Chapter 11 #2
“I’m happy,” I reply, feeling like I’m trying to prove something. But I am happy, so I have nothing to prove. Kat glances away, waving and mouthing goodbye to someone, before she does a double take for a moment.
“Speaking of happiness,” she says, reaching for the abandoned flute, slamming the last few drinks in a single mouthful. “I am going to go find my best friend because her date is a total fucking drag.”
I scratch the side of my jaw as Kat reapplies lipstick she plucked from her cleavage, using the back of a spoon as her mirror.
“Isn’t that her boyfriend?” I ask with a hint of uncertainty in my tone, even though I know for certain that he is without a doubt the asshole too stupid to realize who he has.
I want to ask why she hasn’t dumped him yet, but know that I can’t.
She recaps the lipstick, rolling her lips together. “Yeah. That’s him. Dick and Balls, in the flesh.”
Zennie appears, looping her arm through her wife’s, her eye makeup smudged from all the happy tears.
“Hey, my folks are about to take off, come say bye?” she asks, kissing my daughter on the cheek.
I watch them move through the crowd until they’re gone, and catch my son and brother near the refreshments.
“We gonna have that cigar now that you’re officially responsibility free?” Geo asks, opening up his jacket to retrieve the stogies in the liner pocket. Cade uses the end of his necktie to clean his glasses, nodding his friend Noah over.
The four of us drudge out onto the balcony, and stand in silence for a moment as we take in the vastness of the sea beneath the glowing moon. No matter how long I live in San Francisco, I’ll never stop being amazed by the sea.
“Fuck,” Cade says eventually, and then, in unison, we turn away from the darkening waters and watch the people inside, dancing, sweating, and becoming more and more celebratory-intoxicated.
Geo passes the cigars down, and I pass my lighter the other way after lighting mine.
“Beautiful wedding,” my brother comments after his first lungful of the expensive cigar.
“Zennie is so cool,” Noah says, making my son turn and look at his friend.
“She’s your type,” Cade says, off-handedly. “Smart, driven, female.”
Geo’s brows tug together as he huffs out another long exhale, the smoke sweet and bitter at once, making my nostrils tingle. Finally, I take a puff of mine, ready to put the screws to Cade for his strange comment, but then–
A small cough from somewhere on the balcony has the four of our heads turning, and there, in the shadows from the side of the building, lying on a chaise lounge, bare legs and chest exposed to the freezing night, is Juliette.
I haven’t seen her in well over an hour, and as soon as I realize it’s her, a terrible thought occurs to me and I place the cigar–lit–on the edge of the balcony and go to her.
It dawns on me, halfway to Juliette, that three other sets of eyes are on me right now.
But she turns her head on the stiff, attached pillow, and I see her eyes are rimmed red, and the tip of her nose is nearly frozen, and I don’t care who’s watching.
Crouching at the side of the chair, I pull her hand out from beneath her body, and bring it to my cheek, hoping to infuse her with some of my warmth.
Her eyes are bloodshot, not just rimmed in red, and I know she’s both been crying and has been drinking. After all, it’s her best friend’s wedding. She should be drunk–but drunk and happy. Not whatever has her out here, in the cold, alone, crying.
“Should we finish these out front?” my brother asks from behind us, and a moment later, despite Cade’s grumpy complaints, the doors open and close, and the two of us are left in silence.
“Juliette,” I start, but the way she immediately opens her eyes and blinks up at me with innocence and hope just from saying her name, it renders me desperate.
Desperate to take that look off her face.
Desperate to taste her misery and turn it to happiness.
Desperate for her, period.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, my voice made rough by my attempt to hide my desire.
She swipes at tears. “Yes. And no. Just… feeling lost, that’s all.” She forces a smile, but panic opens her eyes a bit wider. “Please, please don’t tell Kat and Zennie about this. I feel like a selfish asshole having a moment on their big day.”
Fuck, she’s gorgeous. And look at her. Clearly going through something but only thinking of others, not wanting a moment of attention to be spent on her. She’s been so good to Kat for so many years, and I’m proud to know a woman so strong and loyal.
