Broken Juliet(91)

“I know.”

“I love you. I don’t even have the words to tell you how much.”

I pull him down to kiss me. It helps ease my tension. When he moves his hips, that eases it even more.

He kisses me to distraction as he thrusts, long and slow. He’s in no rush for this to end, either. For the first time in years, I feel what it’s like to make love. Everything feels too intense, but he guides me through it. Soothes me with his hands and mouth. Inflames me with his steady, determined rhythm. All the while he whispers to me about regrets, apologies, love, future. Tells me how beautiful am. How long he’s waited for this. How he can’t wait to get back to me so he can do this, over and over again.

I don’t know how long we make love, but he has me on the edge so many times, I lose count. When I eventually climax, it’s like a full-body seizure that seems for go on forever. He talks to me through the whole thing. When he eventually comes with a long groan, he’s never looked more beautiful.

We stay wrapped around each other for a long time. Just breathing. More satisfied than either of us has been in years.

I guess I fall asleep, because when I open my eyes, the sun is blazing through the windows.

He’s leaning on his elbow, staring at me. It takes me a moment to understand where I am and why I’m with him. When I do, I can’t stop my smile.

“Hey.”

He kisses me. “Good morning.”

“What time is it?”

“Late. I have to go soon.”

“I’ll come to the airport with you.”

“No. Stay here.”

“But—”

“Cassie.” He strokes my face. “Please. I want the last image I have to be you naked in my bed, not tearing up in an airport. Stay here while I’m gone. Eat my food. Use my shower. Rub yourself all over my sheets. That would make me incredibly happy.”

I push him onto his back and snuggle against his chest. I just want to hold him. Have him for as long as I can.

We lie there and doze. Later, when he eases out from under me to go shower, I hug his pillow and breathe in his scent.

I keep my eyes closed when I hear him moving about. As if not being able to see him preparing to go means it’s not going to happen.

Except, it has to.

And it will.

Lips brush against my cheek, and I open my eyes.

He’s holding out a small velvet bag with a note. I frown.

“Open this after I’m gone,” he says, before placing it next to me on the bed.

“What is it?”

“A gift. I bought it when I was in Italy years ago, but I never had the guts to give it to you. I guess now I do.”

When he leans down to kiss me, I stop myself from dragging him back to bed and begging him to stay.

“I’ll see you next week,” he says as he strokes my face. “I love you.”

I take a deep breath. “I love you, too.”

He smiles. “I love that you love me. You have no idea.”

“I think I do. Remember when you sent me that e-mail with those thousand ‘I love yous’? Pretty sure I felt then how you’re feeling now.”

He sits on the edge of the bed and runs his fingers through my hair. “I love that, too.”

“You’re just full of love today, aren’t you?”

He leans down and grazes his lips across mine before whispering, “Understatement of the century.”

The door buzzer sounds, and he grunts before standing and adjusting himself.

“That’s my car. I have to go.” He kisses me again, long and lingering, before grabbing his bag. “I’ll call you when I get in.”

“Okay.”

He heads toward the door, but before he gets there, he stops and turns back to me. “Can you just pull that sheet down for a second?”

I smile and pull back the covers.

He groans and bites his lip. “Fuck me. Best brain-Polaroid ever.”

I laugh, and he heads toward the door. “Gotta go before I forget why I can’t bang you again.”

“Bang?” I say, mock-horrified. “What happened to ‘make love’? You’re so crass, Ethan Holt!”

“You love me crass!” he calls down the hallway. “And you love it when I bang you like a Japanese drum!”

And with that, the front door closes behind him.

I flop back against the pillow and sigh.

I miss him already.

I’m reflecting on how incredible he was last night, when my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I pick it up and read the message.

<Miss me already, don’t u? The feeling is mutual & I’m still in the elevator. Don’t forget to open your present. I love you.>

I smile and open the velvet pouch. When I upend it, a heavy gold heart on a chain falls into my hand. It looks old. Antique. And, if I’m being honest, a little banged up.

I open the note.

Dear Cassie,

I’ve been wanting to give this to you for ages, and after the incredible gift you gave me last night, I figured the time felt right. I found it in a little antique shop in Milano while I was touring Europe. I don’t know why it caught my eye, but I had to buy it for you.

The thing is, it’s not perfect. It’s had a lot of owners, some of whom haven’t been kind to it, and it bears the damage to prove it. In a way, it represents me. Sadly, I guess it also represents you.