Chapter 25
JULES
When I step into the house, quietly closing the front door, nothing but darkness awaits me.
I’m about to peel off my jacket and hang it on the coat rack when Lincoln appears in the entryway to the living room, all tense and apprehensive and gorgeous.
“Hey…” he says in a whisper, bracing one muscular arm on the doorframe.
My eyes do an involuntary sweep down his body. His necktie is gone. His shirt is halfway unbuttoned. His sleeves are rolled back to his elbows. His hair shows signs that he’s spent the last few hours yanking on it with anxious fingers.
My god—who gave this man permission to look so darn good?
“Hey…” I reply coolly, an expert at sounding unaffected.
“How was dinner with Cynthia?” he questions, a worried crease on his brow.
A smile dances across my lips. “We had breakfast, actually. Pancakes and smoothies.”
That gets Lincoln to smile, too. I like it. “Oh…?”
I tiptoe past him, entering the living room. His pillows and blankets are a tangled mess on the couch. I eyeball them, silently wishing he’d come upstairs and make a tangled mess in the bed with me.
Instead, he hurriedly shoves the linens aside to make space for me. I chuck my purse and jacket onto the arm of the couch, and take a seat.
Lincoln proceeds to ask me a thousand and one anxious questions about my dinner with his ex-wife. I humor him, because I can only imagine what it’s like to be in his position.
Cameron is his number one priority, so naturally, ensuring that there’s no beef between his son’s mother and his future wife is a pretty big deal.
But I’m mindful of girl code, careful not to spill any sensitive details of my discussion with Cynthia. I tell Lincoln just enough to put his mind at ease.
When he’s satisfied with all my answers, he flops against the couch, letting his head drop against the wall behind him. I do the same, and we both stare across the room in silence.
His neck cranes slightly so he can look at me. “And you?” he asks softly. “How are you? How have you been?”
“Huh?” I mumble, genuinely confused.
His eyebrows furrow. “I know all this shit that’s going on has to be taking a toll on you, too.”
I can’t lie—Lincoln’s concern takes me off-guard.
I’m not too used to people giving a fuck about my well-being.
For most of my life, I’ve felt like an inconvenience, a responsibility.
To the adults who took care of me, the goal was always ensuring my survival.
For as long as I can remember, my comfort and contentment have always taken a back seat.
Whenever I was struggling, I learned to just keep it moving and suck it up.
But here is this handsome man, waiting patiently for a status report on my well-being.
I lift my shoulders, then let them fall. “Hey, we both know what we’re doing and why we’re doing it. That’s all that matters.”
He nods thoughtfully. Then, he pushes a heavy breath past his lips. “Can you believe the wedding is in two days?”
My stomach clenches at the reminder. “Crazy…” is all I can manage through my tight throat.
He softly nudges my arm with his elbow. “You still onboard with all of this?”
I swallow, pushing down the ball of anxiety in my throat. “I’m onboard.”
“You sure?” His worried frown returns, and it’s doing things to me that it shouldn’t. It melts me in ways I’d never admit.
Trying to lighten the heaviness in the room, I nudge him in return. “Wait—are you the one getting cold feet, Mr. Button-Up?”
He doesn’t smile. In fact, his frown only deepens. “I just don’t want you having regrets about this down the line.”
My chest flutters. But I won’t let him see how deeply his words affect me. Most of the time, people don't seem to give a damn how their actions impact me.
Pretending to be annoyed, I huff out a breath. “What’s with the concern all of a sudden?”
Lincoln makes a grumbly sound in his throat. “Look, Jules—I…I care about you. All right?”
Everything stops.
Fades.
Crumbles.
And now, Lincoln Raines and his pretty blue eyes are all I see.
“Can I kiss you?” he rasps out, his stare lingering on my mouth.
My tongue darts across my parched lips. “Practice for the wedding?” I whisper, my heart pounding its way into my windpipe.
My groom-to-be gives his head a subtle shake. He moves in slowly, his palm gently cupping my cheek. “No, Jules. I just want to kiss you.”
Without another thought, my eyes flutter shut and I drape my arms around his neck. The seconds stretch into an eternity as I wait for his lips to touch mine.
And when they do, the tough girl inside me melts like ice cream dropped on the sidewalk in a summer heatwave.
My future fake husband kisses me so soft, so slow, with a tenderness I’ve always secretly craved but never experienced, or even dared to wish for, in real life.
My heart feels each electric brush of his lips. My clit feels every probing stroke of his tongue. And things quickly get out of control when I start kissing him back.
