From the Inside Out: The Compilation (Scorned, Jealousy, Dylan, Austin) (43 page)

“No, there’s no going back. I’m fully invested.” I twirl for him. “See? All here. All for you.”

“You look good fully invested. But I might need a reminder of how good fully invested
feels
.”

I burst out laughing. “You’re insatiable and I approve of this.”

He takes my hand and starts tugging me back. I drop my coat and purse, leaving them to fall on the floor. Austin stops, spins my back to the bedroom while kissing my neck, and I let him because clean clothes are totally overrated.

BRANDON ANSWERS AFTER
two knocks. The door is left open as he walks into the kitchen. “Come in,” he says.

I shut the door and walk inside. “How are you?”

He stops, setting the spoon down, his face is one of annoyance. Resting his hands on the counter in front of him, he glares at me. “How am I?
How are you?
”

“I’m fine.”

Tense, he asks, “What happened to you?”

“Do you want me to tell you the truth or a story to make you feel better?”

“Shit, Jules. Don’t play games. I was worried. I almost called Dylan.”

“You called Austin though.”

“I called Austin because I knew I could count on him, no matter what had happened. Now tell
me
what happened.”

Walking to his refrigerator, I open the freezer and search. “Do you have any vodka?”

“Must be bad if you need vodka.” Moving past me, he says, “It’s right here.”

“The vodka’s for you. I need you calm.”

Shaking his head, he rolls his eyes, then shuts the freezer door.

I laugh while moving to the couch. I know I’m not getting out of this that easy, so I settle in for the long haul, also known as an interrogation.

I DON’T KNOW
that Brandon feels any better about the Jean-Luc situation, much like I don’t, but I do know Jean-Luc didn’t touch me. I know he didn’t. I find comfort in that and will try to move on from this.

A knock on my door interrupts my packing. I walk over and look through the peephole, spying Austin standing there. He’s making faces at me and I laugh, everything feeling lighter today. Swinging the door open, I grab him by the belt loop and pull him inside against me until his lips meet mine. He kicks the door closed and when we part, he says, “I could get used to that kind of greeting.”

“I hope so because that’s gonna be the standard from now on.”

With a smile, I see his eyes go from me to over my shoulder. “That’s new,” he says.

Following his gaze, I see the yellow painting. “It’s not new. I painted over it.”

He’s shocked. “You painted over it?”

“Yes. I love it now.”

He glances between the painting and me several times, then grins. “I love it too. A happy color suits you much better.”

“Thank you for saying that. I feel much more yellow than blue these days.”

His smile lights up his whole face. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

I lean my head on his shoulder and whisper, “When we’re together, I’m reminded of who I used to be. I prefer who I am with you.”

“You’re who you choose to be, Jules.” His lips meet mine, tongues caress tenderly followed by a sigh. “But no matter who that is, I see the real you.”

My breath stalls in my chest as I breathe his words into my heart. “Who am I?”

“You’re the woman I was born to love.”

“Austin,” I sigh, my lips against his. “I love you.”

He places a kiss on my forehead quickly, then looks me in the eyes again. “I love you, Jules Weston.” Moving to stand in front of the painting, he admires it with a smile on his face. “Yes, I prefer yellow too. Good choice.”

As I watch him, my heart races. He’s always been the one. I was just too caught up in the past instead of the future that stands before me.

“I see the change in you. I see the woman I fell in love with.” Holding his hands out, fisted with his wrists together, he says, “You might as well have me arrested now.”

“What?” I frown. “For what?”

“For stealing your heart.” He laughs. “Don’t think I don’t see those lovey dovey eyes you’re giving me.”

I roll my eyes. “Yellow may be my new color, but cheesy looks damn sexy on you. C’mere. I want to show you something.” I walk into the kitchen, and ask, “Latte?”

With raised eyebrows, he asks, “Lattes now too?” He rushes to me, grabs my shoulders and squares me to him. “What have you done with Jules?”

Fighting a hardy laugh, I say, “Progress is happening. You might want to stand back.”

He kisses my cheek, and says, “No way. I’m gonna be right here next to you for all of this progress. I’m digging this new sunny side perspective.” Leaning against the counter, he smiles. “What brought all this on anyway?”

Leaning back against the counter next to him, I reply, “I woke up and saw my life packed and I was without you. I knew that wasn’t the life I wanted. Everything I’ve been holding so tightly to over the years is just stuff. It was easier to grab a hold of these things and what I was missing than to let it continue and be alone. I don’t want to live like that anymore. That’s not living at all.”

He nods. I see the love through his gaze, but he doesn’t say it. He doesn’t need to. I feel it. Instead, he asks, “You ready to go?”

“Yes. Let me grab my bag from the bed.”

“I’ll grab it,” he offers.

“Thanks.” I take a moment to look around the place. With him behind me, I say, “This place may feel more me after all these years, but a lot less like home.” Laughing, I lean back on him. “I sound silly.”

“You don’t sound silly. Sounds like you’re growing.”

