Chapter Twenty-Seven

· Twenty-Seven ·

Juliet

I will not jump his bones. I will not jump his bones. I will not jump his bones.

But, oh my God , he’s read Highlander romances. Three of them!

Get it together, Juliet.

I blow out a breath as Will drives his truck down my block, the apartment looming ahead. I can handle this. I can handle that my romance workout buddy, this sweet man who’s become my friend, has read my favorite kind of romance. I can handle that he showed up dressed as a Highlander tonight, danced his ass off with me and my friends, and laughed and teared up at all the right parts of a rom-com that I adore. I can handle this and shove my desire for him back in the lusty closet from whence it came—

Except, that’s the problem. My desire for Will isn’t just physical anymore. It left the lusty closet, I’m not even sure when, only that it’s been a while, and now that desire has filled a whole room—a room whose door has a name on it that I’m terrified to even think , let alone name.

But I know what it is. And not thinking or naming that word doesn’t make it any less real or true—it just is , woven into the fabric of our time together.

The irony of it. I started this journey with Will, the man I decided was safe to walk with down the path of romantic love because he wasn’t sure he was looking for that in his own life, or at least, he seemed sure he wasn’t looking for it with me; whose place in Christopher’s life made him safely, strictly off-limits. I was so confident Will was the perfect person to be my practice partner on that journey to feel safe again and trust myself while being romantic, because he was the last person I could fall for.

And it only led me to do exactly that.

Will stops the truck outside my apartment and hits his blinkers. There isn’t a single space on the whole block, nowhere for him to park; he’ll have to drop me off and go on his way. I’m inordinately disappointed. If this is a sign from the universe, to keep my feelings to myself, I deeply resent it, even if I know it would be the sensible thing, the safe thing to do.

Maybe I don’t want to be safe anymore.

Torn, tortured by how much I want to act on everything I’m feeling, I turn in my seat as far as I can and face Will, searching his eyes, wishing I saw in them some answer to my questions— Do you want me the way I want you? Do you think you could ever want what I want? Could you want it with me?

But, for all his talk of how he wears his thoughts on his face without that big beard to hide them, I can’t find a single damn clue.

So I focus on what I do know—how wonderful every part of tonight was with him, how wonderful he was. “Thank you, Will. For all of this. Dinner. Coming to the party with everyone. The drive-in. It was…really, really lovely.”

He nods, his hands tight on the steering wheel. “Yeah, it really was,” he says quietly. “Thank you , Jules.”

This is when he’s going to open his car door, walk briskly around his truck, and help me down. This is when I’ll hug him good night without rubbing myself on him like a cat in heat, then walk myself upstairs to my apartment.

But not yet , a quiet voice whispers inside me.

I pause for a beat, that voice echoing in my head, a tug in my gut telling me it’s right.

“Will.”

“Hmm?”

Desire races through me as his gaze darts to my mouth, as mine darts to his. Every edge and corner of my body is warm with longing.

“Why did you really slam on the brakes,” I ask carefully, “when you realized I’d chosen the drive-in?”

Will’s quiet, his gaze searching mine. A long, slow sigh leaves him.

“Pinkie promise,” I say quietly. “Remember?”

Slowly, he reaches for my hand and clasps it in his. He hesitates for a beat, then says, “It probably sounds…odd, but in my family, there’s a tradition. When you take someone to the drive-in…it’s the place you take the person you love.”

My heart takes off, flying in my chest. “What?”

He stares down at his hand clasping mine. “Started with my great-grandfather. When he was young, Illyria wasn’t as built up as it is now, not much to do. When the town got a drive-in, it was a big deal, and the drive-in became what you did as teens, where you went to flirt and get frisky, standard stuff. He was a good-looking, charming guy, had a lot of ladies interested in him, and he took them on dates—to the lake, where they’d go fishing, for an ice cream, for a walk around town. But never the drive-in, because that was something he was saving for the woman he was serious about. The first day he met my grandma, he asked her if she wanted to go to the drive-in.”

Good grief, could that be any more romantic? My eyes well with tears. “Because he knew?”

“Because he knew,” Will says. “?‘Like a lightning strike,’ was how he always told it. ‘When I saw her,’ he’d say, ‘it was like a lightning strike, straight to the heart—I knew I loved her, and I always would.’?”

His hand squeezes mine gently.

