Broken Juliet (20 page)

Within a minute, I have him on the edge. I leave him there. Stand. Step back. He takes a moment to realize before he opens his eyes and delves into his jeans pocket. Then he rips the condom packet open with his teeth and rolls it on in record time.

Within seconds, he has my panties down and off. No foreplay. None is needed. That’s what we’ve been doing for weeks now. He pushes me against the wall and pulls my leg up to his hip, then kisses me hard. He’s rough, and I welcome it. I know he hates how much control I have when we’re like this. He wants to punish me. All he achieves is getting me more aroused.

Then he’s there, and pushing, and inside, and oh … oh … God, I needed this. Him. We both freeze, mid-kiss. I open my eyes and pull back. He’s looking at me, frowning and trying to stay detached. But how can he when we’re joined so completely?

He moves, slowly, sinuously. Takes his time and revels in my response. Nothing seems quite so black and white anymore. I cling to him as he enfolds me. We kiss and moan while we pant in time with the rhythm of our bodies. It all feels good. So right. Like we were born to be part of each other this way.

I shake my head to clear it of thoughts beyond this moment. Try to ignore the yawning hole that’s spewing unwanted feelings into my chest.

I shut down and concentrate on the feeling of him thrusting. Where we’re joined, the physical pleasure screams almost loud enough to drown out everything else.

Almost.

Our pace becomes frantic. The rougher he is, the harder it is for me to stay quiet.

After being so strung out for so long, neither of us lasts very long. Certainly not long enough to fully purge all of our tension. My orgasm is blinding. His seems to go on forever. I kiss him as he groans through it and let some of his essence bleed through a tiny chink in my armor. I hide it away and pretend it’s not the most precious thing I own.

When we’ve both recovered, he tries to stay inside of me, but I have to get out. I’ve had my fix, and that’s all I need.

Just sex.

I don’t need him.

I clean myself up and leave without saying a word.

Just take my waning power and go.

EIGHTEEN

POWERPLAY

Present Day

New York City, New York

Graumann Theater

It’s our first day rehearsing on the main stage in the theater. As I step through the door, a thrill runs through me. Being in a theater is always a magical experience. There’s just something about the energy of it. The peeling walls and thick wool curtains. Memorabilia from decades of productions. Scrawled messages on the bricks backstage, cataloging the history and traditions of combining art and imagination.

Our production intern, Cody, meets me and hands me a cup of coffee before he shows me to my dressing room. Like most dressing rooms, it’s not glamorous, but it resonates with the vibrations of all the performers who’ve been there before. I take a minute to just sit in front of the mirrors and close my eyes to drink in the ambiance.

I haven’t spoken to Ethan since Sunday night, although I’ve thought of little else. I spent all of Monday and Tuesday reading his journals and alternating between wanting to smash him in the face and wanting to fuck him thoroughly.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at his journals from our senior year. Right now, I think it would do more harm than good.

I hear someone behind me. When I turn, I find him there, leaning against the doorframe and staring with an intensity that makes me look away.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

The weight of a million questions hangs in the air, but he doesn’t say anything. He wants to know what I think about what I’ve read. I’d tell him, but I have no clue. He wants to know if it’s making things better between us, if understanding equals absolution. It doesn’t, but it’s not by choice. If I were able to banish every ounce of mistrust in the blink of an eye, this whole situation would be resolved by now. I’d be healed, he’d be grateful, and we’d spend countless nights gasping our happiness into each other’s skin.

That would be nice but I’m not there yet.

“You okay?” he says, still in the doorway.

I stand and go to look through my costumes. It doesn’t take long. I only have three. Still, I graze my hands over all the seams, suddenly nervous. Some of it has to do with him and some with the realization that in three days, we’ll be performing in front of a preview audience. Either way, I’m terrified of disappointing someone.

“I guess,” I say. “Feel a little bit like I’m going to vomit.”

“Me too.”

“You’re hiding it better than I am.”

“I think I’m just more used to it by now. Want to snuggle?”

His question catches me off guard. My hand freezes on the sleeve of my dress.

