Lincoln snorts. “Okay, bossy.” But he does as he’s told, closing up the dishwasher and then dropping into a chair at the kitchen table.
I stand behind him, squeezing and rubbing the tense, knotted muscles around his neck, his shoulders, and occasionally down to his corded biceps. After just a few minutes, he relaxes, letting his eyes shut.
God. He smells good. And his body is so warm. And I’d give anything to rake my fingers through his thick, silky hair.
“Shit, woman…” he mumbles, but the gravelly sound of his voice tells me he’s far from complaining. In fact, if I had to guess, I’d say Lincoln is…turned on.
I continue massaging, and he starts squirming in his seat. Discreetly adjusting himself.
“Jules…” he groans.
I swallow, growing warm and tingly myself. “Juleswhat?” I sound like I’m begging. For what, I don’t know.
“I…” Lincoln starts, but then his voice trails off with another moan, as my touch runs down the length of his arms.
Feeling a surge of boldness, I round his chair and drop down to my knees in front of him. I peer up at my husband, skating my hands over his muscled thighs. My hands continue until I’m stroking his erection through his slacks.
I’ve never seen his blue eyes look so dark and so full of desire as he stares down at me.
“What is it you want from me?” I whisper.
He shakes his head, fighting it.
“Lincoln…” I plead.
“Fuck it,” he growls, yanking me off the floor and pulling me into his lap.
His lips cover mine in a devouring kiss. It’s devastating. Brutal. All the lust we’ve both been building up since our wedding night comes gushing out.
Ripples of excitement vibrate in the pit of my belly, traveling lower, lower, lower until a needy ache is humming between my thighs.
I’m no longer willing to do the right thing. I don’t care if this is wrong. I just need the relief that only his touch can offer.
His hand massages my upper thigh, before sneaking into the space between us. I watch as his fingers disappear under the hem of my short dress. Lincoln’s thumb flicks a path from my clit to my dripping opening.
His head leans back, his blue eyes catching mine. “You’re not wearing any panties under there…” he husks out in a voice that makes my pussy throb against his hand.
“Good job, Sherlock.”
Scoffing in annoyance, he pinches my clit and I see stars.
I grip his shoulders, panting and almost shaking with need. “Tell me what you want, Lincoln,” I beg my husband again.
In one effortless move, he rises to his full height. My arms tangle around his neck and my knees clamp around his waist as he carries me toward the stairs.
“You know exactly what I want, Jules. I want you in my bed. Now.”
32
LINCOLN
Icarry Jules into my dark bedroom, carefully closing the door with my heel. I flip the lock.
“Now, where were we…?” I drop a kiss on her lips.
She playfully tangles her fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck. “Well, where we left off, I was on my knees, willing to give you anything you want.”
Just hearing her say those words sends a groan rumbling through my chest. “Anything’s a dangerous word, Jules.” I say, my eyes immediately moving to her mouth.
