16. Julian
Julian
Ikept my eyes locked on the road, my hands anchored at ten and two. It was a desperate, hold, as if letting go meant losing my final grip on reality. I didn’t need to look at June to feel her presence beside me, stiff, distant, and a constant reminder of the rejection I’d dealt her yesterday.
The interior of the cabin felt too small. It smelled of her, that seductively sweet blend of vanilla and coconut that seemed to have fused its scent into the very fibres of my upholstery.
“You’re driving like you’re expecting an ambush, Julian,” June said. Her voice cut through the quiet like a blade through silk. She didn’t look at me, keeping her gaze fixed on the passing blur of dark trees and shadowed hills.
“Just focused on the road, June,” I replied. My voice was tighter than I intended, sounding like a string pulled to the point of snapping.
The guilt felt like a serrated blade twisting in my gut.
Every time I glanced at her in my periphery, I saw the light in her eyes and felt a wave of nausea.
She was sitting there, hopeful and hurt, not knowing that Cain and I had effectively dismantled the life she was supposed to have.
Her dreams were currently ashes in our fireplace, and I was the one who had agreed to fan the inferno.
Suddenly, June shifted. She leaned across the centre console, her scent flaring until it filled my lungs. I felt her scrutiny before I heard her speak.
“What happened to your eye?”
I froze. I’d tried to cover the bruising with the shadows of the car, but the streetlights were unforgiving. The black eye from Cain’s fist was a dark, bruised violet that hadn’t yet begun to yellow.
“I… I tripped in the library,” I said, the lie tasting like ash on my tongue. “Caught the edge of a desk. That’s all.”
June didn’t pull back. Instead, she leaned closer, her eyes narrowing as she took in the rest of the damage. I felt the heat of her breath on my cheek.
“Tripped?” she echoed, her voice dripping with a dry, knowing skepticism. Her gaze dropped to my mouth. “And the split lip? Did the desk jump up and bite you too?”
“June—”
“And your knuckles, Julian?” She reached out, her cool fingers trailing over the bruised, split skin of my right hand as it rested on the wheel. The contact sent a jolt of electricity up my arm. “Did you try to punch the desk after it tripped you?”
She pulled back then, a small, dangerous smirk playing on her lips. She didn’t push it further, but the look she gave me said everything. She knew I was lying. She knew I’d fought with Cain. And for some reason, the violence seemed to fascinate her as much as it worried her.
“You’re a terrible liar, you know,” she murmured, turning back to the window. “But I’ll let you keep your secrets for tonight. Since we’re trying to be normal.”
We pulled into the gravel lot of the carnival a few minutes later. The air here was a thick, dizzying mix of fried food, spun sugar, and the metallic tang of machinery. The kaleidoscopic lights of the Ferris wheel cutting through the darkness, fracturing the shadows ahead.
“We’re here,” I said, stepping out to open her door.
The second she slid out of the seat, my breath caught hard in my throat.
God, why did she have to wear that dress?
It was a beautiful torture. Every single time a stray gust of wind swept across the ground, the lightweight fabric caught the air, blowing up just enough to test every ounce of my fraying sanity.
It made me feel like I was genuinely going to pass out, my head spinning with the desperate urge to just pin her against the side of the car and devour her right then and there.
I wanted to kiss her so badly it was driving me insane.
Steeling myself, I reached for her hand, my heart hammering a nervous beat. For a second, a cold flash of fear hit me that she’d pull away, but her fingers slid into mine with a firm, grounding weight.
“One day of normal,” June said, looking up at the flashing neon. “That’s a tall order for us, isn’t it?”
“I’m willing to try if you are,” I said, my voice dropping into that low rumble that always seemed to draw her in.
We wandered for an hour, the tension slowly fraying into something that resembled fun.
Every time a man looked at her too long, I felt my grip on her hand tighten.
Every time she laughed, I thought of the applications and the secrets I was keeping, and the possessiveness surged, hot and dark beneath the surface.
At the knife throwing stall, she watched with crossed arms as I balanced a blade.
