33. June
June
The afternoon sun was warm, but it couldn’t quite reach the chill that seemed to radiate from Julian today.
He’d been hovering for weeks, closer than my own shadow, more persistent than a salesman.
Every time I turned around, I caught him staring at me with an expression so daunting it felt like he was watching me dissolve into thin air.
We were sitting on the stone bench in the garden.
I was trying to read, but I could feel his gaze burning into the side of my face distracting me.
I sighed, closing my book with a finger marking my place.
“Julian, if you tell me one more time that you’re ‘just thinking,’ I might actually scream.
What is it? You’re acting like a weirdo lately. ”
“I want you to make a list for me.”
I blinked, a confused startled laugh escaping my lips. “A list? Of what? A shopping list? Because there are some boots at the mall that I’d definitely add to the top of that.”
I was joking, trying to puncture the somber bubble he’d blown around us, but he didn’t even give a slight smirk. He just reached out, his hand covering mine on the bench. His skin was unnervingly cold.
“No,” he said, his tone dead serious. “Not like that. I’ve been thinking… you’ve had such a hard time over the last few years. Between Annie, and Nana… and everything else. I realised I haven’t seen you truly happy in so long. Not truly.”
The humour died in my throat. I looked down at our joined hands. “Julian…”
“Make a list for me, please,” he urged, his grip on me tightening.
“Of things you want to do. Things you want to see, or experience, or taste. Places you want to go. It doesn’t matter how small or silly you think they are.
If it’s something you’ve ever dreamed of, I want you to put it down on paper. ”
There was an urgency in his voice that made my anxiety peak. It felt less like a romantic gesture and more like… a mission. Like he was trying to pack a lifetime of living into a single piece of paper.
I thought about the one thing I actually wanted.
I closed my eyes and for a split second, I saw it—a bright classroom filled with the smell of finger paints.
I saw myself showing a child how to mix blue and yellow to make green.
I wanted the degree, the stability, the chance to be an art teacher for kids who still thought the world was beautiful.
But I couldn’t tell him that. Giving him my real dreams felt like giving him even more power to break me if he walked away.
“Why now?” I whispered.
“Because I want to be the one who gives them to you,” he replied. The grief I’d seen there before was still present, but beneath it was a desperate sincerity. “I want to see you happy. I need to know that you’ve had those things.”
I looked at him, searching for the catch. “I… I can’t do that right now, Julian,” I said, pulling my hand back. “You can’t just ask for a person’s dreams on a piece of paper in an instant. It’s not that simple.”
“Take all the time you need,” he said. “Just do this for me, please.”
A fine, persistent mist had begun to settle over the Manor grounds. I sat at the small desk in my room, the lamp casting a warm glow over a fresh pad of paper. I’d been staring at the lines for twenty minutes, the pen clicking rhythmically in my hand. Click. Click. Click. Click.
Years ago, I could have done this in my sleep. I was haunted by bright ambitions. But the last few years had stripped those away until I wasn’t even sure who the girl was who wanted them. Hopes felt like a liability now.
What do I even have to lose? I thought bitterly. It’s just paper.
I stopped thinking and just let the pen move.
15 minutes later I was done. I folded the paper once, then twice, tucking it under my pillow.
“Hands on the wheel, June! Ten and two, not in your lap!” Julian laughed, his large hand quickly reaching over to steady the steering wheel as I let go in a fit of giggles.
The car jerked as I eased off the clutch too fast, the engine dying with a pathetic shudder.
We were currently the main attraction at the drive-in entrance.
I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I realised everyone was watching the girl in the fire-engine red Camaro stall for the fourth time.
“I told you I’m terrible at this!” I gasped, leaning my forehead against the wheel while Julian’s deep, melodic chuckles filled the cabin.
“You’re not terrible, you’re just not confident,” he teased. “Try again. Slow feet, steady hands.”
With a shaky breath, I managed to crawl the car forward, finally guiding us into a secluded spot in the back row. Outside, a light drizzle had begun to fall, blurring the lights from the screen into smears of green. Inside the car, the laughter died down.
Over the last few weeks, the weight of the Manor had lifted, replaced by the frantic, beautiful momentum of the list. Julian had taken it like a sacred text.
But while we were crossing off dreams, we were actively ignoring the feral electricity sparking between us.
We hadn’t pushed the physical boundaries in months—not since Billy.
I wasn’t ready yet.
Tonight, however, that restraint was starting to tether and I forgot about the incident altogether.
A movie, Ghostbusters, was playing on the massive drive- in theatre screen, but I couldn’t have told you a single line of dialogue.
I was too busy being hyper-aware of Julian.
He was leaning back, one arm draped over the steering wheel.
He looked devastating in the dim light, his sleeves pushed up to reveal pumped veiny muscles.
I shifted in my seat, my thigh brushing against his. I didn’t pull away. Julian’s fingers tightened on the wheel, but he didn't move his leg either.
“Watch the movie, June,” he warned, his voice a low, authoritative growl.
“I’m watching,” I lied.
The air in the car was think with tension, the windows beginning to fog. Every time he shifted, our skin met. I wanted to reach out and put my mouth right over the pulse jumping in his neck.
“You’re not watching the movie,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to my lips.
“Neither are you,” I countered.
Julian reached for something and his elbow caught the edge of my soda. A wave of ice-cold liquid flooded my lap. I jumped, letting out a sharp “ah!” as it soaked through my skirt and underwear.
“Damn it—June, I’m so sorry,” Julian blurted out, looking for napkins.
The cold shock was the final push I needed. Without a word, I reached under my skirt, hooking my fingers into the damp lace and slid them off. Julian turned back and nearly choked.
“June…” he warned, his voice a dangerous rumble.
I scrambled over the centre console into the backseat. The neon glow from the screen hit the leather in bright streaks. I sat back and began to unbutton my shirt. One button. Two.
“You’re not going to make me clean up this mess all by myself, are you?”
Julian practically dove into the backseat, his shirt coming off in one fluid motion. He pushed my skirt up, his hands rough and domineering. “I’ve missed your pretty pussy,” he growled.
He reached down, his fingers playing with me before he inserted a single finger—just enough to make me let out a gasp. “God, you’re so tight. I can feel you pulsing around me. Is this what you want, Junebug? Tell me.”
“Yes,” I sobbed. “Please, Julian. More.”
He pushed his finger in deep, finding the spot I’d been craving.
Then he lowered his head. The moment his tongue hit me, the world outside vanished.
He was relentless, devouring me with a hunger that matched my own.
It barely took any time before my body began to spasm in an uncontrollable release. He was too good at this.
As the echoes of my moans faded, the world slowly began to bleed back in.
My breath was shallow, and my legs were trembling.
Julian didn’t pull away immediately, his head remained against my thigh, his breath hot.
When he finally looked up, his lips were plump, glistened with the evidence of my arousal. He looked at me with pure awe.
He began to plant soft, lingering kisses along my inner thighs, making me squirm and giggle despite the exhaustion.
“That was… so good,” I managed to choke out.
He sat up and pulled me into his lap. It was only then I realised the massive screen ahead of us was blank. The rows of cars were gone. The lot was empty. We were the last ones left.
A startled laugh escaped my lips. “Julian, look. Everyone’s gone!”
A grin broke across his face, a real, genuine grin. “I guess we missed the ending,” he teased.
“We missed the whole movie,” I corrected.
He laughed, before scrambling back into the driver’s seat and firing up the engine. “We should probably get out of here,” he said with a playful wink. “In case someone called the cops on the ‘public indecency’ in the back row.”