Page 36 of Backhanded Compliments

JULIETTE

Juliette never thought she’d feel like a virgin again.

It’s ridiculous. She’s trembling like she’s about to crawl into bed with her first boyfriend and have sloppy, uncoordinated, and frankly dreadful sex. The best part of that experience had been the anticipation before it. The way he’d slowly lifted the shirt over his head and Juliette had lost her mind staring at the expanse of his perfectly imperfect acne-pocked skin.

But now, as she grabs the hem of her shirt, she feels like she is back in that moment. She is facing away from Luca—she absolutelydoes notanalyze the fact that Kacic has changed to Luca in her mind—and she’s trembling.

She shucks her shirt to the side, grateful she put on a bandeau before opening the door. She twists her curls into a bun on the top of her head so they’re out of the way.

Juliette glances over her shoulder. Luca is hard to read at the best of times, hidden behind a wall of iron and snark. But now, in the half glow of saffron light, she looks mesmerized. Her honeyed hazel eyes, dark and shaded, trail down the line of Juliette’s back.

“Like what you see?” Juliette asks, trying to tease, but her voice is too shaky for it to be convincing.

Luca’s gaze snaps back to her, and pink floods her face. “Erm,” she stutters, and then she licks her lips, and heat pools like magma in Juliette’s gut.

“I hope this works,” Juliette says, trying not to think at all as she gingerly gets back into bed. She arranges herself facedown on the pillows, curls her arm beneath them, and turns her head to one side, angling her wrist so it doesn’t ache. “My back hurts like a bitch.”

The air is thick and heavy around them. She twists her head to the other side to look at Luca. She blows a rogue curl off her face and sees Luca sitting on the very edge of the bed, rolling the oil bottle between her palms. “You’ll need to be a lot closer than that,” Juliette says, letting her voice dip low. It’s not quite a command, but Luca shivers anyway.

When she looks at Juliette, she’s hesitant. “You want me on top of you?” she asks quietly.

Heat explodes in Juliette’s stomach, and she nods, not trusting her voice. She didn’t expect Luca to phrase it likethat.

Luca moves slowly, giving Juliette plenty of time to tell her to stop. She swings her long legs up onto the bed and gets onto her knees. Juliette twists her head the other way, and her neck protests.

A light touch to her midback has her tensing.

“It’s just me,” Luca says, as if it would be anyone else. But the lilt of her voice loosens some of the tension in Juliette’s chest, and she shifts, letting her legs fall slightly open. Her belly softens, and she sinks deeper into the mattress.

Juliette is very aware that Luca has her knees on either side of her hips, the warm weight hovering just above her. The bottle clinks, loud in the stifling silence. Maybe she should suggest putting on music, but her jaw is wired shut, her body cemented beneath Luca’s.

She hears the oil slick between Luca’s palms, rubbing back and forth as she warms it. Juliette clutches the pillow under her chin and tries to remember how to breathe.

It feels like an age before Luca’s hands touch beneath her shoulder blades, cupping them gently. Just like Juliette did for her the day before. For a moment, Luca is still. Her hands are warm, slick with massage oil, and then she moves.

Juliette never paid too much attention to hands, but maybe she should have.

Luca’s are long and spindly, much like the rest of her. Calluses from years of holding a racket shape her palms and fingers, but as she applies pressure and slides slowly down from Juliette’s shoulder blades, they couldn’t be more perfect.

“Can I go underneath your bra?” Luca asks.

Juliette nods, her skin tingling.

Luca dips her hands underneath and kneads into the tense muscles in the center of her back before she caresses her hands down the dip of her spine, stopping before her lower back.

“Is this okay?” Luca asks, kneading her thumbs into twin tight knots on either side of her spine.

It isglorious. Juliette moans something entirely incoherent.

Luca chuckles, sweeping her hands up and digging her thumbs into the meat of Juliette’s aching shoulders.

Juliette buries her face into the pillow and closes her eyes. Luca’s warm hands don’t move from her shoulders until the knots come loose and Juliette’s shoulders sag.

“There we go,” Luca whispers, so quiet that Juliette almost misses it. “Relax, Jules,” she murmurs. The curve of her nickname on Luca’s lips sends a shiver down her spine. It’s familiar, but far more intimate being said by Luca than anyone else. Juliette’s thoughts go fuzzy, every defense slackening.

More oil, slightly cold, drizzles onto her back, and Juliette sucks in a sharp breath. Luca’s warm hands are quick to return, splayed wide. Luca follows the contours of Juliette’s body, hands gliding across her skin tenderly, reverently. She uses her thumbs to drive a hard line on either side of her spine, but her fingertips stroke against her ribs.

Juliette twitches and bites the pillow to keep from squeaking.She sucks in a breath, trying to keep her ribs from Luca’s imploring fingers.

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