Chapter 55
CHAPTER
FIFTY-FIVE
JULIE
"So tell me about Ryan and how things are going," Dr. Blanche prods.
I lean back against the couch cushions. "I didn't think I'd ever feel safe with anyone again. I thought Asher had broken something in me permanently."
"And now?"
"Now I know that wasn't true. Ryan has shown me what real partnership looks like. What it feels like when someone actually sees you and loves you for who you are, not who they want you to be. And in the moments where I'm still scared, I try to hold onto that."
Dr. Blanche nods slowly. "That's significant growth, Julie. But I want to pause here. You said you still have moments where you're scared. Expand on that."
My chest tightens. "I do. I worry I'm looking for red flags that aren't there. That I'm obsessively checking for signs of betrayal. And it makes me feel crazy because Ryan has never done anything to warrant that."
"Actually," Dr. Blanche says gently, "I'd be concerned if you weren't having those doubts."
“Really?”
"After what you've been through, if you were just acting like everything was fine, that would be a sign you're not processing what happened.
Doubt isn't a character flaw, Julie. It's your nervous system protecting you.
Your brain learned that people can lie, that love isn't always what it appears to be.
Those moments of fear? They're not a sign you're broken. They're a sign you're healing."
Tears prick at my eyes. "I didn't think about it that way."
"Healing isn't a straight line. You're going to have moments that hit harder than others, and that's okay. The difference now is that you have someone who makes space for those moments instead of punishing you for them."
I nod, wiping at my eyes. "Ryan never makes me feel crazy for needing reassurance. The other day, he set his phone face down on the coffee table after answering a text, and I started spiraling. He noticed right away. When he asked what was wrong, I admitted that the face-down phone triggered me. He picked it up, unlocked it, and handed it to me without a word. He didn’t even watch me go through it. He just let it happen.”
"That's healthy. And the fact that he understands that tells me he's emotionally mature enough to be a good partner."
"He is." I take a breath. "His family is different too. His parents are warm, genuine. They welcomed my mom like she'd always been part of the family. Dean never did that. He saw my mother's anxiety around crowds as a weakness. The Callahans accept people."
"How did that feel for you?"
"Like I finally have what I always wanted. A real family. A network of people who genuinely care about each other."
Dr. Blanche glances at the clock. "We're almost out of time, but I want to ask you something. How do you feel about physical intimacy? Have you and Ryan talked about that?"
My cheeks flush. "We have. He's been incredibly patient. We've been taking things slow—kissing, holding each other, but nothing more. He's letting me set the pace."
"And how does that feel?"
"Safe. Respected. But also..." I pause, trying to find the words. "I think I'm ready. I think I've been ready for a while now. I'm just scared."
"Scared of what?"
"Of it not being what I hope it will be. Of it bringing up memories of Asher. Of ruining what we have."
Dr. Blanche leans back in her chair. "Julie, intimacy with Ryan won't be the same as it was with Asher. Because Ryan isn't Asher. He's not performing or manipulating. He's present. And if you're ready—truly ready—then trust that. Trust yourself. Trust him."
I nod, feeling the truth of her words settle in my chest. I do trust him. And I’m ready. More than ready, even. Kissing him has been such a rush that I had to buy a new toy, my first in years. And I’ve been getting off for weeks to fantasies about Ryan.
So, yeah. Ready is an understatement. I just need to find a way to show him that.
That night, Ryan shows up at my door with takeout from my favorite Chinese place, and the moment I open the door, something shifts.
He's looking at me differently. Not the careful, patient way he's been looking at me for months.
This is heat. Want. The kind of look that makes my stomach flip and my thighs clench without my permission.
"Hey," I say, suddenly breathless.
"Hey." His voice is lower than usual, rougher. He steps inside, sets the bag on the counter, and turns back to me. "You look beautiful."
I'm wearing leggings and a pink sweater. Nothing special. But the way he's looking at me makes me feel like I'm wearing something else entirely. "It's just leggings."
"I know what you're wearing." He moves closer, and I can smell his cologne-so woodsy and clean. So very him. So close I can feel the heat coming off him. "Doesn't change what I said."
We eat on the floor of my living room, our backs against the couch, but the conversation feels different tonight. Charged. Every time our hands brush reaching for food, I feel it like a spark straight between my legs.
