Chapter Twenty-Eight

· Twenty-Eight ·

Will

I wake up, blinking slowly, squinting against bright morning light filling Juliet’s room. It takes my eyes a moment to focus, but then I see her, sitting on the bed beside me, her hair wild and frizzy, haloed around her head. My shirt from last night drapes over her body, slipping off her shoulder.

She smiles. “Hey, you.”

I peer up at her and smile. “Hi, beautiful.”

My limbs are heavy, still groggy from sleep, but I need to touch her. My hand slides across the sheets, cool, crinkled cotton, up to the satin smoothness of her thigh. I wrap my hand around it, my thumb sweeping over her skin. “How’d you sleep?” I ask.

“I fell asleep mid-kissing you,” she says, eyebrows raised, “and didn’t move until I woke up ten minutes ago. So I’d say I slept pretty darn well, though I did not mean to fall asleep when I did. Apparently, all it takes is two orgasms from you, and I go comatose.”

I grin, remembering how beautiful she was when she came, head thrown back, lush mouth parted, dark hair spilled across the pillow, crying out my name. A happy sigh leaves me. “Glad to hear it.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like a rock.”

Her smile fades a little, as her eyes search mine, and I know, dread settling in my chest, what’s coming. “Just before I fell asleep, I tried to touch you. You did the same thing that you’d done, right when we came into the apartment last night. You took my hand and held it instead. You…stopped me. All you did was give last night, Will. And I never got to give back.”

I swallow roughly, anxiety humming through me. “What can I say? Giving is my love language.”

Love. The word lands like a bomb in the room.

“It’s gifts,” she says quietly.

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Gifts,” she says, “are the love language.”

Juliet links her fingers with mine and draws my hand onto her lap, staring down at it, tracing the veins across its back, up my wrist, to my arm. “I think maybe you’re thinking of another love language—acts of service.”

Slowly, I sit up and lean against the headboard. I battle nerves, unsure where this is going. “You saying I served you well last night, Juliet?”

She gives me a pointed look. “You know you did.” With her other hand, she starts to massage my hand, the hand that touched her last night, that learned her and pleased her and made her come undone. A groan leaks out of me as she rubs beneath the base of my thumb.

“And now,” she says softly, her eyes holding mine. “I want to serve you . But, Will, you have to let me.”

“I know,” I tell her, a rough swallow working down my throat. “I just…panicked. You were worn out, and I was…really keyed up. I didn’t want to ask you for more than you felt you had to give or hurt you when you were already hurting.”

She nods. “That makes sense.” A faint smile lifts her mouth. “But you wouldn’t have hurt me. And I would have told you if I couldn’t handle something you wanted. Do you think, next time, you can trust me that way, and ask for what you want, even if you’re not sure what I’ll say?”

Our eyes hold. Our fingers dance against each other. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I do.” A beat of silence hangs between us as we stare at each other. “Come here?” I nod my way.

Juliet crawls toward me, settling in, tucked against my side. I wrap an arm around her and curl her even closer, her head on my chest, then grab her thigh and drag it over mine. Her head heavy on my chest, her chest pressed into mine, her thighs weighing down on my own, send soothing calm washing through me.

Squeezing her hip, pressing a kiss to her forehead, I try to tell her, as words escape me, that I want to say more, that I want to explain. It’s just…hard.

“I…” My words catch when I try to begin. “I…historically have not…enjoyed receiving what I gave you last night. Well, no, that’s not exactly true. I do enjoy it, but it’s often been hard to enjoy when it comes with touch that I don’t like, when I’ve worried that asking for what I want will make my partner feel…inconvenienced.” I peer down at her, trying to lighten up what I’ve just confessed. “Plus, getting you off just really does it for me.”

“What if,” she whispers, her hand cupping my face, her thumb tracing my lips, “I told you that getting you off really does it for me ?”

Air rushes from my lungs as her thigh nudges higher up my leg.

