Chapter 33 #2
They break for air, but it doesn’t last. He spins them, pressing Clarke against the door and crowding in close to kiss her again like all the oxygen in the worlds won’t help him catch his breath unless he’s getting it directly from Clarke’s mouth.
She brings her arms up around his neck; he trails his fingers up her rib cage and traces along the undersides of her arms, making her shudder and let out an embarrassing whimper of desire.
He releases his own sound, a groan that’s more of a rumble, and his hands go back to her waist, then her hips, then lower, flexing over the muscles of her ass and pulling her off the door, into him.
The hot length of his erection makes itself known, from just below Clarke’s belly button up toward her ribs.
His dick curves to the left a bit.
It’s such an absurd thing to notice that a giggle bursts out of her. Julian kisses her through it, smiling at her happiness, and it’s not a good kiss because she’s laughing and he’s grinning and there are too many teeth involved, but it’s theirs.
He ducks to bite at her jaw, little nips lighting up a path of fireworks back to her ear. “Something funny?”
“Your—ah—Julian,” she says, thoughts evaporating when he kisses the side of her neck, hot and wet.
She tips her chin to give him more room to work, but he’s apparently dissatisfied with the available real estate, because he gets a hand into her hair on the other side of her head.
He tightens his grip, pinpricks of pain-pleasure sparking in her skull and racing down to between her legs, and tilts her neck to the angle he wants.
“Don’t get distracted,” he says into her skin. “What were you laughing about?”
Asking matters to Julian. She puts a hand on his chest and pushes, just enough that she can look him in the eye. “Can I touch you?”
His hair is a mess from her fingers. His eyes are bright. “Anywhere.”
She slides her hand down his chest, flipping her wrist so she can cup his cock over his pants. “You’re curved.”
He groans again and bucks against her palm. “A lesser man might be insecure about his dick getting laughed at, but I don’t think you’re going to have any complaints. I’ve never been given a less-than-glowing review.”
The reminder that he’s slept with other people doesn’t bother her.
Instead, her mind treats her to a mental image of him fucking someone, using that experience and the single-minded focus he displays on the track to make his partner absolutely shatter with pleasure.
Then her mind slots Clarke into the role of his partner, and it’s impossible to keep standing there with her legs pressed together.
She wiggles her left knee free and brings it up, hooking it over his hip.
His hand goes to help, catching under her thigh, and he shifts his weight to press against her more fully.
It brings friction and pressure to Clarke’s clit for the first time, a dizzying spiral that has her searching for more.
“You’re going to kill me,” Julian says, looking down at where she’s rolling her hips against his thigh. “You’re—this is it. You’re going to kill me.”
“Dramatic,” Clarke says, the intended chiding undercut by how she’s gasping.
“I’ll give you dramatic,” he says, which doesn’t make sense, but then he’s kissing her again so she really doesn’t care.
She could come like this. No—she’s going to come like this, if they keep going.
The feel of him grinding against her, his tongue flicking over the roof of her mouth, his hands moving her, encouraging her.
He’s going to come, too; she can tell by the way his hips are starting to stutter, the rhythm escaping him in increments.
It certainly won’t be the first orgasm Clarke credits to Julian. It’s just going to be the first one he’s actually present for.
“Clarke,” Julian groans, breaking the kiss. The hand on her leg tightens. “Maddie. Wait.”
“I don’t want to wait,” Clarke says, pushing against his hold. “We’ve been waiting.”
“I know, I know, but—” He kisses her again, desperate and deep. “Just hold on for a second.”
Clarke’s voice comes out as a breathy whine, but she manages to still her hips and step back from the brink. “Why?”
“Because I—I need to—I can’t be casual about this,” he says, tipping his forehead against hers. “It can’t just be sex. Not for me, not with you. I want everything with you, Mads. So if you’re not ready for that, we need to stop.”
It’s asking a lot for Clarke to do anything other than chase her release right now, but she tries. This is important. They spent so long protecting this for a reason.
She can’t think with him pressed up against her. She drops her leg, wills her heart to slow down, tries to inventory her emotions.
Her emotions are doing their best impression of that time Maki dropped a handful of ball bearings on the floor and they ricocheted across the garage.
She wants Julian, obviously, and she’s probably been in love with him forever, but can she start a relationship right now?
A relationship with Julian, who has reminders of Clarke’s family in his apartment and a spot held for the trophy Clarke wants to win for herself in his display case?
Julian steps back. “You’re not ready.”
Clarke feels the loss of contact as a chill everywhere he was touching her before, and has to trap her hands behind her back so she doesn’t reach for him. “Julian, I—”
“You need to think about it. It’s good, that you’re thinking about it. I want you to be sure. I’m sure. I’ve been sure for—” He laughs at himself, dropping his chin to his chest. “A long time. You’re not there yet, and that’s okay. I’ll wait. I’m a patient guy.”
“That is patently untrue,” Clarke says reflexively, thinking about all the times she’s seen Julian do something rash on the track.
He laughs again; a true laugh, not one of self-deprecation. The sound spreads through Clarke like warmth, displacing the chill. “For most things, yeah. You’re different. You’re worth waiting for.”
Clarke blushes, which is honestly ridiculous given what they were just doing. “You’re laying it on pretty thick.”
He looks at her, calculating, and does that square-up with his stance that’s a prelude to him throwing caution to the wind. He’s on her again in the next breath, thumb under her jaw, pressing her up and open for a devastating kiss.
It lasts for an eternity, maybe, and then he pulls away. Backs himself up to the couch. Sits down on the arm of it. Looks at her. “I’m going to be clear about this, because I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings. I’m in love with you, Mads. Have been, will be.”
Have been, will be. It rings in Clarke’s chest like a bell, calling her home.
He’s not done. “I want you in my bed, and my life, and my arms, and pushing me on the track. And one day, when we’re done racing—I don’t know what we’ll do after that, but I know I want you with me while we figure it out.
So take your time. I hope it doesn’t take you another six years, but if it does, that’s fine, because I’m banking on the rest of our lives. ”
Clarke is not going to cry. She is not. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Already done.” He grins at her, then stands up and reaches down the front of his pants to adjust himself as if that’s a thing he can do without making Clarke’s brain explode.
“I’m going to go take care of this. I’m sure you remember where the bathroom is if you need to, uh, do the same.
Stir the food when you’re done, okay? We’ll eat, and then you can tell me how I can help with the shitshow at Elemental. ”
He bounds away upstairs, leaving Clarke slumped against the door and stunned from the quick temperature change. He hollers, “Get a move on, Clarke, we’ve got shit to do!” a moment later, and Clarke goes to—
Well. She goes to get herself off in Julian’s guest bathroom so she can focus while developing a plan to wreck the professional reputations of her team principal and biological father. As one does.