I opened my mouth, took her in, all of her, and shoved her back against the wall, my hands cupping her breasts through her tight dress. I’d never been so thankful for a slitted dress in my life as she wrapped a leg around me and rubbed herself up and down.
Anyone could walk by.
Fuck. Them. All.
Because when Keaton broke off the kiss, she whispered, “I missed you more than I’ll ever admit to myself.”
I kissed her again and whispered against her lips, “I stalked your Instagram.”
She smiled against my mouth. “I stalked yours.”
“Come home with me.” I tugged her bottom lip and changed the angle of my assault as I drank from her. “Please.”
“Yes.”
“Now.”
“Right now?”
“Right the hell now,” I growled, pulling away and grabbing her hand and then sadly dropping it as I walked ahead of her back into the Great Hall and out the front door with her trailing behind me.
I wanted her.
That was all that mattered.
It didn’t matter that she hesitated to claim me in public.
I would have her in private.
All of her.
And it would be enough.
Fucking worst word in the English language.
Enough.
My heart reminded me it wouldn’t be.
But I ignored it as I jumped into one of the many town cars and waited for her to slide in next to me.
And my heart broke a little bit—that when she followed me, she was covering her face.
Enough.
It would be enough.
I, however, wouldn’t be.
Chapter Twenty-Five
KEATON
It was a bad idea.
A few paparazzi saw us leave.
I knew it could end badly, just like I knew I couldn’t stop following him even if I wanted to.
It was soon.
We were both raw shadows of ourselves.
And yet I kept planting one foot after another. Maybe it was the fact that he made me feel good; he numbed the pain. It wasn’t fair. Then again, I knew firsthand that life rarely was.
We didn’t touch.
The media could speculate all they wanted.
Speculation, however, could ruin anyone.
And I needed to not fail at this one thing—for Noah, for his memory. I wrung my hands in my lap as the car turned around the corner.
Next to me, Julian was silent.
No. This really wouldn’t end well for us, would it?
We were polar opposites. The media painted me like a saint. And Julian Tennyson? Hell’s number-one sinner.
I wasn’t stupid enough to believe it was just mind-blowing sex.
It wasn’t.
Not with Julian.
It felt raw, aggressive, violent in the way it crashed over me every time he touched me.
But no matter how many times I warned myself in my own head, my mouth still said yes, while my body begged for more.
The bright lights of the city only added to the effect as we went in the opposite direction of where I lived—to Julian’s.
His building was brand new.
I focused on the modern colors, the browns and blues, the silver handles of the door as the doorman pulled them open, the light fragrance of vanilla and new construction.
The elevator and the dozens upon dozens of floors that would light up if we hit every button.
And still Julian hadn’t touched me.
He hadn’t said a word.
We stood side by side, awkwardly riding that car to the very top.
I exhaled when the doors opened to the penthouse floor.
Julian got off the elevator.
I followed him.
And with each second, my awareness of him skyrocketed to a painful degree, even the way he slid the key into the lock had me licking my lips in anticipation. And it wasn’t just physical.
It was the fact that we would be alone again.
Just us.
Blanketed in darkness.
And for the first time since coming back from the cabin, I looked forward to the absence of light—because Julian was with me.
The thought was terrifying.
I barely knew him and already he was my real live version of Xanax.
The door opened.
And I followed him in.
I did that.
I made the choice.
The apartment was blanketed in darkness except for the ambient light from the nighttime city sky filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. Beyond them was a gorgeous rooftop patio that opened up to a fire pit, a small plunge pool, and green vegetation, all overlooking the city like its own private oasis.
I loved it immediately.
“I love that.” I broke the silence and stared out at the patio. “I would probably spend most of my time there.”
“Hmm . . .” He stood right next to me and stared straight ahead. “I can’t say I’ve even been outside yet.”
I scoffed. “Why?”
“My mom.” His voice cracked. “It was her favorite part about this apartment. I bought it because of her. She said it would be good for me, a stress reliever. I had a special bedroom made just for her. It had its own entrance, almost like a mother-in-law suite attached to the apartment.” He cleared his throat, his sigh was heavy. “She never got to use it.”
I reached for his hand and squeezed.
He squeezed it back then slowly turned me toward him, still clutching my right hand in his. “I lied.”