Sinful Desires Vol. 4(11)

The Friday before Thanksgiving, I got home from work late, exhausted from a double shift – one before dance and one after – and barely had enough energy to take a shower before falling into bed. I was asleep almost instantly.

I'd only been asleep for a couple hours when I heard someone knocking on my door. I started toward the door when I realized that I hadn't bothered putting on anything when I'd crawled under the covers. I grabbed my robe and hurried down the stairs.

“Hello?” I called as I neared the door. It was a little after one-thirty in the morning and while I had a few new acquaintances, my number of friends in the city was limited to pretty much two.

“It's me.”

I easily recognized Julien's voice and let him in. The moment I saw him, I knew something was wrong. His was pale, his hair a mess. He had dark circles under his eyes and his face was drawn. He looked like he hadn't slept since I'd last seen him two days ago.

“What's wrong?” I shivered as I closed the door. We'd had a couple flurries this week, but nothing had stuck. I had a feeling that would change soon.

He sank down on the couch Anastascia had given me after she'd bought a new one for herself. I sat next to him, knowing he'd speak when he was ready.

“My dad.” He said the words like he didn't know what they meant. He looked at his hands. “Um, he and my mom were arguing. About Steven. I was just supposed to be picking something up and going back to my place, but they were fighting and then he collapsed and Mom screamed.”

A feeling of dread filled me, telling me that this story wasn't going to have a happy ending.

“He wasn't breathing when I came in. Mom was panicking. I started CPR while one of the staff called for an ambulance.” He shook his head. “The paramedics kept doing CPR but I could see it on their faces as soon as they touched him. The doctors pronounced him dead at the ER. They said it was a heart attack or aneurysm or something like that. Nothing we could've done.” He looked over at me, his eyes wild. “He's dead. My dad's dead.”

“Oh, Julien.” I wrapped my arms around him. Tears stung my eyes, but they weren't for Mr. Atwood. I hadn't known him. My heart was aching for my friend. “I'm so sorry.”

Julien was stiff in my arms, as if he wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to my embrace.

“My uncle's at the house with my mom. He's her closest brother. I couldn't stay there.”

“It's okay,” I assured him.

“I'm going to have to call the boards tomorrow,” he said. “They need to know. I guess I'll step in for him until they can find a replacement.”

I put my hand on Julien's cheek and found it cold and clammy. He was definitely in shock. I picked up the afghan from the back of the couch and wrapped it around us both.

“Shh,” I said. “Don't worry about that now.”

He looked at me, a puzzled expression on his face. “I'm sad, but I don't understand why.”

Some people might've been freaking out, wondering why he wasn't crying, why he sounded so cold. I got it. Everyone processed grief differently.

“Why does it feel like there's this hole inside me, Piper?” His voice trembled. “I haven't loved my dad since before Steven was born. I've hated him since Steven died. Why should I feel anything but relief that he's gone?”

“He's your father,” I said simply. “He's the one who taught you how to ride a bike when you were eight. He took you fishing when you were six and pulled you out of the ocean when you fell in.” Those had been the only positive stories Julien had ever told me about his father, and they were enough to break through.

Julien buried his face against the side of my neck and sobbed. The sound broke my heart and I ran my hands along his back, trying to soothe him as best I could. For all the grief of my own I'd dealt with, I was never very sure how to handle someone else's.

“I'm so sorry,” I murmured as I smoothed down his hair. It was softer than it looked and I stroked my fingers through it as I would a little boys.

I wasn't sure how much time passed before Julien's shoulders stopped shaking, but it was long enough for me to know that I could no longer say that I wasn't sure how I felt about him. Seeing him in pain had broken open the part of me that had been holding back. I was conflicted about what I still felt for Reed and whether or not I wanted to tell Julien how I felt, but there was no conflict anymore about what those feelings were. I'd fallen for my friend.

“You're cold,” Julien said suddenly, pulling back. He looked at the clock. “Fuck. It's late and you probably have to work tomorrow.” His cheeks were red and I could tell he was embarrassed.

