by Amity Cross
Dammit. One taste and I was a fucking goner.
“Did you ever touch yourself while thinking about me?” I asked, my balls tightening.
She wriggled in my arms, her perfect breasts pressing against my side. “Why? Did you?”
“Yeah. I did,” I replied, remembering the other night when I’d beaten off in the shower. It’d only made me want her more.
“I didn’t dare,” she whispered, trembling against me.
“You’re a shy thing, aren’t you?” I murmured, brushing my hand through her ebony hair. “But…”
“But?”
I rolled onto my side and smoothed her hair away from her face. Fuck, her eyes were something else.
“You knew what you wanted when I stripped you,” I said, my cock hardening. “And you went for it.”
Her cheeks turned pink, and I chuckled, placing a kiss on her lips.
“Like this?” she asked, her fingers tracing over my ass, along my hip, and then between us. When her palm curled around my shaft, I hissed, my eyes rolling back into my head. And fuck me if she didn’t start stroking…up and down, her thumb circling my tip like a pro.
“Exactly like that,” I muttered, flexing into her touch.
Grasping her thigh, I pulled her on top of me in one fluid motion, and she cried out in surprise, then started to laugh. Watching her lips curve into a full-on grin, I realized I hadn’t seen her smile like this before. It’d always been tiny little gestures hidden behind a wall of uncertainty like she was embarrassed to be happy. Now something had shifted, and here she was. Fucking beautiful.
Her center was warm and slick over my cock as she moved, massaging the underside of my erection to the point I was dying to be inside her again.
“You’re torturing me, Jules,” I muttered, lost to the sensation.
Lowering her lips toward mine, her breasts brushed against my chest, and I dug my fingers into her hips, holding her in place. Without a second thought, her hand found my cock and guided it to her opening, her inhibitions nowhere to be seen. Her confidence was definitely there, I just had to get her to show it all the time, not just when my cock was in play.
I thrust, driving into her from beneath, and she moaned loudly as she screwed her eyes shut. She sat upright and immediately wrested control from me, working her body over mine. Up, down, up, down, faster and faster until I could hardly hold onto my release.
At the last moment, I flipped her onto her back, her black hair fanning over the pillow, and brought us home. Fast, hard, and unashamed.
We came together, our breath mingling as we took our fill of heady kisses, lost in the haze of another unbelievable orgasm.
Easing out, I collapsed onto the mattress beside her, coaxing her close. Juliette came without complaint. She laid her cheek on my chest and wrapped her leg around mine.
“I can hear your heartbeat,” she murmured, her fingers playing with my nipple. She rubbed idle circles, the intimate gesture feeling natural.
“Yeah? I have one?”
She laughed softly. “Of course, you do.”
This felt so fucking right it was unbelievable. Juliette in my arms was like…it was like nothing I’d ever experienced.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized if I wanted things to continue, I’d have to open up to her. At some point, it would have to go both ways, but if I was able to show her trust, maybe she would confide in me. If she saw I intended to stick around, maybe she would allow me to help her through the next steps of her own healing.
I’d fucked her now, so it was all in. No going back. Like I’d be able to anyway. I was pretty damn sure I was past the point of no return the moment I stood by that notice board and attempted to get her to come to self-defense classes. That very first day, her eyes had spoken to me, her fear, her uncertainty… Her understated beauty.
“Jules…” I began, my forehead creasing.
“Huh?” she murmured, raising her head. Her sleepy gaze met mine, and she tensed when she saw the wrinkle in my brow. “What’s wrong?”
“I just want to…” I began, not sure how to broach the subject or if I even should while she was still naked in my bed.
“Do you want me to go?” she asked, some of the fear returning to her features.
She began to pull away, and I tightened my grip on her. “No. Stay. I just want to talk. That’s all.”
“About?”
I sighed in relief as she settled back into my arms, using my body as a giant pillow.
“My back,” I began, wanting to tell her everything. That was how pussy-whipped she had me after two orgasms.
“Shh,” she whispered. “You don’t have to explain.”
“It was a title fight,” I said, rubbing my palm over her ass before settling on her waist. “My second. I was defending, and the challenger… He’s got a nasty reputation. Dirty tactics, constantly toeing the line. A real shit face. Third round, I was up, the bell had rung, and he turned and struck me from behind. I’d already begun walking to my corner, so my back was to the guy…” I closed my eyes, remembering the shock that had sunk its claws into me the moment I hit the ground. “He landed a heel straight into the base of my spine.”
“Caleb…” Juliette murmured, her eyes locked on mine.
“I crumpled to the ground like a fucking rag doll. It took six months before I was well enough to walk out of the hospital on my own two feet. The doctors told me it was a miracle I was even able to stand.” I tightened my grip on her waist and pressed my forehead against hers. “An unlucky hit like that in the wrong spot and it ended me. Can you believe it? I can’t fight again. If I do, I risk never walking again. One hit the wrong way…”
“Fuck,” she hissed. “The guy… What happened to him?”
“Disqualified and banned for life.”
