Broken Juliet

by Leisa Rayven

  “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 desolate. Everything else sparks and sends fire 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 almost off the bed.

  “God . . . Ethan. Oh sweet holy. . .”

  I don’t remember him ever being this good. I mean, he was always amazing, but this? It’s beyond words.

  “Oh . . . God . . .”

  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. Can’t breathe. My brain has checked out.

  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 seriously missed seeing that,” he says. “You look incredible when you come.”

  My eyes still closed, I stroke his arms as he continues to trail 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 groans like he’s in pain. Judging by the tightness in his crotch, I’m sure he is.

  I unbutton his jeans, pull them off and start on his legs. He swears under his breath and buries his hands in his hair.

  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 is stretched tight. 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 onto our sides. Then he pulls my leg up to his hip and presses his erection against me, trying to acclimatize 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 is 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. 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 at 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 like a memory 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 informed my opinion, but now I’ve had other men, and none of them compared. I was naive to think they would.

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

  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? Hmm, let me think about that.”

  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.”

  “One time. And only then because I was embarrassed. The orgasm itself was still mind-blowing.”

  “As mind-blowing as the one you just had?”

  “No. I don’t think anything’s going to top that. Ever.”

  I crawl up his body and kiss him. “I take that as a challenge.”

  Now I see a little fear. “God, help me.”

  We kiss and touch each other with more confidence, and even though we’ve already taken the edge off our lust, it flares again. It speeds our hands and roughens our touches. Our mouths are gentle, but everything else is heavy with need. Urging us to take the last step in cementing our reconnection.

  This is the part that makes me nervous. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone, but if I’m going to freak out, it will be when he’s inside me.

  The pain of him making love to me before he leaves is singed into the parts of my memory that still ache to recall it.

  Of course, he’s going to leave this time as well, but he intends to come back. Promises me he will. Caresses me in such a way that I believe if he doesn’t, he’ll suffocate. That I’m his oxygen.

  I will away my anxiety and concentrate on him. He’s extremely talented at distracting me.

  When he rolls on top of me and works magic with his fingers, my patience is at an all-time low. There’s a sharp ache that won’t be satisfied with fingers or empty climaxes. It demands him. All of him. I tell him as much, and he fumbles in his nightstand drawer for a condom. When he presses back onto his knees so he can roll it on, I kiss his chest. Stroke his shoulders. I can’t seem to stop touching him.

  He groans his approval and pushes me onto my back, and when he lays his full weight down and kisses me, I reach between us and urge him inside.

  He freezes when he realizes he’s there, and pleasure, wonder, and what looks a lot like gratitude light up his face.

  He frames my face with his hands. “Are you sure about this? It’s not too late to stop.”

  “Yes, it is,” I say as I stroke his back. “I need you.”

  “Are you just saying that because I’m leaving?”

  “No. I’m saying it because I’m tired of denyin
g it.”

  He kisses me gently and pushes in a little more. We both inhale.

  “Cassie . . .”

  “Oh, God . . .”

  He drops his head to my shoulder, and we just breathe.

  “I’d forgotten,” he whispers. “How could I forget this? Jesus.”

  He rocks back and forth; tiny movements that bring him farther and farther inside. I close my eyes and grip his shoulders. He’s not the only one who’d forgotten. How did I used to fit all these emotions inside me? I feel like I’m about to explode.

  His hips continue to withdraw and retreat, and each movement fills me a little more. I watch, fascinated, as his face morphs from disbelief, to awe, to determination, and finally to love. More than there’s ever been. How did I live for so long without him looking at me like that?

  When his hips finally rest against mine, I wrap my legs around him and just hold him still. I can feel my panic simmering and growing, but I don’t want this to end, because then he’ll leave. He’ll leave, and I’ll be empty, and I can’t live like that anymore.

  “Hey,” he says as he strokes my face. “It’s okay.”

  “I know.”

  “I love you. I don’t even have the words to tell you how much.”

  I pull him down to kiss me. It helps ease my tension. When he moves his hips, that eases it even more.

  He kisses me to distraction as he thrusts, long and slow. He’s in no rush for this to end, either. For the first time in years, I feel what it’s like to make love. Everything feels too intense, but he guides me through it. Soothes me with his hands and mouth. Inflames me with his steady, determined rhythm. All the while he whispers to me about regrets, apologies, love. Tells me how beautiful I am. How long he’s wanted this. How he can’t wait to get back and do this, over and over again.

  He takes me to the edge so many times, I lose count. When I eventually climax, it’s like a full-body seizure that seems to go on forever. He follows soon after with an intense groan, and he’s never looked more beautiful.

  We stay wrapped around each other for a long time. Just breathing. More satisfied than either of us has been in years.

  I guess I fall asleep, because when I open my eyes, the sun is blazing through the windows.

  He’s leaning on his elbow, staring at me. It takes me a moment to understand where I am and why I’m with him. When I do, I can’t stop my smile.

  “Hey.”

  He kisses me. “Good morning.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Late. I have to go soon.”

  “I’ll come to the airport with you.”

  “No. Stay here.”

  “But—”

  “Cassie.” He strokes my face. “Please. I want the last image I have to be you naked in my bed, not tearing up in an airport. Stay here while I’m gone. Eat my food. Use my shower. Rub yourself all over my sheets. That would make me incredibly happy.”

  I push him onto his back and snuggle into his chest. I just want to hold him. Have him for as long as I can.

