Chapter 13
Marcus
T he door closes in my face.
I deserve it.
Hell, I deserve worse. Julie’s fury hit me like a punch to the gut, every word burning with truth. Now I’m standing on her front porch like an idiot, heart pounding, ears ringing from the sound of her voice still echoing in my head.
I reach up, about to knock again—maybe beg—but then I notice something.
She didn’t lock it.
The doorknob turns easily beneath my hand, and I pause.
I don’t step inside. I just… open it. Slowly. Carefully. Like I might spook her or get myself shot.
Her voice floats from the kitchen, sharp and unrelenting. “If you came back to mansplain your exit strategy to me, don’t bother.”
I stay on the threshold, one boot inside, the rest of me still outside. “I’m not here to explain. I’m here to apologize.”
She doesn’t say anything, so I keep going.
“I know I’ve been an asshole. I know I hurt you. I know I left without a word and didn’t show up today and that you probably think last night didn’t mean anything to me.”
Still nothing, but I hear movement. Soft footfalls. She’s listening.
I grip the frame tighter, grounding myself. “Last night did mean something to me, Julie. It meant everything and that scared the shit out of me.”
Finally, her voice—quiet, cautious. “So, what… you decide to vanish without a trace?”
“I panicked,” I admit, swallowing hard. “I woke up and you were there—peaceful, beautiful, tangled in the sheets—and I felt like if I stayed, I’d ruin everything. That I’d ruin you.”
Now she appears, halfway down the hall. Arms crossed. Barefoot. She doesn’t speak, but her eyes are fixed on me like she’s measuring every word. Assessing if I’m giving her a story or telling her the truth. It’s the god’s honest truth.
“I’m not used to this,” I continue. “Letting someone in. Letting someone see the parts of me I don’t even like to look at in the mirror.”
Julie steps closer. Slowly. One foot at a time.
“You made me feel something I haven’t felt in a long damn time,” I say. “Safe. Seen. Like maybe… I could be more than the guy who keeps fucking things up.”
I take a breath and let the next words come, raw and stripped.
“I’m scared. Of getting hurt. Of hurting you. Of needing someone the way I need you. I ran because it felt too good to be real—and because I’ve never wanted something real this badly.”
The hallway is so quiet I can hear her breathing.
“If you’ll still have me, I’m all in, Julie,” I say, stepping fully into the doorway now, but still not crossing the line between the foyer and her living room. “I want you. I want us. And if that means I have to work through every damn fear in my body, I will.”
She blinks, her jaw working like she’s holding something back.
I take a step closer. “But I need you to know I’m sorry. For all of it. For disappearing. For being too much of a coward to tell you what last night meant to me. I’m sorry I let my fear speak louder than my heart.”
I let the silence settle. Let the words hang there, waiting for her judgment.
My chest aches with the weight of it. The hope. The dread.
She could shut the door again; she could tell me I blew it, that she’s done.
But instead, she sighs—long and low—and finally says, “You’re lucky you’re hot.”
I blink. “What?”
A slow smile curves her lips, the smallest crack in her armor. “And I mean like… emotionally stunted, emotionally constipated, might-be-feral-but-looks-good-in-a-uniform hot.”
“I think that’s a compliment.”
She shrugs, stepping back. “It’s all you’re getting—for now.”
And then, quietly, she adds, “You’re lucky I didn’t lock the door.”
My pulse kicks.
“Can I come in?” I ask.
She meets my gaze, all fire and feeling, and slowly nods.
I close the door behind me and pull her into my chest. “I really am sorry, Julie.”
“Stop apologizing, but don’t do it again.”
“Never.”
She stays tucked against me, her cheek to my chest, and for a moment I think we can stand like this forever. But then she pulls back just enough to meet my eyes.
“I still don’t understand,” she says. “Was it really just fear?”
I exhale, voice low. “I didn’t think I was enough for you. I still don’t, but I know I can’t live without you, either.”
Her brow furrows, eyes darkening. “Marcus…”
“I’ve screwed up a lot of things in my life,” I say, brushing a hand against her cheek. “But you? You’re… more. And I didn’t think I deserved you.”
She stares at me, the tension shifting again—this time thicker, charged, but soft around the edges.
“Good thing it’s not up to you,” she says, grabbing the front of my shirt and tugging me forward.
And then she kisses me. Deep. Fierce. Like I’m the air she’s been holding her breath for.
I kiss her back, letting her set the pace, letting my hands tangle in her hair as the spark between us roars to life again.
She pulls me toward the hallway, fingers laced with mine. “I want you,” she says.
“Julie…”
Her smile is all heat. “No running this time.”
“Never again. I promise.”
She doesn’t say anything for a second. Just rests her forehead against my chest, her hands flat on my ribcage like she’s grounding herself. Maybe she is. God knows I am.
I tilt her chin up gently. “Tell me what you need. Anything.”
Her eyes flick to mine—shining, stormy, impossibly open. “You.”
That one word shatters the last of my restraint and I kiss her.
Not like last night—slow, uncertain, exploratory. This kiss is messy and hungry and laced with everything we’ve been holding back. It’s her fingers dragging through my hair, my hands gripping her waist, both of us chasing the same storm.
