Broken Juliet (33 page)

All I’ve done since Ethan walked me home is check my watch and count down to the time until his flight leaves. It’s now ten hours and forty-two minutes. I look at my bed and consider trying to sleep, but even though it’s two o’clock in the morning, I know it won’t be possible.

Tristan’s resonant snoring echoes down the hallway, and it’s enough to make me want to scream. I have to get out.

I pull off my robe and get dressed. When I head down to the lobby, I tell myself I’m going for a walk. Just a walk. When I reach the street and hail the first cab that passes, I tell myself I’m just going for a ride. And when I pull up in front of Ethan’s apartment building, I tell myself I’m a filthy, dirty liar for not admitting where I was going and what I was planning on doing.

More specifically, who I was planning on doing.

I punch in his security code and open the door. His building is quiet. When the elevator opens on his floor, I almost lose my nerve and leave. He’s probably sleeping. He’s definitely trying to avoid what I’m going to ask him to do. This is such a bad idea on so many levels, and yet, right now, it seems like the most imperative action I’ve ever taken.

I stride down the hallway and knock on his door. I expect to have to wait minutes before he opens it, bleary eyed and half asleep. Instead, it opens within seconds, and he looks even more wired than I feel.

“Fuck, no,” he says, and for a second I think he’s going to shut the door in my face. “What the hell, Cassie?”

“What?”

“You’re here.”

“I know.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair. “You’re supposed to be at your place. Far away from me and sleeping. Preferably in an ugly flannel nightie.”

“Ethan—”

“Do you understand how hard I’ve fought to stay away from you tonight? I’ve been pacing around my living room for hours, trying to resist temptation. And now you show up here, looking like that?”

“Like what?”

He waves his hand at me. “Edible. Horny as hell. Fucking beautiful. Choose one.”

I take a step forward, but he holds his hand out to stop me. “No way. If you step into this apartment, all that talk tonight about us waiting, and your therapy, and blah, blah, blah, ‘We shouldn’t have sex’ will be out the window. You need to leave.”

I stop just as my toes touch the threshold. When I’d fantasized about telling him I was ready to be intimate, I’d anticipated him being a little more enthusiastic. I mean, I know he’s trying to do what’s best for me, but that was always the problem. He sucks at knowing what was best for me.

I take a tiny step. “Ethan, listen—”

He backs up. “Don’t do it. I really won’t be held accountable for my actions. It’s been three years, Cassie. Three fucking years. The things I would do to you…” He shakes his head. “You don’t even understand.”

“What if I do understand? What if I have things I want to do to you as well?”

He closes his eyes and drops his head back against the wall. “Jesus, seriously, with that comment?”

I step through the door and close it behind me.

He opens his eyes. “Cassie, we’ll undo everything.”

“I don’t care.” I put my hands on his chest. “I need this. And as you keep saying, so do you.”

“I don’t want to screw this up.”

I stroke his face. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You find the intimacy too confronting and panic. Shut me out. Shut our relationship down.”

I roll my eyes. “Who would do something like that?”

“I’m serious.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“Do you forget that I’ve been exactly where you are right now? It might.”

“Ethan, I love you, but you really need to stop thinking so much.”

He freezes. Eyes wide. “What did you just say?”

I take a step back. “Uh … what I meant was—”

“You said you loved me.” His panic seems to have vanished.

“Yeah, I did, but—”

“You didn’t mean it?” He moves closer so he can stroke my cheek. “If you didn’t, it’s okay. Or if you did, and you’re not ready to admit it, that’s okay, too. Just … tell me.”

A strange sense of calm comes over me, and I remember something he said a couple of months ago: whether or not he loved me wasn’t dependent on a word. It was just fact, pure and simple. Even if I don’t say it, it’s true, so why bother denying it anymore?

“I meant it,” I say quietly. I expect to be hit by an anxiety attack, but instead all I feel is relief. Intense, long-overdue relief.

His smile is blinding. “Yeah?”

I take a deep breath and smile back. “Definitely.”

He stares at me with so much joy, I want to kiss him all over. Instead I pull his head down and settle for his lips.

