Chapter 18 – James
JAMES
Meetings keep me at the office until almost midnight, but I text Maura three times during the day, asking how her hand is doing.
The first two times, her answer is a simple: fine.
The third time, she sends me a gif of the armless Monty Python and the Holy Grail knight with the quote, “Tis but a flesh wound.”
Luckily, she’s still awake when I get home, curled up on the couch with a book. I frown, seeing the thick white bandage still on her hand.
“It’s fine,” she says, rolling her eyes before I can even ask.
My frown softens. “I have something for you.”
Maura glances down at the rolled paper in my hands. “Is it a canvas?”
“No.” I bring it to the kitchen counter and unroll it for her. “It's a blueprint.”
Her shoulder lightly brushes against mine as she moves over to my side. “A blueprint of what? Should I be able to tell?”
“Not unless you have a background in architecture that you forgot to mention.” I point to the walls. “This is your studio.”
“What’s this?” Her paint-stained finger lands on a square in the corner.
“Nothing yet. But if you approve, it'll be a dumbwaiter system. It will be capable of carrying large loads of stone up from a new storage area in our parking garage. That way you can process it in the industrial rock crusher. The architect drew up two options for where that might go.”
I flipped the top blueprint over, revealing the two options underneath. Maura sucks in breath. “I thought my studio was finished,” she murmurs.
“I thought it was. It turns out, you needed a way to crush your diamonds, and any other stones you find. We don't have to build it, if you think it'll take up too much space.”
“Shhh.” She nudges my arm. “Don't say silly things like that. Of course I want it. I just can't believe you thought of this. It's…It's amazing, James.”
“Does this mean I'm forgiven for the optics comment?”
She tilts her head, pretending to consider. “You're at about seventy percent forgiveness.”
“What would get me to a hundred?”
“A time machine, ideally. But I'll settle for you never using the word 'optics' in bed again.”
“Done.”
“Also, I want breakfast in bed tomorrow.”
“That seems unrelated to the original offense.”
“I'm a complex woman, James. My forgiveness has layers.”
Satisfaction warms my chest. I might have fucked up with my optics comment, but the damage wasn’t permanent. At least with this gesture, I was able to bring our relationship back to some kind of equilibrium.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I was an insensitive asshole, talking about schedules and optics right after we were intimate. It was thoughtless timing, and you deserve better. I meant to tell you that yesterday in the studio, but…”
“But then I started bleeding all over the place?” she finishes. I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Yes.”
“Thank you. You have no idea how much it means for me to hear that.”
Her smallest finger brushes against my hand, and the silence between us feels heavy and charged.
“Can I ask you something?” Maura says quietly.
“Of course.”
“Why do you work so much? I mean, I understand ambition, but you have more money than you could spend in ten lifetimes. You could retire tomorrow and never worry about anything. But you're in the office at 6:00 a.m. and you don't leave until midnight most days. What are you running from?”
The question hits closer to home than I'd like. I could deflect. I could give her the corporate answer about shareholder obligations and market competition. Instead, for reasons I don't fully understand, I tell her the truth.
“When my parents died, I had just graduated, and suddenly I was completely alone. The only thing that made sense was work. If I was in meetings, I didn't have to think. If I was analyzing numbers, I didn't have to feel.”
Maura is quiet, listening.
“At some point, it stopped being about avoiding grief and became...who I am. I don't know how to stop.” I let out a breath. “I'm not sure I want to.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“It is.” The admission surprises me. I've never said that out loud before.
Her hand moves, covering mine on the counter. Not romantic—just warm.
“You're not technically alone anymore,” she says. “For whatever that's worth.”
I look at her—really look at her—and something shifts in my chest.
“It's worth quite a lot,” I say quietly.
It’s like something between us has shifted.
When I fucked Maura on the floor, wet from the rain, our relationship changed.
It became something different than what we agreed to on paper.
I tried to pretend we could go back to how things were, but it only hurt Maura.
I don’t know what we’re doing anymore—what I’m supposed to do.
“I want to know where we stand,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean, where do we stand?”
“The marriage contract we signed doesn't have to be set in stone. At least, not between the two of us. If one of us wants to change the terms of this relationship, then I think we should discuss it.”
She sighs. “I feel like you're talking in business-speak here, James. Why are you asking me? Really?”
