She stopped moving just long enough to rub her temples, her shoulders rigid with tension, and I decided that was my cue.
I set the mug down, closed the book I hadn’t been reading, and headed toward her. No more teasing. No more watching.
Time to handle it.
I stepped up behind Willa, my chest brushing her back, and braced my hands on the countertop on either side of her hips. “You’re not gonna relax until I distract you properly, are you?”
She opened her mouth, no doubt armed with a biting response, but I didn’t give her the chance to say a word.
I brushed her hair off her neck and dropped my mouth to the curve of her shoulder. Pressed a slow, openmouthed kiss to the place I knew made her knees weak.
Sure enough, she shuddered out a breath, her entire body seeming to sag like it was exhaling. “Lincoln, this isn’t really the?—”
“Shh,” I murmured, dragging my lips up to her pulse point. “I’m working here.”
I kissed her neck again. And again. And again. Hot, slow drags of my mouth against her skin, my lips and tongue making her forget everything but this. I dragged my teeth lightly along her neck—just enough to make her moan and grip the edge of the counter.
“There she is,” I whispered, not bothering to tamp down my smile. “There’s my girl.”
She relaxed back into me and tilted her head to give me more access, her breath catching in a way that had nothing to do with nerves.
I slid my hand under her shirt, brushing my fingers over her stomach. “Still thinking about the interview?”
Glancing back at me, she tried to scowl, but the look fell short. With her lips parted and eyes hazy with need, my wife was just begging to be fucked.
“You’re evil.”
“You say that like you didn’t know that when you married me,” I murmured, sliding my hand up until my fingertips traced the edge of her bra.
She breathed out a moan as I cupped her through the lace, her ass tucked nice and tight against my cock.
And that was when a knock sounded at the door.
“Shit.” She exhaled a shaky breath, her head hanging as she braced herself against the counter.
I pressed one last kiss on her jaw and stepped back, adjusting my dick in my jeans. “Guess that’s our cue, wife.”
“You’re the worst.” She fanned herself while shooting me a playful glare as she strode toward the door.
Before she could get too far, I grabbed her hand and tugged her to a stop. “We’ve got this.”
And then I kissed her. Soft. Steady. A physical reassurance that I was here with her.
Her cheeks were flushed, her shirt was wrinkled thanks to my hands, and her eyes were lust-drunk. But as she squared her shoulders and reached for the doorknob, she looked like a queen.
Myqueen.
She glanced back at me once—just long enough to meet my eyes. I gave her a nod, firm and sure. Letting her know without words that this wasn’t just her fight anymore—it was ours.
And I’d be right next to her every step of the way.
WILLA
Harper Davidson was exactlyas intimidating as I remembered.
Not in a heels-clicking-down-the-hallway kind of way. But in an I-ooze-confidence-without-even-trying kind of way. She wore jeans and a blazer, and her soft, honey waves were tucked behind her ear as she scanned our home like she was mentally cataloguing every detail.
I braced myself. This wasn’t exactly the glossy farmhouse I’d envisioned presenting. The real house was still rented toPearl and Bernice for another month. This was Plan B. Cozy. Cramped. Intimately us.
