Chapter 36
Gabrielle’s POV
This job is not so bad. I’ve only had it for about four to five days. I thought it was going to be stressful. Honestly, the first day was, but Lincoln stayed true to his word. He honestly is hardly ever home. I didn’t feel so good about staying over at his house, even though it is very nice here.
It’s Friday now. Usually the setup we have at the moment is that I go home when Lincoln gets in.
He tried to convince me to stay, but no way in hell I’m staying over at his house.
At least not until I get things in order. And also because I want to be a little stubborn, if I’m being honest.
But my stubbornness is even starting to get to me, because going home that late at night while bone tired is exhausting.
It’s so hilarious because this job is not any different than how it was when I was a housewife. Yes, I had my remote job at home, but Lincoln was right. It was a much easier job, and I had the freedom to do whatever I needed to do.
Cook for him.
Clean.
Take care of Walnut.
Basically, I did whatever I wanted.
And what it really was, was cleaning up any mess either of us made.
And just like that, the memories, like chocolate chips, sprinkle over the canvas of dough in my heart.
It was one of the days Lincoln was running late.
“Baby where’s my other shoe! God damn it I’m going to be late. Why did you let me oversleep?!” Lincoln said to me frantically as he hopped around the house trying desperately to put his clothes on as he searched for his other shoe.
I remember how I was trying hard not to laugh. “Baby I didn’t tell you to go back to sleep.”
“Yeah well I told you I needed to get out of bed and you decided to be a damn succubus and pull me back in.”
“You came so hard too. Then you went right back to sleep. That was not my fault. But that was pretty hot,” I smiled, my heart tingling at the memory.
“Babe please I’m being serious.”
“Just admit it was hot. I literally put you back to sleep.”
“I was already tired and I’m late please oh my fucking god,” Lincoln said, getting frustrated, putting his back up against the living room wall of our old house and placing his face in his hands. “I’m going to lose my job. I’m going to lose my job over some pussy.”
“Excuse me mister,” I said in mock outrage.
“This isn’t just some pussy for your information.
This is your wife’s pussy and even if you did lose your job, which you won’t, because you’re too important…
” I said, straightening up his shirt and buttoning the top button. “I’ll always be here no matter what.”
“Yeah women always say that.”
“I was here for you when you had nothing, Link. And I’ll be here no matter what. Come hell or high water. I married you, not your money,” I said, cradling his face with my hands as he looked down at me, still with a hint of frenetic panic in his eyes.
“Now breathe,” I said. Lincoln followed my instructions, closed his eyes for half a second and took a breath. Probably at that moment he thought he was really going to lose his job. “Look behind you. Under your bag.”
Lincoln looked behind him and saw the other shoe. “Damn it. Were you messing with me this whole time?”
I smiled.
Lincoln quickly put on his shoe and, peering at the time, he quickly ran to the door.
Then I, smiling wide, remembering how full of love my heart was in that moment, gave him his little lunch bag; something he chose to stop carrying, claiming it was too much stuff for him to deal with as he was getting to work.
But I remembered how happy it made him to eat some home-cooked meals instead of just getting stuff from the canteen that felt so less and manufactured.
I poured my love into it, and it made me happy every time he’d bring back the container with it completely empty…
that is, until he made me stop making them.
As he was getting ready to head out through the door, he stopped at the threshold and turned around.
I stared at him standing there in the front door, trying not to make myself sad knowing that I would miss him for many, many hours, and only see him later that night to spend a couple of hours with him while he was barely awake, only for him to get up and do it again.
“Baby,” he said with the most gentle face, no longer rushing.
“Go, you’re going to be late,” I said sadly.
He looked downcast, but then, looking outside, he turned back around to face me, dropping his bag and, oh my God, he came back in the house with a confident stride, using his arm to scoop me up to kiss me as if I were the only thing important to him in that whole moment.
Wrapping my arms around him, locking them behind his neck, I kissed him back, one of my hands tracing a path down to the front of his pants.
“Mmm succubus,” he teased, smiling into the kiss.
“You’re going to be so late. No. Link, go,” I laughed, remembering how much love I felt.
“I will. Your powers are too strong. It’s your fault. You do this to me.”
“Well I’m releasing you.”
“I don’t want to be released,” he said to me, kissing me deeply, his eyes closed as he rocked into me, lowering himself only momentarily so that he could pick me up around the back of my thighs and hold me up against the wall after having unbuckled his pants, causing them to pool at his ankles.
That sweet memory.
That sweet memory of his cock filling me, the way my back slammed against the wall, one of our pictures hanging there having fallen off due to the assault of our lovemaking.
For the next fifteen minutes Lincoln took me until he came again. I was all spent so I didn’t come that time, but it didn’t matter because my head was zinging. Just having my husband inside of me was love’s best drug.
