Chapter 31
JULES
“Okay, bud. Time to get ready for bed,” Lincoln says, collecting the deck of loose cards and dropping them back into the cardboard box.
“Aw, man. Already?” Cameron complains.
“Yes, sir.”
We finished dinner nearly an hour ago, and the three of us have been sitting around the table playing games, laughing, and catching up on our day.
“You play a mean game of Crazy Eights,” I tell Cameron with a smile. “I’m going to have to practice before we have our rematch.”
He nods. “You’ll get better.”
Cameron’s bluntness makes me laugh. He doesn’t sugarcoat things. Just says it like it is. I love that.
He’s walking backwards toward the hallway, when he pauses. “Um, Jules?”
I look over at him. “Yeah?”
“After I brush my teeth, will you tuck me in? Please?”
I blink in surprise. Cameron’s question throws me for a loop. I glance at Lincoln, and see the same shock on his face.
“Oh, yeah. Of course. I’ll give you a couple minutes and then meet you upstairs?”
The kid gives me a thumbs up and runs off.
Lincoln and I are left alone in the kitchen. He looks at me. I look at him. I feel a tingle in my belly.
Why do I feel so self-conscious all of a sudden? Why am I aware of the wrinkles in my dress, the rip on the knee of my lacy black pantyhose, the less-than-perfect state of my hair? How does Lincoln do this to me?
No. No, no, no. Hell no, my guardian angel whispers. Don’t fall into those captivating blue eyes again.
“I’m just gonna…” My thumb darts over my shoulder, pointing toward the exit.
Lincoln awkwardly clears his throat. “Um, yeah. Of course.”
I take my time shuffling down the hall and up the stairs, looking at all the framed pictures on the wall. Cameron’s cute now, but he sure was an adorable toddler. Those cheeks and those tiny, little teeth. I bet he was a little stinker in his earlier years.
Lincoln is so handsome, too. Every picture of his makes my stomach tingle again. But when I stop in front of the newest picture he installed on the wall while I was out today, I run a palm over my middle to get the butterflies to simmer down.
It’s a picture from our wedding day. Our first dance. Him and me tangled in each other’s arms, staring at each other like there’s not a single other person in the room.
It’s all for show, Jules. It’s just a part of our facade. Because every married couple has wedding photos on the wall.
Tearing my eyes away, I head up the stairs. When I make it to Cameron’s bedroom, he’s launching himself across the room and onto his twin bed.
I tentatively walk in. “So, how do we do this? Do we read a book?”
He nods. “I’d like that.”
I stroll over to his small bookcase, and we take our time reviewing the titles before Cameron suggests that I choose one.
I eagerly pick one about a cool cat who has quite the adventure when he goes to school.
I only get a couple pages in, and it becomes clear that Cameron knows this one well.
He reads along with me, almost by heart.
When story time is over, I help adjust the little boy’s race car blanket and get him settled in bed.
“Can I tell you something?” he asks, suddenly looking nervous.
“Of course. Anything.”
“I like you. I think you’re really cool.” Guilt washes over his little face. “But I still love my mommy.”
My heart. My stinkin’ heart.
“Oh, buddy.” I lean in and give him a hug, hoping he doesn’t mind. His tiny arms wrap around me, as we share a quiet, tender moment.
Then I lean back and look into big, sleepy eyes that look so much like his dad’s.
“Cameron, I promise you that I will never take your mom’s place.
That’s not what I want. I like you a lot too, and you’re special enough to have lots of people who love you without having to replace each other in your life.
Does that make sense?” I ask, noticing his eyes are drooping now.
Cameron gives me a smile, and then he falls asleep mid nod.
“Good night, sweet boy,” I whisper, wiping his blond hair out of his face and then tiptoeing out of his bedroom.
When I walk back into the kitchen, I find Lincoln at the sink, loading the dishwasher. He organizes our plates between the racks, straightens himself, and then pauses to roll his shoulders. It’s then that I realize how tired and tense he seems.
I’m quickly discovering that there’s never a break for working parents.
He starts his day earlier because he has to get Cameron up and ready for school.
He spends the day handling work, in countless meetings, the pressure of providing for his family always present in his mind.
Then he comes home and returns to dad mode.
I make a mental note to try and pick up some of the house duties while I’m here. If I can pitch in with some cooking or cleaning, it’s the least I can do while I’m jobless and living under this roof.
“Did Cameron go to bed easily?” Lincoln asks when he sees me.
“He practically passed out when we finished our book.” I step forward, gently laying my hand on my husband’s back. He tenses under my fingers. “Hey, what if I rub your shoulders? You look exhausted.”
He pauses, a soapy glass in his hand, hesitating. “Oh. Uh. Yeah, if you’re sure?”
“I am. You worked. You cooked. Then you handled the cleanup. A massage is just my way of saying ‘thank you’.” I take another step closer. “Now, sit.”
Lincoln snorts. “Okay, bossy.” But he does as he’s told, closing up the dishwasher and then dropping into a chair at the kitchen table.
I stand behind him, squeezing and rubbing the tense, knotted muscles around his neck, his shoulders, and occasionally down to his corded biceps. After just a few minutes, he relaxes, letting his eyes shut.
God. He smells good. And his body is so warm. And I’d give anything to rake my fingers through his thick, silky hair.
“Shit, woman…” he mumbles, but the gravelly sound of his voice tells me he’s far from complaining. In fact, if I had to guess, I’d say Lincoln is…turned on.
I continue massaging, and he starts squirming in his seat. Discreetly adjusting himself.
“Jules…” he groans.
I swallow, growing warm and tingly myself. “Jules what?” I sound like I’m begging. For what, I don’t know.
“I…” Lincoln starts, but then his voice trails off with another moan, as my touch runs down the length of his arms.
Feeling a surge of boldness, I round his chair and drop down to my knees in front of him. I peer up at my husband, skating my hands over his muscled thighs. My hands continue until I’m stroking his erection through his slacks.
I’ve never seen his blue eyes look so dark and so full of desire as he stares down at me.
“What is it you want from me?” I whisper.
He shakes his head, fighting it.
“Lincoln…” I plead.
“Fuck it,” he growls, yanking me off the floor and pulling me into his lap.
His lips cover mine in a devouring kiss. It’s devastating. Brutal. All the lust we’ve both been building up since our wedding night comes gushing out.
Ripples of excitement vibrate in the pit of my belly, traveling lower, lower, lower until a needy ache is humming between my thighs.
I’m no longer willing to do the right thing. I don’t care if this is wrong. I just need the relief that only his touch can offer.
His hand massages my upper thigh, before sneaking into the space between us. I watch as his fingers disappear under the hem of my short dress. Lincoln’s thumb flicks a path from my clit to my dripping opening.
His head leans back, his blue eyes catching mine. “You’re not wearing any panties under there…” he husks out in a voice that makes my pussy throb against his hand.
“Good job, Sherlock.”
Scoffing in annoyance, he pinches my clit and I see stars.
I grip his shoulders, panting and almost shaking with need. “Tell me what you want, Lincoln,” I beg my husband again.
In one effortless move, he rises to his full height. My arms tangle around his neck and my knees clamp around his waist as he carries me toward the stairs.
“You know exactly what I want, Jules. I want you in my bed. Now.”