So imagine my disappointment when I find her curled up on her side, facing the window, her shoulders rising and falling in a calm, zen rhythm.
She’s sleeping.
Oh, dammit.
There’s nothing I want more than to sink into her tight, hot pussy and feel her walls contracting and rippling around me. But I’m shit out of luck because, clearly, it’s not gonna happen tonight.
On a heavy sigh, I take a look around her room. Between the jam-packed clothing rack pressed up against the window, the plastic storage box bursting with purses and shoes, and the stack of old-leather-bound books piled up on top of a set of bongo drums, I can barely turn in a complete circle.
Yet I’m struck by a surprising realization—I don’t want to go home. Right here in Jules’s cluttered bedroom is exactly where I want to be.
There have been too many lonely nights since my divorce, and I don’t want tonight to be yet another one of them. Not when I can just slip beneath Jules’s ratty comforter and pretend like I belong here.
Should I stay? Should I go?
Will Jules suffocate me with a pillow if she wakes up in the middle of the night and finds me in her bed?
I guess we’ll just have to see.
“I hope this doesn’t make me a creep…” I whisper to myself as I climb onto the edge of the bed, stealing one corner of the blanket and wrapping it around myself.It totally makes me a creep.
Still, I lie here in the silence, my eyes tracing the feminine slope of Jules’s shoulder for a long moment.
I flick off the lamp.
I stay.
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.
