When Guy raved about my rapport with Max and Finn, I had to get out of there. Lucca was stunned and my mother was about to simultaneously cry and pray the rosary for the tenth time. It was all too much.
Somehow, I had allowed myself to get wrapped up in Guy’s bubble. It felt good; it felt safe. Even if deep down I knew the splinter was inevitable. Selfishly, I wanted more time. More time of feeling alive and whole. More time to establish a strong foundation, so when Guy figured out who I really was, we’d at least have a friendship to connect us. But the awkwardness compounding the evening was hard to miss. I sensed that Guy could see right through it. Maybe that’s why I practically mauled him in front of nosy lady Russo’s ground floor window.
Please, just a little more time. Right then nothing mattered but our bubble. I wasn’t ready for it to burst.
As soon as we got back to my place, Guy plopped down on the couch to give Casey a better head scratch. “Are we going to address the elephant in the room?”
Guess our make out session didn’t work as well as I thought. And since I couldn’t open that titanium sealed can yet, or ever for that matter, I opted for the alcohol diversion. “Beer? Wine? I can open a good bottle.”
“You trying to get me wasted? Case, you listening to this?” He paused a second to scratch Casey down. Lucky dog. “Think she’s trying to get me drunk and have her way with me.”
“Maybe I am?” I shocked myself with my boldness. Maybe it was the slight buzz from dinner, but I’d never been like this with a man.
“Because your dad’s vino wasn’t strong enough?”
I laughed. “True. That’s why I only have one glass. You might want to avoid Tylenol for a few days while it clears from your system.”
“No shit, I think that stuff could eat a hole straight through your liver.” He wasn’t wrong. “Come here, beautiful.” He beckoned me to join him with a finger curl. Staring at his bright blue orbs darkening by the second, I couldn’t resist. I toed off my boots and slid into his open arms. They felt strong enough to fight demons. Why did they have to feel so good? “I get the feeling tonight’s uncomfortable moment is off the table. And since I’m done talking—especially when you’re looking at me like that—I’m gonna let it pass. Besides, I have something more pressing.”
I knew Lucca wasn’t off the table. He was going to bring him up again. But I was thankful he let it go for now. There was a never-ending ache behind the wall holding the pieces of my broken heart in place. A few cracks were one thing, but risking a wide open break was something I might never recover from.
His teeth grazed across my lips, my jaw, and my neck, soothing the twinge with his warm tongue bringing me back to the present. This I could do. I could take this moment and relish in the reprieve. I released a deep breath and relaxed enough to let his touch consume me.
Lowering me onto my back, he continued to trail nips and kisses down my chest. Any reassurance I needed to confirm we were on the same page was pressed into my thigh, so I boldly raised my hands.
“I like how you think,” he mumbled.
With one swoop, my top drifted to the floor. His eyes widened and his lips curved into a knowing smirk. He liked. I was proudly showing off my new bra. All right, so maybe I squeezed in a quick shopping trip (aka a worthwhile distraction) while I was taking a minute to get my head together.
“Fuck, you’re sexy. What I want to do to you and this body.”
Yes, please.
I bit my lip and closed my eyes while flashes from our first morning together danced under my lids. Nudging the lace fabric, he exposed my nipples. They instantly pebbled against the cool air, sending a jolt straight between my legs. His contrasting warm tongue slid across my breasts, swirling and sucking before licking a path down toward my stomach. I arched up when he reached around my back to unhook my bra. I squirmed against his hard chest and wrestled with his sweater.
“Want me naked?” he asked, perfecting his smartass voice.
“What gave it away?”
He chuckled at my retort. I didn’t recognize myself with this man, but I liked who he brought out in me. She was sexy and strong. She was unbroken. At least now.
He lightly ran his fingers down my abs, popping the button on my skinny cords and easily freeing my legs from my tight pants. Dipping his tongue under the waistline of my thong, he drew a line from hip to hip. It was too much and not enough all at the same time. A tiny gasp burst from my lips as he inhaled a sharp breath and groaned, “Turn over.” My eyes shot open and my heart rate skyrocketed. His piercing gaze and now bare torso (how did I miss that) fueled the fire of what his demanding words actually meant.