“What if”—she presses a kiss to my neck, my jaw—“I told you that the thought of you telling me everything you like, of me doing that and giving you everything you need to make you come, makes me so obscenely wet.”

My hand slides from its place curled around her shoulder, down her hips. I squeeze her ass. “Jules,” I breathe.

“What if,” she mutters against my collarbone, nipping tenderly with her teeth; her hand drifts down my arm and finds my hand, too. “I said that I’d love it if you showed me, if you taught me everything you like, so I can make you feel as good as you deserve to?”

“Juliet,” I plead. I don’t even know what I’m pleading for, just that I’m overcome—by how safe she makes me feel, how deeply I want her, how brave she makes me want to be.

“Will,” she says softly, peering up at me.

I bend my head and kiss her, tugging her against me. She smiles into our kiss, her hand cradling my jaw. “Show me?” she whispers.

I nod, swallowing thickly. With her hand in mine, I set it over my heart and press. “Pressure,” I whisper. “That’s what feels good.”

She smiles. “Okay. So, no light, teasing touches.”

I shake my head.

“What else?” she asks quietly.

Slowly, I guide her hand down my chest, then my stomach. My hips jump as our hands graze the tip of my cock. I’m hard, almost painfully so, from how good it feels to touch her like this, from the memories of making her come last night.

Her hand rests at my hip, and I pull my touch away. “Touch me,” I tell her.

She smiles wide, her eyes bright as blue flames, biting her lip as her soft, warm hand splays across my stomach like I showed her, across my hips. I rock them toward her touch. Lower, lower, until she’s clutching the sheet, drawing it back, exposing every hot, aching inch of me to the cool morning air.

Juliet reaches back, opens her nightstand drawer, then turns back toward me, a small bottle of oil in hand. “Thumbs up? Thumbs down?”

“Scented?” I ask. So many strong scents give me headaches.

“Nope. Just almond and jojoba oil. Here.” She snaps open the lid and wafts it my way, not coming too close. “Take a whiff.”

I sniff it and get nothing. Falling back against the headboard, I tell her, “That’ll be good.”

“Good,” she says, her voice perky, as she sets some oil in her palm. Her smile is wide as she settles back against me, wedging her thigh once again high over mine.

My mouth falls open as I watch her grip me at the base and stroke up, firm, squeezing at the tip. My head falls back as she glides back down. “Shit,” I mutter, nudging my hips into her touch.

“You poor man.” She tsk s softly, stroking up my length again. “Look at the state you’re in.”

I sigh, eyes still shut, my hand falling to her hair and sinking into those wild bedhead waves. “I had a lot of fun getting myself into that state. Pretty sure I slept with an erection, I was so turned on from it.”

I feel her smile against my skin as she kisses my neck, my collarbone. “So glad that I’m here to take care of you, then—that I get to take care of you,” she adds, her voice softer.

A groan leaves me as she tries something different, swirling her hand around the head of my cock, her thumb gently circling the tip. “How’s that?” she asks.

I nod quickly, dragging open my eyes, finding hers. I rake my fingers through her hair as I stare down at her. “Fucking perfect.”

She smiles, so sexy and gorgeous—her hair mussed from writhing against the pillows last night, her lips still swollen from our kisses.

My balls draw up tight as she strokes down again. I’m about to come already. It’s hardly surprising, given how I denied myself last night, the weeks I’ve spent desperate for her. But still, I don’t want it to end already.

“Breathe,” she whispers against my mouth, her kiss slow and sweet. “Breathe, Will.”

I draw in a deep tug of air as she eases off, then cups my balls, gently massaging them. My cock bobs, aching from the absence of her touch. I’m panting, my hand fisting around the sheets.

“God, Will,” she whispers. “You are fucking magnificent.”

I swallow thickly, my hips rocking up, my body chasing the pleasure of her touch. “You make me feel fucking magnificent.”

