The first thing Pamela disliked about the house was the huge brass gate and the twelve-foot-high brick wall that circled the whole property and she started to feel like she was in prison – which was exactly what it was, except that Devlin had used the word "safe house" to take the brutality off it.

But she had to admit that the house was beautiful. It was a glass walled, three story building that looked big enough to cover a city block. Just like his previous safe house, guards stood at the entrance, though they were not as plenty as they had been then. There were two maids who stood outside to welcome her. She learnt that their names were Carly and Paula and she smiled warmly at them, hoping that this time, they do not run off and get pregnant like Susan had.

The house was not only beautiful but it was also breathtaking. The sitting room had a high ceiling and a magnificent crystal chandelier that hung low from it which accentuated the grandness of the room's height. It was very eye-catching, something that would and draw the eyes upwards.

A large decorative mirror filled the space on one side of the wall. The other side had an array of beautiful pieces of art, arranged in beautiful display ranging from expensive crystal vases to paintings - the ones that had been her dad's favorite, she noticed, and other expensive collections of brass and wood works.

A brick walled fireplace stood at one side. The leather upholstery and furniture were so antique and welcoming, that it gave the room a warmer, cozier space. She took one of the chairs and sank into it.

"Don't mention."

She looked up at Devlin who was grinning from ear to ear, his hands in his pockets.

"You expect me to thank you for locking me up?"

He shrugged, sat beside her and looked around the room with pride. "You want to go back to that ramshackle apartment of yours?"

"At least I was free. I can't say the same for this place."

"The space in this place is large enough for you to be satisfied. There's a gym, a pool, a massage parlor, the best food you could ever want. Isn't that freedom?"

Pamela gave a noncommittal shrug. She wouldn't admit it to him that she was in love with the house. Spectacular and magnificent weren't words that did the beauty of the house justice.

"What else do you want? I'll do it for you."

Pamela smiled warmly at him, feeling grateful, and so with that gratitude in her voice, she said, "I'm with you. That's everything I ever wanted."

He gave her a look of pure adoration and leaned in to hug her. Pamela wrapped her arms tightly around him and held on to him. They stayed that way for several seconds, holding each other and basking in the love and warmth that overflowed from their veins. Devlin slipped his hands beneath her and carried her, bridal style, up the wide spiral steps which was an architectural wonder. Even the stairs was lovely.

She closed her eyes and leaned on him, giving him the permission to take the lead and do what he wanted to. Then she heard a door open and seconds later, felt the soft feel of a bed. Her eyes snapped open when she noticed that her zippers was getting pulled. She dragged herself away from him and pushed him away.

"What are you doing?"

He looked at her innocently. "What do you mean?"

She scrambled to a sitting position and used a pillow to block him; mighty good that would do her, she thought sneeringly. "We're not doing this."

He laughed and started to unbutton his shirt. "Yes we are, honey. I'm making good on my promises. Besides, how do you plan on thanking me for this," He spread his arms out to indicate the whole house. "breathtaking surprise?"

"I will thank you, but you can expect my gratitude to be extended in a vertical position."

"Save that for the pope. This is how I want my gratitude."

"I'm not giving it to you that way."

"Why not?" He asked, exasperated.

"I'm not – well, ready." She had to do a lot of things; like shave her pubic hair which she'd left to grow into a Bahamas and do some cleaning in case oral came into play. She didn't want her husband to be repulsed by her stinking honey pot. She also needed a bath. And other things women do in preparation for lovemaking.

"Ready? But we –"

"Yes, I know, in the van, but that's different. This time, it's not going to be in a hurry. I just need to do some things. Please."

"Fine." He growled with a husky voice, laden with desire and want. "Be quick about it."

"Okay, but you need to leave. I'll call you when I'm ready."

"No way in hell."

"Please!"

He raised his hands in surrender and stood to leave. Pamela swallowed when she saw the bulge in his trousers and quickly averted her eyes, more for her own safety than any other thing. The moment the door shut with a click, she rushed to the bathroom but drew up short, and it was not only how magnificent the queen-sized bathroom was that made her stop, it was also the fact that her things were still outside. How would she get her cream and soap?

She walked further in, considering calling Devlin back to help get her things from the car, when she saw that on a shelf, a vast lineup of beauty lotions and soap lined the seats of the shelf and she couldn't help but smile. She couldn't help but love her husband the more.

One hour of shaving her legs, armpit, pubis and taking a thorough scrub of her body and hair with a lavender scented soap and shampoo later, Pamela emerged from the bathroom in a beautiful sky blue bathrobe which was one of many that had been hung on a rack in the bathroom. She tied her wet hair in a towel and stepped, barefoot, out of the bathroom into the bedroom.

Devlin was waiting, leaning lazily on the wall, hands akimbo, stark naked, except the boxer briefs he was wearing.