So beautiful.
The desperation is back, pounding at my temples, aching in my throat, making my finger tips curl against my slacks as logic fights desperation.
But one glance over my shoulder, through the glass doors, reminds me that I’m at Kat’s wedding and this is Kat’s Maid of Honor. I’m merely a father figure to Juliette, and when it’s all said and done, I’d be a fool not to remember that.
I outstretch my hand to her, and pull her to sitting, helping her untangle her dress from her legs before she stands. With her hand in mine, her blue eyes mirroring the gossamer moon in the hazy sky, I can’t help myself.
I can’t control myself.
Not for a single moment more.
I put my hand on her hip, and guide her backward against the side of the building, caging her against the chilled stone wall with my arms on either side.
My lips come down on hers before I can register the shock on her face, but as her mouth opens and she welcomes my tongue against hers, I know it wasn’t a mistake.
Even though I also know it’s a huge fucking mistake, on the worst night for it.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” I encourage between wild kisses. The dam is broken; her lips are softer than they look, luscious and full, hot breaths flanking my mouth as we both grow frantic, discovering a hunger in one another we didn’t know existed until now.
Her hands find their way to my back, clinging, scratching, seemingly begging for more. “Nothing, nothing now,” she breathes, sinking her mouth against mine. One of my hands leaves her hips in favor of her throat, where I clamp down with gentle ease, peppering praise along her mouth between kisses.
“You are far too gorgeous to be sad,” I murmur, my cock stiffening from the feel of her pulse hammering against my palm. “Fucking hell, Juliette, your lips were made for mine.” And that word echoes between us as she blinks up at me.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Someone steps out onto the balcony, but thinks better of it, and a moment later, we’re in dark stillness again.
“I have a boyfriend,” she whispers, the words deflated and sad.
“I know,” I say, dragging the side of my thumb down the supple curve of her jaw, landing on her pulse, hammering with excitement.
It’s true. I know she has a boyfriend. But that goddamn echoing, pounding, all encompassing desperation won’t let me make good choices.
My hand keeps moving and before I know it, I’ve gathered the hem of her dress in my hands, and my thumb is beneath the waistband of her panties.
Our eyes never leave one another.
“Can I…?” I ask, not knowing how to finish the sentence, or what specifically I’m asking permission for but I know I need it. I know, when it comes to Juliette, everything matters.
She nods, and her eyes fall to my lips as I slide my finger beneath the soft lace filigree of her panties.
Her head sinks back against the brick, eyelids fluttering, fighting to stay open.
Dragging the back of one knuckle down her seam, I suck in a harsh breath, my jaw tightening as I discover she’s shaved bare.
And wet.
“The night of s-senior p-prom,” she breathes, the words a whisper between us. “I let Tony Wolf go to second base,” she says, eyes searching mine as I drag my finger up and down her pussy, my cock a straining, leaking mess behind my dress slacks.
“Hm,” I mumble, urging her story on as I gently slip past her lips, swallowing her moan as I sink two fingers inside of her, letting my thumb rest on her swollen clit.
Her back arches, hair tangling in the small straps of her dress as her head falls back, and a soft moan lifts from her lips.
“I thought of y-you,” she finishes, eyes coming back to mine.
She’s tight, so much tighter than I could’ve anticipated. Virginal tight, though I know she isn’t a virgin. Still, as I move two fingers in and out of her, my pace dizzyingly slow, a familiar need burns through my groin, and my cock becomes steel against my fly.
I don’t say anything to her admission, but file it away as I continue fucking the silkiest cunt I’ve had the pleasure of touching. I kiss her again, and her tongue slides against mine, quick and reckless, like this is a dream she doesn’t want to wake up from. I feel the same way.
The hand still braced against the wall comes down, and grips her hip, grinding myself against her as I play with her pussy, my mind reeling.
I’m touching Juliette.
Juliette is kissing me.
Juliette is unraveling for me.
I’m going to make Juliette come. On my fingers.
