To Jessica, it seemed that the only changes in his daily routine were how he made love to her each night. The man was a genius at that and more creative than she’d ever thought possible.

The rigidity of his schedule was driving her a bit up the wall. At least she knew she could count on him at a specific time though.

And she was starting to hate the way they made love at night. It was as if he was filled with an obsession to maintain the same rigid control over himself in their bed as he did in all other parts of his life. She climaxed with his expertise, but it was starting to feel empty, as if he weren’t a part of their sex life but more like a rigidly robotic male who came to her each night to service her.

She wanted the passionate man back. The one who ravished her and was as completely taken away by the moment as she was. Unfortunately, she had no idea how to find him.

She walked over to his dresser, looking at the sparse objects laid out on top. The man was incredibly handsome, but he certainly wasn’t vain. He had a comb,