“Thatwas a lie, though,” I laugh when his hands find my sides, revisiting a ticklish spot he found a few days ago that I wish he hadn’t. “But this could be real.”
“Yeah,” Russell says, voice thick as he catches my wrists and holds them up above my head, his words vibrating through my skin and bones and ligaments. “It could be.”
Chapter 25
Russell
Iwake up the next morning with Jules’ soft body strewn over mine, already hard and dreaming of her curves, lips, tongue. What I want is to roll her over and make her writhe under my touch, find that spot inside her that makes her legs shake.
But I want to feed her. And because I’ve been spending all my time either at the hospital or with her and Gus, the only thing that’s well-stocked in this condo is the wine fridge, which came full of regional bottles as a closing deal.
As silently as possible, I slide out of bed, glad Jules is a heavy sleeper. For a second, I stand there, watching her as she pulls a pillow up and holds it against her chest to fill the spot I occupied before.
Jealous of a fucking pillow.
Shaking my head, I grab my things and walk to the first-floor bathroom so the sound of me showering doesn’t wake her. When I’m fresh and dressed, I leave a note on the counter and step out into the cool December morning.
Chicago is known for its brutal winter, but today is mild, the sun shining against fallen snow, people in general good spirits, since the wind is not yet at face-hurting levels. It takes me five minutes to walk to the coffee shop, another five to get the order,and no more than twenty later I’m in the elevator again, riding up to my place.
Last night, when Jules got here, it was like every thought she had was written on her face. The opulence of the place. The plain, open wanting.
And while she was wide open with excitement, I was practically gaping with the urge to fill it. To meet her every need. I can already picture Gus’s room across from ours—an office for her, a playroom for him. This place has been damn near clinical since the day I moved in, and it would be nice to pick up toys and throw pillows.
To see some form of life here, other than myself.
When the elevator doors open, I find Jules on the couch, wrapped in a pristine white blanket and staring at the fireplace. My phone buzzes in my pocket—Orie, probably, asking me if we’re still good for that hockey game. I’ll answer him later.
“Where’s your tree?” Jules asks when I circle the couch and hand her one of the lattes. I swallow, glancing to the corner of the living room, which is more than big enough for one—in fact, I could do a sixteen-footer, stretching up into the second story, which is open in this part of the condo.
“No need,” I shrug, settling down with her. “Santa’s not coming this year.”
She smiles at me over the top of her coffee, “But you’ve been so good.”
My cock twitches, and though I want to show her just how good I can be to her, I instead clear my throat and direct the conversation toward something I’ve been thinking over for a while.
My phone buzzes again, and I ignore it, planning to text him back after talking to Jules.
“That guy at your firm,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her. “Parker?”
“Peter,” she corrects, casting her eyes down, her smile fading.
“Peter,” I correct, though I honestly don’t give a fuck what his name is. Over the month we’ve spent together now, I’ve heard enough about Peter to be okay never hearing his name again. “He still being a dick?”
Jules shrugs, “Probably. I think—well, I think I’m just a little tougher about it now.”
I take a sip of my latte, studying her. I think I know what she means. Things have been…good. I’ve enjoyed being around her and Gus, and I’d like to think my presence in her life has made things easier. It’s certainly improved her outerwear and kept her from walking home in the dark after her markets shifts.
“You said you’d be done helping Sienna when the market is over,” I say, remembering a conversation we had about Sienna’s natural beauty business. Apparently, she asked Jules to stay and help with packing orders in the new year, but Jules said she wouldn’t need the extra job with Gus’s surgery paid for.
“Right,” Jules eyes me, and I wonder if she knows where I’m going with this.
“…so why not stick with Sienna, drop Peter, and use the spare time to start yourownfirm?” I ask, even though what I want to say is that she should move in here and let me take care of her until she gets her own firm off the ground.
And I have no doubt that she would. I might know nothing about PR or marketing, but the way Jules talks about it, there’s plenty of missed opportunity at her current firm that she could fix in a new one.
But the moment I suggest it, an expression like pure terror crosses her face, and she leans forward to set her drink on the coffee table before wrapping her arms around her torso.
Behind her, through the floor-to-ceiling windows, it starts to snow gently, and I’m instantly reminded of a million Christmases in this city with my dad. Walking the streets withhim and Alena, going to the tree lighting downtown. Ice skating in Maggie Daley, shopping on the magnificent mile. Alena and I would help him pick out gifts for all his work friends, and once we got older, he’d give us his credit card and a budget to pick out our own gifts.