Her fingers caressed any piece of skin she could find. “Good.”
“The day you first came in here…” I began, letting my fingers idly trace up and down her spine. “I looked into your eyes and saw how afraid you were, and I knew I had to try to help you.”
Her eyes widened, and her body tensed again, this time from something close to panic rather than an imminent orgasm.
“You’ll tell me when you’re ready,” I said, cradling her against my chest.
“I better go home,” she said after a moment, and my heart sank. “It’s late…”
“You’re welcome to stay here. I insist, actually,” I murmured, hoping my stupid confession hadn’t put her off. “They say third time’s lucky…”
Juliette laughed, burying her face into the pillow, her reaction squashing any misgivings I had that she was trying to hide away.
“But I don’t have a change of clothes or any makeup,” she complained. “And I’ve got work…”
“Aren’t you forgetting that you live like two seconds away?” I asked, nipping at her shoulder. “We’ll get up early, and I’ll take you for breakfast at this little place around the corner. They open at six thirty and have the best breakfast menu. All fresh and organic. Then you’ll have plenty of time to go home and get changed. Promise. Besides, don’t you want to shower with me?”
She squirmed, her laughter increasing.
“I’m shit-hot with a bar of soap…if you know what I’m saying,” I said wickedly.
“Oh, fuck it!” she exclaimed. “You’re too tempting.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“How could I say no to the best breakfast menu in Brunswick?”
She buried into my arms, and I breathed in her scent—the lingering tang of her perfume and the musk of sex—feeling happier than I had in a long time. We lay together, our heartbeats slowing, inches away from sleep, comfortable and safe together in our little cocoon. Fuck, I could stay right here forever and not get tired of this shit.
“We did, you know,” I whispered into her hair. She mumbled something intelligible, sleep already pulling her under. “Meet at the right time. I’m sure of it.”
<
br /> 15
Juliette
Shower sex was my new favorite pastime. The water added slickness to human skin that just made things very…fluid.
Thankfully, Beat was closed, and no one had keys apart from Caleb, so our morning shower activities in the men’s change room were completely private.
Then after we managed to get dressed, he took me to breakfast as promised.
The café around the corner was a little hole-in-the-wall done up in dark rustic wood paneling that appeared to be recycled railway sleepers. Paired with polished wood countertops and tables and lots of greenery, it had a real hipster vibe that was totally cool. Little potted succulents hung from the ceiling and sat on each table, and they cluttered the windowsill and little specially cut alcoves in the wall. The entire space was infused with the scent of roasted coffee beans and whatever was being cooked up in the kitchen.
A tall, lanky man was standing behind the coffee machine when we walked in, his black horn-rimmed glasses suiting his Brunswick artsy vibe down to the ground.
“Hey,” the guy called out as the little bell above the door jingled, obviously on familiar terms with Caleb.
“Hey, Seth,” Caleb said, lingering by the counter.
“You want your usual today?” he asked, then spied me lingering in the shadow Caleb’s broad shoulders had cast behind him. “A menu perhaps?” He plucked a little black book from the counter beside him and offered it to me.
As I took it, Caleb turned and slipped his arm around my waist, tugging me forward.
“This is Juliette,” he said, smiling down at me. “This is Seth. He owns the place, and has done for what? A year now?”
“Almost,” Seth replied with a friendly smile. “Worked here for years, and then when the boss man, Joseph, wanted to retire and put the place up for sale, I convinced him to make me a deal I couldn’t refuse. Caleb here is my best customer.”
“Fuck off,” he said with a chuckle.
I smiled and flipped open the menu. “What do you recommend?”
“One of everything,” Seth said with a wink.
“Don’t listen to him,” Caleb declared, placing his finger on the menu. “The sweet potato latkes are the best.”
“Latkes?” I asked, not familiar with what they were.
“Potato pancakes,” Seth explained. “Served with baby spinach, crispy bacon bits, a dollop of sour cream, and freshly chopped chives. Oh, and a side of sourdough toast. The crowning glory of our menu.”
“Then how could I refuse,” I said. “Put me down for one of those and a pot of English Breakfast tea.”
“Comin’ right up. Caleb?”
“Latkes and a flat white.”
Caleb tugged on my waist, steering me away from the counter toward a table in the far corner. The little two-seater table was shielded from the early morning sunlight streaming through the windows and offered us a little privacy. We were the only customers in here so far, but I instantly liked the fact Caleb sought out a little oasis for us.
Setting my bag beside the table, I took a seat as Caleb folded his tall body into a chair across from me.
“This is a great little place,” I said, glancing around the decor again. “It’s very homely.”
“It definitely is.”
Our food arrived, and Caleb dug in, shoving his toast into his mouth. I watched him in fascination, wondering if all fighters downed their food like a vacuum cleaner.
“What?” he asked.
“You eat like a caveman,” I replied, picking up a serviette and flinging it at him.
He caught the little white square and laughed. “I give no shits,” he declared. “You’ll soon find out that I have a ton of confidence.”
“Then what a pair we make,” I muttered.