“Uh…”

I feel him behind me before he runs his finger along my costume, just above my frozen hand. When he speaks, his breath is warm against my ear. “It used to help, remember? Both of us. Plus, I think I’ll go insane if I don’t touch you. Strictly platonic, of course.”

I can’t look up. Can’t even touch his finger.

“Cassie?” He touches my hair and smoothes it back over my shoulder. “I’m not asking you for sex. Or even a kiss. I just want to hold you.”

It’s not just holding. It never was. It’s intimate.

I’m saved from turning him down when Elissa appears at the door.

“Hey, you two. We’re about to start the tech run. Can I get you onstage in costume, please? Be prepared to be patient. Marco likes to take his runs nice and slow.”

She disappears, and I step away from Ethan. He sighs and hands me my costume.

“This is what you’re wearing for Act One?”

I nod.

“No wonder I fall in love with you.”

He gives me a smile that’s part affection, part patience.

For some reason, it makes me bristle and feel way too vulnerable.

He leaves, and I try to shake off the negativity. I don’t need it today. I need to be focused and cool.

In control.

“Now, unbutton his shirt. Good. And put your head where it would be if you were kissing his chest. Okay, great. And hold that.”

Ethan tightens and releases his hold on my hips as I keep my lips millimeters away from his chest. Marco’s muttering instructions to the lighting designer, complaining that the spotlight’s too shallow and the sidelights are too far forward. He wants the sex scene to be shadowy and moody, but apparently the only thing in the theater that’s moody right now is him.

This tech rehearsal is moving at a snail’s pace. I’ve never worked with a director who’s so hung up on lighting and positioning. It’s like he’s doing stop-motion animation.

I focus on the smattering of hair on Ethan’s chest and try to block out how much his scent is affecting me. It’s not easy. Right now, I’m wound tighter than a Swiss watch, and he’s trying so hard to respect my personal space, I want to punch him.

“Cassie?”

“Hmmm.”

“I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to promise you’ll answer honestly.”

I’m immediately wary and look up at him.

“Cassie! Put your head back down. Lance is focusing the specials. Don’t move!”

Holt groans. “Fuck this fucking tech rehearsal.”

I stare at his chest again.

“Move your head closer!”

I dip my head. My lips accidentally graze skin. Ethan swears.

“What’s your question?” I ask.

“Did you happen to have a psychotic break recently and decide to slowly murder me? Because I swear to fucking God, having your mouth hovering over my chest without actually kissing it is a cruel and frustrating version of hell I’d rather not be a part of.”

He’s so whiny when he says it, I laugh.

“Fuck,” he says and exhales. “And now you blow air across my nipple? If I’m not dead already, then please, kill me now.”

“Okay, Ethan, take off her shirt.”

He sighs. “And the torment keeps coming.”

He unbuttons my shirt and pushes it open. Then he closes his eyes and whispers, “Please, God, let Marco tell me to freeze with my hands on her boobs. Please.”

“That’s not in the blocking for this part.”

He glares down at me. “Quiet, woman. I’m conversing with a higher being. Don’t distract him with unhelpful logic.”

He’s slowly raising his hands to my chest when Marco calls out, “Okay, Ethan, pick her up.”

“Goddammit.”

He wraps his arms around me and lifts me, and I lock my ankles behind his back. It feels weird doing this in disjointed sections. Also, without the kissing. He migrates his hands down to cup my ass cheeks. I raise an eyebrow.

“Just getting leverage,” he says, deadpan. “It has nothing to do with me wanting to grope your ass.”

“And yet, you are groping my ass.”

“Well, semi-groping. Please note my hands are over, not under, your skirt.”

Please note, my body wants him to be under the skirt, fingering the elastic of my panties. Distracting me from all the conflicting emotions I’m too much of a coward to deal with.

The lights change again and Marco yells, “For the love of God, Lance! They look like a giant two-headed Quasimodo! Can I please get some blasted definition in the cross lighting? This is ridiculous!”

Lighting assistants rush around sidestage as Holt lowers me until I’m settled fully onto his crotch. Once again, I give him the eyebrow.

“What?” His innocent act has gotten better over the years, but it doesn’t fool me. “It’s easier to hold you like this.”

