Knock. Knock. Knock. My knuckles crack against Jules’ door quickly, one after the other. I take a look around, shoving my hands into my pant pockets. The Upper East Side is far more traditional and full of old money compared to downtown where I live.

My father’s only a few blocks from here.

Jules’ street is different from where I grew up though. The cream stone and intricate carvings have history to them. Real history. I look back at the small iron picket fence and gate in front of her house. The city sidewalk is just beyond it, filled with people walking without a care in the world to wherever the hell they’re going.

I rock on my heels and knock again, wondering what they think of this house.

It looks like incredible wealth and with the well-maintained garden and up lighting on the windows, it only adds to the beauty of the old home.

I’ve been inside Julia’s home a handful of times now, and it’s odd that I feel nervous about being here. But maybe it’s because I’m coming through the front door in daylight. I smirk at the thought, but it’s true. My forehead pinches as I knock again with the large iron knocker this time.

The door swings open and there’s my Jules, but she doesn’t stay there long. She leaves the door hanging open and disappears inside, muttering that she has to get something, but I didn’t hear what. What the hell?

“Jules?” I call out after her, placing a hand on the heavy red door and peek inside after her. The door creaks and I second-guess going inside after her, but she doesn’t answer me.

I take a few steps inside and flick the light switch on my right before shutting the front door. A large crystal chandelier lights up the large hallway. The ceilings are taller than they seemed at night. A pale blue and cream paisley wallpaper covers the upper half of the walls with a matching, but deeper blue below the chair rail molding.

It’s modern and updated with a feminine and elegant touch, definitely not my taste, but it still holds the classic beauty of the home. A mix of modern and traditional sensibilities. It’s all Jules.

“Jules,” I call out again, pocketing my keys and wiping my shoes on the mat before stepping onto the plush area rug in the foyer.

“I’m sorry,” I hear Jules call through the hall before I see her. She rounds the corner of what looks like the dining room, both hands on her left ear as she slips an earring into place. She’s barefoot, wearing a navy blue dress with white polka dots and a thin white-leather belt at her waist. She’s gorgeous as always, but something’s off. Something’s wrong, although I can’t tell what.

“Everything okay?” I ask her, staying right where I am as she bends down to slip on a pair of navy blue heels.

“Fine. Just,” she shakes her head and stands upright, taking a step toward me before turning on her heels and heading back the way she came.

I follow her into the dark dining room. It doesn’t look a damn thing like a dining room though. The furniture is all here, but a shitton of papers litter the table along with a laptop and a printer on the buffet.

“Sorry about the mess,” she tells me in a dampened voice as she turns around. “I just need my purse and we can go.”

She starts to walk past me, making her way for the door, but I put my arm out, my palm against the doorway and wait for her to look at me.

When she does my heart drops. Although her makeup is flawless, she can’t hide that she was crying. Not from me.

“What’s wrong?” It comes out as a question, but it’s more of a command for her to tell me.

Her lips are the same dark red they were when I first met her and as she parts them, my eyes are drawn to them. She doesn’t say anything though, she merely licks them and turns away from me. For the first time, deliberately disobeying me. Hiding from me.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says and starts to push my arm away, to leave me and deny me again, but I’m not letting this go. I grip her forearm tight enough that she stops and looks at me.

“That’s not how this works. I told you before. If you’re with me, you’re with me.” Her hard expression vanishes as I speak to her, replaced by nothing but hurt.

“You don’t own me,” she bites out the words meant to hurt me, meant to destroy the easiness between us.

“It’s not about that, Jules.” My voice is low as I release her. She doesn’t fight me though; she stands there waiting for my next move. She knows how fucking good this is between us. She knows whatever the hell it is, I’ll take the burden from her.

“I don’t like seeing you upset,” I say and bring my lips closer to hers. I can hear her heart beating faster. “Tell me what’s wrong, so I can fix it.” I open my mouth to give her a reason not to push me away, to tell her that she can trust me, that I care for her, to tell her everything I know she wants to hear, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Luckily, I don’t have to.

She moves her hands to her face for only a moment, her expression crumpling before she falls into my chest. That’s my girl, she gives in to me so easily. I wrap my arms around her, feeling her shoulders shake and shudder with a soft sob.