The initial shock freezes us both in our tracks. This isn’t a stage kiss. No choreographed emotions filtered through our characters. This is us. The way we should be. The way I never thought we could be again.

We draw back, just a little, and stare at each other. We’re actually going to do this. After all this time.

I feel like I should be more nervous, but then I realize all of our moments have been leading us here. Even the painful ones.

I look for hesitation in him. Self-protection or second-guessing. Instead, I see concern for me and overwhelming love.

It’s more than enough.

It’s everything.

He cups my face. Kisses me harder. There’s a thrill of familiarity about what we’re doing but with a completely new edge.

The lust is still there, as knee-buckling as ever, but there’s something deeper. It winds through my body and anchors me to him. In the past, this soul-deep connection came and went in fleeting, infrequent moments, but now, it’s where Ethan lives.

I’m still terrified, but I want to live there with him.

Make him the first and last man I’ll ever have.

We keep kissing as we stumble down the hallway into the living room. I tug at his shirt, but he pulls back and tries to catch his breath. “We don’t have to go so fast.”

“You haven’t had sex in three years, and you want to slow down?”

“The last time I had sex, it was with you. I’ve waited a long time for this. I want to savor it.”

“You’re getting on a plane in”—I look at my watch—“nine hours and thirty-eight minutes. Are we really wasting time discussing this? when we could be getting naked?”

“You make a compelling case.”

He pulls off his shirt and kisses me again. God, I’ve missed kissing him, which is crazy because we kiss every day onstage.

But not like this.

Never like this.

If he kissed me like this during the show, the sex scene wouldn’t be simulated.

It proves just how much he’s been holding back to avoid scaring me.

He presses me against the wall and reacquaints himself with my breasts. I grip his shoulders to keep myself upright. Shimmering heat whispers under my skin. It curls and releases in my stomach, making my heart hammer and my blood sing. Everywhere Ethan touches me burns a little brighter than the rest.

Every other man who’s ever touched me fades from my memory. It’s always been him. Even when I wanted to forget, my body remembered.

He pulls off my T-shirt, and when his mouth connects with my chest, I anchor my hands in his hair and pull him forward. Urge him to take more.

All of me. Everything I am is for him.

He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. Then he’s moving. Pressing and grinding, and unashamed of how hard he is.

We get more frantic. Desperate and impatient, we communicate with low sounds and needy hands.

He pulls me away from the wall and carries me down the hallway. When we reach his bed, he’s barely laid me down before he’s tugging at the rest of my clothes.

I kick off my shoes, and he attacks my jeans. His concentrated frown as he works them down my legs is all kinds of sexy. When I’m only in my underwear, he pauses and stares.

“Goddamn.” He shakes his head. “No matter how much I fantasize, the real you still takes my breath away. It always did.”

I sit up and remove my bra. He swallows hard.

“Shall I remove these?” I ask as I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my panties. “Or do you want to?”

His expression turns predatory. “Oh, I want to. I very much want to.”

He grabs my ankles and drags me to the edge of the bed. Then he pulls my legs up onto his torso.

“This fantasy was one of my favorites,” he says, as he slides off my panties and kneels in front of me. “You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this.”

He starts at my ankle. Soft kisses and slow torture as he works his way up. Every piece of skin he isn’t touching is jealous and desolate. Everything else sparks and fires through my veins. Powering a deep, spinning ache.

He takes his time, and all I can do is close my eyes and grip the sheets. He knows what he’s doing. Self-assured. When he closes his mouth over me, I arch so hard I’m barely touching the bed.

I talk to God. A lot. I tell him Ethan’s name. A lot. Everything spins and flutters, and I alternate their names in tight whispers.

“God … Ethan…”

I struggle for coherence. I don’t remember him ever being this good. I mean, he was always amazing, but this? It’s beyond words. For a man who hasn’t done it in a long time, his skill level is … oh, God …

I can’t even think anymore.

His hands never stop moving, and every touch winds me tighter. I’m floating so high, I feel like I’m four feet above the mattress. He keeps me there, hovering on the edge of sensation and satisfaction. Then, with a flick of his tongue and a curl of his fingers, I’m crashing back down, dizzy and breathless.