“I'm asking if you want to change the terms of our partnership. If you want…more.”
The word hangs heavy in the air between us. I don’t know what “more” means, or how I could possibly give it to her. I just know that I don’t want to deny my wife anything she asks for.
“Nothing has changed in terms of the arrangement,” Maura says finally. “But I’d like us to be friends at least, for the sake of our child—if we have one.”
My jaw tightens, and then relaxes. I might not have any idea how to be a good husband, but I know how to be a friend. If this is what she wants, I can give it to her.
“Friends,” I say, extending my hand to her.
She slides her fingers between mine. Not a handshake, but something more intimate. She bites her lip and looks down.
“I know we're outside of our scheduled window,” she says. “But if you have time now, I'm free too. There's still a chance they could lead to conception, anyway.”
My lips part, and for the first time in years, I feel heat rise to my cheeks. I have no idea what to say. I assumed that after our argument, she'd be more distant. I never expected…well, any of this.
“Is that even something you want?” I murmur. “I don't want to push you. I can wait a few weeks.”
No matter how uncomfortable that might be.
Her hands tightens around mine. “I’m not that cruel. I know you have needs. I have them too.”
I glance down at her, my eyes landing on her pouty lips. Her tongue sweeps out to wet them, a tempting flash of pink.
Her eyes meet mine, and those lips curl up into a smile. “And since you can’t sleep with anyone else, what kind of friend would I be if I left you hanging?”
Wait, what? “I’m the one who can't sleep with anyone else?”
Her smile turns wicked. “I never agreed to exclusivity. That's your burden to bear.”
Rage washes over me like a typhoon, hard, sudden, and all-consuming. The thought of another man touching my wife makes me want to tear something to shreds. Better, someone.
“Mutual exclusivity was fucking implied,” I snarl. My temper isn’t usually this easy to rouse, but it’s too goddamn easy to picture another man’s fingers twining in Maura’s auburn hair. I know exactly what other men would see in her—a well-coiffed, elegant woman, perfect for defiling.
Fuck, I’ve never been jealous like this over a woman before. Maybe marriage naturally turns men territorial.
“I’m not much of a businesswoman, but isn’t the point of writing a contract making sure that nothing’s implied?” Maura’s caramel-colored eyes twinkle. “If you wanted exclusivity, you should've negotiated harder.
“No,” I growl. “Me and no one else. Not ever.”
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
“I want your word.”
“Yes,” she says. There’s no hesitation, which makes my blood pressure drop instantly. “Only you, James. I promise.”
I slide my hands into her hair and pull her mouth up to mine. She has to stand on her toes to keep from craning her neck, and it’s sexy as hell. I love that as tall as she is, she still has to push herself up to kiss me.
She reaches between us and presses her hand to my cock, which is still only half hard. I didn’t anticipate getting the chance to have her tonight. She pulls away from the kiss and flashes me a wicked smile.
Then she lowers down to her knees and reaches for my belt.
The sight of her on her knees—my elegant, sophisticated wife looking up at me through her lashes—short-circuits something in my brain. All my carefully cultivated control threatens to crumble.
My mouth goes dry.
Christ, is she really about to suck me off? I go from half-flaccid to rock-hard in a second, my cock throbbing at the thought of it. My enthusiasm is…unexpected. It’s not like this is new for me—but it’s new for us. I’ve never felt my wife’s mouth on me.
My balls tighten as she undoes my belt buckle. Her hands tremble slightly when she moves on to my pants button and zipper, almost like she’s nervous. It makes me want to tear off my clothes and shove my cock down her throat until she’s choking on it.
As appealing as that visual is, though, I’d rather let her guide this. I don’t want to rush her, especially if she’s anxious about this. I don’t blame her, considering how long it took me to relax her pussy enough to fit my cock.
She pulls my pants and boxers down, and I kick them behind me. Looking up through hooded eyes, she watches as I shed my jacket, tie, and shirt, too, so I’m completely naked for her.
Her tongue peeks through her lips, and there’s a flash of auburn as she ducks her head and drags her tongue along the bottom of my cock, from the root to the tip.
“Fuck,” I hiss, my hand finding her hair on instinct. “Do that again.”
She does, slower this time, her tongue tracing every ridge and vein like she's memorizing me. When she reaches the tip, she swirls her tongue around the head and I see stars.