His eyes drop to my mouth, then back up. "You look happy."
"I am happy."
He sets his plate down and shifts to face me fully. "Good. Because I need to tell you something."
My heart starts pounding. "Okay."
"I'm in love with you." His voice is steady, certain. "I've been in love with you for a long time. And I'm done pretending I'm not."
Tears prick at my eyes. "Ryan-"
"I'm all fucking in, Julie. Whatever you need, whatever pace you want-I'm here. But I need you to know that I want you. Not just as a friend. Not just as someone I'm dating. I want you."
The way he says it-the intensity in his voice-makes my breath catch. "I love you too," I whisper.
His relieved smile is everything. I can see how much that admission meant to him. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. I think I've been falling in love with you since before I even left on the cruise," I admit.
Honestly, maybe further back than that. And that's okay. He reaches out and cups my face in his hands. His thumb brushes across my cheekbone. "You're everything to me. You know that, right?"
"I do."
"Good."
He kisses me then, and it's not soft or tentative.
It's hungry. Demanding. His hand slides into my hair, tilting my head back, and I gasp against his mouth.
I've kissed him before, but this is different.
This is need and want and months of restraint finally breaking, and I can feel it in every cell of my body, pooling heat between my thighs.
When he pulls back, his breathing is ragged. His eyes are dark. "Julie." My name sounds like a warning. Like he's holding himself back by a thread.
"Don't stop," I say.
"If we keep going...”
"I want to keep going." I reach for him, my fingers curling into his shirt. "I'm ready, Shawshank. I've been ready."
He searches my face. "Are you sure?"
"I'm more than sure."
Something shifts in his expression. The careful restraint drops away, and what's left is pure, filthy want.
He stands and pulls me to my feet, then leads me to the bedroom.
My heart is pounding, but it's not from fear.
It's anticipation. Desire. The knowledge that I want this-want him-more than I've wanted anything in a long time.
He closes the door behind us. "If you want to stop, we stop. Okay?"
"Okay."
"I'm not him," he says, and there's something fierce in it.
"I know. I trust you."
He kisses me then, and it's not gentle. His hands are already moving-down my sides, pulling my sweater up.
I help him, lifting my arms, and then it's over my head and gone.
His mouth finds my neck, my collarbone, and I'm already breathless.
His hands grip my waist, and he walks me backward until the bed hits the back of my legs.
"I've wanted this for so long, you have no fucking idea,” he says against my skin, and the rawness in his voice makes my stomach clench.
I reach for his shirt, pulling it up and over his head.
And then I have to stop. Just stop and look at him.
Six foot two of muscle and heat and so sexy I can feel myself getting wetter.
His shoulders are broad, his chest carved, and I want to climb him.
I always have, going all the way back to day one.
He’s so incredibly sexy it makes my body feel like it’s on fire.
I want to feel all that strength wrapped around me, holding me down, making me take everything he's going to give me.
I've never, not once in my life, felt this kind of animalistic attraction to someone the first time we slept together. I'm normally in my head about it. But right now, all I'm thinking is how badly I want him to fuck me. My nightly fantasies had nothing on this.
He's already working on my bra, and when it falls away, he doesn't hesitate. His mouth is on my breast, sucking my nipple then biting down just enough to sting before licking it again, and I arch into him with a cry I can't swallow. His hand slides down my body, rough and demanding.
His body covers mine, and the weight of him is exactly what I need-grounding, overwhelming, pinning me to the mattress so I can't think my way out of this.
His hands are everywhere, sliding down to hook my leggings and pull them off, taking my underwear with them.
Then I'm naked beneath him while he's still in his jeans, and the unfairness of it makes me desperate.
"Ryan-"
"Patience," he says, but his voice is strained. He kisses down my stomach, his stubble rough against my skin, and I realize where he's going a second before his mouth is on me.
"Oh fuck." The words tear out of me as his tongue drags through me, hot and wet and perfect. He doesn't tease. He doesn't hesitate. He spreads me open with his thumbs and licks into me like he's starving, and my hips buck off the bed before he pins them down with his hands.
"Stay still," he murmurs against me, and the vibration makes me whimper. "Let me. I've been thinking about this for months. About how you'd taste. About making you come apart on my tongue."