Dating Games(91)

Once the condom is in place, I hover over him, my mouth a whisper from his. Our breath intermingling, I lower myself onto him, taking him as deep as I can before pulling back. He brings his lips toward mine, but I escape them. I’m no longer concerned about morning breath. I like this game, the playful desperation as Julian tries to capture my mouth with a kiss, to no avail.

My motions remain slow and sensual as I savor in him. Just like he did to me the night before, I grab his wrists, pinning them on either side of his head as I shade his face with my hair. He flexes his fists, and I can tell it’s killing him not to be able to touch me. I know all too well. I was in his place last night.

Our eyes linger on each other as we remain in this moment. I give Julian everything he deserves as I take everything he’s willing to give me until neither one of us can take anything else and I collapse on him, both of our bodies quivering and trembling.

In the aftermath, I remain locked in his embrace, my head nuzzled into his chest as I relish in the sound of his steady heart. He delicately traces circles on my shoulder blade, my arm slung over his waist. As we lay there in solitude, my attention is drawn to the scars on his abdomen.

“What’s the story behind these?” I ask as I shift my hand to the three circular marks, brushing my fingers against them.

The instant I do, he grabs my wrist in a harrowing grip. I snap my eyes to his, wincing in pain. But he doesn’t relent. Something inside him snaps and he’s not himself, an old defense mechanism kicking in, forcing him to become someone else.

“Don’t.” It’s not a plea. It’s a demand. A warning. The atmosphere changes as he glares at me. Gone is my charming, endearing Julian. In front of me is a broken man. A haunted man. A shattered man. His entire body seems to tremble, his stare darkening as he squeezes my wrist so hard I yelp, tears forming in the corner of my eyes.

When he hears my piercing cry, he releases his hold, his eyes widening as he stares at me in confusion, as if snapping out of whatever trance he’d been in. Then he quickly pushes away from me and jumps out of the bed. I rub my wrist, flexing it, able to discern the place where each individual finger was wrapped around it. He focuses on my skin where a bruise is already forming, then looks back at me, turmoil covering his expression.

“Why don’t you want to talk about your scars? What happened?” My brain tells me to retreat, to drop it, but I can’t. I reach for him again, but he steps away, grabbing his shorts off the floor and yanking them on.

“I don’t talk about them.”

“But I want to know. I want to know this part of you. I want you to open up.”

“Why?” His tone is harsh, one I’ve never heard him use with me, with anyone. “Why do you need to know about this? It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter! It’s a part of you. Based on your reaction, it’s a big part of you. This is what people do when they care about each other. They share themselves. The good. The bad. And the gritty darkness.”

He stares at me, his jaw tight, then lowers his head. “I can’t do that.” He avoids my eyes as he walks toward the door.

I scramble off the bed, rushing to pull on his oversized SUNY sweatshirt. When his hand touches the doorknob, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, the only truth I know that will make him see that whatever idea he’s concocted in his head is ridiculous.

“I love you!”

He stills, his body stiffening as my declaration hangs in the air. The silence is so penetrating, you could hear a pin drop from a mile away. My heart thumps in my chest as he remains motionless, staring at the door.

“What did you say?” he asks in a soft voice, peering over his shoulder at me.

I advance toward him, my eyes unwavering. “I said I love you.”

“No, you don’t.” He digs his fingers into his hair, yanking at it, pained at the mere notion. “You can’t.”

“I didn’t want to believe it at first, either, but I can’t avoid it anymore. I’ve fallen in love with you, Julian.”

“No. You’re just in love with the idea of me. None of this is real. That hasn’t changed just because we slept together.” He opens the door, hurrying away from me, but I follow him into the hallway.

“Aren’t you tired of it all?” My words carry through the empty space. I can make out the typical morning sounds of the household staff cleaning and preparing breakfast, but I make no attempt to lower my voice. “Aren’t you fucking exhausted of constantly running away from anything that is real? I know I’m exhausted watching you do everything you can to remain closed off to everyone who actually matters. Everyone who cares about you. Everyone who loves you.”

He pauses, his lips curling, his fists clenched. A few weeks ago…hell, a few days ago, I would have dropped it, thinking it wasn’t worth the argument. But I’m tired of this. Of him pushing me away the second I open up. I won’t do it anymore.

I approach on timid steps, grateful when he doesn’t try to escape. “Take it from me… It is exhausting pretending to be someone you’re not just so you’re accepted. I did it for twelve years of my life…until you showed me I was good enough as myself.”

“This is who I am.” He remains in place, but his voice lacks any conviction.

“No, it’s not. I know it’s not. I don’t believe the Julian Gage who asked me to pretend to be his girlfriend for the summer is the real Julian Gage. I don’t believe the only reason you needed me to pretend to be your girlfriend was to get your project up and running. I see how you are. You’re resourceful. You already have hotels in several countries, so you know how to navigate all the bureaucratic bullshit.”