His hands are in my hair, angling my head to kiss me deeper. I’m yanking at the buttons of his shirt, desperate to get him naked. We’re tugging and pulling and undressing each other.
There goes my dress, followed by my bra. His shirt and his belt hit the floor next.
My guardian angel doesn’t even bother arguing with me. She just shakes her head and grabs her suitcases as she exits stage left. Because this is happening. There’s no changing my mind tonight.
Lincoln somehow loses his balance and tumbles off the couch, rolling and landing on his back. I go over the edge right along with him, plunging to the carpeted floor in a cacophony of gasps and grunts and giggles.
He presses a finger to my lips and listens for movement from Cameron upstairs.
“Be quiet, would you?” he scolds me, but the faint rays of the street lamp filtering through the curtain illuminate his mischievous eyes.
“If you want me to shut up, put your mouth back on mine,” I counter.
Lincoln flips us over and pins my hips to the floor. “You are so much trouble. D’you know that? Sometimes I wonder what the hell I’m getting myself into, marrying you.”
I draw my hands across the warm, smooth skin of his bare shoulders. “You’re in too deep now, Mr. Button-Up. No take backs.”
He’s nipping at my neck again, biting me tenderly between each word. “No”—nibble—“fucking”—nibble—“take backs.”
Then he devours my mouth. He feasts on my neck. He licks and sucks a famished path down to my breasts. And my body comes alive for him.
Lincoln. His name gets lodged in my throat when his palms slip under my ass, squeezing and kneading. His mouth stays busy, worshipping my nipples as he returns to peeling off what’s left of my clothing.
His fingertips trail along the edge of my panties. “You gonna let your fiancé eat this pretty pussy tonight, Julissa?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“And you’re gonna come all over my face? You’re gonna make a big mess for me?”
My back arches off the floor. “Yes.”
He scoots lower down my body, kissing my belly, my hipbone, the crease of my thigh. “One rule.”
A guttural groan is my response.
His index finger covers my mouth again. “You have to be nice and quiet for me. Okay?”
He slips my panties to the side and drags two fingers through my shuddering seam.
“Yes. Yes,” I say, lifting my hips off the ground so he can rid me of my underwear.
He’s wearing a smirk as he drags the soaked black lace down my thighs and past my ankles. I don’t trust that smug look on his face as he balls up my panties and shoves them into his back pocket.
But before I can ask a question, his palms are spreading my thighs wide and his entire face is buried at my core.
His mouth opens against my nether lips and his tongue peeks out, licking and twirling and slowly stirring me up into a frenzy.
“Goddamn. So fucking good,” he husks out.
There’s something so erotic, seeing this strait-laced business man stretched out on the floor, staring at me from between my spread thighs with nothing but carnal lust on his face. It makes me feel wild.
Spine arching, my fingers slide into his hair. Each time I pull, his lips tug my clit. When my nails claw at his scalp, his teeth graze my bud. And when I grind on his mouth, his velvety tongue spears deep inside me.
Lincoln. His name is on the tip of my tongue. I smack my molars together to hold it in.
For a man who’s so restrained and uptight in everyday life, he sure is good at this pussy-eating stuff. Hmm. I’d bet good money he was a pornstar in some past lifetime.
Because no one has ever gotten me worked up like Lincoln Raines does. There’s magic in his tongue, in his lips, in his fingers. Too bad he’s also painfully insufferable as a person.
But maybe I can block that out for now. Especially as he’s stuffing two thick fingers into my hole and curling them against my G-spot.
Every fiber of my being is screaming, More of that, please.
“Lincoln-n-n…” I whimper, finally breaking.
His head rises and the smirk on those wet, shiny lips only widens. “One rule, Jules. There was one rule. And you broke it. Now, open your mouth.” I watch as he pulls my panties out of his back pocket.
He’s going to…? Wait…is he going to…?
A tiny part of me wants to tell him to go fuck himself. But frankly, the bigger part of me just wants him to fuck me. Any damn way he wants to.
Stare locked on his, my lips fall open. He stuffs the panties into my mouth. At the brazen act, my eyes roll back into my skull.
He chuckles deep in his chest, the sound radiating with satisfaction. “Look at you. So fucking beautiful. So desperate to come. I can’t believe I get to marry such a filthy girl.”
I squirm against the carpet, silently begging him for more.
Lincoln doesn’t waste another second. This time when his head dives back between my legs, he’s relentless. He’s focused. He’s determined to make me fall apart.