“Growing up, I think.”

Taking my hand, we walk out. I turn the key and suddenly it feels very much like the last time I’ll be doing this.

Sensing my mood in the car, he asks, “You okay?”

Sliding across the seat next to him, I lean my head on his shoulder and smile. “More than okay. Better than I’ve been in forever.”

His arm wraps over my shoulders and we watch the world go by together, Austin feeling very much like home these days.

THE NEXT TWO
weeks are spent between the gallery and Austin’s apartment. He doesn’t leave town or work late. He cancels dinners to spend time with me. When I have an exhibit, he shows up to support me. Everything is perfect. I’m still not used to how well he treats me, so I decide to show him just how much I appreciate him.

Whispering, I say, “Follow me.” Leading him into my office, I shut the door and lock it once he enters. “Leave the lights off. No one can see in here when it’s dark.”

“Ms. Weston, I have a feeling you’re up to no good.”

“Is there any other way to be when we’re together?”

He chuckles. I plant my mouth firmly to his and kiss him. Sliding my skirt up on the sides, he exposes my bare ass. His hand slides under the silky material and between my legs. His lips cover my neck in sweet sucking kisses as his fingers know exactly where to touch to get me off.

I spread my fingers over his erection, evoking a moan from both of us. Sliding up to the top of his pants, I move my hand inside and down, wanting to feel the warm skin over his hardness. “Fuck,” he groans. “Move to the desk.”

Removing my hand, I turn and back up until the back of my thighs hit the front of my desk. His eyes are locked on mine until someone laughs loudly from the gallery floor, a reminder we’re not alone, a mere wood door separates us from a hundred other patrons. A couple walks by outside the large window, but when I turn back to Austin, it’s as if he doesn’t see anything but me. His expression is one of want, lust, and possession. He says, “Turn around and bend over.”

My lips part from the shock of his demand, but the sexual tension is building as well as my craving to feel him inside me again. I taunt by dragging my skirt up on just one side and smirking at him.

With purpose, he walks steadily to me. Taking my ponytail in one hand, he twists it around his hand then slowly pulls down until I stop resisting and drop my head back. His tongue finds my neck again and slides his teeth lightly up until his lips are against my ear. His words are just breaths against my heated skin, “Turn. Around.”

My mouth drops open and I look up at him.

His voice is harsh and demanding. “Now.”

I’d love to be sassy and talk back but I’m too hot and bothered to argue. I want this as much as he does. Turning around, I bend over my desk, the glass cold through the thin material of my blouse. I press my cheek down and close my eyes as he caresses my ass several times, teasing me. My breath quickens as he slides down the middle.

The metal of his belt clangs, then the teeth of his zipper. “I love how soft your skin is, Jules, and how wet you get for me.”

Squirming, I say, “I’m on fire for you, Austin.”

His laugh hits the back of my head, but it’s not playful. Instead there’s a heaviness to the sound just like the air around us. The weight of him moulds to my body and his cock slides between my legs. More teasing. My weakness for him, my desire voiced. “I want you inside of me, Austin. Please.”

“Why does a please from you sound so fucking hot? Say it again.”

I hate games, but for him, I’ll play.
“Pleeaase.”

Heat. Steel. Silk. Wet. I’m filled, my cheek pressed harder to the glass top as he thrusts back out and in rapidly. Gripping my hips, using them as leverage, he swears. “Fuck! God. Fuck, Jules.”

Pressing my palms against the desktop, I lift up, focusing on the chair in front of me. He picks up his pace. Deeper. Harder. Unrelenting and I take it, loving the feel of his power as he takes me.

His hips slam against the back of me, his large cock hitting that spot deep inside that only he presses. A groan of pleasure escapes me every time he thrusts in. He frees his in conjunction with mine. When his hand snakes around my thigh, he touches my clit and the sensation mixed with him inside of me, sends me falling into a darkness where our love lights my way. Two more thrusts punctuate my ecstasy and he’s there with me, then we both drop onto the desk. My arms are spread, his on top of mine. He says, “I want you, Jules. I want you with me. I want to wake up to you and fall asleep holding you after making love to you—”

“Or fucking me?”

“Yes, or fucking you. I just want all of you all of the time. Call me greedy, selfish, or whatever, but I’m in love with you.” He lifts and helps me up slowly before turning me around. When our eyes meet, he says, “If you’d marry me, I would ask.”

I feel the genuineness in his statement. Glancing down, then back up, suddenly feeling vulnerable around him despite what we just did, I say, “Ask me then.”

With a slight nod, he smiles softly before kissing me on the lips. “I promise.”

As much as I don’t want to get hurt, I realize whether he asks me to marry him or not, I’m in too deep to save myself. That’s what love is—it’s sharing burdens, trusting in a future that isn’t guaranteed, and faith that it all works out. Good in concept, but one that can go awry so easily if not safeguarded. So that’s what I plan to do. I will safeguard our good and when we fight, I’ll keep the faith and trust in him. He deserves that and more. I deserve all of that too.