And I was loving every second.
Except I didn’t budge, caught in a trance by the hunger in his eyes. A sexy smile tugged at his lips as he dipped his head to find mine. He nipped my lower lip before gently sucking it into his mouth. I curled my hands around the back of his neck and urged him closer. Any closer and we would be one, but I wanted closer. A deep moan vibrated up from his chest as he tasted and explored my mouth. With each stroke and caress, our breathing morphed into needy pants. Our kiss became desperate, both of us greedy for more. His hand abandoned my face in pursuit of my breast, sliding past my ribs only to grip my bottom, lifting me to connect our cores. I rocked against him, aching for skin on skin.
Completely distracted by tongues and hands, I had forgotten his previous demand until he broke away and said, “Turn. Over. Jules.” Right. Even though his lips were to blame for my immobility, something told me to keep my sass to myself and follow his direction. He’d yet to steer me wrong. I shifted on the couch with his help. “You make me crazy.” His growl was uncontrolled and raw. I grinned into the cushion thinking how much it turned me on. He kissed my low back then right behind my ear, and an explosion of little shivers traveled down my spine. The weight and warmth from his bare chest felt amazing against my chilled back. Sitting back up, he slipped off my thong and dragged his fingers through my wetness. “I’m gonna fuck you like this. Lift up, beautiful.”
Oh My God.
Jeans and boxers hit the floor a split second later, and I heard the crinkle of the condom wrapper. My hips lifted and his thick erection slid down from behind. He pressed the silk tip against my slit, finding my entrance. I gripped the cushion and buried my face to buffer my cry.
“Let me hear you. Don’t hide, Jules. I want every gasp, every moan, every little sigh and puff of air. Those sounds are only for my ears. Yeah?”
My mind could barely process, but my body yearned to hear more. I peeked over my shoulder into his smoldering eyes and whispered the only response I could come up with, “Yeah.”
He plunged the rest of the way inside me and this time heard exactly what he was doing to me. My sensitive walls clenched around his length as I squeezed the pillow in front of me for leverage. “That’s it. Push back … let me fill you. Fuck, you feel so good. You make me so hard, doll.” He had to stop speaking or I was going to fall apart with his words alone.
Please keep talking.
Gripping my hips, he moved me so he was almost completely out before thrusting back in. I bit down on my lip and pushed against him. Little beads of sweat began to trickle between my cleavage as the intensity of our movements increased. His groans grew louder and his breathing got heavier. Leaning forward, he pressed his chest to my back, reaching around to find that spot. His fingers trailed along my soft and wet folds, stopping to circle over my sensitive flesh. Little stars flashed before my eyes, and my legs started to tremble. I arched my back, and he ground into me harder.
“Ah yes. Don’t stop,” I pleaded, making him stroke me more urgently, creating the pressure and friction I needed to fly over the edge and keep my wave cresting. “Ah Guy, you feel so good.” My words were breathy, my heart rate a million as the blissful haze engulfed my body.
“Jules,” he rasped, pumping into me a few more times.
Hearing my name, the only word on his lips as he found h
is own release, squeezed something inside me. This wasn’t just uninhibited sex. This was more.
My legs gave out and I dropped to the couch. He landed on top of me, briefly kissing my neck, each shoulder blade, the middle of my back, and the two dimples at the base of my spine before rolling to the side and standing up.
“Don’t move.”
I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Not to mention the view I had of his naked physique strolling toward the bathroom was insane. I sat up a touch and pulled the blanket off the back of the couch in time to watch him strut back without an ounce of insecurity.
“Don’t listen very well, but what should I expect from my stubborn girl.”
The stubborn part was a given, but the my girl, aww. I liked that. Way more than I should have.
“I was sweaty. You left me and I got chilly.” I held the blanket up for him to crawl under.