She grips my cock again, a bit harder this time, and, holy hell, it’s so good, my jaw tightens, my molars clacking together.

I swear under my breath. Breathless, heart pounding, I watch her slick hand wrapped around me, working me up and down.

“Fuck,” I moan, drawing her close, crushing her to me. I kiss her hard, cup her breast, rolling her nipple with my thumb. “I have to touch you. Let me touch you.”

“You can touch me,” she breathes, as she strokes me, slow and hard, “but not to make me come. Let me just give you this.” Her tongue dances with mine, sending me higher, higher, so dangerously close to release.

She squeezes up my length, then backs off and swirls her hand around the tip, making me bite back a curse. “How’s that?”

“Don’t stop,” I beg. “Don’t stop, please—”

“I won’t,” she says against my neck, kissing my jaw, the base of my throat, an impossibly sensitive spot beneath my ear.

Heat rockets through me, making me arch my hips into her hand, pumping myself in her grip.

“Faster?” she asks.

I nod feverishly. She tightens her grip, quickens her pace. Lightning strikes my body, bolts down my spine and soars deep inside me.

“I’m gonna come,” I pant. I kiss her messily, desperately, and she meets me right where I am, her thigh slipping higher over mine, her pelvis grinding against it.

She gasps when I press my thigh harder between her legs. “Well, turns out I am, too,” she pants.

It undoes me, hearing her say those words, knowing that just touching me like this has gotten her there. She rubs her thumb against the tip of my cock and whispers, “Give it up, Will. Come on. Come for me.”

I clutch her tight against my chest as my orgasm tears through me, a tidal wave of pleasure so intense it knocks the air out of my lungs, makes my hips lurch wildly as I spill against her hand, across my stomach. Juliet’s mouth falls open and she arches into me, her body tremoring, her leg’s grip tightening around mine.

The heady realization that she came stretches out my orgasm, sends a fresh wave of release pouring out of me. I thrust into her hand, working myself as I kiss her, as I breathe in the jagged, panting cries that leave her lips.

Gradually, our movement slows. Juliet’s body relaxes as mine does, too. Our kisses turn deep and languid. Finally, she drops her head to my chest, her face flushed, a wide, satisfied smile lighting up her face. My head thunks against the headboard as I peer down at her, breathing heavily. “That was…”

“Fucking incredible,” she says hoarsely.

A husky laugh jumps out of me as I pluck a few tissues from the nightstand on my side of the bed and quickly wipe clean her hand, then my stomach. “Took the words right out of my mouth.”

“Speaking of mouths,” Juliet says, her gaze dipping down to my cock. “I can’t wait to blow your mind with mine.”

My jaw clenches at the deeply arousing thought of it. “Juliet, have mercy on me. I’ve got a refractory period to deal with.”

She laughs and draws me down for a kiss, tumbling over top of her. “I can think of a very pleasurable way to pass the time until you’re on the other side of it.”

Just as I’m settling in between her thighs, my phone goes off, loud enough that I hear it from inside the sporran. I groan into her neck. “Nooo.”

Juliet glances toward the floor, where my sporran vibrates with the muffled sound of my phone’s alarm. “What’s wrong?”

“What time is it?” I groan.

Juliet reaches for her nightstand, turning the clock toward us. “Eleven thirty.”

“Shit.” I flop back on the bed, scrubbing my face with my bare hands.

Propping herself up on one elbow, she peers down at me. Her hand settles on my chest. “What’s wrong? Do you have to be somewhere?”

“Uh-huh.” I rake my hands through my hair. “Damn client schmoozing. I’m canceling.”

“Why would you cancel?”

“Because I’d much rather be here in bed with you.”

“I know.” She smooths my hair off my face. “But this can wait. You said you needed time, after all.”

I give her a flat look. “My refractory period isn’t that long.”

A laugh jumps out of her. “Well, then cancel it, if you want. But I don’t mind if you keep that appointment.” She leans in and kisses me. “As long as you take me with you.”