Page 83 of Ella Gets the D
“Yes.”
His exhale is deep and comes with a single nod. “Tonight. No penetration.” He cuts off my question. “Trust me to take care of you, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll text you a place. Meet us there at seven.”
I frown. “Why don’t we all ride together?”
“Because.” He takes a step back. “If I get you alone before I calm my dick down, I’m penetrating you on every surface of our house.”
Our house.
My vagina roars to life. Don’t tempt me with a good time.
He winks and turns just as Duke pummels him, with my kids hot on his heels. Julian falls back and barks out a laugh. Corded forearm muscles flex as he wraps his nephew and Jackson and Haile in a hug.
In a different life, I would run head-first into the arms he extends to me and my kids. A supportive partner by my side who pursues me relentlessly.
I have that with Julian. A trust molded in adoration taking up residence in my life.
He’s everything worth fighting for—and the very thing to derail my divorce if I get too careless. I’m so close yet so far, which is why we can only have tonight.
Chapter 31
Ella
“Question.”
“Yes, loading up on carbs after contorting ourselves into tiny dresses is dumb but delicious.” Fresh mozzarella blends with meat and homemade sauce on my fork. It’s Julian’s lasagna recipe, one of many we’ve practiced together over video calls.
Morgan and I got dressed to go out in record speed. Peeling ourselves away from the counter will be a different story.
“Did you rob a craft store?” White leaves dangle between Morgan’s fingertips. Her brows pinch. “What is this?”
As if it’s not obvious.
“Ghost leaves, duh.” I flip over the hand-painted foliage to reveal three dots, two for the eyes and one for the nose.
She takes in the runner of leaves and mini pumpkins on the marble island, the faux sunflower bushels around the kitchen. “We decorated a little for fall.”
She zeroes in on the leaf art in a kaleidoscope of autumn hues on the once bare cabinets. “I can see that.”
Our house is the official destination for the season, complete with construction-paper apple place cards on the dining table we never use, paper-plate animals, suncatchers, and swag we picked up from the latest trip to the pumpkin patch. We went three times this month and spent two hours each visit taking tractor rides, solving corn maze puzzles, and launching pumpkins into the sky.
Charles would rather pass a kidney stone than compliment any decoration we dared to put up in the house. It was a battle to get afakeChristmas tree in November, much less hang more than two of Jackson and Haile’s creations on the refrigerator.
So, yeah, we overdid it on the crafts.
“Julian didn’t lose it when he saw all of this?” She motions around the first floor, which looks like a tornado of pinecones blew through and brought every leaf in the metropolitan area with it.
My lips twitch above my wineglass. “Who do you think picked out the hay on the front steps?”
I was on my tippy-toes in the living room with another homemade leaf garland when firm hands wrapped around my middle and pulled me off the step stool. Julian encased me with his cedar and sandalwood scent to the soundtrack of a Brian Settles record I found on the shelf. We swayed in low lighting while Jackson and Haile slept. I was nervous that our overindulgence in crafts would trigger his inner neat freak when he came home from London last week, but he pressed his lips to my hair and whispered, “I missed you.”
Julian appreciates order, but he doesn’t treat his home like a showroom.
“He left early last Wednesday to join us at the farm,” I say to my friend’s cartoon eyes. “We had our fill of apple cider donuts and pumpkin painting.” Our creations are in the backyard nextto the makeshift scarecrow Julian built with Jackson while they practiced Japanese.