Her heart gave an excited lurch. Why was she feeling nervous? Was it because he'd not seen her naked for three years? Was it because she hadn't seen him naked either? Whatever it was, Pamela was as nervous as a whore sanding in front of a priest.

Devlin straightened and skimmed his eyes over her, making her feel like the robe had slipped off her. He took a step closer and Pamela shifted back without meaning to.

He raised a brow at her. "What now?"

She swallowed. "I'm sorry, I – I don't know."

"It's okay, babe." He said gently and stretched his hands towards her. "Come here."

She stayed put, then smiled brightly. Way too brightly. "I think I'm hungry. What's for dinner?"

"Me."

With that he lunged for her and pressing her against the wall, let his lips descend on her. The moment their lips touched, a colossal amount of desire swirled in her, from her toes up to her taut nipples, pulsing in a profound and melodious manner, like the drum beats of passion itself.

She let him draw her into his arms and she marveled at his supple strength and lean body, with just the right amount of biceps and triceps. She opened her mouth, letting his tongue slide into hers as if searching for something, like a treasure hunt, for a treasure she could not name.

They pulled back to catch her breath just she stated to feel heady with pleasure and she felt like a TV whose cable was pulled from it's plug, or a hungry baby who's mouth was removed from the bottle too early. She felt unsatisfied, and wanted to cry out when he shut her up by yanking lose her robe.

It slipped to the floor, revealing her bare body to him. She watched him watch her body with so much concentration, as if memorizing each curve and each sweet darkness. His eyes met hers and she could have sworn she saw his pupils turn to fire. He took her hands and placed it on his lower body. She let out a soft gasp as she slipped her hands into his waist band and felt the weight of him and how stretched he was to the limit. She stroked him and felt pleased when he let out a throaty grunt.

He then whipped off his briefs in seconds and Pamela slipped her arms to encircle his neck as he carried her to the huge bed where they made love in the most erotic, most sensual, and physically gratifying manner. To cap it all off, they attained ecstasy at the same time, him filling her and she tightening around him as the rapture of their lovemaking ended, herding them to seventh heaven.

~

"What are you doing?" Devlin asked, opening his eyes. He sat up and yawned. He hadn't known when he'd slipped into a satisfied slumber after having a slice of heaven with his woman.

She smiled back at him and leaned in to kiss him. The kiss sounded with a loud smack and he was mortified to realize he was getting hard at that insignificant show of affection.

"I wanted to ask that my things be sent up."

He rose to a sitting position. "It has." He said, pointing at a door. "That's your closet."

He saw her mouth open visibly in shock. "That can't be."

He frowned, confused. "Why?"

"I checked the room already and – it can't be mine."

His frowned deepened, as did his confusion. "Why?"

"That's freaking Kim K type of closet. I saw different arrays of shoes, bags, dresses – all are my sizes but –" She paused and breathed, "I don't know what to tell you right now."

He frowned again. "Tell me this then, what's a Kim K?"

She gave him a baleful look. "Devlin I'm serious."

He laughed. "All the dresses, shoes, whatever it is, are yours. I don't want you to lack anything whatsoever."

Devlin thought he saw tears filling her eyes but he couldn't be sure. It could be the magnificent skylight that was hung above them that was causing her eyes to glitter. She stood and started walking towards the closet door.

Already halfway to the entry, she stopped, turned and looked at him. "Are you serious? I mean, I'm not someone who goes giddy with all those insignificant things so I would thank you to tell me outrightly that you're joking and –"

"So don't thank me." He interrupted standing. He located his boxers and put it on. He looked up and noticed that she was watching him and his ding-a-ling with so much concentration that almost made him choke with laughter. Her eyes met his and her cheeks turned pink in embarrassment. He laughed.

"We're married, Pam Pam, it's okay to ogle."

"Shut up." She replied with a small voice, obviously miffed that he'd caught her.

He walked up to where she stood and slipped his hands around her waists and guided her towards the door. He opened the door and ushered her into the magnificent closet. It was Cody who had given him that idea. Who knew that the sly sun of a gun was an expert in women matters? Now, he was thankful he'd listened.

Devlin watched her expression as she took in the myriad collection of everything a woman would have a hankering for. She went to the bags collection and picked several expensive bags and purses and hugged them to herself and squealed in delight like a little girl abandoned in a candy factory.

Not someone who goes giddy with insignificant things his ass. If he'd given her a million dollars she would have pointblank refused. The way she was euphoric made him happy and proud. Now, his wife would have no reason to go out in search for anything. All she will ever want would be right at her finger tips.

She walked to the dress collection and picked a black one. She walked to the enormous mirror that was hung on a console table and placed the cloth against her body.

"This should fit perfectly well." She said smiling seductively at him from the mirror.

Different thoughts of an erotic night of hot food and sex filled his senses. "For what?"

She turned to the shoes section and said over her shoulder, "A ball."

His hopes plummeted. "What ball?" He asked, feeling disappointed. What she said next doused his erection and ignited his anger.

