Chapter 30 #3
He nods, never taking his eyes off mine. I know him well enough to know he’s not trying to get me drunk. He’s trying to be romantic . . . or thoughtful? And I want to let him. My heart flips at the sweet charm of this walking daydream of a man in front of me.
“Yeah. Graduation?” he asks, hopeful, and turns to get glasses.
He doesn’t wait for an answer and pops the cork gently, instead of with party-like fanfare.
I like that he doesn’t disturb the quiet.
He pours the gold bubbly into two stemless narrow glasses—real champagne flutes.
I’m impressed and further captivated by the subtle class.
He brings them to where I sit perched on the counter.
As he hands me one, he clinks his to mine.
“Congratulations, Everly Davis.”
My eyes widen.
“Were you not going to celebrate?” He raises his glass to his lips, so I do the same.
We both take a sip. It tickles my nose. He sets his down on the other side of the snack board, so I do the same. Then he takes a half step toward me, which puts his body between my legs. He places his hands on my legs just above my knees and softly moves them up and down my thighs.
“How’d you know?”
“Don’t get mad. I swear it was accidental. But I saw the text from Mr. Rossi on your screen the other morning in my Jeep when you ran back inside for your water bottle. It dinged; I looked down. There it was.” He leans his forehead into mine. “Why didn’t you tell me? Or anyone?”
Wrapping my legs around his body, I hook them on his hips and lock my ankles.
He curls his hands around the underside of my legs and squeezes, his face inches from mine.
I shrug in his embrace. “Dubious honor?” I say it like a question, but I’m not looking for an answer. Graduation ceremonies are unnecessarily long and tedious, and finishing high school remotely seemed a great excuse to avoid it all.
“Well, my little genius, I think it’s a big deal—especially since you finished early.”
His breath heats my parted lips. They catch his exhale as my hands rise from the edge of the counter where my fingers curl around the granite.
They land delicately on his biceps. His muscles contract at my touch.
I glide my hands up his arms to his shoulders, then the sides of his neck. His pulse thuds under my palms.
“Say it again.” My nails curl into his skin at the nape of his neck, urging him closer.
“Say what?” His lids flutter closed, and a low, almost undetectable growl sounds from his throat just before his lips meet mine. A light kiss at first.
I tilt my head and lean in, pressing our lips together harder, pulling him closer, my nails digging in just a little more.
His lips close over my bottom lip, sucking softly.
The wayward curl that always falls on his forehead tickles my temple before his tongue meets mine, soft and cool and tasting like champagne.
My legs tighten around his waist and my body inches closer.
His hands curl around my lower back and down, cupping my ass.
He scoots me all the way off the counter, carrying me now, never breaking the kiss.
With my eyes closed, still kissing him, I can tell we’re moving out of the kitchen and down the hall.
To his bedroom. He wraps both arms around my back tightly, pressing every part of my torso against him.
The heat rushing to my lower region has me grinding against him.
Julian’s strength turns me on. He effortlessly carries me into his room.
Him calling me his? Swoon-worthy. More low light flickers from a small candle on his dresser, another reflecting off the mirror in the attached bathroom.
The slider is open in here too and the breeze coming in cools my fevered skin.
Still holding me, still kissing me, he leans one knee on his bed.
With my eyes still closed, lost in the kiss, I feel the dip.
Smoother than a Hollywood sex scene, he lays me down on the bed.
As soon as my back meets the cushion of the mattress, I unwrap my legs from his hips and he settles his body between them, his excitement hard against my inner thigh.
He doesn’t press into me, so I fight the urge to press into him.
My body knows what it wants, but I have no idea what I’m doing.
I tell myself not to think, just feel. I want him to set the pace, show me how.
And I want him to call me his again. His lips pull back from mine and my eyes flutter open to drown in the deep blue of his.
“Hi, pretty girl.” He traces a finger down my cheek as he says it.
“Hi, Julie.” My lashes lower and my cheeks heat.
“Congratulations.”
“You already said that.”
He made that low chuckling sound I love and pecks my lips with his, resting his forehead on mine. “You told me to say it again.” Then his lips lightly kiss the tip of my nose.
“Not that part. You said ‘my little genius before.’” I lower my eyes to hide my neediness.
