Interlude [Book 2] Page 5

  Oh. My. God.

  My walls cling to him as his fingers maintain a mind-numbing rhythm. He’s not tender at all. In fact, he’s violent with them. “Julian, that … that’s too much,” I plead. Finally slowing down, he gently grazes over my swollen clit with the pad of his thumb, and my walls begin to contract.

  My body temperature rises.

  My heart races.

  My breath quickens.

  “Come for me,” he orders without reservation. And if it were my former fiancé instructing me, I would have laughed. But with Julian, there’s no holding back. He is the only man who has been able to make me orgasm.

  I ride his fingers and feel an intense sensation take over. Oh, God, how I’ve missed him. How I’ve missed feeling free with him. Within seconds, I contract and explode all over his two digits.

  When he removes his fingers, I suddenly feel empty. My breathing slows down, and it takes a few seconds to clear my head. My damp forehead leans against the wall. Once I turn my head slightly to the right, I watch in awe as Julian sucks his fingers clean before confessing, “I love your sweet juice.” A few seconds pass by before it dawns on me that we’re still by the entrance to his hotel room. Julian shifts my aroused body. Instead of directly facing him, he is now on his knees, his face buried under my dress. He reaches for my right leg to place over his shoulder and in a matter of milliseconds, I can feel his day-old stubble. The soft lips I’ve missed for the past week and a half kiss my inner thighs before his tongue slowly makes its way to my throbbing sex. After arduous anticipation, his nose finally hits my core as he inhales my scent. “Fuck, Lina, you smell so, so good.”

  Without any warning, he spreads my swollen lips with his tongue, tormenting me as he slowly runs it back and forth. Lapping all my juices, he murmurs, “So delicious,” as he continues to assault my pussy.

  My hand reaches for his thick hair, pulling it as another orgasm starts to build. “Julian … Julian … please …” I pant. I rock into his mouth before shamelessly grinding myself against his face. His warm mouth is on my clit, sucking it with intensity. Thick digits enter me again, and the talented come-hither motions allow me to succumb to an intense orgasm that leaves me gasping for air.

  My mind goes blank.

  Within seconds, his tongue replaces his fingers. That talented tongue of his everywhere. Dipping inside me. Gentle, yet firm, over my now ultra-sensitive clit as another orgasm takes me by surprise. “Ohgodohgodohgod … Julian …” I stand here, with one leg on his shoulder, the other shaking, yet unable to move away. He doesn’t stop. His wicked mouth is relentless, refusing to give me a reprieve. “I can’t… please…” I implore. He continues to lick me clean for a few more minutes before planting a sweet kiss on my sex. As he stares up, our eyes meet. His eyes are ink blue. Not a trace of gray or green anywhere. My eyes trail down to his jaw, and the remnants of my orgasm on his face leave me blushing.

  Gently planting my right foot back on the floor, he gracefully stands up. Reading my face, which doesn’t hide the afterglow of my intense orgasms, he doesn’t say a word. In one quick move, his strong arms carry me along the vast suite, finally making our way to the bedroom where we make desperate love for the next few hours.

  Eight

  The sound of Julian’s phone startles me. I’ve been awake this entire time, talking to myself. It’s only normal to want, to need, intimacy. The phone buzzes again. I turn around, and I am surprised to find him sound asleep. I reach for the phone next to his side of the bed and notice that it is Dr. Stevens. Immediately answering the call, I wake my lover up. “Julian …” Frantically, I start to caress his arm. “Julian, it’s Dr. Stevens.” And in an instant, his light eyes open as I hand him his phone. Julian doesn’t say much as I watch him in wonder. Once the call has ended, he leans over to me. “Father’s awake and doing well. We can see him in an hour.” I beam at the news as he plants a soft kiss on my lips. We both rise out of bed, and as if we had been together as a couple for several years, we head to the enormous bathroom and shower together. It seems like a normal routine for us, although it is the first time, we have woken up in the same bed together as lovers.

