Broken Juliet(49)

He asked about the journals. I told him I’d almost reached the end of our first year at The Grove, then we both went quiet as if caught up in our own thoughts of that time.

This morning I found all of his journals from our second and third years waiting on my doorstep, along with a bottle of Valium. I think it was his idea of a joke. If I hadn’t felt so nauseated, I might have laughed.

As it is, I’m wading through entries that make me simultaneously weepy and horny. I may have thrown something at a wall about an hour ago. Tristan has understandably been avoiding me.

So far, entries from our second year have been few and far between. Curt. Almost boring. I’d expected long prose passages about how much he missed me while we were apart, but I got the opposite. Like he’d shut down.

Then, I see the entry for the day after the night that changed everything.

February 11th

Last night. Jesus.

How do I even describe it?

Stupid? Yeah.

Beyond amazing? Hell yeah.

The best night of my life? Absolutely.

I’d like to say I have no idea how it happened, but that’s not true. I was drunk but not that drunk. I knew when I sat next to her what I was doing. I knew when I touched her face. When I leaned in to taste those f*cking amazing lips I’d been staring at all night.

When she started kissing me back? That’s when I knew I couldn’t stop. No amount of logic or fear could have stopped me then. The tequila was a good excuse, but the truth is, I wanted it. More than anything in my entire life.

Lucky for me, she wanted it, too.

I can’t put into words how it felt to finally touch her again. I’ve fantasized about it too many times to count, and then it happened, and I got lost in sensation after not feeling anything for way too long. Nothing has ever felt as right as being inside her. The moment I sank into her … f*ck. It felt like my chest was going to explode. Too much emotion. Too much love.

Too much everything.

I tried to tell myself it was just f*cking, but I knew it wasn’t. It never could be with her. As much as I like to think I’m getting desensitized to how she affects me, I know it’s bullshit. I’m desensitized as long as she doesn’t touch me. Or look at me. Otherwise, I want to launch myself across the room and tackle her. Kiss her until she can’t stand up. Make love to her until she can’t sit down.

Pretty sure I achieved both of those things on Friday night. And again this morning.

The bastard part of me hopes she’s sore and that every time she winces, she remembers the feel of me deep inside her.

Fuck.

Now I’m hard again.

I can’t masturbate. I seriously can’t. Apart from how I’d probably scream in agony if I even looked at my cock right now, I just couldn’t go back to f*cking my hand when I’ve known the perfection of being inside her. There’s no way.

I know we agreed it was stupid and that we shouldn’t do it again, but I want to.

If I wasn’t such a *, I’d ask her if we could try again, but I know that’s not an option. I’ve screwed things up so badly with us, I don’t think they’ll ever be right, no matter how much I want them to be. Plus, despite how amazing our sex marathon was, it doesn’t change how my brain works. It just gave it something more pleasurable to focus on than all the ways the universe can screw me.

Still, the distraction is addictive. If I have sex often enough with her, would it make me feel like I could make things work between us?

It’s so tempting to find out.

So tempting.



February 13th

Yeah, I’m in trouble. I’m not sure what I thought would happen when I saw her today, but I didn’t expect her to transform into someone who makes my dick even harder. She walked into class like she owned it and fixed me with a look that was so sexy, I don’t think I’ll ever be flaccid again. I mean, she’s always been fiery, but today … I don’t know. It’s like Friday night awakened something inside her. Something powerful. As soon as she stepped into the room I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was thrumming with energy. Sexual confidence.

It was f*cking mesmerizing.

I have no idea how to deal with it. It’s like she’s now this supernova—dazzling and deadly—and even though I know she’ll make me blind, I can’t look away.

She flirted with me, and even stranger, I flirted back. What the f*ck is going on?

Can it be that one incredible night can make us work correctly? Overcome so many of our issues? It seems unlikely.

I think we’re just both a little high from the experience, but I’m sure when that wears off, I’ll realize she’s too good for me, and she’ll remember she hates me, and we’ll go back to being dysfunctional and distant.

To be honest, I hope that’s what happens, because this new Cassie? If I’m not careful, she’s going to f*cking ruin me. And God help me, I’d enjoy every second of it.

I caught her staring at me today, and I could tell she knew. It’s like a game to her, and like it or not, I’m letting her win. Seeing her like that? All powerful and confident? It almost makes the massive ache in my balls worthwhile.

Actually, no. It really doesn’t. I need to have sex with her again. Now.

For so long, I dictated how our relationship would go. Tried to control it and my feelings for her. Now, she’s in the driver’s seat, and even though I’m certain she’s hurtling us headfirst into a massive f*cking wall, I know that if she wants me again, I’ll come running. Depending on how horny I am, that last statement may be literally true.