“And so it became a tradition,” he tells me. “My grandpa did the same thing with my grandma. Then my dad with my mom. Never once took a lady to the drive-in, until they knew she was the one.” He smiles to himself. “My parents still go to the drive-in, every anniversary.”

“Oh,” I breathe out, setting a hand on my heart.

“I never thought I’d do that,” he says quietly. “Because…based on…you know, how it went for me, when I tried dating…I sort of gave up hoping I’d ever get there.”

My heart aches. It’s taken everything in me during our time together not to challenge Will’s notions about what I think he should hope in, about the kind of love a deserving someone could give him and how much they’d love what he’d give them in return. It’s nearly painful now, keeping myself quiet, but I do. Even if, since the moment we started, I’ve sworn to myself I would do as much as I could to show Will that the person worthy of him would love him romantically and feel just as loved by him. As much as I want him to see the possibilities that I see, to hope for himself the way I hope, I can’t do that for him. I’ve done what I could, as we’ve practiced, and that’s as far as I can build the bridge toward his belief in what’s possible—the other half has to come from him.

Will peers up at me, and his eyes hold mine. “So when you…” His throat works with a swallow. “When, out of all the places you could have chosen for us to go, you picked the drive-in, it…it messed with me. It got me thinking, and it’s not the first time my mind had gone there, Juliet, but it sure as hell felt like the closest it came to wondering if—” His voice breaks off. He clenches his jaw tight. “I’m gonna say something, and if it’s not something you want to hear, I need you to promise you’ll tell me that, all right?”

My heart crashes against my ribs. “Promise,” I whisper.

He holds my gaze as he says, “I’ve spent a long time believing, telling myself, that this wasn’t something worth hoping I could have with someone, that it wasn’t worth trying for again, after being…hurt, so many times, when I did.”

I nod, because I know that. He’s trusted me with that truth.

“But…when I’m with you, Juliet…” He stares down at our hands, his thumb sweeping gently across my skin. “I doubt that belief. When I’m with you…I want to try, to hope. With…you.”

My heart’s flying, hope soaring through me.

“Thing is…” He clears his throat roughly. “Thing is, I don’t know, if that old belief goes out for good, what would take its place. I don’t know if it will be everything you’ve told me your heart wants, or if we’ll still end up where I’ve ended up before—you feeling like, despite my best effort, I’ve only offered you a shadow of that.”

I can’t take another moment of him doubting himself like this, not when he’s shown me just how capable he is of demonstrating love—familial, platonic, romantic—when he’s shown me love in so many ways, even if it was under the guise of practice. “Will, I would never feel that—”

“Please,” he says roughly. “Hear me out.”

I bite my tongue, because it’s the only way I can keep myself quiet, and nod.

“If I were a stronger man,” he says, “I’d wait until I knew. Until I could tell you crystal clear that I’m sure, when I offered you everything you deserve and desire, Juliet, that you’d feel it, that you’d never doubt its power or purpose…”

His eyes search mine. “But I’m not. I’m not strong enough. I can’t stand to spend another second in your presence without you knowing that I might not be sure yet, if my heart’s love will be enough for you—” He brings my hand, clasped inside his, against his chest. “But every corner of that heart, in all its imperfection, is yours, if you want it. And if you don’t…well, I’ll more than understand.”

I stare at him, my heart glowing, tears pricking my eyes. Joy bursts through me, like water from a dam, held-back hope rushing out and spilling through me. Then, fast behind it, threatening to swallow it up: fear.

I am afraid. I am as afraid as I knew I would be, when it came to this moment, to realizing I had fallen for someone again. Because, while the Old Juliet used to run after romance, arms wide for wild love, believing that would always be enough, the Old Juliet didn’t know heartbreak. She didn’t know the debilitating doubt, the panic-inducing pain, that could come when it fell apart.

This time, faced with the possibility of having what I’ve hoped for, what my heart has finally healed enough to ache for again, I know what it will be like, if I give myself to this, and it ends.

It will be devastating.

But.

I will survive it. Because I am strong—stronger than I gave myself credit for at first, when my life fell apart last year. If I have learned anything in these almost nine months, it is that I can survive so much more than I knew, that even when pain knocks me down, I can get back up.

So, yes, I am afraid, at the thought of finally giving in to all I feel for Will, at hearing his humble honesty that he worries I might see him as having fallen short, feeling that anxiety inside myself that he might see me as having fallen short for him, too.

