Page 72 of Ella Gets the D
The way my vagina sang last night, it deserves a record deal and world tour.
“El?” Julian assesses me with an unhurried gaze. He’s the picture of peace with a smile to match.
Me? I’m on the edge of the scene of last night’s performance with a million and four questions. “How are you so…” I motion to his gorgeous face, which now carries a smirk. “Nonchalant?” Like I didn’t bare my body hours ago in a private after-dark special.
“Huh.”
“Huh, what?”
He reaches for a cherry tomato, his focus still on me. Its journey to his mouth is slow. He drags the tips of his fingers through lips that are softer than cashmere, lips that coated myskin with kisses. Hickory eyes search mine as the steady crackle of turkey bacon scents the air. Light filters through the windows and catches the waves in his black hair lined to perfection.
“You’re still wound tight. I would’ve thought we took care of that last night the way you levitated off the counter.”
“Are you ever serious?” My cheeks burn from laughter. Also, I didn’t miss thewe.
“When I need to be.”
“I’m not used to summoning orgasms through guided meditation. Excuse me if I need to process.”
This is not my life. Married and comfortably miserable to a cheater one day, and discussing how to navigate the aftermath of an incredible night with a man I’ve known for a month the next. We might not have crossed the penetration line last night, but we sure did hopscotch the shit next to it.
“Your thoughts are in the clouds again,” Julian says with a chuckle, his focus back on the stove.
I sigh. “Here’s the thing.”
“I’m listening.”
“I don’t do this.”
“Eat a late breakfast after pretending to eat hours ago?”
“No, smartass!” I giggle into my coffee. “I—this. I don’t masturbate in front of my best friend’s brother. Or anyone.” I’ve been the PTA mom and the committed wife who walks the straight and narrow without kinks. The one who takes her kids to swim practice and spends her week competing in the Olympic sport of laundry.
“Last night, I felt alive. I didn’t think about errands to run, the kids’ school needs, volunteer obligations, or the reality that all of this”—I point around the room—“goes away at the end of the year. I’ve been on autopilot these last two months, and I haven’t stood still to take it all in. It’s a lot. This is a lot.”
The double take I give the plate he hands me is comical, like we’re in the middle of a zombie apocalypse and he gave me the last Twinkie. Homemade eggs Benedict with turkey bacon and fresh fruit. He slides a mimosa in a champagne flute over and lifts his own for a toast. “To new beginnings.”
I’m going to pinch myself and wake up because who the hell makes eggs Benedict from scratch, let alone without a recipe?
At the clink of our glasses, Julian scoots next to me with his plate. When he said he’d make breakfast with whatever I had in the refrigerator, I did not expect this. The hollandaise sauce is silky, and the yolk from the poached egg runs free with the slightest touch of my fork.
“Julian, this is amazing.”You’re amazing.I clear my throat and accidentally moan into another bite. “You might’ve missed your calling as a chef.” If nothing else, I want him here to make breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The man can conjure orgasms from my bodyandknows his way around a kitchen.
He chuckles into his glass. “Thank you. Cooking is a way I de-stress. I’m not a baker, but I’m always happy to whip something up for you.”
Don’t tempt me with those hands again.
Stop.
“How has no one taken you off the market for your culinary talents alone? I bet women strap themselves to your chairs for their morning-after breakfast.” I’m two seconds from dragging my tongue over this plate.
His laugh startles me. It’s light, but his head tips back. “Well, these chairs don’t come with straps, and I’m not in the habit of cooking for women.” He laughs again. “Close your mouth, El. Outside of my mother and Morgan, it’s just you.”
I don’t miss the emphasis onjust you, or the way his eyes lock on mine as his words sink in. He studies me with unwaveringattention, ready for me to redirect the subject I’ve been too nervous to discuss.
The breath I exhale takes with it years of driving myself into the ground to fulfill the duties I put before myself. My eyes well. “You see me as more than a mother or a woman going through a divorce. What happened yesterday was a reminder that I can pour into myself as much as I do for others.
“Do you know how that feels after sixteen years? My life is a mess right now. Every day is a leap into the unknown, one that terrifies me, but I’m doing it. On my own terms.”