She pulls me deeper into the house, our bodies tangled as we back toward the hallway while our heated kiss never wavers. We crash against the wall once, a collision that only deepens the intensity between us. Her laughter, sultry and breathy, fills my mouth as she yanks my shirt off, casting it aside with a teasing flourish.
“You’re still wearing too much,” she murmurs in a low, husky tone.
“Fix it,” I growl, the raw desire in my voice leaving little room for argument.
She complies, peeling away every barrier until nothing stands between us. We make it as far as the couch—barely. Her dress hits the floor with a whisper revealing the soft, inviting expanse of her skin in the dim light. I lift her effortlessly, and she instinctively wraps her firm, inviting legs around me like we’ve done this a hundred times and also like it’s the last time we’ll ever touch.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I rasp, my mouth trailing a searing path down her throat. I explore every inch with deliberate intent, my tongue dancing along her sensitive neck until I reach the supple curve of her breast. My teeth graze over delicate skin, sending jolts of pleasure through her, and then I suck her nipple into my mouth, teasing it with my tongue, my teeth grazing the tight peak leaving a slight, intoxicating mark—a physical memoir of our passion. She gasps, her head falling back, her hands tangling in my hair.
“You left a mark last night, too,” she breathes, her hand pressing reverently against the tender spot on her chest.
I kiss the spot gently, my lips brushing against her skin. “Let me do it right this time,” I vow, my fingers slipping down her body, tracing the curve of her waist, the dip of her navel. My hand sliding lower, my fingers brushing the lace of her panties. She’s wet, so wet, and the sight of it makes my breath catch.
I hook my finger into the waistband, pulling them down her legs slowly, deliberately. She lifts her hips, helping me, her eyes never leaving mine. I toss them aside, my gaze devouring her, my mouth watering at the sight of her bare core, glistening and pink.
“Fuck,” I groan, my fingers tracing her folds, teasing her clit. She moans, her head falling back, her body arching into my touch.
“Marcus,” she pleads, her voice desperate. “I need you. Now.”
I don’t make her wait. I grip her hips, pulling her closer, my cock pressing against her entrance I thrust into her in one slow, deliberate motion, filling her completely. Her breath hitches, her eyes widening as she takes me in.
She gasps, her hands gripping my shoulders. “You feel so good.”
I groan, my head falling back as I savor the tightness of her, the heat of her body surrounding me. I stay still for moment, giving us both a chance to adjust, to feel every inch of our connection.
Then Julie whispers my name, her voice a soft plea. “Marcus.”
That is all it takes. I begin to move slow and deep, my hips rolling into hers. She meets my thrusts, her body moving with mine, her moans filling the room. The couch creaks beneath us, the springs protesting under our weight, but neither of us cares. It is all rhythm, heat, and need, the overwhelming feeling that this – this – is more than just sex.
“I missed you today,” she confesses, her lips grazing my ear. “Even though I was so fucking mad at you… I still missed you.”
I groan, my lips pressing kisses along her collarbone. “I missed you, too. I was such a fucking idiot.”
“You still are,” she says, her fingers digging into my shoulders. “Don’t do it again.”
“I promise… I won’t,” I choke out, my pace quickening as her hips rise to meet mine. “I’m here for good.”
She tightens her legs around me, her breath hitching on a sharp cry. “Marcus—oh my god—don’t stop?—”
“Never,” I vow, my voice hoarse.
Her orgasm hits first, shattering waves that ripple through her, each pulse a vivid declaration of pleasure. She cries out, her body shaking her walls clenching around me.
“Julie,” I rasp, my voice breaking. “I’m –“
I don’t finish the sentence. My orgasm tears through me, a white-hot explosion that leaves me breathless. I spill into her, my forehead pressing to hers, my heart pounding in my chest.
We stay like that for a moment—our breaths ragged, our bodies still trembling, limbs tangled, chests heaving, sweat cooling on our skin.
She strokes my back. “That was… intense.”
I nod, breathless. “Yeah. That’s one word for it.”
She smiles. “Are you still scared?”
I press a kiss on her shoulder. “Terrified. But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”
“Good answer,” she whispers, tugging the throw blanket over us. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you, Marcus.”
I think about her offer, “In a few days if that’s okay with you. I’d prefer to wait to have that entire discussion after Mrs. Waverly’s funeral.”
She nods, “Okay,” she hesitates. “Will you go with me tomorrow?”
“There is absolutely zero chance you were going to the funeral without me… even if you were still mad at me. I was hellbent on being by your side tomorrow.”
The strength in my voice doesn’t even come close to how strongly I feel about that. I know how she feels about Mrs. Waverly, and I’m not about to let her go through that alone… even if I have to stand on the opposite side of the church, I plan on being there for her.
“Good.”
Our kiss is gentle this time, a promise rather than a demand. But as our lips part, I feel her words settle in my chest. I’m not sure what the future holds, but in this moment, with Julie’s body pressed against mine, her breath mingling with mine, I know one thing for certain – I’m not ready to let her go.
The couch creaks again as we shift, our bodies still entwined, our hearts still racing. Outside, the world continues, oblivious to the storm that has just passed between us. But inside, in the quiet of the living room, Julie and I have found ourselves suspended in a moment that feels both fleeting and eternal.