He grinned at me, clearly enjoying the peep show. “And you’re …”
“Waiting for a warm body.”
He tossed the two big cushions from the back of the couch on the floor and dove on the inside of me, snuggling up to my side.
“I could do sweaty again,” he said, giving his eyebrow a waggle.
“Ready so soon?” I teased back.
He nuzzled his chin into the crook of my neck, mumbling, “Maybe this round you can teach me in the language of love.” I couldn’t distinguish if it was the way he dragged out the “o” in love or his flexed jaw tickling my sensitive skin that had me laughing harder.
“Okay, okay.” Without thinking I blurted, “Come un raggio di sole, che hai illuminato la mia vita e mi ha fatto ridere di nuovo.” He retreated slightly, cocking his head to one side. “Sono pazzo di te,” I finished, meaning every single word.
“Have I told you lately how sexy you are?” He propped up on his elbow and stared down at me with those hypnotic liquid blues. “Are you going to tell me what you said, doll?”
His tickle softened to a caress across my chest. Gah! He was being so sweet. I felt myself getting pulled under. Sinking in a tidal wave of charm and sincerity, it would be so easy to drown. But no way was he getting the translation.
“We’ll see,” I whispered, looking away to focus on a small crack on the ceiling and pretending I didn’t just hand him a small piece of my very fragile heart. Even if it was in Italian.
“Hey.” He brushed a stray hair off my cheek. “Where’d you go?”
I blinked away the suffocating enormity of everything I was feeling and gave him a small smile.
He sat up and pulled me into his side, wrapping the blanket around us and giving me another pass. “You’re not what I expected.”
My smile turned almost immediately to a smirk. “Oh really.”
“I mean that in the best way possible. You are so full of surprises. You’re the exception.” His half-laugh never met his eyes. He tried to play it off, but I saw it. I knew what it was like to slip and show your pain.
Trying to keep it light, I sassed back. “Exception? Care to elaborate? Is there some type of rule book, a men’s guide to women that you’re following?”
“Now that would’ve been helpful.”
Past tense. Now that made me pause, instantly disliking the woman or women responsible for the disappointment that flickered past his eyes. Without knowing her, I was sure his wife in heaven shared my disdain.
“Your next play written in black and white hardly seems fair to the female race.”
“Fair, huh.” He began drawing lazy circles with his finger down my arm, as his voice drifted away. “People spend most of their lives believing fair is getting what you deserve, when in reality, fair is merely getting what you can handle.” The air shifted; it was heavier, thicker, his pain more pronounced, deeper than a man scorned. He sounded like he’d repeated that mantra a million times before, yet the words held no inspiration. They felt empty and meaningless. And I understood. Oh, God, did I understand.
What you can handle. I lost count of all the days I woke up unsure of what I could handle. I imagined Guy had his share of similar mornings.
“What makes me the exception?” I asked again, not because I thought I was special, but because I wanted him to share his pain. He’d yet to really speak about her, but I longed for him to know it was okay. “Please, tell me?”
His gaze met mine. He was considering opening up. I could see it. Then he kissed the tip of my nose. “I finally dug myself out of you thinking I’m a dick, don’t really want to revisit that, doll.”
I sensed his resolve slipping, so without thinking, I went for it. “It has to be hard … you may think I don’t understand, and I probably won’t ever. Everyone’s loss is different—it’s personal and untouchable. I promise you I get that. But what you’ve done for your children, the way you love them and take care of them all by yourself … as hard as it is, you’re doing it. Every single day. I know in my heart she’d be proud.”
“Not so sure they aren’t better off.” His reply was immediate, his tone saturated with something I couldn’t put my finger on. He wasn’t making any sense.
“I don’t understand ... better off?”
“Yeah, better off without her.”
