From the Inside Out: The Compilation (Scorned, Jealousy, Dylan, Austin) (24 page)

She’s perfect.

Jules pulls me to the bed, a look of desire on her face. Crawling across the bed first, she tempts me with her ass as she moves. Stretched across my mattress, she calls me to her. Willingly, I go, crawling over her body, hovering, purposely not touching, teasing instead.

Her voice is just a whisper, no smile attached when she asks, “How many women have you slept with since we were together?” Her hand comes up, caressing my neck.

I didn’t expect that question. I don’t know why, but I didn’t. “Um, five.”

“I’ve been with two.”

“I’m aware.” I’m also aware that she’s been with Austin more recently. I know he had a trip to China for most of that time, so I’m assuming it’s been close to a month or longer since they were last together. I’m in no position to judge.“I don’t have a condom,” she says. A hint that it’s up to me.

I don’t know if I do either.
Shit
. I should check my stash. I reach over and look in the top drawer of the nightstand. “I’ve got one.” As I maneuver back over, I ask, “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” she replies. “I want you.”

“I want you too, baby.”

HE ROLLS THE
condom down his erection, my eyes following his hands. “God, you’re sexy,” I say, then gasp, clasping my hand over my mouth. I can’t believe I just said that out loud. I close my eyes to help block out the embarrassment that colors me and focus on the silence that surrounds us.

“You think I’m sexy?” Dylan asks. I can hear the smugness in his tone as his fingers slide between my thighs, not wasting any time. My eyes pop open, making me forget why I’m beet red and causing me to squirm when he touches me there.
I’m wet.
He smiles. “You want me?”

“You doubt that?”

“I wasn’t sure.”

Tonight, his words have been honest, so open with me. “Kiss me, Dylan.”

He does while his fingers beginning to work their magic. But his lips disappear as he slides down my body, leaving a wet trail of kisses in his wake. From between my legs, he glances up at me. I watch and feel as his mouth picks up where his fingers left off. He always knew exactly how to please me. My back arches into the mattress and I lose myself in the ecstasy.

It all feels too good, engulfing me. With bated breath, I say, “This is fucking torture.” The best, most erotic kind, but torture because all I want is him inside of me again. “Dylan, I’ve masturbated to memories of us.
Please
. I need to feel you inside of me.”

“Shit,
you did
? I did too.” He pushes my hair away from my face and kisses me unabashedly on the mouth. And then I feel him right
there
… just where I want him.

When we were together, I would masturbate in front of him,
for
him. He would come so hard, just as I came. It was a fun and dirty game we played. His lips go to my neck, nipping and kissing as he pushes in abruptly, forcing a moan from me. He looks up. Our eyes lock as he pulls back out, then pushes back in. His eyes weigh heavy like mine.

“I missed you,” I say, but maybe I shouldn’t have. It’s the truth.
Can telling the truth be wrong?

“I missed you so much, Jules,” he replies, squeezing his eyes shut.

This is intense—the feelings, emotions, sensations, him. Dylan inside me after so long. It’s overwhelming, dragging me under. But I don’t mind.

This. Right now. This is everything and all that matters.

Almost breathless, I mumble, “You feel so good.”

“You feel amazing.” His response is quick and wanted.

We fit. We fit so perfectly together in this way. We always did.
Can we fit together again in other ways?
I wonder, but then I don’t because I scold myself for thinking instead of enjoying what we’re sharing right now.

I find his lips and kiss him, my tongue seeking more, which he so easily gives. “Dylan, Dylan, Dylan,” I chant and it feels natural. It’s what my body craves, to shout, to scream again in ecstasy as he hits that spot, remembering exactly how I like it.

“Juliette…
Baby
.”

There’s a silence that follows, our quiet pants filling the void. My body reacting to him, his words, and the way he calls me Juliette like he used to. I feel the change in him just as he tenses, worried the moment is ruined. He’s well aware of the name he called out, but for some reason, this time, I don’t mind. “I’m sor—” He starts to say, but I interrupt, “It’s okay. Please don’t stop. Do this for me.”

“I’d do anything for you,” he whispers, looking into my eyes as his hips move to a steady rhythm, caressing my soul with every thrust. Breaking the wall down brick by stubborn brick until I feel the exposure, the light invades with love, or something like it. Our bodies are vessels to connect when our souls can’t yet. I realize this now. I realize that I might still love him. I still want him, more than just physically. It’s wrong, but feels so right, right this second.

His hands are on me, his fingers rubbing in a way that send me into an abyss I’ve avoided for too long. “Dylan!” Just one word as I sink beneath, drowning in emotions I haven’t felt in years.

Dylan grunts, then groans, saying my name and other endearments as he comes. A series of small thrusts push him to a breaking point that makes me feel alive, worthy, forgiving, and meant to be.

Hearts racing.

Sweating.

