forty-three
. . .
Jess
The first time I walked into Lucas’s apartment, I had no intention of staying. I brought one box of props. I had one foot out the door even as I stood in the middle of his pristine kitchen, silently judging his Disney decor.
Now, as I step inside again, everything feels different. The space hasn’t changed, but there’s something new underneath it: a warmth that I’ve grown used to, a pull that feels like coming home.
Lucas drops his keys in the little dish by the front door, and I smile. I toe off my boots and wander toward the living room. The lighting is soft, and the city hums beyond the windows. He comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.
It’s been a week since the doc wrapped and Lucas and I were finally honest with each other.
“It feels good to be home,” I say as I turn my head to look up at him.
“You sure?”
“About being here?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.
“About everything.”
I turn in his arms and slide my hands up his chest, my fingers brushing against the open collar of his shirt. “I’m not interested in going backward. Or starting over.”
His expression becomes serious as his gaze locks on me. “What are you suggesting?”
“I think we just stay married.”
His breath catches. “Seriously?”
“Why not?”
Lucas studies me for a second, like he’s waiting for the catch.
“There’s no media angle,” I add. “No documentary. No campaign event. Just you and me.”
A slow grin tugs at his mouth. “You proposing, Lexington?”
“You wish, Carmichael.”
He laughs and pulls me flush against him. “Are we sealing this with a kiss, or…”
“Hmm.” I tilt my head, pretending to consider it. “I was thinking something more binding.”
Not wasting another second, he picks me up, throws me over his shoulder, and walks us down the hall to the bedroom. When he lays me on the bed, his mouth finds mine like he’ll never get enough. There’s nothing hesitant about it, no slow build, no holding back, just heat and hunger and urgency.
“You’re obsessed with me,” I murmur as he lifts my sweater over my head.
“One hundred percent.”
His fingers trail fire across my skin as he undresses me with deliberate slowness, and his eyes darken as each new inch of skin is revealed.
When I’m finally naked beneath him, he takes a moment to just look, his gaze traveling from my face down my body with such blatant appreciation that I feel myself flush despite our familiarity.
“Your turn,” I tell him as I reach for his shirt buttons. He helps me, shrugging out of his clothes until he’s gloriously bare, all lean muscle and warm skin that I’ve come to know intimately over these months.
I run my hands over his shoulders and down his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart beneath my palm.
When he lowers himself to cover my body with his, the contact of skin against skin is electrifying.
The weight of him, the heat, the perfect fit of our bodies, it’s overwhelming and exactly what I need.
“I’ll never get enough of this,” he whispers against my neck, his voice rough with desire. “Enough of you.”
“Prove it,” I say, arching up to press my breasts against his chest.
His mouth finds mine again, hungrier now, as his hand slides between us to touch me where I’m already wet and aching for him.
I gasp against his lips as his fingers work their magic, knowing exactly how to touch me, where to apply pressure, when to ease back.
The man has made a study of my body, methodical and thorough in a way that would be almost clinical if it weren’t so devastatingly effective.
“Lucas,” I breathe as my hips rise to meet his hand. “I need you inside me. Now.”
“So demanding,” he teases, but I feel the tremor in his arms as he positions himself between my thighs. When he finally pushes into me, we both groan at the sensation of being joined again, making up for lost time.
Moonlight spills through the bedroom window, painting Lucas in silver and shadow as he moves above me.
Our bodies slide together with practiced familiarity, yet each thrust still sends electricity racing across my skin.
This is something deeper, more deliberate, with each movement a promise, each kiss a vow.
“I love you,” he whispers against my neck, and the words are still new enough to make my heart stutter.
“Show me,” I say, arching up to meet him.
His eyes lock with mine as he adjusts his angle, hitting that perfect spot that makes my breath catch. “Like this?” he asks, with a hint of his usual cockiness returning.
“Getting warmer,” I gasp, digging my nails into his shoulders as he increases his pace. The familiar pressure builds low in my belly.
Lucas knows my body now. He knows exactly how to touch me, where to kiss me, when to slow down, and when to push harder.
He dips his head to capture my nipple between his lips, using just enough teeth to send a jolt of pleasure-pain through me.
My back arches reflexively, and a moan escapes before I can stop it.
“There she is,” he murmurs against my breast, sounding supremely satisfied. “No holding back tonight, Jess. I want to hear you.”
“Make me,” I challenge, though the words come out breathier than intended.