But when I started this journey with Will, I made a promise to him—that we’d both be brave, that we’d both get on that bike and wobble together. I promised myself that there’d be no more hiding from the joys of life, the thrill of love, out of fear of the pain that losing them might bring.

Quiet at first, I press my hand, still tucked inside his, hard over his heart. And then I tell him, my voice steady, my heart brave, “I want this. I want you .”

His eyes dart between mine. His hand wraps tight around my fingers, where beneath them I feel his heart beating fast against his chest. “You do?”

I nod, my fingers sinking into his shirt, tugging him toward me. “So much. And I need you to hear me, Will. You are a strong man. It takes strength, courage, to open up your heart, when you’re afraid it could get hurt. It wouldn’t be strength that held you silent about how you feel until you were sure you could trust I’d see everything in your heart that you want me to—it would be fear.” I press my hand against his heart. “You’re brave, Will. And you make me feel safe to be brave, even when I’m afraid, too. Because I am afraid. I’m afraid of how much you mean to me, how much I want this, not because I don’t trust you or believe in you, Will, but because of how much I do .”

“Jules,” he whispers brokenly.

I cup his face, my thumb sweeping tenderly along his cheek. “Will.”

The moment his name leaves my mouth, an SUV two spots down pulls out, leaving an opening for his truck.

We glance to the open space, then back to each other, and smile.

Thank you, universe.

—

The door to my apartment bangs open as we tumble inside, hands frantically scouring each other’s bodies. Our kisses are deep, open-mouthed, tongues stroking, groans and sighs. Finally, finally I’m kissing him again. I could cry, I’m so relieved.

Will paws around, feeling for the door until he connects with it. He sends it flying shut with an echoing boom .

“Wait, baby,” he mutters, tearing his face away from our kisses just long enough to see what he’s doing as he bolts the door and turns the handle’s lock, too.

“No more waiting,” I whine against his neck as I kick off my boots, then press up on bare tiptoes, licking into the hollow of his throat.

“Fuck,” he groans.

Will steps clumsily out of his boots as I kiss my way down to his chest, then he starts to walk me back down the hall, stopping halfway, pressing me against the wall. He slows our kisses, his hand at my jaw, holding me there, his tongue stroking mine, slow, silken. Heat coils in my belly.

“You taste so good,” he mutters against my mouth.

I sigh into our kiss. “So do you.”

He grunts as I drag my hand up his thigh, deliciously close to the hard, thick weight of him pressing into my stomach. Gently, he takes my hand and draws it away, linking our fingers together, pressing them against his chest. Right over his heart.

Will stares down at me, jaw tight, eyes on fire. “You sure you want this?”

“I have never been surer of anything,” I tell him. “And if you ask me again, the dominatrix is going to come out.”

He groans a laugh into my mouth as I kiss him, as I lose myself to the pleasure of his hips rocking against me, the heat of his body tight against mine. Aching need thrums between my thighs, at the tips of my breasts. My skin beads with sweat.

“Touch me,” I beg.

He smiles against my neck as he wraps his hands around my back and tucks me close. Breathless pants leave me as he kisses his way down to my collarbone, then nips it softly. “I am touching you.”

I grab his hand and set it between my thighs, rubbing right where I need it.

He swears into my neck. And then he grabs me by the butt and lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, lock my arms around his neck.

My fingers dive into his hair as I kiss him, as I work myself against the hard, thick weight of him right at my pelvis. “I really hate clothes right now,” I pant.

“They’re the worst.”

“Says the guy in a skirt. I’m practically sewn into these pants.”

Will laughs as he walks us through the living space, down the hall, straight to my bedroom. “I wish this kilt were as uncomplicated as a skirt. It better not take as long to get it off as it did to get it on.”

“I’ve read a couple hundred Highlander romances, Will.” I nip his bottom lip gently with my teeth, earning a grunt of pleasure. “I’m prepared for this, and I promise you, that kilt will be off in no time.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” Gently, he lowers me down until I’m standing. Nothing about what comes next is measured or controlled, no slow, savoring striptease. I frantically shove away the tartan plaid draped over his shoulder and drag his shirt over his head. Will fumbles with my blazer’s buttons and all but rips it off of me. I yank at his belt buckle, letting it fall with the sporran to the ground, then tug the plaid wrapped around his body just enough to loosen it at his hips.

“How did you do that?” he asks breathlessly, shoving down his kilt. “I had to roll myself up like a goddamn burrito, and you just get it right off.”