And the more she admits, the harder I get, the more my hips seek hers, grinding into her, curving my fingers deep inside her.
“Leading up to college g-graduation,” she stumbles through the words, unable to stop pressing her mouth to mine.
I love the urgency in which she kisses me, and I return it, dragging my teeth down her neck, up her jaw, and back to her mouth as she writhes against my hand, wet and messy.
“I f-fantasized about you making l-love to me, as my g-gift,” she breathes, eyes fluttering closed as her cunt spasms around me, her orgasm growing close.
“Yeah?” I breathe, the single word a puff of white between us as her eyes lock onto mine, love drunk and hazy. “You think about me when you touch yourself? Is that what you’re saying?"
There’s no hesitation. “Yes, Mr. Mercer.”
Fuck. I want her to call me Ford, but “yes, Mr. Mercer” in her rumpled, sexy little voice is too good. Too fucking hot.
“Goddamn it, Juliette,” I hiss, sealing her mouth to mine, releasing her neck to hitch her leg up, beneath her thigh. “I wish I could drop to my knees and feast on you,” I admit, running tight circles over her clit, holding my fingers steady inside her. “I bet your pussy is so sweet. The sweetest.”
She nods, biting into her lip with a moan as I grind my hips into her, my erection pressing into her belly. “Of c-c-course you’re big,” she murmurs, her nails carving hot trails down my back, “As if you need another reason to make me f-fall for you.”
Hearing Juliette talk about my cock is one thing.
Realizing she’s talking about it because it’s pressed into her and she feels it is quite another.
I look down between us, and the sight of my clothed erection jutting into her fancy dress, my wrist between us, fingers lost in her cunt–it gets my heart pumping.
My pulse skips in a way it hasn’t in years.
And I want, more than anything, to be inside of her with more than my fucking fingers.
I need to be inside of her.
I long to bury my cock inside of her, to fuck her until she knows she’s beautiful, to give her a belly of my baby, to ravage her body until she can’t take me a moment more.
Then it happens. Before I can stop the moment or pause it, give us both a moment to think about what’s going on and the way it forever changes us, it happens.
“Mr. Mercer,” she moans as her hands come to my shoulders, gripping, slapping, thrashing as her tight little cunt clenches, her orgasm tearing through her in violent, unabashed waves.
She’s so beautiful. I stroke my palm over the width of her thigh, loving the feel of her dimpled skin beneath my fingertips as she unravels for me. Loving it too much.
My groin tightens, my stomach clenches, and my mouth goes dry. “Fuuuck,” I grumble, still fingering her through her release when my lonely cock gives up, and I come in my pants, thrusting my hips against her with each heated eruption.
I haven’t made love in twenty-two years.
I haven’t wanted to.
And here I am, filling my pants while I’m knuckles deep in Juliette Wilson.
“Mr. Mercer,” she breathes, her body relaxing as I lower her leg back to the ground, and take my hand from her panties.
She rights herself, fixing her panties and dress, while I button my coat and attempt to hide the swath of darkness on my slacks.
I stroke my hands through my hair, fully realizing that she is on my fingers, and in my mouth, and sticky on my palm.
I don’t know what to say.
And I know I should be better than a speechless lump at my age but she’s so beautiful and all of that felt so goddamn good, so right… I can’t help but see Katherine flash through my mind. Juliette reminds me of Katherine because of how I feel when we’re together.
“We should get you inside,” I say, knowing it’s not the right thing, or even close, but still, it’s freezing, and she needs water, and warmth.
“Mr. Mercer,” she says, her voice begging me to turn around and explain, to offer any reason why this shouldn’t be uncomfortable. Instead, I pull open the door and hold it. “Come on,” I offer. “Let’s get you warmed up.”
She blinks, fisting her gown on one side, perfect little ankles exposed.
She glances back at the place where I held her to the wall and dry humped her, where I brought her tight cunt to orgasm, where I first put my mouth on hers, then passes me, heading inside, without so much as a glance over her shoulder.
I follow her, or try, but she disappears into a crowd of partygoers still dancing, and I don’t see her at the reception again.