  We spend the following days waiting for Marcel to recover from surgery. Weakness prevents him from returning home. As his condition improves at Lenox Hill, The Mark Hotel becomes Julian’s temporary home uptown. There is no repeat of our memorable reunion, and I am, once again, a victim of a casual hookup. Who have I become? I was the woman who waited until she was twenty years old to lose her virginity to a guy she had been dating for years. I am also the same woman who has only been with one guy until a few weeks ago.

  The day after my unforgettable rendezvous with Julian, I went back to my apartment on LaGuardia Place, because he didn’t ask me to stay with him at the hotel. Deep down inside, I prayed for an open invitation, but it never came. I was, and still am, disappointed. Moreover, a part of me is still filled with anger and hurt.

  I continue trekking uptown to visit Marcel daily at the hospital. I sit with him for hours on end, listening to the classical music playlist I made for him on my phone. At other times, I read works by his favorite authors, E.M. Forster and James Joyce. In the early afternoons, I’m at the loft, working on the score for Holland Kingsley’s Disappear through the night. I don’t mention his urgent calls. When the time is right, Marcel will eventually reveal the pressing matter he needed to discuss.

  For the next week, Alistair joins us. During our time together with Marcel, Alistair would take his black drawing pad out and sketch different portraits. Besides being an artist, Alistair is also well versed in popular culture and politics. There isn’t a subject he can’t discuss, with the exception of his mother and deceased father.

  Each day, I enjoy meals with both Julian and Alistair, usually before or right after my visit with Marcel. Like my relationship with Julian, Alistair’s relationship with his cousin has also rekindled. With Marcel asleep, Alistair offers a bit. “Julian was so angry with the world after Caroline’s death. He stopped talking to me. It wasn’t until recently that we began to have a relationship again. Julian, Marcel, and Astrid are all that I have.”

  Before his heart attack, Marcel encouraged his wife to assist Alistair with his budding art career. Having been an art patron herself, Astrid is familiar with the galleries in New York and London. She has organized showings for him at two London galleries in the next six months.

  Sitting in the hospital room with Julian’s cousin while Marcel is having tests, Alistair proposes, “Lina, let me paint you.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Lovely, not when it comes to my art. Let me paint you nude,” he proposes as he twirls his graphite pencil, his blue eyes never leaving mine. His dark blond hair is messy as if he’d just woken up. The stubble on his chin is definitely more than a day old. His black short sleeve t-shirt reveals the tattoos that run up and down his strong arms. The tattered dark jeans he’s wearing have some paint stains. If he were smoking a cigarette right now, he would look like a bad boy from a sixties film.

  I immediately shut his offer down. “No way.”

  “Don’t worry, lovely. I wouldn’t try anything. I know you’re off limits. But that doesn’t mean I can’t look at the menu.” He winks, and as a mischievous grin forms on his face, he reminds me of Alex Pettyfer in Magic Mike.

  “What do you mean?” This conversation confuses me.

  “I know about you and Julian.”

  “What about us?” I continue to look at my hands on my lap. “Julian and I,” I say as my voice trails off.

  “Cat got your tongue again?” He chuckles. “Julian’s always been enamored by you. Even if you and he are not exclusive, you’ll always be off limits. It’s such a shame, though. We could have had an amazing time together.” And at that moment, I can feel his presence. “Speaking of the devil.” Julian walks over to us, separating us with a chair that he brings over. Alistair doesn’t mention his offer to paint me again. Nor does
he admit to professing that sex between us would have been amazing. Instead, we spend the rest of the afternoon talking about Alistair and his upcoming shows.

  What Julian and I shared on those separate two nights has not recurred, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. I am not only disappointed, but I am also devastated. I can forget about everything, even what I just ate a few minutes ago, but I can’t manage to forget my intimate moments with him. Unfortunately, I remember it all.

  What was I thinking? I guess I expected another repeat. Every night that I return to my apartment, unaccompanied and alone, an aching pain dulls my heart.

  In this solitude, thoughts of what could have been plague my mind. Dreams of Julian kissing me, touching me, making love to me as if I were the only woman in his life recur constantly. Although I need to shake him out of my head, the more I try, the more difficult it is to forget about him and the way he makes me feel. He’s like a drug I have become addicted to. The Jack Rabbit vibrator from Patti has been a godsend. And although the Magic Wand is ridiculously heavy, I admit to using it often.

