Chapter 28
28
Juliette
I woke up pinned to the bed. Dylan’s arm was across my chest, his hand holding onto my arm, his leg wrapped around mine. We always snuggled, but this was a lot, even for us. I knew I worried him last night, especially when I included our relationship in the list of things that were too much to handle.
I could admit today that I was totally freaking out. Everything I said was still true. Nothing had changed since yesterday, but I was back to my status quo of accepting that I was who I was, my life was what it was, and I was muddling through it as best as I could. I wasn’t going to martyr myself. I was lucky to have as much as I did. Especially Dylan. He was smart and perceptive, and I hadn’t tried to sugarcoat or hide anything from him. If he still wanted me, I was going to thank my lucky stars and do everything I could to deserve him.
If he didn’t want me anymore, I’d have no choice but to move on. If work didn’t want me to be lead anymore, well, that was more than fine with me. And if they fired me altogether, I’d be able to get another job.
I might have had plenty of issues, but wallowing in self-pity wasn’t one of them. No, I accepted all my faults head on.
I laughed to myself. That pep talk helped me feel better, but Dylan would hate it. I had to figure out a different way to convince him I was okay.
I turned in Dylan’s arms. He loosened his arms to let me move, then tightened them around me again, burying his face in my hair, my face against his chest. I turned my head a little to suck his nipple into my mouth. The little nub puckered into a hard peak. Taking that as a good sign, I sucked harder. Dylan groaned my name. He liked it. Feeling heady, I flicked my tongue over the peak, then sucked hard. He moved one hand up to hold the back of my head, his fingers winding through the knotted curls, and the other hand slid down my spine, cupped my ass, and pulled me against his huge erection.
Next thing I knew, I was flipped on my back, Dylan’s weight pushing me into the mattress as he hovered over me.
“You okay, baby?”
“Yeah, I’m good. I’m sorry about?—”
“You better not apologize for being upset.”
“But—”
“No, Juls. If you feel the need to apologize for anything, apologize for keeping it from me for as long as you did. Do not ever apologize for telling me how you feel. Even if you need to scream or cry while you tell me, I want to hear every detail.”
“Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me for loving you.”
“I’ll always appreciate you.”
Dylan smiled a huge, beautiful smile just inches above my lips.
“You got me, baby. I appreciate you too, everything about you.”
I wasn’t sure what to say back, but we’d said enough anyway. So instead of answering, I lifted my hips.
“Oh, yeah? You’re done talking?”
I nodded and rolled my hips up again.
“I’m going to show you just how much I appreciate you,” Dylan said as he kissed and caressed his way down my body to settle between my thighs.
Four orgasms later—one from his tongue, one from his fingers, and two from him inside me—I did indeed feel appreciated and loved. Boneless and replete too.
“Take your time getting up. I’ll go make breakfast.” Dylan kissed me sweetly and walked out of the room.
I took a quick shower and got dressed in sweatpants and the SAFD t-shirt he’d come in wearing last night, the delicious aroma of coffee and toast wafting in as I worked the curling cream through my hair and twisted it up in a loose bun.
When I got to the kitchen, I was greeted by the sight of Dylan in just a pair of gym shorts making himself at home in my kitchen. Warmth filled my heart—and lower—as I watched the muscles ripple across his back as he flipped an omelet on the stove. A moment later he retrieved the toast and put it on a plate, then returned to the stove without missing a beat. I admired the smooth efficiency that was so foreign to me.
He turned and I saw his eyes flare as he took in my clothes. I knew he liked it when I wore his shirts, which was perfect, because I loved it too. “Good morning, beautiful.”
“Good morning,” I said, running my hands up his chest as I leaned in for a quick kiss.
I poured our coffees out of the pot he’d started, added the half-and-half—a drop in his and a lot to mine—and brought them to the table, just as he brought over our plates filled with a feast of omelets, toast, and fruit.
“Everything looks delicious, but you didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to take care of you. You don’t know how hard these last few days have been, knowing you were hurting and not knowing why or being able to help you.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t want to worry you while you were working.”
“You think I don’t know you by now, baby? It was clear as day to me that you were upset. I heard it in your voice and your words, even in your texts. And before you decide you should avoid talking to me even more the next time you’re upset, I heard it in all the words you didn’t say also.”
“Well, shit. What if I don’t want to tell you, and I don’t want to upset you either?”
“I want you to tell me.”
“But what if it’s just stupid stuff? I’ll tell you anything big, but I don’t want to be constantly complaining to you about little things.”
“Like what?”
“Did you not just hear me say I don’t want to tell you?”
“Are you afraid of what I’ll think of you? Because I promise nothing you can say will make me think badly of you.”
“I don’t know. I guess so.”
“I feel like we’re talking in circles. What kind of things are you talking about not wanting to tell me?”
