Chapter 38 - Julian
People are smiling. Not the polite, practiced expressions I’ve come to expect at Northwell events. Not the tight, careful smiles worn by staff and executives who know they’re being watched. These are real. Loose. Unguarded. Laughter carries instead of polite conversation.
It takes me a moment to understand why.
Lucy.
She’s everywhere without trying to be. Talking easily.
Laughing. Touching arms when she speaks, listening when others talk.
She isn’t managing the room, she’s inhabiting it.
And the effect is immediate. The event feels lighter.
Less staged. People linger instead of circling for advantage.
And it goes far beyond her presence here tonight, although I can tell that everyone she meets is instantly enamoured.
It is the care and attention to detail that were put into this event.
This isn't just another cold, corporate holiday event; it feels like something. Like Lucy.
I made sure she stayed by my side tonight.
I made sure Karen had a team to cover for Lucy, so she could enjoy the event as Mrs. North.
The dark green velvet gown moves with her as if it were designed for her body alone. The colour makes her skin warm, luminous. I catch myself tracking her without meaning to, adjusting my position so she’s always in my line of sight.
I don’t do that; I’m trained not to. But I cannot seem to help myself when it comes to her.
I accept our drinks from the bar and turn back toward the room, and that’s when I hear it.
Her laugh. It's not polite, not restrained. It is a sharp bark of genuine joy that cuts through the noise. It hits me in the chest hard enough that I stop mid-movement.
I turn, and I find her barefoot on the dancefloor, smiling down at a little boy. She's talking to a woman who I assume is his mother. I scan the space and see Ansel, one of the lawyers on my team, watching, who I now know to be his wife and son with Lucy.
And then, like it's the most natural thing in the world, the little boy holds open his arms, and Lucy picks him up with a smile that lights up her face.
He can’t be more than six or seven; he loops his tiny arms around her neck like she’s something precious. She’s swaying gently, murmuring to him, her head tipped back as she laughs again, free, unfiltered, alive and the picture it paints steals the air from my lungs.
Time fractures, and it feels like I can't breathe.
I register movement at my edges, Theo, Elliot, Rowan, Caleb... but I don’t look at them. I know they’re watching me. I can feel it. I can feel the weight of their attention, the unspoken realization passing between them.
I don’t care.
All I can see is her.
The way she cradles the boy is like it’s instinct. The way her body softens around him. The way she looks so utterly at ease doing something so ordinary and so rare in my world.
Something inside me opens.
It’s not loud. It’s not dramatic.
But it is terrifying.
The song ends. Applause ripples. She bends to set the boy down, smiling as his parents’ approach. She slips back into her heels, steadying herself on a table at the edge of the dance floor.
I don’t remember handing the drinks to Theo.
I don’t remember deciding to move.
I just know that suddenly I’m crossing the room, every instinct sharpened to a singular focus.
Her.
My hand reaches out as she wobbles slightly, steadying her without thinking. She looks up at me, surprise flashing into something warmer, something deeper, and the force of it nearly brings me to my knees.
There’s too much in her eyes.
Want. Trust. Heat. Curiosity.
Hope.
I pull her into me without a word and start to dance, and the room dissolves.
Her body fits against mine like it’s always known where it belongs. My hand settles at her waist. Her fingers curl into my jacket. She exhales, slow and shaky, like this moment is affecting her too.
I was never taught how to do this.
My father taught me control. Distance. Precision. He taught me how to win, how to dominate, and how to never let anyone see the cost.
He never taught me how to feel.
Lucy does.
Every second with her is an invitation I don’t know how to accept without losing myself, and yet, with her, losing myself feels like breathing for the first time.
The song fades, and I lean down, my mouth near her ear. “Let’s go home.”
The shiver that runs through her is immediate. Visible. Goosebumps rise along her arms, and I feel a surge of something close to triumph.
The drive back passes in a blur.
We don’t talk.
We don’t need to.
The penthouse door closes behind us, and the quiet hums with expectation. We move toward the bedroom like gravity is pulling us there, like we’ve already agreed to something without saying it out loud.
I’ve had sex before, plenty of times, but it has never felt like this.
This is anticipation sharpened to a point. This is reverence. This is the weight of choice.
We stop in the center of the room and turn to face each other.
No choreography.
No instructions.
Just honesty.
I loosen my tie slowly, watching her eyes track the movement. She swallows. Her fingers tremble as she reaches for the zipper at the side of her dress, hesitating, just once, before letting it slide down.
Fabric pools at her feet, and I am left with the vision of my wife standing in front of me in a black strapless bra and matching silk thong. Her hair looks wild around her.