  We lie there and doze. Later, when he eases out from under me to go shower, I hug his pillow and breathe in his scent.

  I keep my eyes closed when I hear him moving about. As if not being able to see him preparing to go means it’s not going to happen.

  But it will.

  Lips brush against my cheek, and I open my eyes. He’s holding a small velvet bag with a note. I frown.

  “Open this after I’m gone,” he says before placing it next to me on the bed.

  “What is it?”

  “A gift. I bought it when I was in Italy years ago, but I never had the guts to give it to you. I guess now I do.”

  When he leans down to kiss me, I stop myself from dragging him back to bed and begging him to stay.

  “I’ll see you next week,” he says. “I love you.”

  I take a deep breath. “I love you, too.”

  He smiles. “I love that you love me. You have no idea.”

  “I think I do. Remember when you sent me that email with those thousand ‘I love you’s? Pretty sure I felt then how you’re feeling now.”

  He sits on the edge of the bed and runs his fingers through my hair. “I love that, too.”

  “You’re just full of love today, aren’t you?”

  He leans down and grazes his lips across mine before whispering, “Understatement of the century.”

  The door buzzer sounds, and he grunts before standing and adjusting himself.

  “That’s my car. I have to go.” He kisses me again, long and lingering before grabbing his bag. “I’ll call you when I get in.”

  “Okay.”

  He heads toward the door but before he gets there, he stops and turns back to me. “Can you just pull that sheet down for a second?”

  I smile and pull back the covers.

  He groans and bites his lip. “Fuck me. Best brain-Polaroid ever.” I laugh, and he heads toward the door. “Gotta go before I forget why I can’t bang you again.”

  “Bang?” I say, mock-horrified. “What happened to ‘make love’? You’re so crass, Ethan Holt!”

  “You love me crass!” he calls as he heads down the hallway. “And you love it when I bang you like a Japanese drum!”

  And with that, the front door closes behind him. I flop back onto the pillow and sigh.

  I miss him already.

  I’m reflecting on how incredible he was last night when my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I pick it up and read the message.

 

  I smile and open the velvet pouch. When I upend it, a heavy gold heart on a chain falls into my hand. It looks old. Antique. And, if I’m being honest, a little banged up.

  I open the note.

  Dear Cassie,

  I’ve been wanting to give this to you for ages, and after the incredible gift you gave me last night I figured the time felt right. I found it in a little antique shop in Milano while I was touring Europe. I don’t know why it caught my eye, but I had to buy it for you.

  The thing is, it’s not perfect. It’s had a lot of owners, some of whom haven’t been kind to it, and it bears the damage to prove it. In a way, it represents me. Sadly, I guess it also represents you.

  The thing that occurred to me is that despite all the damage, it’s still beautiful. In fact, I think it’s even more beautiful because it’s not perfect. It’s taken me a long time to understand that just because something isn’t pristine, it still has worth. You taught me that, even though I resisted believing it.

  When I think about us, I often wonder what would have happened if I’d never met you. Would I have had the motivation to change? To address the crap from my past?

  The truth is, it wasn’t just meeting you that made me realize I had to change. It was meeting you then losing you. Twice. Being away from you made me face the ugly truth about myself, and after the accident, getting back to you was all the motivation I needed to tackle the issues that had handicapped me for years. You made me want to be better, and as much as I did it for myself, I also did it to be worthy of you.

  So, I guess this is me, giving my heart to you. Cheesy, huh? Also, kind of redundant since you’ve owned it from the day we met. It seems like we’ve taken a roundabout way to get to where we were last night, and I know that’s my fault. But despite all the things I would have changed about our journey, I’d never want a different destination. It’s always been you. Beautiful, amazing, talented, loving you.

  Thank you for giving me this final chance. I promise, you won’t regret it.

  As I look at you now, I really have no idea how I ever walked away. Thank you for saving me. And for forgiving me.

  On a related note: You’re out
rageously beautiful when you sleep. Do you know that? I can’t stop looking at you.

  Speaking of that, I took some photos of you with my phone. Sweet or creepy? I’m hoping you come down on the side of sweet. I just needed something to take with me.

  Okay, I’d better wrap this up, because you’re going to wake up soon, and I want to be next to you when you do. In fact, I want to be there every morning when you wake up, but I guess that’s a longer discussion for another time.

  I love you, Cassie. Always have. Always will. Keep my bed warm for me while I’m gone. I promise to help you make good use of it when I get back.

  Ethan.

  I stare at his words. After I’ve re-read them a dozen times, I slip the necklace over my head. The heart nestles right between my breasts. Nothing I’ve ever owned has looked so perfect.

  I swore I wouldn’t cry when he left me this time, but he’s making that very difficult. At least this time they’re happy tears.

  I grab my phone and send him a message.

 

  I pull the covers over me and inhale what’s left of his smell.

  If you’d told me three years ago that one day I’d end up in Ethan Holt’s bed again, texting him love notes, I probably would have punched you in the face.

  Now I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

  I remember the card Ethan had given me on opening night. It said, “People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there’s a light from within.”

  He meant it to be about me, but I wonder if he knows how accurately it describes him.

  This him.

  I fall asleep to images of the two of us, smiling and surrounded by light.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  FINAL BOW

  Present Day

  New York City, New York

  Dr. Kate studies me, and I hide my smile behind my hand.

  “You look different today. Happy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very happy.”