Broken Juliet(96)

“Okay,” he says as he cups my cheek. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to forget I called you my girlfriend. I’m going to take you back to my place, peel off your clothes, and make sweet love to you until you beg me to stop. At no time will I repeat the ‘girlfriend’ comment, nor pressure you about labeling our relationship. Which should be labeled ‘f*cking awesome,’ by the way. I’m just happy to be where we are.”

“Which is, where?”

“Together.” A beat later, he coughs/says, “Forever,” then gives me an innocent smile. “What? Why that look? I didn’t say anything.”

I laugh and kiss him. We’re still kissing when we pull up outside his building.

He throws money at the cabbie, and the whole trip up to his apartment is a blur of making out and juggling his bag. As soon as we stumble through the door, the bag is dropped, and our clothes become the enemy we must defeat at any cost.

It turns out the clothes win, mainly because we don’t have the patience to get completely naked. Or even half naked. Or make it to the bedroom.

As soon as he has my panties off and I have his jeans unbuttoned, he takes me against the wall. It’s not gentle. I don’t want it to be. It’s heavy thrusts and strangled moans and full of seven days of longing.

Neither of us lasts very long. I cry out first. He follows a few thrusts later. We cling to each other as we shudder and sigh. When we’re both boneless, we stagger to the bedroom. The rest of our clothes come off on the way, and the second time is less hurried but no less passionate.

After the third time, we both fall asleep within seconds.

The fourth time is hours later in the shower. He washes me very thoroughly. Everywhere. With his tongue.

We never make it to dinner.

He makes vague noises about a fifth time, but I’m exhausted. Instead, we lie in bed and watch movies. He strokes my back while I draw patterns on his chest. I can’t remember a time when I’ve felt so content or relaxed. Maybe not ever.

It feels so right, I want to cry.

“Ethan?”

“Hmmm?”

“If you want … and if you only do it when we’re in private because I don’t want people at work giving us crap … you can…” I take a deep breath. “You can call me your girlfriend.”

He stops stroking. “Don’t mess with me, Cassie. If this is a joke, it’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

He stares for a full five seconds. “You’re serious?”

“I am. Is that okay?”

His face twitches. “Yeah. That’s okay. Very okay. Extremely f*cking okay. Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

He gets out of bed and goes into the living room. Then I hear him open the doors onto the balcony and scream, “CASSIE TAYLOR IS MY GIRLFRIEND! FUCK, YEAH!”

I hear the doors close before he calmly walks back into the bedroom and crawls back into bed.

He clears his throat and says, “So, yeah. Good. That’s settled. You’re my girlfriend. Which makes me your…?”

I sigh. “You know what it makes you.”

“No, I’m not sure. What’s the word?”

“You’re my…”

“Yes…?” He’s nearly vibrating with expectation.

“Do you really need me to say it?”

“Only if you want to make me the happiest man in the world. No pressure.”

I shake my head and get up. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

I go and open the balcony doors while praying no one can see me, because being naked in front of random strangers is not my idea of fun.

“ETHAN HOLT IS MY BOYFRIEND! FUCK, YEAH!” I fist-pump to no one in particular, then scamper back inside.

When I jump back into bed, Ethan pounces on me. Within a second, he has me pinned to the mattress and is lying between my legs, conspicuously and impressively hard.

“That was, hands-down, the sexiest goddamn thing you’ve ever done.”

“Oh yeah?”

He practically growls when he says, “Fuck, yes.”

Without any more discussion, we go for round five, and it’s more amazing than the other four put together.




A week later, Ethan stands behind me and fiddles with his hair in the bathroom mirror. This is the third time he’s done it. Marco made him get it cut last week, so it’s a little shorter than usual. He hates it. I think it’s sexy.

So is his nervousness.

He finally gives up and sits on the bed while I finish my makeup.

“What do I call them?” he asks.

“I mean, ‘Mr. and Mrs. Taylor’ seems wrong, considering they’re no longer married.”

“Then call them Leo and Judy.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think that’s a little disrespectful?”

“I call your mom and dad Maggie and Charles.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“Wow, my girlfriend’s so rude.”

I laugh and walk over to him. “You didn’t mind so much this afternoon.”

I stand between his legs, and he runs his hands up my rib cage, then palms my breasts. “Yeah, well, I’ve never done that particular thing on that part of your body before. It was hot. Plus, you were kind of insistent that’s what you wanted. Also hot.”