“Show off,” she murmured, though a smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“It’s not showing off if I’m just naturally gifted, June bug,” I said. I let the knife fly. Thud. Bullseye. Twice more, the steel biting into the wood with a finality that made the attendant sigh.
“Pick one,” the man said, gesturing to the wall. “Anything.”
She pointed to a massive, ridiculous stuffed elephant. As I hauled it over, she let out a genuine, bubbling laugh the first one I’d heard since the beach.
“Julian, it’s bigger than I am! How am I supposed to carry this?”
“I’ll carry it,” I said, the weight of the guilt lifting momentarily at the sound of her joy. “What now? Anything you want.”
Her gaze slid to the vintage photo booth tucked between a popcorn stand and the funhouse, a tiny, curtained box that promised a world without witnesses.
“In there,” she said, grabbing my bicep and dragging me toward the velvet curtains.
The second the fabric fell shut, the world vanished. The space was suffocating and small, forcing us chest to chest, hip to hip. The air in the booth was hot, smelling of the dust in the velvet and the overwhelming, intoxicating heat and scent of her skin.
“It’s a bit tight in here,” I whispered. My breath catching as her scent filled my lungs, a sensory overload that bypassed my brain and went straight to my cock.
“That’s the point,” she whispered back.
The machine whirred to life. Click. We made a silly face, a performance of normalcy. Click. She leaned her head on my shoulder, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur that made my toes curl.
“June, don’t—”
Before the third flash, she turned and pressed her lips to mine. I froze for a heartbeat, looking down at her. She looked so perfect in the harsh, flickering light of the booth, her eyes wide, pleading, and holding that ‘puppy dog’ look that bypassed every single one of my defences.
“God, you’re going to be the death of me,” I growled against her mouth.
The guilt was still there, but the lust was louder, a roaring tide that swept away the Ritual, the betrayal, and any logic.
I pulled her hard against me, my hands finding her waist as she climbed onto my lap, straddling me in the cramped space.
The elephant was long forgotten, trampled on the floor.
Click.
Our kiss turned feral. I lost control. My hand moved to the nape of her neck, my fingers tangling in the dark curls I’d spent months wanting to touch.
I tilted her head back, exposing the perfect line of her throat.
My other hand slid down, seeking the warmth of her body.
As I gripped her waist and pulled her flush against me, the thin fabric of her dress offered no resistance.
I could tell instantly she wasn’t wearing a bra.
The realisation sent a jolt of pure, staggering need through me.
I slipped my hand up under the hem of her dress, my palm meeting the smooth, silken heat of her stomach before moving higher. Her breasts were incredibly soft, filling my palms perfectly as she arched into my touch with a low, desperate sound. She was so responsive, so alive under my finger tips.
I found her peaks, lightly rolling and then pinching the sensitive points between my thumb and forefinger.
The sensation made her let out a sharp gasp, followed by a low, shaky moan that she breathed directly into my mouth.
The sound of her pleasure, trapped between us in that tiny, velvet-lined coffin, nearly broke my resolve.
“Tell me to stop,” I managed to choke out between frantic, wet kisses on her throat. My fingers were still busy exploring the softness of her, memorising the weight of her.
“Don’t you dare,” she breathed, her hand fumbling with the belt of my pants, her touch as frantic as my own.
I was seconds away from letting her finish what we’d started, the world reduced to the friction of our bodies and the hypnotic, mocking flash of the camera.
Suddenly, the curtain jerked back.
“Oh! My god! I’m so sorry!” a woman shrieked, her eyes bulging.
June let out a sharp scream, diving her face into my chest and scrambling to pull her dress down. I reacted on instinct. I caught the curtain and yanked it shut with a violent tug that nearly pulled the rail down.
“Occupied!” I barked, my voice a terrifying snarl.
My heart was hammering, my skin still tingling and burning from the contact. We sat there for a long second in the sudden, ringing silence. Then, June started to giggle a quiet, hysterical sound against my shirt.
“We’re a mess,” she whispered through her laughter.
“A complete disaster,” I agreed. A raw, genuine laugh tore out of my own throat, even as I realised that the “normal” day I’d promised was officially out the window.