“Don’t worry, Jules,” he said, finding my hand under the table. Wrapping his fingers around mine, he squeezed reassuringly. “We’re all different, and that’s what makes the world an exciting place if you ask me. We’ve all got shit we’re working on.”
“Yeah?” The idea sparked hope in me, all the angst I’d been feeling over our relationship up until last night becoming pointless now we were sitting here. None of it seemed to matter in hindsight.
“What’s that?” he asked, nudging my bag with his foot.
Thankful for the change in subject, I peered under the table and saw the top of the book I’d pilfered from the slush pile at work peeking out the top.
“A manuscript,” I replied.
“Yours?”
I snorted. “No, one I saved from the slush pile.”
“What’s a slush pile?” he asked, reaching for the salt.
“It’s a pile of rejected books,” I explained. “Most things are digital now, but the books the editors at work request for full reads are printed off. Apparently, the editors at Slattery like the traditional way of reading things.”
“So the ones they don’t like go to the pile of doom?” he asked with a wink.
“It’s not that they’re bad books,” I began. “Some are really good, it’s just they don’t know how to market them. Publishing is a numbers game at the end of the day. Books they believe will sell are the ones that get the deals.”
“Money,” Caleb quipped. “It’s always about money.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, picking up my fork. “It’s business. Though it can feel personal sometimes. Art is like that.”
“You want to work in publishing, right?” he went on, peppering me with questions. “Did you ever want to write a book?”
I shook my head. “It sounds romantic, writing a literary masterpiece, but I never had a flair for it. I guess I’m aiming for the next best thing.”
“Which is?”
“Editor.”
“You want to pick the books that get published?” he asked.
“Yeah. That’s the aim.”
He nodded toward my bag again. “What’s this one about?”
“It’s called The Fighter. I’ve hardly had time to read it what with everything that’s been going on…”
Caleb winked, his lips curving into a grin. “The Fighter, huh?”
“The more I look at it, the more I think it was an omen.”
Caleb snorted, stabbing his latke with his fork. “Do you really believe in that stuff? Omens, horoscopes, tarot cards…”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.”
“I don’t,” Caleb said. “I believe people choose their own path, not some mystical crystal.”
“Maybe it’s just comforting,” I murmured. “Some people are afraid of the unknown. Maybe they just need to be shown the way…”
I didn’t realize how true it rang for me until I’d said it. Perhaps that was what I’d been waiting for all these years, but I’d become too impatient with hoping. That was why I’d turned up at Beat. Was it me who’d changed the course of my future? Or was it the universe conspiring with fate and destiny? Who knew how these things worked.
After we’d eaten, we lingered outside on the footpath as a tram rumbled by, already full of commuters on their way to the city.
“When can I see you again?” Caleb asked, lacing his fingers through mine.
My eyes widened slightly, and I couldn’t shake the zap his question had stunned me with. He wanted more? Was that what this was? Did he really mean it when he asked me to stay? Not just a night but longer? I couldn’t help it when I felt myself slipping, my grip on my heart loosening until Caleb held it in his palm. I was such a goner.
“Saturday?” I asked, tilting my head to the side. I was too shy to ask if he wanted to do something tonight or tomorrow for that matter.
“Training?” His eyes sparkled, and I nodded.
“I need to work on my general fitness,” I murmured, squirming under his gaze.
“You’re sore, huh?” His voice lowered, rasping as his thoughts turned just as dirty as mine.
I nodded as his lips caught mine. Caleb kissed me softly, his
free hand grasping my waist. Before I was entirely satisfied, he drew back with a sigh.
“I had better work out a fitness plan for you, then,” he said wickedly.
I smiled, nodding enthusiastically. “I think you’d better.”
Just as he’d promised, Caleb walked me home.
I was giddy, my body aching in all the right places, my head swimming with devious memories of last night.
Where had that woman come from? The one who’d melted and transformed the moment his lips touched mine? I never knew she existed.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t been with other men before—in the months after Mel’s death, random strangers had certainly been a temporary fix for what ailed me—but I’d never been so…free. Among the turmoil that was my life, it had to mean something.
And he hadn’t looked like he regretted it. Yet.
By the time I walked into the office, I was on a high. Immediately, I fished out a can of energy drink and popped the tab, waiting for my computer to power up.
“Hey!”
I glanced up as Hayley came to a halt beside my desk.
“Hey,” I said.
“I think you’re missing this,” she went on, wiggling the brown cardboard box in her arms. “It came to acquisitions by mistake.”
“Thanks,” I said, unable to wipe the shit-eating grin off my face.
“What’s with you today?” she asked, setting the box on my desk. “You’ve got too much pep for this hour. You’re exhausting me.”
I shrugged and turned the box around so I could read the label. Yep, it was for marketing and likely had the last of the expo swag that was missing from the order downstairs.
“Did you bag that hot personal trainer?” she asked, hitting the nail on the head.
“He’s a boxer,” I replied, rummaging around in my drawer for a box cutter. “He’s won a championship belt.”