  When I lived with Andrew, I used to spend a good deal of time watching porn because my former fiancé had neglected me. But now when I turn on the computer these days to watch one of my favorite sites, I get bored. And the Tumblr app I use to follow Bruce Venture has been unopened for days. Sure, he’s insanely hot and ravages women like there’s no tomorrow, but now only a certain Englishman can excite me. I can’t even remember the last time I enjoyed watching an adult film. Every night that I touch myself with the help of the Jack Rabbit or The Magic Wand, the man I’m obsessed with has been the only one featured in my fantasies.

  It has been ten days since Marcel had his bypass surgery. Dr. Stevens has given him the go-ahead to leave the hospital. Astrid and Alistair are at 740 Park Avenue, working with the additional staff they hired for Marcel’s homecoming as Julian and I assist Marcel with discharge. Once we enter Julian’s childhood home, his demeanor changes. He is stiff, stoic, and uncomfortable. Pushing his father’s wheelchair, he heads directly to the guest bedroom on the first floor where Marcel will be staying. Next door, the study has been turned into another guest room for his private nurse, Christabel. She is a beautiful fifty-something year old Ghanaian woman who has already made known she’s not one for bullshit.

  I try to rationalize and tell myself daily that I remain in the city because of my former guardian. Marcel is recovering nicely, but I find it necessary to be here just in case. Just in case of what? It’s not as if he doesn’t have anyone. He has his wife. He has his son. He has his nephew. He is now in his own home.

  Work is going well. Because Disappear is taking a lot longer to finish, I can leave. With modern technology, I can compose from anywhere. I can work and travel. Take the time to be on my own. Work on being fierce. The truth is, I want to be in the city because this is where Julian is. A part of me believes that maybe−yes, maybe−that he and I will happen again.

  Like a druggie, I want another Julian Caine fix.

  The extra household staff buzzes around the vast duplex while Julian and Alistair are in the main living area, discussing business ventures in London. Astrid, Christabel, and I are with Marcel in his temporary bedroom. It’s difficult not to notice how much he’s aged in such a short period of time. I plant a simple kiss on Marcel’s cheek, promising my return before closing the door behind me. Once I enter the living room, my mouth becomes dry. Both men are handsome. But all my attention is on Julian. I don’t know if it’s the man I’m salivating over or if it is the need for intimacy. My body has been humming Toni Braxton’s “You’re Making Me High” tune for weeks.

  Julian.

  Julian.

  My mouth remains half-open. My body begs silently.

  Dressed in dark fitted jeans, a Sting t-shirt, and bare feet, I can’t help but feel aroused. It’s been more than a week since I felt him inside me. My body tenses the closer I get to him, and from his lop-sided grin, I know he can sense my arousal.

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” Alistair interjects before kissing my cheek. “See you soon, lovely. Come visit me at the studio anytime.”

  Julian reaches for my hand, and instantly, I cling to it like a raft.

  I stare down as our fingers intertwine. And although I know I’ll end up shattered, my heart tells me this is how it is meant to be.

  Nine

  Gazing up at him, I find that words continue to fail me. Yet, there’s so much I want to scream out loud.

  Why the fuck do you fuck me and then pretend that nothing’s happened between us? How can you make me forget the man I had intended to marry? And when you smile− oh, that smile of yours− I can forget about everything. I can forget how you left. I can forget the hurt. For Christ’s sake, even in my anger, I am soaking wet for you.

  But I admit nothing. I’m mute, praying inside that a moment with him will happen.

  Just another night, and then I can move on. I know I should make him squirm. Make him beg. But who am I kidding? I’m the one praying. Please, God, if you’re listening, just one more night with Julian.

  With confidence, he takes my trembling hands and leads me. Without any words between us, we make our way to the front door of the apartment. It’s only when he reaches for his gray blazer and his Converse sneakers that he releases my hand. Slipping them on, he interlaces our fingers as we leave his father’s residence. Even outside, as Marco, the doorman, hails a cab for us, I am mute. Drops of rain fall upon us. Suddenly, our first kiss comes to mind. And I can honestly say that I’m already wetter than the rain that quickly starts to pour.