"A fund raising charity ball for the blind. Hosted by Marcel and me." She picked out two shoes and turned to look at him. "Do you think block heels or stilettoes will fit better?"

He ignored her questions. All shoes were just what they were – shoes. Why the hell women bother with their variety was something he couldn't make sense of. But the thought of who she was going into a shoe frenzy about was making his blood boil. How dare the stupid oaf invite his wife to a ball? There was no way in hell he was going to let her go.

"Babe, help me out!" She whined bringing him back to the present. She had put on a pair of heels and started to catwalk about the room.

"How do I look with the shoes?"

Sexy. She was wearing shorts and bra, and she had heels on. That was a total sexual turn on for men. If she wasn't admiring her legs to see how it looked in the shoes, he would have thought she was deliberately trying to make him "rise to the occasion". But she wasn't. And damn did that hurt.

"You're not going."

She stopped her catwalk immediately and lost her footing. She fell against the cushion that he'd – thank God – had the foresight to put in the room for incidents like this. She kicked off the shoes and glared at him. Then a crestfallen look obliterated her anger.

"I should have known." She muttered quietly, but much to his hearing.

"Known what?"

"That all these was just a guise. All you really want is to make me prisoner."

Guilt gnawed at him. Hell's bells was she right. "That's not true."

"Then why are you keeping me from attending a fund raising ball? It's the least I could do to help the blind, to be the light they can see by – and don't try to be sarcastic with me by saying you need to write it down." She quickly added with a scowl and despite his dour mood, he laughed.

"The last fund raising we attended turned out to be a sham."

"This one isn't."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I started it myself."

Now, he was taken aback. "What?"

She sighed and relaxed further into the couch. "After he became blind, I visited a home for the visually impaired and I – I don't know, I think I had more cause to be thankful for what I have. Also, it gave me a good reason to support them. So far the proceeds we've been able to garner are going to various homes and schools for the blind. Besides, we have our foundation on social media, for transparency."

He didn't use social media. He could be tracked from his activities, so he had kept a well-enough distance from the bird app or the instant-gram thing. Because of this, he hadn't known.

"I had no idea."

She smiled up at him. "I know babe, and I understand. But don't keep me from doing what I love which is hosting the ball and inviting dignitaries to help in any little way to change the lives of the blind. If that isn't honorable enough, I don't know what else is." She kicked the shoes away from where she sat, looking dejected. "Also I need something to keep me busy."

He sighed and moved to where she sat and sat beside her. He felt an odd sense of satisfaction when she lay her head on his lap.

"Why did you sell the company?" He asked softly.

"So you heard." She remarked dryly.

"That was your father's legacy. You should have kept it alive and running."

"It is alive and running, only I won't be the one to keep it that way. I just didn't want any memories tied to my past."

"Tied to me, you mean."

"No, Devlin, not everything is about you, thank God." She said ruefully.

He caressed her face and they smiled up and each other. "Fine. You can go to the ball."

"I would have gone anyways." She muttered, then laughed when she saw that he was scowling at her. "I meant to say, thank you, your majesty."

He smiled back and they leaned in for a kiss. The kiss went longer than intended, and when it was over, she stood and walked back to the clothes section.

"What about Marcel?"

"What about Marcel?" She echoed.

"Is he your date?" Devlin hoped to hell she says no.

She turned to give him a guilty look. "Yes."

"That, I will not accept."

"Devlin, stop. We're both hosting it."

"I don't like the fact that you still care about him. You need to pick a side. Your husband or your invalid ex-lover."

"He's not an invalid." She retorted.

"Chose a side, Pamela."

"Yours babe, always yours. But I feel sorry for him. He has no one. Please try to understand."

"Why? Cause he's pretending to be blind?"

Pamela turned stiff in shock but she recovered quickly. "Where do you get such ideas Devlin? You need to stop being a baby and suck it up. Accept that I will always care for him and accept that he's my date."

"The only way I will accept is by beating the crap out of him so that he can walk with only one leg."

Pamela laughed. "Stop."

"I'm dead serious." He said, looking it.

Her smile disappeared. "Stop."

"We can negotiate. I'll go softer on the beating so he'll be able to walk with both legs."

She folded her arms beneath her breast. "You're delusional."

"Fine. One punch. Just one."

"No!"

"It won't hurt. It's just gonna be a slam–bam–thank–you–ma'am kind of punch. End of story. Everyone leaves nice and happy."

"I certainly will not." She said, visibly relaxing, as if realizing that he was joking.

But on one hand he wasn't. He wanted to cripple Marcel and add it to the dipstick's list of deformities. But he would dampen his feelings for the mean time. For his wife's sake. Anything for her. He walked up to her and hugged her from behind.

"Moving on to lighter matters," He began, whispering into her ears with a slow, sexy drawl. "Why don't we slam–bam–thank–you–ma'am on this very beautiful couch?"

~

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