Page 26 of Old Money

He looks up at me, raising an eyebrow again. He draws in a sharp breath then pushes off the couch and walks past me, leading me down to the third door on the wall. He turns the knob, and we walk down another shorter hallway that leads toanotherdoor. He opens that one, and we walk into a sitting room that leads into a huge bedroom. A king-sized four-post bed sits against the far wall, the big windows on the other, facing the ocean, and huge French doors that lead out to a balcony sit at the back corner of the wall. There’s another fireplace in here, another couch, and an open doorway to a huge bathroom.

“Damn,” I say, walking toward the bed. I drag my fingers across the comforter slowly, staring down at it. “I bet it didn’t hurt to have this place to bring women back to.”

I don’t know why I say it, and I immediately regret it when I do.

I turn around to face him, and his eyes are narrowed on me again from across the room. Slowly, he paces toward me, and I swallow as he gets nearer and nearer.

“And what is it that you think I’ve done with these women here?” he asks, so close to me now that he has backed me up against the side of the bed. I swallow as I look up at him.

“Why don’t you tell me?” I ask.

SAWYER

He reaches a hand up to touch my cheek gently, his other hand snaking around my waist.

“Why don’t you tell me, Sawyer? I want to know what you think I did. Did I touch them like this?” he asks, sliding his hand down the small of my back toward my ass, grazing it gently before he gives it a little squeeze. My breath catches in my throat. “Or like this?” he asks, sliding his other hand down my cheek and cupping the back of my neck.

Oh, fuck.

“Or did I kiss them like this?” he asks, and before I can say anything, his lips are on mine, hot and wet, hungry and impatient. I moan against his lips as both of his hands slide back to my ass, lifting me gently off the ground and laying me on the bed. I slide my hands up his arms and his back, letting my fingers get lost in that gorgeous head of hair of his. I feel myself getting wet, and I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him to press himself into me.

Then I feel one of his hands slide around to my front, slipping between us, and my body starts to tingle. I press my body into the mattress further to give him easier access, just as his hand slides between my legs, over my jeans to my mound, where he rests it for a moment. But much to my dismay, he pulls apart from me, letting his forehead rest on mine for a second before he slides his hand out from between us.

No. No, no, no.

I lie still for a minute, waiting as he pulls himself off me and off the bed. I sit up, following him with my eyes as he takes a few steps toward the window, straightening himself out and looking out at the water.

This motherfucker.I am really sick of him giving me lady blue balls.

When it appears that our tryst—or lack thereof—is officially over, I speak.

“What do you want from me, Julian?” I ask. My stomach turns as I wait for his answer, but I need one. It’s been three of the most intense weeks of my life, and I can’t handle any more of this back and forth.

He sighs deeply before he turns to me.

“I don’t know, Sawyer. But I know that I’ve never wanted it from anyone else.”

I think about his response for a minute. It’s incomplete, but it feels honest. And truth be told, I don’t really know what I want from him either. A companion? A fuck buddy? All the above? Or maybe I just like him because of the clout? Maybe I just want to be near him because I associate him with safety?

I want to be mad. I want to throw a fit, but I can’t. I don’t have the right to. I wanted that just as much as he did. And I’m just as confused as he is.

I nod slowly as I slide off the bed.

We’re quiet as he leads me back out of the family wing, down the private staircase, and into the elevator that takes us down to the private garage entrance. Russ picks us up there, and we’re even more quiet on the way home. When we get back to the apartment, I feel this weird sense of melancholy.

I didn’t get laid by my hot, pseudo-guardian, and now I have to eat a cup of noodles alone on Thanksgiving. When Russ pulls up to the building, I turn to Julian.

“You don’t have to walk me up,” I tell him. “I know you probably have very important Everett plans.”

He glares at me for a moment then reaches down to undo his seatbelt as he gets out on his side. Russ helps me out, and Julian is on my side as he walks me up the front steps and enters the building code, completely ignoring me. We walk the three flights in silence, and just before we reach my door, he grabs my wrist, spinning me around to him.

“Don’t you ever assume that any plans I ever have are more important than you. Ever,” he says, staring down at me. I swallow as I look at him. Before I can respond, he reaches around me and opens my door, which I realize is unlocked. Before I turn around, he brings my hand to his lips.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” he says with a smile. Then he pushes the door open wider, and my mother stands in my entryway, her pale-green apron tied around her waist, flour on her outstretched hands, and the smell of a turkey in the oven filling my apartment.

I gasp, tears filling my eyes as I run to her. She squeals as she catches me, spinning me around and kissing my head and cheeks. When we stop turning, she looks at him.

“Thank you, Julian,” she says through tears. “You have no idea how much this means.”

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