Page 11 of Holy Hearts
The house is quiet, but Julian’s car is in the driveway, so I know he’s home. Walking through the foyer full of plastic sheeting from the renovations, my boots clack against the floor lined with cardboard. My riding helmet is hanging on my arm, but just as I set it down on the table, a deep voice floats down the stairwell.
“Put it back on. You look so fucking adorable in it.”
I smirk when I twist around to find Julian gliding down the stairs in a three-piece suit that fits him impossibly well. My heart squeezes at the sight of him, and I stand there trying not to smile as he walks over to me. Julian has always been larger than life.And sometimes I wonder if I blend into the background of our picture-perfect marriage. The devoted, doting wife. The calm to his storm. It’s not a bad thing… but some days, I want to be more than just the reflection of his light.
I place the helmet back on and clip the strap together to appease him. “Oh? Do you happen to have a thing for sweat? Because I’m sure I smell like the bollocks of the horse I was riding?—”
He grins as he picks me up by the waist and lifts me over his shoulder. “My wife? Smell? Never.” He smacks my arse and I slap his in retaliation as I squeal with surprise and laughter. “Even if you do, you know I like it when you’re a little… musky.”
“You’re disgusting,” I tell him, the blood rushing to my face from being upside down.
He chuckles as he carries me up the stairs at a jog like I weigh nothing at all.
It’s one of the things I love about him—one of the reasons I agreed to the marriage. The way he touches me, the way he handles me, still gives me fanny flutters even now, almost ten years on.
“Come on, wife. Let’s get you undressed so I can ruin you for all other men.”
“Ha ha ha.”
He walks down the hallway and into our bedroom before depositing me on our hand-embroidered bedding.
“At least have the decency to take my bloody boots off,” I huff, glaring up at him from under the helmet.
“At your service, my lady.”
My lips twitch but I don’t allow a smile as Julian kneels before me, sliding the riding boots off one at a time. His hands then work their way up my sore calves to my thighs, where he pushes my knees apart and leans forward. My breathing hitches as his hands come to my hips and skim along the waistband ofmy tan breeches. I inhale sharply as he tugs the trousers down slowly, and I lift my arse so that he can get them down my legs. He removes my sweaty socks and I reach up to unbuckle my helmet.
I could stop him right now. I probably should—my hair is plastered to my forehead, and my breeches smell like leather and sweat. But I don’t. I like the way he looks at me when I let him take charge.
“If you’re going to act like a savage brute, at least let me shower beforehand.”
My helmet falls off the bed, and I begin unbuttoning my navy riding jacket. Tugging it off and unbuttoning my white blouse, I remove them quickly, leaving me clad only in my white knickers and bra.
“No,” he says simply.
“Julian, I’ve been out there all day, and it’s hot?—”
“Don’t care.”
I huff a laugh. “Stubborn mule.”
“Yes, but I’m your stubborn mule.”
I run a hand through his soft, blond hair affectionately. “Yes, you are.”
He groans as he nuzzles his nose along the inside of my thigh. “I’ve been waiting for you for hours,” he says in a faux-whining tone.
“You’ve been working.”
“And? I can still miss my wife while I work. Plus, work is not that important anyway. Not as important as your cunt.”
I smile because I know he means it. But I can’t help but wonder if loving me is too easy for him. Would he love me as much if I became someone else—someone who didn’t need him as much? The thought unsettles me, and I push it away.
“Julian—” His lips graze the seam of my knickers, and I wince.
“Shh,” he whispers, moving them to the side with his teeth.
“Please let me shower first,” I beg, inhaling sharply when his tongue slides through my seam.
