Chapter 35 The Things Between
The Things Between
The corridor was quiet. Most of the doors were ajar, revealing greenrooms overflowing with magazines and half-drunk bottles of sparkling water, fluorescent mirrors and discarded coats. There was only one door shut near the end of the corridor, and Dominic gave a sharp rap on the wooden frame.
“Occupied,” Juliette called.
He leaned his forehead against the wood. “It’s me.”
“Hastings?” A pause. “What do you want?”
Dominic closed his eyes. “Can I come inside for a second?”
She sighed. “I suppose I can’t stop you.”
Dominic pushed open the door. Juliette sat on a chair, pink cowboy boots kicked up on a dresser, staring at an apple as if she were thinking about eating it but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.
He leaned against the wall. The sight of her after so many weeks was like a physical ache in his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he said, because really, what else was there to say?
Juliette shrugged. “It’ll blow over.”
She bit into the apple: a sign she didn’t want to talk. And yet.
“Not just about that.”
Juliette stiffened. He could see her mind working. “How much did you overhear?”
Dominic stuck his hands in his pockets. “Most of it.” He hesitated. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes. I am a natural brunette.”
Okay. So she really didn’t want to talk. That was fine; with Juliette, you sometimes had to launch into it sideways. “Those boots.” He nodded. “Why do you always wear them?”
Juliette studied him, as if trying to decide how serious he was. “You really want to know?” He nodded, and she shrugged. “When I was in primary school, there was this big video-game craze. Lasso Pete. It was a game about a gun-wielding cowboy who had to fight off an alien invasion.”
Dominic nodded. “I remember it.” She raised an eyebrow, and he suppressed the urge to smile. “Oh, come off it, Marchmont. I’m not that much older than you.”
“I know. I just didn’t think you were as cool.”
“Shut up.”
“Anyway,” Juliette said, but she looked on the verge of smiling now, “Capulet used to play the game after school with a group of boys, and one of them—this little git named Griffin Parks—told me that I couldn’t play. Video games aren’t for girls, he said. So I did the logical thing.”
“Beat the shit out of him?”
“Hastings.” That beautiful smile grew. “I was eight.”
“Even so.”
“No.” Juliette swung her legs off the desk.
“I started up my own group of female gamers. We’d meet up every Wednesday at seven o’clock.
Mostly, it was a bit of fun; we’d eat Party Rings and complain about homework.
But after a while I started to get really good at Lasso Pete.
I topped the leaderboard, and Griffin was livid.
” Her smile was wry. “Anyway, I was a petty little shit, so I started wearing cowboy boots to school, just to piss Griffin off. I guess it became a habit.”
Dominic’s throat swelled, although he didn’t want to examine the emotion too closely. Goddamn it. What was it about this girl that made him want to give up everything just to make her smile? After this weekend, there would be only one victor.
He couldn’t forget that.
Something shifted in her face. “Don’t look at me like that. Please.”
“Like what?”
She looked away. “Like I’m breakable.”
Damn it. He couldn’t fucking stand it. He was there in an instant, cradling her face, murmuring soothing words into her hair. Juliette gave a little hiccup. She was shaking but not crying, and then something hardened on her face. A resolve of sorts. And he knew what she was thinking.
He pulled back. “Jules…”
She gave a small smile. “You never call me that.”
“Don’t I?”
“No.”
Their faces were close, so close that he could smell her lip balm. Regret was a knot in his throat. God, he wanted to kiss her. How to explain that she was already Jules in his head? How to explain that she was sweetheart, mon coeur, ya qamar, along with a million other things he couldn’t say?
“We shouldn’t,” Dominic murmured. “You’re upset.”
She raised her face. “I want to.”
“I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“Please,” Juliette whispered, and he would have promised her anything that morning. Torn his raw and still-beating heart out of his chest, if she’d asked it. “Make me forget. I want this, Dom. I want you.”
She pushed him against the dresser. Dominic half stumbled, caught by surprise, although he couldn’t deny that it sparked something in him.
A low flame of desire. Had she ever been this demanding with him?
He was kissing her now, and she tasted like summer apples, and a fresh rush of blood went through him, leaving him dizzy and light-headed.
Dominic clung to the scraps of his sanity. “Someone could walk in.”
“Does it matter?” Her hand drifted lower. “The whole world already knows.”
Her hands roamed under his shirt. Dominic closed his eyes. He was unbearably hard, his cock straining against his trousers. He’d spent every night trying desperately to forget this, only to realize now that it was pointless.
His body remembered. It would never forget.
“I don’t know if—” Dominic hissed out a breath. “Fuck.”
Her hand fisted his cock. For a terrible moment, he thought he might lose control right there; his body was tense, his blood singing with months of pent-up frustration. One more thing was going to send him over the edge.
Juliette held his gaze. Her hand worked up his shaft with agonizing slowness.
“Please,” Juliette murmured. “I need this. I need…”
She didn’t need to say it; Dominic understood.
Every part of his body was ablaze, hot blood pumping through his veins.
The car was careening toward the boards.
They both knew how it would end. And in that moment, Dominic no longer cared if anyone found them, heard them, saw them. He needed her. Now.
“Use me.” Dominic’s voice was hoarse. “However you need. Take whatever you want.” It was already hers anyway.
Something like relief flickered, then Juliette was kissing him.
Hard. Dominic kissed her back with equal force, tongues tangling together, a war of metal and blood.
She pushed Dominic to his knees and he went gladly, his mouth finding her stomach.
Skimming her bare thighs. He pushed her skirt up and Juliette moaned, the sound reverberating straight down his cock.
Dominic pushed her thong down. She was slick and ready, and he bit back a moan.
God, this girl was going to kill him.
Dominic buried his head between her thighs.
There was no teasing this time, no drawn-out foreplay; only the hard, unrelenting lash of his tongue.
He slipped two fingers inside her, and Juliette moaned, her hand fisting in his hair.
His fingers pumped faster. Harder. Dominic feasted like he meant it, like he might die if he stopped.
His heart was pounding so fast that it was almost painful.
“Hastings—” Juliette’s breath was short. “I can’t—I’m going to—”
“Good girl,” Dominic murmured. “Let go.”
The words sent Juliette over the edge.
She came with a gasp, her fingers pulling sharply at his hair. She looked like a blazing star, Dominic thought helplessly, like some ethereal creature that should shy from his touch. He had the oddest urge to look away.
I’m better alone.
Dominic pressed a kiss to her shaking legs, his heart pounding. He withdrew his trembling fingers.
This means nothing. I can make it mean nothing.
The words felt hollow. Juliette reached for his trousers.
“Wait,” Dominic said.
Juliette stilled. “Is something wrong?”
She was breathless, her chest stained a delicate shade of pink. Even now, Dominic thought, it hurt to look at her. “I can’t do this. Not this weekend.”
“Oh.” She drew back. “Okay.”
Dominic turned. “I’ll see you at qualifying tomorrow.”
He pushed blindly from the room. He made it around the corner before he fetched up against the wall, resting his forehead against the cool white tile. Every part of him was hard and aching. He closed his eyes, taking a slow drag. Then another. He had to concentrate. He had to focus.
The qualifying session was in less than twenty-four hours. The race, less than forty-eight hours away.
And he had to win.
Winning meant being a world champion. Winning proved that he deserved his seat on the team, proved to his father that he was exceptional, proved to Anthony sodding Sinclair that Dominic was better—no, that he was the best.
Dominic’s breath echoed like a gunshot in the empty corridor.
He had to do it. He’d sacrificed everything to win.
There was no other choice.