Page 90 of Ella Gets the D
“Do you like it?” My eyes follow the lines on his forearm that are dusted with black hair. “All that status, I mean.” I lift my gaze to find his on me.
Julian kisses our joined hands and lays them over his heart. His breath is slow when he stares at the ceiling. “No. It was cool at first, the privileges that come with the Brooke name. Access to the best DC has to offer and more money than I’ll spend in a lifetime. But,” he sighs, “it comes with a price. People prying into my personal life. Dictating my calendar. Rugby is the one thing that’s mine. As Langston Brooke’s son, I have responsibilities that require certain sacrifices.”
“Camila.”
He nods.
Julian has spoken about their relationship before, but he never alluded to it being an obligation. His eyes drift, lost somewhere between determination to please his family and the cost of forfeiting his desires because of it.
“We met my first year of law school. She was in graduate school for public relations, and we kept running into each other at the same events. Camila comes from a similar upbringing, which made it easy to relate to her. She understands the stress of trying to keep up with your family name.
“Once our families caught on that we were seeing each other, they wanted us to make appearances and move faster toward a more desirable commitment. I ended the relationship after I graduated and spent five years dodging another one. I’d had enough of my mother’s attempts and asked to take over the London office.”
“Then you came home and found a woman in your bed who had taken over your home with her kids.”
A smile spreads. “That I did.”
I snuggle into his warmth. “Itching to run again?”
He kisses the top of my head and pulls me to his chest. “Never. It’s been hard to stay away as long as I have. Nothing about you, about this,” he says with another kiss, “feels forced.”
“Have you ever dated an older woman with kids?”
“I am now.”
A blush heats my skin. Are we really doing this? Us?
Julian’s eyes search mine. “Could you ever love again, after divorce?”
The sheets rustle as I straddle his length, the metal barbell prodding my entrance. I lean down to kiss his smile. “I am now.”
Our kiss electrifies every nerve ending. My hips roll into his erection, pulling out an intense groan from Julian. With a punishing grip on my love handles, he slides me back and forth over his piercing and pulls a nipple into his mouth.
We’re panting so much that we miss the front door opening and the heels echoing up the stairs. When Morgan barrels into the bedroom, I’m on top of her brother.
We all scream, and out of habit, I toss whatever is next to me at the perceived threat—a dildo, in this case.
She stumbles back, grabs the doorframe for support with one hand, and uses the other to shield her eyes. “What the—” She rubs her forehead and looks down in horror. “Did you just launch a dick at me?” Her eyes trace an invisible line from the clothes scattered on the floor and up the bed, to me and Julian. “No!No!”
I roll off Julian and pull the covers up to my neck. “What the hell are you doing here? Ever heard of calling first?”
Last we checked, Morgan was sleeping off plans of revenge sex in her hotel room. Alone.
Henry Cavill didn’t accompany her to her bed, which is where she should be. In the softest sheets an overpriced night in a suite could buy, with a mimosa in hand and surrounded by roomservice. Not at the foot of my bed, shaking a yellow and pink dildo at us like we need a sex education lecture.
Morgan’s tone is high on shocked and appalled. “When did this”—the silicone phallus waves from side to side—“start? Don’t tell me?” She steps away to take a breath but boomerangs right back. “I—this wasn’t the arrangement. Housing. Hospitality. Not…” She shakes the dildo she’s yet to drop, recharging her frustration in the process. “This!”
My sigh is heavy. “Are you almost done, Viola Davis? I’d appreciate it if you’d stop waving the dick around so we can go downstairs and talk.” If she’s going to invade my bedroom before nine, I need a cup of coffee.
Her eyes shoot daggers, as if she finally registers that it’s Julian next to me and not an illusion from the corners of a nightmare. He’s yet to utter a word since his sister stormed in wearing a makeup-free face and a forest green sweater dress. He’s completely at peace, bare-chested, with tattoos and a smug smile on full display. How often does she pop in for him to be this calm?
Morgan redirects her ire at her brother, who now sits straighter. “You.”
Never mind.
Julian’s eyes go wide. “Mac.” His hands shoot up in surrender, but it’s too late. Morgan reaches him in three steps and pulls him out of bed by the ear. “Wait, Mac—ow! What the fuck?!”
Skin I’ve kissed and sucked struggles to stay upright as Morgan heads back to the bedroom door, leaving Julian to use both hands to cover himself while shouting at his sister to let him go. He trips over his jeans but is able to get a foot through one of the legs. It takes a few hops for him to get the other one through and stand to his full height, but he does.