“I didn’t want to cry again,” she breathes into my chest, muffled by the suit jacket and her hands still covering her face. She shakes her head as I bend down, running my hand up and down her back in soothing strokes and kiss her hair over and over again.

“It’s alright, whatever it is, I’ll take care of it.” I don’t know why I say that. It’s stupid of me, and it gets the reaction it should from an independent woman like Jules. She pushes away from me, wiping under her eyes and taking in a shuddering breath.

“It’s nothing you-” she closes her eyes and calms herself. “It can’t be fixed.” She glances at a photograph in a silver etched frame behind her on the wall and then wipes under her eyes again, walking to a large mirror on the far side of the dining room.

I only catch a glimpse of the photograph before turning my back to it. It’s from her wedding day, and he’s in it. Obviously. He was her husband after all.

Panic races through me, and a sick feeling churns my stomach. “It’s about your husband?” I ask her, trying to keep the shame and guilt at bay.

She peeks over her shoulder, looking guilty. The fucking irony. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I say as I walk over to her, placing a hand on her delicate shoulder and watching her in the mirror. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” she answers quickly and sniffles once. She’s already fixed her makeup and looks as though she’s back to pretending nothing’s wrong, but then her eyes meet mine in the mirror. They're filled with anger and an unforgiving chill. “He had an apartment,” she says with certainty. “A place for his mistresses or one-night stands or whatever the fuck they were.”

I try to give her a look that expresses shock, but none of that is news to me. I wasn’t sure if she knew. For the first time since meeting her, I feel guilty for not telling her, like somehow I could have saved her this heartache if I’d given her a piece of the truth. Only a piece.

She laughs something wicked and sad, a mix of both as she shakes her head and says, “You think I’m pathetic, don’t you? A housewife who had no idea what her husband was doing behind her back.” Her voice croaks and the strength leaves her with each word. I hate how she does this. How she blames herself, belittles herself. She’s stronger than she knows. And worth so much more.

“What he did is a reflection of him, not you,” I tell her as I take another step forward, standing behind her with her back touching my chest, just barely. “You aren’t pathetic, Jules.” I kiss the side of her neck, my eyes on hers in the mirror as I say, “I’d never think that.”

“I do,” she confesses. “He cheated once. He was so upset. He cried and swore up and down he’d never do it again. And I believed him. He lied to me!”

My heart beats erratically and I’m desperate to ask who, who did he cheat on you with? But I keep my mouth closed and wait for more from her.

“I really believed him.” The pain comes through in her words as she turns in my arms, placing her small hands on the lapels of my jacket. Her eyes travel along the buttons of my shirt, her fingers shortly following. “I really thought he was good to me.”

I pull away slightly, grabbing her wrists and getting her attention. “I’m sorry,” I tell her with true sympathy, but it comes out rough and short, shocking her.

She pulls away from me abruptly. “I am too,” she speaks to the ground, turning around and brushing the hair out of her face. “I think maybe tonight-” I can hear the excuse already; I can see her pushing me away, and I’m not going to let it happen. There’s no fucking way I’m leaving until I know she’s still mine.

Each time she questions me or what’s going on between us, I feel like I need to hold her tighter. I can’t let her get away without knowing who I am.

“Come here,” I tell her barely above a murmur. She stops in her tracks, peeking up at me through thick lashes with a question in her eyes. She doesn’t ask it though, she obeys me, taking two small steps back to me in those heels.

“He was a fucking fool to cheat on you,” I tell her as I brush my thumb along her jaw.

She huffs a small laugh at me, and I didn’t expect that. I narrow my eyes as she adds, “You’re a well-known player, Mason.” The humor vanishes and her smile fades to nothing as she adds, “You don’t have to pretend to care. I’ll be fine.”

My chest tightens with anger, my heart racing. I won’t fucking allow her to demean our relationship, too. “Bend over the table.” I grit the words out between my teeth. I don’t even think twice about it.

She merely blinks at me, shocked. She should have known better.

“Now, Jules,” my voice comes out hard and I almost take it back. But this is the man I am, and this is what she’s going to get. There’s a war brewing between us, causing the air to suffocate me. I need Jules for the woman she truly is, not this version that the memory of her husband brings back.