I can’t move. My brain has checked out. Breathing is an alien concept.

He kisses back up my body. I summon enough strength to wind my fingers through his hair, and he hums against my skin. His voice does things to me even his hands can’t.

“I’ve missed seeing that,” he says. “You look incredible when you come.”

While keeping my eyes closed, I stroke his arms as he continues trailing kisses all over. The feel of his muscles helps pull me out of my daze. Makes me hungry for more.

It’s my turn, so I push him onto his back. I can deliver just as much sweet torture as he can. I start on his neck. He responds with noises that border on animalistic.

I kiss him everywhere. Touch him like it’s the first time, all over again. In a way, it is. Every incarnation of him has owned me, but this one actually deserves to.

When I get to the waistband of his jeans, I lick and nibble his hips. He sounds like he’s in pain. Judging by the tightness in his crotch, I’m sure he is.

I unbutton his jeans. He’s mumbling things I can’t understand as I pull them off and start on his legs. He swears under his breath and buries his hands in his hair. I revel in my power over him.

He’s barely holding himself together. I don’t blame him. If I hadn’t had sex for years, it would only take a single touch to completely unravel me. His control is remarkable.

The dark fabric of his boxer-briefs clings to every inch of him. I run a single finger down the swollen length. He squeezes his eyes shut and pushes out a long breath. I do it again, and he slaps the bed before gripping the covers.

I move down to stroke his thigh. “Do you want me to stop?”

He keeps his eyes closed but grabs my hand so he can pull me up to his face. “Just let me do this for a while.” He kisses me and turns us so we’re both on our sides. Then he pulls my leg up to his hip and presses his erection against me, trying to acclimate himself to being with me again.

We kiss and grind, and it all feels so good. His hands move over me like we’ve never been apart. The rhythm of him is intoxicating.

“Is it okay if I touch you now?” I ask.

He nods. “I was about to start begging.”

“Did you fantasize about me touching you while we were apart?”

“Every single day. Sometimes, multiple times a day. Fantasy You was a total nympho.”

I move my hand between us and palm him. He moans, and I smile. “So, kinda close to Reality Me, then?”

He flops onto his back. “Yep. Pretty much. Dear
God
.”

I kiss down his neck. Graze my teeth across his stubble and taste his skin. Kiss his Adam’s apple as he makes a long, low noise. The buzz on my lips tickles. All the while I stroke him through taut fabric. Run my hands over trembling muscles.

He pants and alternates between watching my slow trek down his torso and pushing his head back into the bed and cursing.

When I reach his belly button, he stops breathing.

“You okay?”

“Yep,” he says, his voice tight. “More than okay. Just … trying not to embarrass myself.”

“Not possible.”

I pull down his underwear, and he lifts his hips to help me get them off.

And then, there he is.

He watches me stare. He’s so familiar, but it’s like I remember him from a dream. I trace the shape of him. Wrap my fingers around the perfect thickness.

He always was perfect. In the past, I thought my inexperience had informed my opinion, but now I’ve had other men, and none of them compare.

I was naive to think they would.

I lean down and brush my lips over the silky skin. He groans, and I know he won’t be able to endure much of this. Already, his abdominals are trembling.

I use my tongue, and he’s practically vibrating with restraint. When I take him in my mouth, I hardly have time to savor the sensation before he’s grunting and pulling me off.

“God … no. No, no, no,
no
.” He clenches his jaw and moans as he comes all over his stomach and chest. I watch in fascination. Was there always this much? Or is this what extreme sexual frustration looks like?

Good God.

When he finishes, he draws in sharp, shallow breaths and covers his face. “Fuck, Cassie. I’m so sorry.”

I pull his hands away and kiss him. “Don’t be. That was … impressive. Like a special effect. Can we do it again?”

He chuckles as I grab tissues from his nightstand. “You’re asking permission to make me come like that again? Hmmm, let me think.”

Even as I wipe him down, he reacts and swells proudly before my eyes. “Well, I was just being polite. Lord knows you get annoyed when I orgasm you against your will.”