Page 95 of The Shadows Beyond
“We did plenty more than kiss in Paris.” As if to emphasise his point, Julien rubbed Cinn’s overtly hard cock through his jeans, and Cinn threw his hand to his mouth to suppress his groan.Please let Darcy be back in her basement somehow.How had Julien tricked him so easily into this unsupervised space?
“Don’t do that,” he said, but the desire seeping through his words was laughable.
“You don’t sound particularly convincing right now.”
Using his elbows to wiggle backwards, Cinn dragged himself up so he was semi-upright. “Okay, yes, let’s talk Paris. Where we did plenty morewithoutkissing, and then you told me you didn’t do relationships.”
Silent for an eternity, Julien seemed to be on the edge of some sort of precipice, holding the weight of his potential words on his tongue, before finally whispering, “Well, some promises are made to be broken.”
Time suspended. Each of Cinn’s heartbeats battled with the gravity of the statement. In this moment, it was only the two of them in the universe, two damaged souls being increasingly entwined in a fragile dance of possibilities.
He wanted nothing more than to swallow Julien’s words, let them burrow inside him and allow his growing attraction to him to bloom into something concrete, something real.
There was one question looming large that Cinn couldn’t move past, however: What if you just want me because you can’t have me?
Julien didn’t do relationships. Cinn wasn’t special. Apparently Julien had no qualms about dropping his lovers like discarded toys.
So how long would Cinn hold his attention for once he’d given in?
Their worlds were too different, silk and sand. Julien’s, a world of motecraft, ambition, art, science, control. Cinn’s… He was simply trying to carve out a piece of this crazy life for himself. Build a fortress of his own design.
Julien was silent, awaiting his response with a shocking amount of patience, for him. Expectation burned in his eyes. Expectation, desire and… was that the tiniest whisper of fear?
Questions danced on Cinn’s tongue.Why me? Why now? And why don’t youdorelationships, anyway?
A series of sounds from the corridor: the cottage’s front door being opened with a click, the bang of it being shut, Elliot’s voice shouting hello.
Saved by the bell.
There was the smallest window of time for Cinn to shuffle away from Julien, and for Julien to grab the ink and paintbrush, to hold it convincingly in mid air when Darcy threw open the bedroom door.
“How have you not finished yet?”
A guilty flush was surely written all over Cinn’s face, even if Julien’s composed mask remained in place, so he threw his head back onto the mattress.
“I’ve almost finished,” Julien said.
“Looks like it.”
Darcy left again, leaving the bedroom door wide open.
Wordlessly, Julien propped open the book against a pillow, and began his task, eyes flicking between the rune-like pictures and his canvas, Cinn’s skin.
Closing his eyes, Cinn focused only on the cool sensation of the ink against his muscles. He slowed down his breathing, forcing his heart to do the same.
He soon heard the soft muted pop of the stopper being placed back into the bottle, and the book being snapped shut. He sat up to find Julien looking at him, but not like before. Warmth had replaced desire, and a crinkle in his eyes had replaced his wolfish smile.
“Thank you again for doing this,” Julien said, placing his hand on top of Cinn’s. “I can’t explain how grateful I am.”
Julien’s sincere words caused another shred of doubt to slide into him: what if Julien was leading him on only so that he kept helping him? The notion twisted his insides into knots, and words tumbled out of him before he could clamp his mouth shut. “This isn’t why you keep…” He couldn’t quite say it, so finished up with, “Right?”
Julien’s face froze, eyes wide, as he pieced together the intended question. He removed his hand from Cinn’s so fast, it was as if he’d burned him. “Merde!How could you think that?” His hurt wasso evident that Cinn instantly wanted to claw the words back, turn the pain inwards on himself. “Who do you think I am?”
Before Cinn could gather himself to apologise or explain, Julien stormed out of the room.
“You fucking idiot,” Cinn mumbled to Béatrice’s ceiling.
Once Cinn climbed onto the dining room table, all that was left to do was bind Béatrice’s rib bone to him. Ready with her mortar full of powered luminaquartz, Darcy held in her other hand the canvas bag she’d placed the bone into, back in Paris.