“No, I don't.” I stood and held out my hand. “Come on. You go take a hot shower and I'm going to make you some tea.”

“Tea?” Julien raised an eyebrow.

“It's what my mom used to make when I was sick or upset.”

His expression softened. I'd told him about her.

“Go,” I said. “I'll make you some tea and get out the sheets for the couch.”

He nodded and headed for the stairs. I put the water on to boil and got the sheets from the downstairs closet. They were cheap, but I'd realized I needed a second pair after Julien had stayed here one night after we'd been painting until three in the morning. I put them on the couch and tried not to think about my epiphany and the fact that the person it was about was upstairs right now, naked and wet.

I wasn't going to screw this up, I vowed. Just because I knew how I felt now didn't change what I'd originally decided to do. I'd made enough of a mess of my life with Reed and Brock. I wasn't going to lose a friend due to lack of self-control.

Once I finished with the couch, the tea was ready and I carried it upstairs. I still didn't have a lot of furniture, so the extra room upstairs was empty. As I walked into my room and set the mug on the dresser, I wondered if maybe I should look into an air mattress or something. Even Anastascia would sleep on that. As it was, she'd stayed in my bed the one night we'd had a late girls' night out, but I didn't want a repeat of that. She still kicked in her sleep.

“Thank you.”

I jumped as Julien's voice startled me. My hand bumped the mug, sending a splash of scalding liquid over the edge onto my fingers. I cried out, yanking my hand back.

“Piper!”

“I'm okay.” Tears welled up in my eyes in response to the pain, but I refused to let them fall. What was a little burn compared to what he was going through?

“Let me see.”

Julien caught my hand as I tried to step past him. His touch was gentle and I swallowed hard. I hadn't realized until now that he was only wearing a towel around his waist.

Fuck.

I'd seen him shirtless before, but this was different, especially since I was now very aware that I wasn't wearing anything under my robe.

I was shocked out of my thoughts as Julian slipped my two burnt fingers into his mouth. His tongue soothed the injured skin and my breathing hitched. His eyes locked with mine. He drew my fingers out and the cool air against my wet flesh eased the last of the pain. Not that I would've felt it anyway. Not with the way he was looking at me.

“Better?” he asked.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

“I know you have the couch made up downstairs but,” he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my face. “I don't think I can be alone tonight.”

“You don't have to be,” I whispered. I wanted so badly to lean into his touch, but I reminded myself of my promise.

Almost as if he could read my thoughts, he cupped the side of my face, his thumb brushing across my lips.

“Piper.”

My name was a groan and almost undid me.

When he began to lower his head, I knew I should stop him. He was emotional and needy and I was here. But I wasn't strong enough. I knew he was hurting and in need of comfort. I could do that for him, be a solace. I wouldn't ask for anything more.

His mouth was cautious against mine, testing to see if it was welcome. I parted my lips, hoping he would take the invitation. A moment later, his tongue lightly touched my bottom lip and I made a soft sound. His hand slid around to the back of my head, holding me in place as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. With all that he had been through, I'd expected rough and urgent, but this was a slow exploration, as if he was memorizing every inch his tongue explored.

My hands couldn't keep to themselves. They came up and ran across his chest. I may have seen him without a shirt before, but I'd never touched him. He was all sculpted muscles and golden skin. My fingers traced the black ink of the tattoo over his heart. SAA. Steven Andrew Atwood.

When he finally raised his head, his eyes were dark and I could see the desire warring with self-control. I knew what he wanted. I took his hands in mine and placed them on the belt of my robe. This was the turning point. Whatever choice he made, he would decide where things went from here.





Chapter 9

The soft cotton slid off of my shoulders, baring me all at once. No striptease, just flesh. He'd seen me practically naked before, so the near-reverence on his face surprised me. He reached toward me, then hesitated, his eyes flicking up to my face. I took his hand and led it to my breast, moaning as he cupped me. His thumb brushed over my nipple and it hardened under his touch.

“You're so beautiful,” he whispered, taking my other breast in his free hand.