She holds my gaze for a moment and my heart sputters in my chest, thinking I’m going to lose her, but she caves before I even blink, submitting just like she wants to.

She braces her hips against the table, slowly leaning down to lay her upper body against the tabletop. That’s the beauty of our relationship, she wants to give in to me. She desperately wants to trust and not be hurt.

“Lift up your dress,” I tell her.

I hear her breathing pick up. “Mason-” she starts to question me.

“No, no talking. No excuses.” I palm my dick, but I have no intentions of fucking her. This is all about pleasing her and showing her what she means to me. “Lift up your dress and show me your pussy.” I crouch down behind her as she slowly pulls the cotton fabric up her thighs and exposes her lace panties.

My fingers trail up her thighs slowly, then to her ass, then up to the small of her back, pressing her down flat. I carefully push the panties out of my way, taking a languid lick of her pussy. My tongue brushes along the lace fabric and I almost rip them as I pull them farther away, but decide to use my fingers instead.

I play with her clit first, gently running my nail across the swollen nub and then back to her entrance. Goosebumps travel along her body. It doesn’t take long for her to glisten for me, her wet folds begging for my attention.

She hums as she relaxes on the table, and it makes me smile into her sweet cunt.

It’s going to be a slow build for her. I don’t care about our dinner reservations. She’s going to have deal with being late.

I use one finger, my middle finger, sliding it deep inside her as I stand up behind her, keeping my other hand on her hip. Her eyes are closed as I fuck my finger in and out of her, loosening her up and testing her readiness. I pick up my pace, remembering the anger and slip another finger into her.

“Come on, Jules,” I say and kiss the back of her neck. “Tell me again how I don’t care.” A strangled cry leaves her and she whimpers an apology, still struggling to get away from the intense pleasure.

I push three fingers deep inside of her tight pussy, stroking against her front wall right where that bundle of nerves is and I don’t let up as she screams out. She tries so hard to get away, pulling at the tablecloth and kicking one leg out, but I’ve got her pinned down to the table with my hip, one hand rubbing her nub ruthlessly, the other inside of her tight cunt.

“I would never cheat on you.” And then I tell her words she has no idea how true they are, “I’d never take advantage of you.”

“Mason!” she screams out my name, and her pussy tightens around my fingers. Yes, my name! I want her to cum screaming my name. To cum from what I do to her all because she let me. All she has to do is give in to me.

“Tell me you understand, Jules.” I’m not letting her cum until I hear her say it. I swear to God I’ll stop it all if she doesn’t give me that.

I may be holding the truth back, but I’m not lying.

“Yes,” she cries out as she thrashes her head.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Mason.”

I smile into her hair, slowing my pace and making her whimper as she desperately rocks her pussy into my hand.

“Yes, Mason what?” I ask her.

My heart thrums in my chest, but I need to hear her say it. I don’t want that shit with her husband having anything to do with what we have with each other.

“You wouldn’t do that.” She bites her lip, looking back at me with a plea of mercy. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

I crash my lips into hers and fuck her cunt with my fingers, relentlessly pressing against her hard clit. She cries into my mouth as her release hits her hard, and her hand bangs on the table as she tries to restrain her body from arching away from my touch. I don’t let up, getting every single bit of her orgasm from her.

Her back bows with tremors of her release still rocking through her. This is how I want her, always.

No worry in her soft blue eyes, only a look of pleasure on her face.

A look that I put there.

My dick’s hard as a fucking rock, but this isn’t for me. She looks over her shoulder, still panting with her fingers gripping the cream tablecloth. She’s waiting for me to take from her. To fuck her right here and now. But that picture of her husband is right there.

Part of me wants to do it. To force that beautiful cunt to spasm on my dick. To show her how a real man would treat her. But I can’t. I need to get the fuck out of here.

I pull her hips back, her ass pressed against my hard cock.

Her lashes flutter and her wide eyes look back at me, waiting for whatever I have to say. “Dinner first, sweetheart.” I kiss her lips gently, feeling her desperate pants for breath against my cheek, then brush her clit through her panties and smile as a tremor runs through her body and forces her head back against my shoulder.

I kiss the dip in her neck and then whisper in her ear. “Tonight.”