“Told you I would.” When the fabric drops to his feet, I let out the most pathetically needy sound. My question from earlier is answered—he did wear underwear—but it’s still a glorious sight, the gray boxer briefs low at his hips, bulging with his erection. I palm him and stroke hard.

“Jules,” he begs, gently nudging my hand away, sinking to his knees, quickly unfastening my pants’ button, dragging down the zipper. I hold on to his shoulders as he peels my pants down my legs, then helps me step out of them.

Will stands and reaches for my hair, which I’ve started tugging at, the pins and hair tie stubbornly resisting my stiff fingers’ efforts. “Let me?” he asks.

I peer up at him, our frantic desperation gone, tenderness filling the space between us. Nodding, I set my hands on his waist. Will leans in and deftly plucks out the pins, kissing my temple, my forehead, my cheek, as he draws out each one. He kisses my mouth, slow and soft, as he unwinds my hair, then drags out the hairband. I grip his waist hard and press up on tiptoes, eager for more.

My hair falls to my shoulders, and he sinks his hands into it, then tips my head back, fucking my mouth with his tongue, just how I want him to take me. Slow and hard, dragging back, making me chase him until he plunges back in.

I’m so keyed up, it’s going to kill me. I’m going to die of waiting.

Slowly, torturously slow, he drags his knuckles across the hem of my panties. Back and forth. Back and forth. I try to rock my hips, chasing touch where I’m so desperate for it, I could cry.

My breath is ragged and fast. I’m aching so badly. I feel like one touch from him where I need it, and I’m going to go off like a firework.

“Please,” I beg, rocking my hips toward him.

He kisses my neck, my jaw, right behind my ear. “Be patient, Juliet.”

“I can’t. I can’t wait.”

He huffs a rough, husky laugh against my hair, then sighs. “I love how much you want it.”

“I want you ,” I tell him, on the verge of tears, my voice thick with need. “I want you so much.”

“I want you, too, baby,” he mutters into my hair. “Easy, Jules. I’ve got you.” His teasing fingertips finally dip lower, grazing my curls, my pelvis—

I gasp as he finally strokes down where I’m soaked, where a pulse pounds between my legs. “Will,” I gasp again.

“You’re drenched,” he whispers, swirling around my clit, watching me shamelessly riding his hand. His touch is so light, so teasing.

“Well. I did just watch Matthew McConaughey for two hours,” I tell him unsteadily, my eyes falling shut. “Can you blame me?”

He laughs into our kiss. “That’s who this is for?”

“You know it’s not.” A shiver waves through me, the first promise of my release already building inside me. “It’s all for you.”

Will groans as I say it and reaches behind me, with a few efficient movements of his fingers undoing my bra. It falls down my arms, and Will drags it off, then tosses it aside. “Look at you,” he whispers. “Juliet, you’re absolutely perfect.”

“I’m not perfect,” I mutter.

“To me, you are.” He bends and kisses right over my heart, above the swell of my breast. His nose dips and grazes my nipple.

“Will, please,” I beg. “ Please. ”

“Demanding woman. I’m trying to savor you.”

“Savor me later.” I drag my hands down his chest, over his erection. “Just make me come first.”

Laughing, he hoists me up again and walks me over to the bed. I flop back onto the mattress, arms falling listlessly over my head, and smile up at him.

Will drops to his knees, grips me by the hips, and yanks me to the edge of the bed. “This okay?” he asks.

I nod frantically. “Very okay.”

Gripping my panties, he drags them down my legs, then tosses them aside, too. His hands splay up my thighs as he stares at me, gaze intense, jaw tight. “Fuck, you’re pretty.”

I blush, throwing an arm over my face. “Will.”

Gently, my arm is drawn back. Will’s looming over me, his hand gliding up my ribs, cupping my breast, thumbing my nipple. I bite my lip as he softly tugs my nipple, barely keeping my eyes from rolling back. He stares down at me. “I need you to watch, Jules. I need your eyes on me when I make you come.”

He reaches for a pillow and lifts my head, propping it behind me, so I’ll have no choice but to see him going down on me. He kisses me, his tongue licking into my mouth, his hands wandering me, teasing over every exquisitely sensitive square inch of my skin. His palm grazes up my thigh and draws it toward him, opening me wider, and then he circles my clit, taps it lightly. I arch up under his touch, whimpering into our kiss.

When he kneels back down at the edge of the bed, he cups my butt in each hand, like a man preparing to feast. His flattened tongue drags right up my center, then flicks my clit. I cry out, my hands flying to his head, sinking into his hair.