Fine. If he was going to insist, I’d tell him. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t see it all at some point anyway. I took a deep breath and a sip of my coffee before speaking. “Where do I begin? Within the last few weeks, a coworker asked me a question about whether I’ve been to a restaurant. It took me a long minute to process the question, and before I really did, I said yes. Then I finally figured out what he was asking and it was really no, but I felt too awkward to change my answer at that point, so I just hoped he’d drop it. But then he asked me about it more, and I sounded like a complete idiot. At work, I shook the coffee creamer thinking it was closed, but it was open a little and sprayed everywhere. I spilled that same cup of coffee and had to wear a dirty shirt all day. I tried putting the bin of crayons away and dropped it and they rolled all over the room, so everyone had to help me clean up. I did the same thing with my wallet in the grocery store, and everyone had to wait while the woman behind me and I picked up all the coins. I poked myself in the eye while washing my face. I didn’t step far enough back before opening the bathroom door, so I scraped the top of my toes with the door. And I tripped walking up the stairs in Nicky’s house. Want me to go on? There’s more.”
Dylan put his hand on the table, palm up, waiting for me. I placed my hand in his and he held on tight.
“I’m sorry if I made you feel put on the spot. You don’t owe me any explanations and you don’t have to report back to me in any way. But I don’t want you to ever feel like you can’t tell me something. I know you have dyspraxia, Juls. I know these things happen, and I know they upset you. You don’t need to keep it a secret from me. If you’re hurt or if something happens that has you upset, worried, embarrassed, or anything like that, and later you’re still thinking about it and feeling bad about yourself, I want you to tell me because I want to have the opportunity to make you feel better. You don’t even need to tell me the details if you don’t want to. But if you can at least give me an idea of what you’re feeling, I’ll know whether or not I need to worry or if I just need to remind you how amazing you are.”
“I’ll try. You’re so mentally and physically strong and capable and I hate feeling like I’m not.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Seriously? Juls, how strong are you?”
“Um, a little.”
“How strong do I think you are?”
“Right, right.”
“Say it.”
“I’m not saying it.” I shook my head, but I couldn’t stop the little smile that pushed its way through.
“Say it, Juls.”
“Strong as fuck. Happy now?”
“Yes, I am. I’ll be even happier when you believe it. Baby, I love that you think so highly of me, but don’t put me on some unrealistic pedestal. I’m happy in my life now, but you know that I spent years unhappy and doubting every decision I made. I felt like I’d wasted a chunk of my life, and I was frustrated with myself for being weak, for not doing what I knew in my gut I should. I was bitter about Kayla—and I still hate that I brought that danger into your life—but now I know all of that had to happen the way it did for me to end up right here with you, exactly where I was always meant to be.”
Oh my God. How did he always know the right thing to say? How could he say the most perfect thing specifically as he was trying to say he wasn’t perfect? What could I say back to that?
“Aww, Dylan. I think we’re perfect together. I’m happy that somehow my awkwardness and clumsiness and messed up speech attracted you so we could be together.”
That was not the right thing to say back to him. It was as awful as what he said was great. No, even worse than that. I laughed awkwardly. “Kidding.”
“Was that supposed to be funny? Putting yourself down is not funny, especially when I know you think it’s true.”
“I don’t always think it’s true. Depends on the day.”
“How about today?”
“Well, with all the sweet things you’re saying, you’re coming close to dragging me over to your way of seeing things.”
He stood and pulled me up with him, then sat back down in my chair, pulling me onto his lap and wrapping his arms around me.
“If you could see what I see, you’d see a beautiful woman who is so strong to be able to accomplish everything you have while dyspraxia has tried to knock you down. You’d see a woman with so much empathy and kindness that draws people in, and that’s just one way that dyspraxia has helped you be a better person. You’d see that you’re perfect for me. I love how you’re so accepting of everyone and everything, and that you see the positive side to every situation—except I wish you’d also see it when it comes to yourself. I love that you’re independent in so many ways, but you still need me too. I love that you look at me like I’m your hero, not just for the big things, but because you notice and appreciate all the small things as well. I love you, Juliette, just the way you are. I love making you feel good, and I love the way you make me feel.”
Happiness filled my chest. I had no words to say to that, so I kissed him instead, hoping he felt the love in it.
He slid his hand along my jaw and fisted my hair, holding me in place while he kissed me. Not that he needed to. I wanted to stay here in this moment forever.
Too soon, he pulled back, but still cupped the side of my head, holding me close as he looked into my eyes.
“I’m serious, Juls. It takes nothing for me to make sure you’re sitting where it’s easy to talk to a friend. I’m more than happy to hold your hand when we walk or to touch your back to make sure you walk through a doorway and not into it. And the way you walk and talk with more confidence and ease when I do those little things for you makes me feel like your hero. I love that. I need that. It gives me just as much happiness as it gives you. Don’t ever feel bad for needing or wanting anything from me. And don’t be nervous or embarrassed to ask for it either.”
I nodded, his words and the feeling of his big, callused fingers on my neck and scalp sending shivers down my body. I leaned into him, and as we kissed and touched, I vowed to myself to shake off the remaining self-doubt and truly see myself the way he did. I was already close.