Chapter 19 Julian #2
Her fingers find my belt and she fumbles with it slightly, enough that I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from helping.
She gets it. She gets the button. And then her hand brushes the front of my briefs and she stills.
I watch her work up the nerve, and when she finally slides her palm against me through the fabric, a small sound escapes her—surprised, reverent, like she hadn’t believed it would feel like this in her hand.
“Take them off,” I tell her. “I want you to.”
She does. Her cheeks are flaming. Her eyes don’t leave mine until she’s drawn everything down my hips, and only then does she look, and her mouth parts a little, and she says:
“Oh my god, Julian.”
I think I might lose my mind.
“Touch me,” I say. “However you want. There’s no wrong way.”
She wraps her hand around me carefully, and the contrast of that careful grip with the heat of her palm and the look on her face—half wonder, half hunger—shatters me in a way I’m not prepared for.
She strokes me slowly. Watches what it does to me.
Her grip firms when my eyes close. She’s learning me, fast, the way she does everything—paying attention, adjusting, getting bolder by degrees.
“That’s—” My voice has gone rough. “That’s good. That’s very good.”
“Yeah?” Small, pleased.
“Yeah.”
I let her have a minute of it. I let her see what she can do. Then I catch her wrist, because if I don’t, this ends faster than either of us wants.
“My turn,” I say.
I lift her.
She makes a startled sound—a half laugh, hands flying to my shoulders—and then her toned legs are around my waist and I’m carrying her the few steps to the bed and laying her down on it.
Her hair fans across the white linen and the breeze moves the curtains around us and I have to pause, standing over her, just looking, the way I looked at her in the doorway, because I want to remember this.
She is flushed pink from her cheeks to her chest. Her thighs are pressed together. Her eyes are enormous.
“Julian.” She reaches for me. “Don’t make me wait.”
I climb onto the bed and kiss her mouth, her jaw, her throat, her salty skin, her body and mine moving in primal ways.
I shimmy the lace panties down her legs and let them fall somewhere off the side of the bed.
I kiss the inside of one knee, then the other, parting her thighs as I go, and she lets me, and when I finally lower my mouth to her, she makes a sound I will hear in my dreams.
A sharp shocked Ah—! Her hand flies into my hair and grips, hard, like she’s trying to hold on as she levitates into euphoria.
I take my time. I learn her. When I slide a finger inside her she’s already slippery and soaking, already clenching, and the noise she makes—
“Julian, oh God—Julian—”
I look up the length of her body. Her eyes are wild. “Look at me.”
She comes apart looking at me.
Her back arches clear off the bed, her hand fists in the sheets, and she gasps my name like she didn’t know she was going to. I work her through it slowly, gently, until she’s shaking and oversensitive and reaching for me with both hands.
“Please,” she whispers. “Please, I want you, I want—”
I’m already moving up her body.
I reach for the drawer. She watches me roll on the condom with her chest heaving and the look on her face—dazed and wanting and a little astonished at herself—is the most erotic sight I have ever seen.
I settle between her thighs.
I press the head of my throbbing cock against her, resting, watching her face.
“You ready?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I push into her slowly. Inch by inch. She’s tight and hot and her breath stutters as her hands grip my arms. Her eyes stay open, stay on mine, the whole way. I can tell she doesn’t want to miss any of it.
Finally, I’m fully inside her, deep and throbbing.
“Oh,” she says again, soft, wrecked. “Oh.”
I drop my forehead to hers.
“I know,” I tell her. “I know.”
I start to move.
Slow. Deep. Long strokes, learning her rhythm, watching her face for everything she gives me—and she gives me everything.
There is nothing held back. When I shift the angle and find the spot that makes her cry out, she does, as her nails press into my shoulders and she says There, there, please, don’t stop, and I don’t.
I don’t stop.
I fuck her slowly until she’s begging, and then I fuck her less slowly, and then I’m gripping her hip. She’s lifting up to meet me and her teeth find my shoulder, the small, bright sting of it nearly finishes me right there.
“Look at me,” I tell her, breathless. “Look at me when you come.”
She does, right square in my eyes, exactly how I like it.
I lean into her a few strokes later, my face buried in her neck, her hands in my hair, my whole body going taut and then loose against her in a way I haven’t felt in—
I can’t even remember.
I’ve been with women before. More than I can count, if I’m being honest.
But this—my fucking God, this is something else. This is a nakedness I haven’t been near in a long time. She gave me everything and didn’t keep any of it back, and now I am ruined in the very best way. I know it, and I don’t mind one bit.
When it slows, her head settles just beneath my chin. Her breath is still uneven against my skin. Her heart races where her ribs press to mine.
Neither of us speaks. I slowly brush my fingers along her arm, and she utters a contented sigh, then burrows closer. She’s rumpled and flushed and entirely undone. And God, is she fucking sexy. I have never wanted to keep anyone the way I want to keep her right now.
As I lie there, holding her in a place I’ve kept separate for so long—private and untouched—I realize maybe it’s time to let someone back in my life.
Maybe.