Lucy watches as I undress. I don't stop until I am naked before her.
With trembling hands, Lucy unclips her bra.
I want to ask if she is sure, if this is ok and she must sense it because as her bra falls to the ground, she gives me a smile that makes my heart stutter.
She bends over, never losing eye contact with me, and slips her thong past her hips and then stands up, stepping out of her clothes and towards me.
She doesn’t cover herself.
She holds my gaze with a soft kind of courage in her eyes.
“You are perfect,” I say, the words tearing out of me without permission.
She smiles. Small. Real.
We close the distance together.
What happens next isn’t about urgency.
It’s about discovery. About hands learning without taking, mouths speaking without words, a connection so complete it feels less like possession and more like recognition.
I pull her body to mine, one hand caressing her hip and settling on her lower back, the other tangling with her hair and cradling the back of her head so I can control the kiss.
It seems my wife doesn't know where to touch first; her hands roam across my skin, tracing the lines of my muscles.
Moving both hands, I lift her without breaking the kiss, and she instinctively wraps her legs around me, lining us up almost perfectly. If she tilted her hips and I adjusted us, I would be in her.
I want to take my time and savour this first time with Lucy, but something primal takes over, and I move without thought. We have barely touched, but I can feel how wet my wife is for me. And this need to be in her is making me feel crazy.
I lay Lucy down on the bed and then crawl up on top of her, resting my weight on my left forearm.
I brush the hair away from her face and trail my hand down her neck, her collarbone, in between the most perfect breasts and then down her abdomen, my eyes never leaving hers.
I want to capture every reaction, learn everything from her in this moment.
I slow my movements and trail my fingers to her hip, and I am rewarded with a whimper and a breathy, "Julian, please."
I am rock fucking hard, and I can feel my precum soaking Lucy's thigh. I finally bring my hand to Lucy's sex, and she shivers as I softly rub my knuckles on her tight bud.
"I need you... I need."
I press my lips to her in a bruising kiss and pull back just slightly, "What do you need, Lucy?"
She moans as my fingers trace her entrance. She is so wet for me that it is taking all my control to hold back.
"I need you."
"You have me," I answer so quickly, so truthfully, I have to push the fear away; it has no place here. Not now.
"I need you in me, Julian, please."
I steal her moan with a kiss, and I push a finger inside her. I rub and play, and push, adding a second finger, needing her to cum for me. I need her ready for me.
Lucy is rocking her hips, meeting my fingers with every thrust. She is panting, and I can feel her start to clench down on my fingers. I move my thumb to put pressure on her swollen bud and growl into her ear, "Cum for me, wife, so I can show you what you do to me."
The words are barely out of my mouth, and she is cuming all over my fingers, screaming my name.
I don't think, I don't let her come down, I move on primal instinct. Positioning myself between her legs. I rub my cock through her folds, covering myself in her.
"Oh my god, Julian, yes... yes... fuck... please don't stop."
Her eyes are closed, like she is blissed out on her pleasure, but I want her eyes. I want to see her golden-brown eyes when I push into her.
I hold myself steady, my cock notched at her entrance and kiss her passionately before whispering on her lips, "Open your eyes for me, baby."
She does, her big brown eyes coming into view with a flutter of her long lashes, and then she locks onto me.
We stay positioned like that for a second, a minute... an hour. Long enough that we both understand what this is, what this means, without saying a word. Everything is said with our eyes.
And then I piston my hips forward. Lucy screams my name as I groan, doing everything to regain some control, to last longer than just this. I need more.
I pull back out to the tip and slam back in.
Lucy pulls my face down to hers and kisses me frantically.
We start to move together, already finding our rhythm, both giving and taking in equal measure.
I want to explore her body more thoroughly.
I want to try everything with her. But right now, I can't move from this moment, from this position.
Lucy's hands in my hair, soul-deep kisses, and our sweat-slicked bodies moving in tandem.
I lose track of time until Lucy starts panting harder, chanting my name, and then I feel everything. She clenches down around me, and I feel the waves of her orgasm crashing all around me. I join her, and I cum so hard that I lose my vision for a moment.
We lay tangled together, sweat slick and covered in our release. I pull away, and Lucy whines, causing me to chuckle.
A shower meant to clean each other up ended up with me on my knees, getting my first taste of my wife, followed by rounds two and three.
When we finally come to rest, her head on my chest, her breath warm against my skin, something settles inside me.
Contentment.
Safety.
Home.
It scares the hell out of me. Because I know, without question now, that this was never just an arrangement. And for the first time in my life, I don’t know how to control what comes next. I don’t know if I even want to.