Chapter 5
LINCOLN
My first moment of consciousness comes with the weight of a woman’s body on my chest. Her arms wrapped around me like a spider monkey. Her hot, bare legs intertwined with my own.
My lips curl upward and my cock is instantly a fan of this specific dream. It feels so real I swear I can smell her shampoo. My subconscious really nailed the details this time. My arms automatically squeeze her slim body tighter as I let out a groan, “Mmm. Jules…”
When she moans softly in return, my body jolts. That’s the moment I realize that this is not one of my usual naughty dreams. This is real life.
Now wide awake, my eyes fly open.
I’m in Jules’s house, in Jules’s bed, blinking at the dark walls of Jules’s bedroom.
Jules. Fuck.
I suck in a breath, glancing to the side. Her normally sleek hair is strewn around in a tangled, short mess as she continues to drool on my bare chest.
What the hell did I do?
All I drank was a few cans of ginger ale last night, so I can’t even blame my decisions on my lack of faculties. I'm just a grown man who willingly—soberly—jumped into bed with the one woman I swore I'd avoid. What a pathetic master of self-control I am.
Either way, the truth is cold, plain, and simple… I shouldn’t have left that party with Jules last night.
But goddammit, I couldn’t help myself. Jules literally had me weak. It’s embarrassing to admit that this was the first time a woman has even touched me since my divorce from Cynthia. In my defense, there’s only so much a man can take. My hand can only do so much in the shower every night.
One kiss. One touch. That’s all it took for Jules to have me chasing her tail like a dog in heat.
And what a hot piece of tail she is.
It’s hard to say I regret it, because in the moment, hooking up with Jules was far better than all my late night fantasies.
But now in the aftermath of all the orgasms, morning light streaming through the curtains, lying in a foreign bed on a droopy mattress, I’m starting to second-guess letting my dick call the shots.
I glance around the bedroom, plotting my escape. I have to get out of here before she wakes up and forces me to talk about what we just did. Before she forces me to talk about the insanity of the night.
I physically cringe just thinking about it. Seriously. What’s there to say after something like that? Oh, hello. Thanks for making me come in my boxers…Still hate my guts? Great. See you later.
Yeah, no thanks. I’m not good at those moments.
Plus, I have a very important business meeting tomorrow. I need to get my head in the right space so I can prepare for work. And that’s a bit hard to do with my morning wood pressing against Jules’s naked thigh.
Carefully stretching my arm out as far as I can reach, I pat around on the floor until I find my phone in the pocket of my pants. I grab it, grateful to find that it powers on, even though it’s sitting at seven percent battery life.
I scroll through a few worried text messages from my mom, asking me where I disappeared to at the party. But then I find a couple more texts she sent in the night, reassuring me that Cameron’s good, fast asleep next to his cousin.
Cameron…
The thought of my son is just another reminder that this whole one-night-stand shit isn’t for guys like me.
I never would have snuck out from the party like that if Cameron wasn’t completely safe and taken care of.
But I still can’t be doing nonsense like this.
I’m a dad first. I’ve got no time for putting my baser needs before my son’s.
Mind made up, I strategically maneuver out from under Jules’s dead weight, first freeing my legs and then my upper body. I carefully slide a pillow under her head, hoping she won’t be able to tell the difference between my chest and the new bedding swap.
Once I’m out of the bed, I tiptoe around, picking up my clothes that are strewn around the room. It takes me so long to find my second sock that I don’t bother to get dressed here. I can’t risk waking Jules up and being forced into an awkward talk.
So, instead, with my armful of clothes, I just head for the door. In a final moment of weakness, I pause and turn back. I stand at the bedroom door and take one last eyeful of Jules.
She’s breathtaking. Despite the big, bold tattoo on her shoulder blade, everything about a nude Jules seems softer. Maybe it’s the lack of leather and biker boots. But she seems more vulnerable. Fewer rough edges. If I didn’t know better, I’d describe the woman as warm and cuddly.
But I do know better.
Jules is only sweet when she’s sleeping—or orgasming. As soon as she wakes up and those dark eyes land on me, she’ll be right back to her rude, bold, sassy self.
Hence my motivation for getting the hell out of here.
I creak open her bedroom door and step out into the living room. Butt-ass naked.
I make it one step before a surprised squeak catches my attention. My gaze flies across the open space, finding a wide-eyed woman thumbing through the mail on the kitchen counter and cradling a takeout coffee cup.
The woman takes an eyeful of my junk and lets out a whistle. “Well, good morning to you…”
Aw, shit.