Page 39 of The Player Penalty
My throat tightens, and I momentarily pause. Julian’s breathing quickens and grows shallow. Each intake causes his chest to expand and his abdomen to tighten. I touch one nipple, and it grows slightly under my fingertip.
Our eyes meet again, and Julian guides my hand lower and lower. I swallow, willing my body to relax because otherwise, I might faint entirely away.
The soft skin of his abdomen hides stiff muscles that barely give at my touch. The dark hair narrows into a trail. My heart thunders.
Velvet. I lower my eyes, finally permitting myself to see the part of him I’d carefully avoided. Dark velvet, but somehow harder than his chest. Less forgiving. I ghost a finger down his shaft, unsure of what to do next.
“Like this.” Julian wraps his hand over mine, and I stroke with enough pressure that he hisses and releases me. “That feels amazing.”
I let go. “Thank you for allowing me to...” What? Receive my first lesson in sexual education? I refuse to say that.
“For almost getting me off? Don’t mention it.” There’s an amused hitch in his voice at the end before it softens. “I might get off on it a little, knowing I’m the one you trusted enough to ask.”
This isn’t the first time Julian alluded to his pleasure when giving me something, not physical objects, but more intimate moments, such as when he helped me lose my fear of the ocean.
“You won’t tell anyone,” I say, and realize it comes out as an order. “Please.”
“I won’t tell anyone, you know that. What happens between us is for us.”
I step back, and any boldness in me runs away. It breaks our spell as Julian dresses, choosing a tshirt from one of his old races and a pair of black sweats. He even dressed with the same confidence on display when my hands explored his body.
“What’s for dinner?” I ask, not caring but feeling the need to break my silence because the alternative is admitting my world is shaking.
Dr. Lambert asked if I had feelings for him. I want what the women he hooks up with have, and that’s all I’m prepared to admit to.
“Nothing fancy. Chicken, noodles, and salad. It will be ready quickly if we both cook.”
Julian grabs my hand to guide me back into the kitchen. There’s even less space than his bedroom, with a stove, sink, and a strip of countertop between them. The person who invented the cliche about cooks in the kitchen was thinking of precisely this moment.
“There isn’t enough room for both of us,” I say.
“Plenty of room. You make the salad.” He pulls out a head of lettuce, quickly following it with a carrot and tomato. Julian doesn’t realize he’s setting them on the stovetop.
“I’ll be in your way.” Despite this, I get out the cutting board and take over the little counter space available. Behind me, Julian watches, saying nothing. “Is everything else already prepared?”
“You’ve never been in my way, Lily, not even once,” he says quietly and comes up behind me. His arms encircle my body as he pulls me back against his chest. It’s the same position Julian held me in the night he took me into the ocean. “Look at that. There’s plenty of room. We fit together perfectly.”
16-Julian
“Your last lap was the best this race so far.”
Great engineers lead to great cars. Boone Rivers may annoy me, but his hiring practices are excellent. One came over fromBP Racing,Jake’s former employer before it imploded last year.
“Do we have official confirmation of that?” I ask.
“Affirmative. That’s direct from officials.”
“33 is in the lead for this stage. You think you can manage that?” Pete Webb asks.
Lily’s father, and my biggest critic, has joined the chat. If he knew what I let his daughter do to my body last night, he’d be asking me a very different question. For example, I could choose the manner of my death.
“Two to go. It’s two wide behind me. You see anyone trying for a third lane?” There’s no sign from my mirror, but that’s a limited view.
My spotter chimes in. “No one is going for the lane.”
Welcome to the short track.
“They’re saving fuel,” Pete says. There’s a burst of static, and I miss his following statement.