He rolls over, bringing me with him. As I lay draped across his chest, I listen to his heartbeat—powerful, comforting, his hand rubbing my back, soothing. My lids are heavy as they lift to see the time on the nightstand in the dark bedroom.

1:30 a.m.

I give in, maybe not entirely to Dylan, but to sleep in his arms.

7:04 A.M.

Dylan.

I can feel him.

I can smell him.

I can smell us all around.

Strong and calming, frightening and troublesome.

My eyes open to find I’m curled into his side, my head on his shoulder. My naked body is against the side of his very naked and sexy body. I smile feeling his cock harden under my arm, ready for more. My thigh is over his, his arms around me.

Tilting my head up, I see his face with his eyes still closed. My stomach clenches seeing the bruising, the small cut, speckles of dried blood still visible. His breathing is regular and his lips slightly parted. He’s nothing less than beautiful even with the damage.

Fuck, now I want him again.

I should leave, needing time to process what happened between us and what happened between me and Austin.

Austin.
I sigh. I shouldn’t be in bed with Dylan while thinking of him. It’s rude to both of them, so I slip out from under his arm and replace my body with a pillow. Dylan snuggles into it, exhausted. He needs his rest to help heal.

I use the restroom and wash my face, cleaning up as much as I can with a towel. Afterward, I open the door slowly, turning the knob. I shut it behind me quietly and quickly, hoping I don’t disturb him.

Sometime in the night, he dried my clothes for me, making me feel cared for. I pull the clothes out of the dryer and slip them on before heading for the door. I’m startled when the coffee pot percolates to life, the timer chiming. I walk into the kitchen tempted to have a cup, but I don’t want to steal a mug, although he didn’t have the same courtesy. Standing there staring at the coffee maker drags all the emotions I’d been suppressing back to the surface. My eyes burn from the threatening tears and lack of proper sleep.

When I reopen them, I see a letter on the counter near the coffeepot. It’s from Dylan’s mother. My heart races, remembering how much I miss her, thinking about our emails over the years, that bond still there. I lost more than Dylan when he walked out on me. It makes me wonder with all that’s left to resolve, if it’s possible to overcome the past to have a future together.

AFTER SLIPPING IN
the building door just as a neighbor exits, I trudge up the stairs that lead to my apartment and check the knob, hoping it’s unlocked. I can’t remember if I locked it or not before I was whisked away so quickly yesterday. When I check, it’s locked and I don’t have my purse. I hate having to do this, but I walk down the hall to the only other apartment on this floor and knock. While waiting, exhaustion sets in. I slide down the wall to sit.

The door creaks open. Since I woke Brandon up, he looks sleepy. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“I want to sleep, but my apartment is locked and I don’t have a key.”

He helps me to my feet, then says, “I’ll get it.”

I watch as he disappears into the kitchen. He’s wearing only boxers. We’re beyond the necessity to dress for each other, especially at this hour. He returns, handing me a key. “Hey Jules, Austin dropped his key off. Said he had to go to London. You weren’t home sooo…”

I take it from him like it’s the most foreign object I’ve ever seen. “Did he say anything?”

“He said he thought you’d want it back. Not much else,” he adds, scratching the back of his neck. “Where’d you stay last night?”

Nodding to my right, I reply, “I’m gonna go.”

He knows not to ask too many questions, but he still offers, “I’m here… you know the drill. If you need me or anything.”

“Thanks.”

I turn back to my apartment, walking slowly toward it, wondering what I’m going to find in there if anything. I hear Brandon’s door shut behind me just as I stick the key in, my hand shaking.

When I open the door, I see all my belongings have been returned. The haul of a small moving truck sits in the middle of my living room. The big furniture pieces back in their rightful places which means he directed the movers to do so. My heart aches, but I step closer to the pile of boxes stacked in the middle. I see the painting hanging on the wall, my suitcase and purse where I left them.

My life has been whittled down to an apartment of stuff, most of which I don’t even care about, things that don’t mean a thing to me anymore.

Looking around again, I notice a note on top of my purse. Bending down, I read it.

Jules,

I love you.

Austin

Sitting down on the couch, I fall to the side, closing my eyes to stop the tears that are welling. Finally, I give into the crushing emotions I’ve managed to keep at bay and do what I should have done yesterday instead of sleeping with Dylan. I cry.

I’ve hurt Austin. He’s the man who would have given me the world, but I hurt him and then…
then I slept with Dylan.
Grabbing a pillow, I hold onto it, squeezing it to me and willing this endless sequence of pain Dylan and I started to end.

The door clicks as it’s opened. I know who it is, so I don’t bother hiding my emotions or even looking up. “Jules?” The couch dips next to my head. Brandon’s voice is soft, whispering near my ear as his hand touches my cheek, revealing my tears. “Come here,” he says. I lift my head up and lay it back down on his lap. “It’ll be alright. I promise, Jules. It’ll be alright.”

“I wish this would all go away.”

“I know. It will look different after you get some rest.” He strokes my back and I find safety in my closest friend.