My breath hitched. I wasn’t expecting that. There was no way he was that cold, yet her rolled off his tongue with an arctic chill. What child was better off without their mother? The mere thought hammered against my armored heart. I gripped his thigh with one hand and swallowed past the lump in my throat. “You don’t mean that.” Please say you don’t mean it.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he sat forward and slowly dug the heel of his hand up and over his face, raking his scalp. The look on his face could have been mistaken as bitterness, but I saw through his exterior, or maybe I needed to believe that. He wasn’t angry or hateful. He was hurt. The silent kind. The kind that slowly singes everything you ever thought was good and burns so raw that you question if there would ever be anything powerful enough to douse the flames.
He stood, slipped on his T-shirt and boxers and started to walk away. Without looking back, he asked, “And what if I did?”
I heard rummaging through my kitchen cabinets, followed by the clink of ice hitting the bottom of a glass. I shimmied on my own shirt and underwear, righted the couch pillows, and counted my deep breaths. One one thousand, two one thousand, three.
Stupid exercise, never worked.
And what if I did? played on repeat. But I didn’t believe him. Not for a second. No way he hated the mother of his children, there was more. Had to be. There was always more. The more was the hardest part to share.
A muffled ding coming from somewhere on the floor broke the combustible silence. “That my cell?” He walked back across my living room carrying a drink on the rocks for himself and a glass of red for me. “Couldn’t find tequila, or I would’ve made you a margarita.”
Oookay … guess he was following my lead with the infamous alcohol diversion.
“It’s on my list. The wine is perfect, thank you.” Instead of pushing further, I sipped the cabernet hoping to numb the throb in my throat. He’d share more when he was ready, right? I was such a hypocrite.
A second ding rang through on his cell by the time he picked up his jeans and dug it out of his pocket. “Have to make sure everything is okay.” With Finn being so sick lately, I couldn’t help but share his concern. I hated that they had to live with the what now possibilities that threatened Finn. Fortunately, two huge toothy smiles filled his screen, and with pressing play, their high-pitched squeals echoed in unison, “Miss you, Daddy!” The timing couldn’t have been any better.
“Looks like Finny is enjoying his ice cream cone.”
“The smeared chocolate across his cheeks and nose give it away?” he asked, breaking into a well-needed grin. Even if it only lasted a second. “At least they actually took them to do something this time.” He grumbled it more to himself than toward me.
I’d never been married so I wouldn’t know, but cha
llenging in-law dynamics were common enough that I wasn’t completely shocked by Guy’s last comment. That didn’t mean I didn’t wish for better for him and them. Tragedy should tighten family ties, not tear them apart.
In an attempt to steer the conversation, I said, “Might be more on his face than in his belly.” I laughed, hoping he would join me. No such luck.
He sat back down on the edge of the couch still staring at the picture. “These two”—he tapped the bright screen, downed the rest of his drink, and leaned into the cushions—“are the reason I take my next breath.”
Without warning, my stomach clenched, and my throat constricted, making it nearly impossible for air to pass. Familiar voices danced in my head like a bad song on repeat. The harder you tried to forget, the louder it played.
“Jules Marie, we’re worried about you.”
“You get up every day and go about your life, but it’s like you’ve forgotten to breathe.”
My internal answer. “Because maybe I don’t want to take my next breath!”
Oh God, not now. I hadn’t had an attack in months. Not now.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I can do this. I can do this.
I met him against the back of the couch and coaxed him to lie against my chest, praying he wouldn’t notice my erratic heartbeat since his was firing almost as rapidly. He melted in, willingly wrapping his arms around my waist, hugging me. Betrayed by my tears, I focused on the ceiling crack and concentrated on my breathing. That’s all I could do. Remember to breathe.
My fingers tangled in his hair, massaging in count with my respirations. I hoped exhaustion and straight vodka would work in my favor, and he’d believe I was giving him a minute even though I was the one desperate for it. I squeezed my eyes shut, ignored my tears, and concentrated on regulating my pulse. I had become a pro at keeping them hidden. This one took me by surprise.
Time passed. I wasn’t sure how long before my episode dissipated, and the tension in Guy’s shoulders loosened, giving me the full weight of his body. With a contented sigh, his breathing evened, and I sensed sleep finally embraced him.
Abruption Page 11