He eases a finger inside me, and I bite my lip, moan in satisfaction. My thighs tighten against his shoulders.

“So good.” I nod feverishly. “Please, don’t stop.”

He hums against my clit and eases in a second finger. White-hot pleasure incinerates me, a raging fire burning through my veins.

The next stroke of his tongue, he circles my clit, a hot, wet swirl that makes my eyes flutter shut. I tighten my grip in his hair. “That,” I whisper. “I love that.”

He does it again, and again, a slow stroke up, then wet, rhythmic circles. He presses his free hand, splayed wide, up my stomach, my ribs, and cups my breast, plucking at my nipple.

I pant, frantic for release. Every time I’m sure this is as far as I can go, Will shows me there’s even more. “Faster,” I beg. “It’s so perfect, just faster.”

He curves his fingers and starts fucking into me in earnest, his tongue still circling, wet and hot, faster, too. I’m gasping, yanking at his hair, the poor man, but I’m so close, right on the edge. When he crooks his fingers farther inside me, my legs jerk up, my knees bending reflexively. I can barely breathe, it’s so intense, so unbelievably good—his tongue wet and warm on my clit, his fingers thick and crooked inside me, his soft hair brushing against my thighs, his big, rough hand cupping my breasts, caressing tenderly across my stomach.

“Come for me, Jules.” He pulls away from my clit just long enough to kiss the inside of my right thigh, then my left. “And watch me when you do.”

I force myself to look down at him as I feel my body tightening, my nipples peaked and tender, aching under his touch. He looks up at me, too, his face feverish, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, and licks his way up to my clit once, twice, then circles it—

I cry out his name as I clench around his fingers, pulse against his hand, my hips arching up with each lightning bolt of pleasure that strikes through me, electric and blinding.

My orgasm lasts forever, shock after glorious shock waving through me, as he licks me slowly, kisses my thighs, tenderly eases his fingers out, then over my clit, where I’m so sensitive, I can barely take it.

Gasping, I open my arms. “Will,” I croak. “Come here.”

Without a second’s hesitation, he gets up, bends over me, and hoists me back onto the bed. Then he drops onto the mattress beside me, curling me into his arms.

I drift my hand over his heart, up his chest to his hair, still panting for air as I peer up at him. I cup his face and guide him close, kissing him long and slow. “That,” I tell him breathlessly, “was the best orgasm of my life. I’m going to sleep for a month.”

Will laughs, husky and low. “Not yet, Juliet.”

My brow furrows. “You can’t seriously expect to get another one out of me?”

“One?” He shakes his head, brushing away the hair from my face. “Nah. I was thinking we’d go for low double digits tonight.”

A laugh wheezes out of me.

Will presses me back onto the mattress, looming over me. “You doubt I can do it?”

I shake my head, still laughing. “I doubt I can survive it.”

“I know you can,” he says softly, planting a kiss between my breasts, at the hollow of my throat, behind my ear. “I’m going to give that to you, Juliet, I promise you. Because that’s what you deserve. Because I have been fantasizing for weeks about all the ways I could touch and learn you, tease and please you, make you come again and again.”

I shiver as, somehow, a fresh wave of desire crests through me.

Will feels it and smiles against my hair, nuzzling my temple. “That’s my girl.”

A sigh leaves me as his hand slides between my legs.

“Will,” I whisper.

“Hmm?” He kisses me softly, his nose nuzzling mine.

“I really think—ah!” I bite my lip as he circles my clit.

“You think what?” he mutters against my neck. He kisses behind my ear.

My body’s warm and loose from my orgasm, from this new thread of pleasure weaving through me at his touch, but I’m also stiff and sore from hours of dancing, from the aches I’ve been battling since I woke up. “I think that,” I say quietly, “as much as I want you to give me that many orgasms in one night…I also don’t know if I actually can survive it.”

Will’s touch slows, his eyes searching mine. I’m worried he’s going to pull away, that he’s going to hear me discouraging him. But he doesn’t. He just dips his head and kisses me gently. “All I want is for you to feel good, Juliet. Whatever that looks like. You tell me what you need, and I’ll listen.”

I swallow against the lump in my throat and kiss him back. I curl my arm around his neck and draw him close, nudging my hips toward him, pressing my pelvis against his hand, showing him I still want this. “One more,” I whisper.

He grins against my mouth. “Happily.”