His hair was all messy, his shirt was messy, his pants were messy.
I could tell he didn’t want to go to work, and he didn’t even bother fixing himself up at that moment. He kept kissing me. I had to basically push him out the door.
“Okay I’m serious, you need to go. Haha, Link!” I squealed as he kissed my neck and made a growling noise in it again.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too.”
“I love you more.”
“I love you most,” I laughed, blushing at the memory.
My bottom lip is sore from biting it.
“Gabby?” a little voice interrupts my thoughts.
Morris is on my lap, and for a quick moment I thought Morris was the one speaking. But when I look up at the front door, I see Lincoln standing there, looking concerned.
I’m in the smaller sofa, and nothing is wrong with Morris, and then I realize I’m crying.
“O-oh. Hey,” I say, quickly brushing away the tears off my face and placing the cat gently on the ground.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and his face looks so sincere. His hair is messy. Really messy. I don’t want to think about what that might mean.
Right now, with me being this emotional, I just want to think about anything else that does not concern Lincoln.
“Um, y-yeah. All good.”
Lincoln just stares at me with a curious expression, but Morris breaks the spell when he goes to greet him.
Walking toward the kitchen, I start to tell Lincoln about my day and some of the chores I did for him that he didn’t ask me to do, hoping he won’t get mad. I organized his den.
“Thank you,” he says, taking off his shoes and stepping in, still holding his cat.
“How was your day?” I ask more out of habit, but I genuinely want to know. When he just looks at me standing there, I shake my head. “Sorry.”
“No… I… my day was busy,” he replies, stilted.
Why does everything between us feel so awkward? There’s a big part of me that still wants to hate him.
“I made some dinner and I… figured you’d be hungry when you got back. Or maybe not, but… if you want… there you go. It’s up to you. There’re leftovers anyway. I didn’t want to waste the food.”
“You still make too much food,” he chuckles, looking at me.
“Yeah well…” I shrug. “Old habit, I guess.”
“Did you do that when you lived alone? I mean after we got divorced?”
“Actually yeah I did. Means I didn’t have to cook everyday. Kind of refreshing.”
“Well you didn’t have to cook everyday with me either.”
“Yeah but I had to cook way more often. You ate through the leftovers like crazy.”
As Lincoln sits at the table, unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirt, he puts his phone down right next to him, petting Morris who’s at the foot of his chair. “I’m really sorry that I made you work so hard.”
His voice is so soft and so genuine. Still has that deep, intense tone to it but… I don’t know. There’s just something about him.
“Why is your hair so messy?” I ask him as I give him the warmed-up food.
“Oh, um… it is?”
See, that right there. That’s the kind of shit that makes me regret even doing this. I know I’m not going to like the answer, so why do I keep asking?
“None of my business.”
When he says nothing else, that pretty much confirms what I think. I swallow a lump in my throat, then hold up the cat and kiss his nose.
“Alright Morris I’m going to see you… when? Monday?” I ask.
“You sure you don’t want to stay?”
“I still have my apartment so I might as well use it. And I mean with the money you’re going to be paying me I can… you know… live there,” I say, not really meaning it.
I don’t want to stay in my apartment. I want to live in this house and not have to worry about rent. Because that way I could save up my money at least, but I also don’t want to look needy either.
“I mean you could save up for an actual house.”
What the hell. How did he know I was thinking that?
The minute his lips touch the food, he breathes in deeply through his nose, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as he closes his eyes. This takes me off guard.
“Are you okay?” I chuckle.
“The food… mmm damn,” he says, unable to speak, scarfing more of it down.
Holy shit. Does he not eat?
I know he does. His body is still lean, but he’s put on a little bit more muscle. But he’s eating like he hasn’t eaten in months.
“You’re acting like you haven’t had anything to eat in a long time.”
“Not food like this. I miss your cooking,” he admits.
“Sarah doesn’t cook for you?” I want to slap myself for asking.
“Sarah doesn’t cook,” he answers.
Well what do you effin’ know.
Because of course she doesn’t.
This is who Lincoln decided to get into bed with when he had a good thing at home. I always cooked for him, dressed him, made sure he was good. Made sure I looked good too. And he up and cheated on me for a bitch that doesn’t even cook for him.
Oh God, I want to say something so bad, but I keep my mouth shut.
“Go ahead. I know you want to say something,” Lincoln says.
God damn it.
“None of my business.”
“I’m welcoming you to say something. What? About her not cooking, right?”
“None of my business, Link.”
“She doesn’t cook because she’s really busy like me. Like I said we have the same—”
“You don’t have to defend your side bitch to me,” I snap at him. “I didn’t ask you for an explanation.”
Lincoln just stares at me, some of the food still bulging out one side of his cheek.
Huffing, I get my stuff and get ready to leave.
-??-