A low growl escapes Greyston when I thrust toward him again, which only makes me want to kiss him harder and deeper. So, obviously, I do. He’s more than receptive to every single one of my impulses, pulling my hips to him again, a little rougher this time, and I gasp in surprise the minute I make contact with his own arousal.
“More,” I plead breathlessly against his lips, letting my hands travel down his body, grabbing at the hem of his shirt and tugging it upward so I can feel his bare chest with my hands. It’s then that his hands leave my backside and grab hold of my wrists, stopping me. He stops kissing me and just stares at me while we both pant heavily. Greyston’s lips are red and swollen from our kiss, and I can see my tousled reflection in his eyes.
“Juliette,” he says, holding my hands still. While his eyes still scream with desire, there’s something else there too: remorse. “We can’t. Not like this.”
I feel sick to my stomach—and not because of the alcohol. Actually, I’m feeling slightly less drunk as reality comes crashing back down around me. I tug my wrists free and climb off of his lap, feeling pretty damn humiliated—and also like an awful human being because I basically just forced myself on Greyston with no warning.
He wanted it too, I try to tell myself, but it doesn’t change the fact that I still acted without consideration for Toby. Toby, Greyston’s partner. I’ve turned Greyston into a cheater—the same thing I’ve condemned Ben for.
I press my fingers to my lips because they’re still hot and tingly from our kiss. “I-I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I-I—” There’s nothing I can think of saying that will make everything all right between us, so I rush from the living room and up the stairs.
Behind me, I hear Greyston get off the couch. “Damn it,” he curses quietly. “Juliette, wait.”
While I want to hear what he has to say, I also don’t think I can bear it. Not right now, anyway. I hurry up the last two stairs and fly into my room, closing the door and keeping all of the lights off before flopping down on my bed and staring at the door.
I fully realize that I’m not handling this the way I should be; I should be down there right now, talking to him and clearing the air between us. I guess I’m just scared. I’ve been rejected, cheated on, and more recently used, and I just don’t think I can handle Greyston telling me that what I was doing was wrong…that I’m wrong. For him. For everyone.
Basically, I’m a coward.
The light in the hall comes on, and I lift my head from my pillow the minute I see Greyston’s shadow appear beneath my door. There’s a gentle knock, followed by him whispering my name, but I don’t respond. I let him believe I’ve passed out. He stays put for a few minutes before eventually retreating to his room, and I’m left alone with my guilt until I finally succumb to sleep.
When I wake the next morning, my head is pounding, and I swear I’m never drinking again. I open my eyes slowly in hopes of keeping the light of day from making the piercing pain worse. I’m pleasantly surprised to see I’m still shrouded in near-darkness. The time on my clock reads 11:00, and since I know I arrived home closer to midnight, I know it has to be morning.
So why is it so dark?
Still lying on my stomach, I push myself up and crane my neck to look toward my balcony doors, only to find the dark shades have been drawn. I know immediately that I didn’t do that, which can only mean that Greyston did.
Greyston…
I’m instantly transported to the memory of last night and how I have very likely ruined the friendship we’ve built. “Oooooh noooo,” I groan, dropping my face back into my pillow. There’s no way I’m going to be able to face him—not after that.
While the kiss was amazing, and I had experienced things that I honestly never had before in my life, it doesn’t change the fact that I was out of line. I never should have kissed him. I never should have climbed onto his lap. I never should have ground myself against him like a brazen hussy.
Then I remember things a little more clearly: He let me kiss him. He let me straddle him. He pulled my hips against him. What I’m really having trouble understanding is why he let me.
Is he confused? Because, if he is, he can join my club. I’ll even let him be Vice President. Maybe treasurer, too.
Thinking about this is making me crazy. What I need to do is put it all behind me and act like a grown up. Greyston will understand that I can’t be held responsible for my actions while intoxicated. He has to.
Right?
An infernal buzzing sound fills the room—and my head—making my brain pulse against the inside of my skull. A pretty picture, I know; it feels about as spectacular as it sounds.