Chapter 16 #2
Steven tries harder, growing more desperate as he senses my withdrawal, as if technique could compensate for what’s missing. He drops to his knees, hands fumbling for my zipper, but I pull back. He looks up at me, eyes hooded, blinking slowly in a sex daze, his lips swollen from our kisses.
“Hey,” I say gently. “I’m sorry.”
Steven blinks again, haze clearing as disappointment flickers across his face. “Everything okay?” His voice is small, confused, hands still resting on my thighs.
“It’s not you,” I say, hating the cliché even as I use it. “I’m just. . .not in the right headspace.”
He nods, understanding even if it stings. We part cleanly. No drama. No promises. Just a quiet goodbye and the soft click of the door closing behind him, leaving me alone with the truth I’ve been running from.
The door closes with a soft click.
I stand there for a moment, breathing hard, the scent of Steven’s cologne still clinging to the air like something I can’t shake off. Dragging a hand down my face, frustration burning through me, I move.
My feet carry me toward the elevator, my heart hammers in my chest like I’m about to step on stage for the first time.
I don’t give myself time to talk myself out of it. I don’t know what I expect from this, I just know I need to see him. The door opens on his floor and I let my feet carry me forward, past numbered doors, the carpet muffling my steps.
Julian’s door is only a few steps down the hall. I knock once, a firm tap. One knock, that’s all. I hold my breath, listening for movement on the other side, wondering if he’ll pretend not to be there.
The door opens and his expression shifts from surprise to something more guarded in the space of a heartbeat. His eyes, those deep brown eyes I used to drown in, assess me cautiously. He’s changed into a soft white T-shirt that clings to his lean frame, comfortable but still Julian.
“What are you doing here?” He looks beyond me and finds the hallway empty behind me. “Over that fast?” he lifts a brow in question, then crosses his arms over his chest defensively. “He was a big guy, I assumed you would be busy,” he says, voice carefully neutral but edged with something sharper.
“I was, no, I mean. I. . .” I stumble over words that usually come so easily. “I wasn’t feeling it.”
His eyes flick past me again, then back, searching my face for deception. “That so?”
I take the opportunity to do my own search as I look past him into the dimly lit room. No sign of another person, no discarded clothes or rumpled sheets. “Portia’s gone,” I add, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw, a tell I remember from years ago. “We were never together. Not in the way you think, and no, he’s not here. He and I are no more.” His voice is steady, but there’s a vulnerability in the admission that catches me off guard.
Silence stretches between us, tight and electric.
We search each other’s faces. Seeing each other, really seeing one another for the first time, up close and personal.
I catch the scent of his sandalwood and citrus cologne, fresh and clean, a scent that takes me back years, to shared spaces and stolen moments.
The young man I used to love, aged and even more beautiful than he was back then.
The planes of his face sharper, more defined, his eyes deeper, carrying years of experience I wasn’t there to witness.
I let him take his fill of me as well. I wonder what he sees.
The changes time has wrought, the hardness that’s settled into my features, the confidence that covers old wounds.
Is my appreciation and need for him reciprocated?
My hands flex at my sides, needing to touch him.
The feeling is so great, it overwhelms me, a physical ache that radiates through my entire body.
I step closer without meaning to. My foot crosses the threshold by an inch, breaking an invisible boundary between us.
Julian looks down, then back up, both brows lifting at my audacity. “Where are you going?” His voice is soft but wary, like he’s afraid of the answer.
I exhale. “I don’t know.”
It’s the truth. I shake my head as if under a spell. I’m not bewitched. . .or maybe I am. Maybe I’ve been under his spell since we were boys with dreams too big for our bodies.
He’s right there, just within reach. The warmth of his body radiates between us.
The quickening of his breath brushes against my face, carrying the faint sweetness of mint.
Years of history hum between us like a live wire, electric and dangerous.
I don’t plan it. I don’t calculate. Something deeper than thought takes over.
I close the inches between us. I kiss him, capturing his plump bottom lip between my teeth making him grunt from the brutality of my claiming of his mouth.
His lip is soft, yielding, exactly as I remembered yet somehow new.
For a split second, he’s still. Caught off guard? Surprised? I don’t know, and within that second I don’t care as I relish the softness of his lips against mine, the taste of him floods my senses, washing away years of substitutes and shadows.
Then he opens for me. Hands grasp my shirt, pulling me closer, desperate.
Mouth answers mine like he’s been waiting for permission he never needed.
The kiss is messy and desperate, teeth clashing, tongues seeking and searching, breath and hunger neither of us bothers to hide.
His body melts into mine, remembering its shape, finding its home.
It’s everything I’ve been missing. Everything I’ve wanted but pushed down in order to survive mediocre kisses from forgettable faces. It’s Julian, it’s Miles, it’s us, stripped of pretense and pride.
Then it’s over, before it can truly begin.
Julian shoves me back, hard enough to break contact.
The look of horror and something else. .
.hurt is the last thing I see before the door slams shut in my face with such force that the air rushes past me.
I stand there, stunned. The hallway cold and empty around me.
My fingers rise to my mouth, tracing the ghost of him, heart pounding like I just ran a mile. My lips tingle, burning with the memory of contact, with the knowledge that some part of him still wants this, still wants me.
I lift my hand to knock again but stop myself.
Force won’t work here. It never did with Julian.
Instead, I press my palm flat against the door and lean my forehead there, breath fogging the wood.
I close my eyes, imagining him on the other side, perhaps mirroring my position, separated by inches and years.
“Julian,” I say quietly. “Please.”
I know he’s there. I can almost hear his breathing, quick and shallow, through the door.
“Go,” he says from the other side, voice tight and strained. “Go back to your room. Go, please. You shouldn’t have kissed me.” His voice catches on the last words, betraying emotion he’s trying to hide.
I swallow, eyes closing. I know I’ve possibly ruined the little gains we’ve made over these past few weeks.
The tentative truce, the careful conversations, the way we’ve circled each other like wounded animals learning to trust again.
I don’t regret it. I couldn’t regret tasting him again, even if it costs me everything.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” I say softly. “But you kissed me back.” The truth hangs between us, undeniable and raw.
Silence answers me. No denial, no explanation, just the weight of what happened and what it means.
I step away. My footsteps echo in the empty hallway as I retreat, leaving part of myself behind that door, with him, where it’s always been.