“That’s because I’m resting on your erection.”

“I know. It’s like a shelf.”

I shake my head. “You have zero shame, you know that?”

“That’s not true. I have a great deal of shame. I’ve just given it the day off. I’ve been working it hard recently, and now it’s all exhausted and needs to recuperate.”

“Unlike your penis.”

“He rarely needs to recuperate. Not around you, anyway.”

He sounds relaxed, but the way he’s breathing and the subtle movement of his hips tell me otherwise. Seeing him like this, barely restrained, makes me want to torture him even more. Marco helps with my mission.

“Okay, Ethan, move her to the bed. Cassie, I want him between your legs.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Ethan lowers me onto the bed, then crawls between my legs. I pull off his shirt and wrap my arms around his neck as he settles against my crotch. He groans and drops his head onto my shoulder.

“This is fucking ridiculous. Why can’t it be like a movie set where they get stand-ins to do this stuff?”

“More blue!” Marco says. “And bring up the pinks from behind!”

I try to hold myself still. If I didn’t hate tech rehearsals before, this experience is enough to make me despise them. With every minute that passes, I feel more out of control. My instincts are telling me to take back my power. Fuck him. Let body-quaking sex dull all of my other thought processes.

Simplify things in the most complicated way possible.

“You okay?” he says as he leans on his elbows. “I’m not crushing you?”

“You’re fine.”

“Thanks. I’ve been working out. I was wondering when you’d notice. You’re fine, too.”

“Are you trying to be infuriating today?”

“Nope. Just comes naturally. Are you trying to drive me insane by moving like that?”

“Like what?”

He looks between us. I realize I’m rocking my pelvis against him. Just a little. Just enough to take the edge off the ache.

He lets out a low groan.

“Cassie…” He closes his eyes and puts more weight against me. The added pressure is nice, but it stops my movements. “Have some pity, woman. You’re killing me.”

The lights brighten a little.

“Okay, Ethan,” Marco says, “some thrusting please.”

Ethan lets out a short laugh. “Thrusting. Of course. Just what I need right now.”

He fake thrusts while keeping his erection away from me.

Evil thoughts fill my brain as I stroke the back of his neck and bring one hand down to his chest to graze his nipple.

His rhythm falters. “Stop it.”

“Why?” I trail a finger down his abs, and his face turns red.

“You know why.” His voice has dropped an octave. It’s full of breath and dripping with want.

“Tell me.”

“Cassie … please … not now.”

I’m Aphrodite again. He can’t hide how much he wants me, and it’s intoxicating.

“Don’t you want me to touch you? Don’t you want me to be your girlfriend again? Break that three-year-long dry spell?”

I brush against the line of him through his pants. He hisses and swears. I smile and keep going.

“This isn’t fucking funny. We’re working.”

I press my palm fully against him. His whole body tenses.

Ahhhh, there it is. The rush of power. My dominion over him is written all over his face. The way his eyelids flutter and close.

“Fuck…”

I keep stroking him, and he looks like he’s being electrocuted. He grunts and drops his pelvis down, which traps my hand between us. I squeeze him, because it’s all I can do. Apparently it’s enough. He stiffens and clamps his eyes shut, then clenches his jaw to stifle a moan. After long seconds of tension, he relaxes and glares at me.

I try to play innocent, but I’m not as good as he is. After what I just did, that much is obvious.

He grabs my hand from between us and plants it at the side of my head. He’s pissed. Really pissed.

“That was out of line,” he whispers. “What the fuck did I do to deserve that?”

I look down, too embarrassed to answer. What the hell am I doing?

“You don’t need to do this,” he says, and it’s clear he’s trying to hide how angry he really is. “Whatever game this is, just fucking stop. You don’t need it. You own me. You always have. I thought reading my journals would have proven that to you.”

“Okay, everyone,” Elissa says over the PA system. “That’s a thirty-minute break while we reset for the next scene, thank you.”

Ethan climbs off me and grabs his shirt. Then he stalks offstage without a backward glance.

My face burns as regret and guilt slither through my veins. I throw my arm over my eyes, as if I can hide from myself.