  Nothing needs to be said between us. If he decided to seduce me here on Park Avenue, I wouldn’t protest. As I enter the oversized cab with him right behind me, I feel the urgency. He wants it, too. He may need it more. I pray he needs it more. Surveying the interior of this large cab, he mutters, “This is perfect.”

  God, please, please let me have him. His rich voice interrupts my prayer. “Mate, if you get us downtown in record time, I’ll give you an extra fifty.” As the cab driver speeds through the ridiculous NYC traffic like a NASCAR driver heading toward Tribeca, Julian’s hands are all over me.

  “Darling,” he says in a deep tone. I know that tone all too well. It’s the tone that sets me on fire. It’s the tone that promises to rock my world.

  It’s the tone that makes me forget I’m still angry with him.

  You can be fierce later.

  Suddenly, his wicked mouth invades mine. The taste of his fresh, minty breath leaves me astounded. I instantly reach down, making my way to his large erection which strains against his jeans.

  I’m not going to stop this.

  “Fuck, Lina, I tried, darling, I tried,” he moans.

  “Mmm,” I moan back as I stroke his thick, hard length that’s begging to be released. “I’ve missed this.” Please, please let me have you again.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you, needing you.” His hands touch my breasts, kneading them forcefully. I am wearing a gray and white flowing skirt and without reservation, his hand makes its way under, pushing my black and white silk panties aside. A sole digit enters my very wet, very needy core.

  “Ahh,” I gasp as I pull my hand away from his erection.

  Unable to do anything, I close my eyes and relish the feel of Julian’s thick finger inside me.

  “Oh my God,” escapes my lips.

  “Shhh, if you want me to pleasure you right now,” he grits against my ear. Taking the sole wet finger, he immediately licks it. “I’ve missed your sweet cunt.” My eyes open and enlarge. His bold words excite me, and I’m desperate for him. Capturing my mouth, I can barely breathe.

  His finger is back inside me again and is joined by another one. With my back against the vinyl cab seat, my legs slowly part, and Julian’s body is partially on top of mine. I peek up, stupefied when a stranger’s eyes meet mine. The rearview mirror can’t hide the smirk on the cabbie’s face. H
e knows what Julian and I are doing. Before Julian, I would have cared. I wouldn’t have allowed anything like this to happen, especially in public. But right now, this gorgeous man could fuck me inside the cab with the cabbie watching, and I wouldn’t give a damn. Hell, the thought actually turns me on.

  What has this Englishman done to me?

  I’ve never felt so exposed, uninhibited, and so wanton in my entire life.

  My body’s been aching for the past week and a half. Fucking myself with the Jack Rabbit hasn’t eased the need. Only this man could quench my desire. In a matter of milliseconds, as I am about to reach my climax, Julian stops.

  What.

  The.

  Hell?

  Looking down at me, he murmurs, “Uh-uh. You’re going to come on my face.” If I was wet a few minutes ago, I am now soaked. Soaked. That dirty talk drives me insane. Within seconds, he is kneeling on the floor of the cab with his head under my skirt. Instead of pushing my soaked panties aside, he takes them off and puts them in his jeans pocket. I feel his hot breath on my pussy, and suddenly, he is devouring me. The thought of the cabbie listening to us, along with the background noise of New York traffic and Z100 on the radio, has turned me on big time. Liquid travels down my trembling thighs. Tove Lo’s “Talking Body” is in the background, and I swear the song is the perfect soundtrack to our sexual escapade. Yes, I’ll do whatever this magnificent man wants.

  I gaze down, and although Julian’s head is hidden, just the knowledge he is there between my legs, using his skilled tongue and fingers, causes my body to shake violently. Holding my legs still, he assaults my swollen bud, placing a firm tongue against it as he viciously finger fucks me.

  “Ahh … God …” I open my eyes and stare ahead. The cab driver’s watching us through the rearview mirror, licking his lips.