“Ohhh. You like being called genius. Well, you are. I’m proud of you, Ever.”
“Not that part. You said ‘my.’” My voice is barely above a whisper.
He lifts his head in acknowledgment, then rests his forehead on mine for a second. Bringing his lips to my ear, he whispers, “You want to be mine, Ever?”
“M-hm.” I nod and trace a fingernail around the shell of his ear.
His low deep laugh tickles my ear before he says, “What am I gonna do with you?”
“Are you asking for suggestions? Because I was hoping you’d lead.”
He barks a loud short laugh, pecking me soundly on the lips. “My sassy girl.” With another quick kiss, he rolls off the bed and stands as he says, “I’ll be right back.”
Without his body covering mine, the cool breeze wafting in from the open slider chills my skin.
An involuntary shiver sends me to the slider, closing it.
I stand with my arms wrapped around me, gazing out into the darkness of the lake.
I can see the surface reflected in the moonlight.
Beautiful and dark, promising and haunting.
Julian comes back with our glasses of champagne. He hands me one and takes a small sip of his.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink. I thought maybe you didn’t,” I say as I take a sip.
“I really don’t. An occasional beer, but I just don’t care for it, I guess.”
“Bad experience?”
“You could say that.”
“But you don’t want to talk about it.” And really, neither do I, but this is a rare time I felt the need to fill the silence.
Julian sees through it. He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and says, “I just wanted to celebrate you and your milestone. That calls for a toast. And . . . I thought it would be . . . relaxing.”
He’s nervous.
I was counting on him to show me the way, but somehow recognizing his nerves gives me confidence, like I couldn’t fuck this up if I tried. I take another a sip of my champagne and set it down on the desk next to the slider. I keep my eyes on his as he stretches to set his glass beside mine.
I curl my fingers into the soft cotton covering his chest and pull the wad of gray fabric toward me.
When his lips meet mine, I open mine and deepen the kiss.
I let go of the clenched-up fabric and slide my hands down to the hem of his shirt and push it up his torso, feeling every defined ab muscle as I go.
His body is a specimen.
Once I push it up to his chest, he reaches above and behind him, pulls it over his head with one hand and drops it to the floor.
He reaches down and does the same thing to my top.
I lift my arms over my head as he pulls it up and off, dropping it next to his on the floor.
Even with my sports bra tight across my breasts, I can feel my nipples straining against the material.
His free hand grazes across one nipple, sliding down my body, and hooks inside my leggings.
The other hand joins it, and they slide the leggings over my hips and down my legs.
Once they’re halfway down, I use my feet to push them the rest of the way and step out of them.
I mirror him and push my hands into the waistband of his joggers and begin sliding them down. He steps out of them easily when they puddle at his feet.
Standing in front of each other, me in a sports bra and thong, him in boxer briefs, I back up toward the bed. He follows me, clasping our hands together down at our sides, locking our fingers. When the backs of my knees meet the edge of the mattress, I sit and edge backward until I can lie back.
Julian doesn’t release my hands. Instead, he pins my forearms down above my head with his, our hands still locked and settles himself on top of me. He partially supports his weight with his legs, so he doesn’t crush me.
I think I want him to crush me. I know I want more. I want his full weight on me. To feel his hard body pressing into my softness. When I squirm a little to try to free my hands, which I plan to use to pull him to me, he gives me what I want.
He doesn’t let my arms go, but he presses into me, sending a rush of moisture between my legs.
“Mmm, Julie.” I lift my hips, begging for what I want with my body.
“I know, Ever. Me too.” This he whispers in my ear, his breath heavy and hot.
He kisses the tender spot behind my ear and places tiny kisses down my neck, sucking slightly on my pulse.
He pulls the strap of my bra off my shoulder and kisses the skin it reveals.
He keeps pulling it down until the fabric gives and uncloaks one breast. His hand goes to the side of my breast, softly clenching as his lips settle around the jut of my nipple while his tongue draws lazy circles, teasing the peak.
My back arches off the bed, seeking more.
His other hand follows suit, dragging the constricting fabric off my other breast and lightly squeezing as his mouth finds and gives equal time to that nipple.