He grins, that devastating half-smile that first caught my attention in a tunnel leading to a baseball dugout years ago. “Gladly.”
With surprising strength, he flips us so I’m straddling him, with my thighs bracketing his hips. The change in position drives him deeper, and we both gasp. His hands settle on my waist, guiding but not controlling as I begin to move.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. In this position, I feel powerful, cherished, and seen all at once.
Planting my palms on his chest, I set a rhythm that has his eyes rolling back. The solid warmth of him inside me, beneath me, surrounding me, it’s overwhelming in the best possible way.
“Look at me,” I demand as I feel him getting close and his muscles tense beneath my fingers.
He does, and his gaze burns with such naked adoration that it almost hurts to witness. Six months ago, I would have run from that look.
“I love you,” I whisper. Though still unfamiliar on my tongue, the words are utterly true. “God, Lucas, I love you so much.”
Something breaks in his expression, and he rises to capture my mouth with his. The change in angle hits exactly right, and suddenly, I’m falling as pleasure radiates outward in waves that leave me trembling. He follows a heartbeat later, and his release triggers aftershocks that prolong my orgasm.
We collapse together, breathing hard, our hearts racing in tandem. His arms come around me, and he holds me close against his chest in that protective way I once resisted but now crave. For several minutes, we lie in silence as his fingers trace idle patterns on my back.
“What are you thinking?” he asks finally, pressing a kiss to my temple.
I consider deflecting with a joke—old habits die hard—but instead, I offer him the truth. “That I never expected this. You. Us.”
“Regrets?” There’s a hint of vulnerability in his voice that most people would never notice but that I’ve learned to recognize.
“Not a single one,” I assure him, propping myself up to meet his eyes.
“I used to think we hated each other.”
“Oh, we did,” I reply with a smirk.
He laughs. “And yet, you married me.”
I shrug. “You were the only man who ever kept up.”
As we lie there in the calm, the comfort of our usual banter softens into something deeper.
“I admired you,” he says finally. “Even when we were at each other’s throats. You never backed down. Never sold out. I hated how much I respected it.”
“I knew you were in love with me the second you saw me in the home team tunnel at USC.” I tease him.
“I’m pretty sure the drool on your face was all the proof I needed that you wanted me.”
I roll my eyes and then shift closer, suddenly serious. “I love you,” I say, not as a declaration but as a truth. An offering.
“I love you,” he echoes, pulling my hand to his lips. “And I like you, too. Even when you’re insufferable.”
“Same,” I reply, smiling into his collarbone. “Especially then.”
I sit up suddenly. “Oh! I almost forgot.”
Lucas raises an eyebrow as I scramble out of bed and pad across the floor to where my bag sits abandoned near the door.
“What are you doing?” he asks with amusement.
“I got you something,” I call over my shoulder, digging through the bag until my fingers close around the envelope. “Stay there.”
I duck into the closet and rummage through the drawer where I stashed the ridiculous purchase I made on a whim three days ago. When I emerge, Lucas’s expression shifts from confusion to disbelief, then to absolute delight.
“Are those—”
“Mickey ears? Yes.” I place the sparkly headband on my head, feeling both silly and strangely liberated. I spent years crafting the perfect professional image, and now here I am in Disney merchandise, standing before the man I love. “I’ve been told they’re essential attire.”
Lucas sits up, and his eyes are bright with a childlike joy I’ve come to treasure. I hand him the envelope, suddenly shy.
“What’s this?” he asks.
“Open it.”
His fingers carefully break the seal, and he pulls out two tickets. His eyes widen.
“Paris?” he whispers, looking up at me. “You got us tickets to Disneyland Paris?”
“For our honeymoon,” I say as warmth floods my chest at his expression. “A real one this time. I figured if I’m going to love a Disney adult, I might as well go all in.”
Lucas is out of bed in an instant, lifting me off my feet in a spin that sends the Mickey ears flying. When he sets me down, his eyes are suspiciously bright.
“Jessica Lexington-Carmichael,” he says, his voice rough with emotion, “you continue to surprise me.”
“That’s the plan,” I reply, reaching up to touch his face. “For as long as you’ll have me.”
Outside our window, Los Angeles continues its eternal performance, its lights and glamour concealing complexity beneath. But here, in this space we’ve made our own, we’ve found something beyond the carefully constructed narratives we’ve both built our careers upon.
We’ve found the truth.