Chapter Thirty-Six

Giles

IT'S A RARE RAINY NIGHT in San Diego, which means slick roads and traffic backups on the interstate. Julia, who seems to rarely have a weeknight off, wanted to go to the movies. But we both agree it's a better idea to rent one at home, instead.

Ava's at work and I'm pretty sure she won't be returning until after midnight. We've got the house to ourselves and we're able to get as comfortable as we want, without Julia worrying about what Ava might think. 

I plop down on the center of the couch and though Julia settles closer to the armrest, she swings her legs up over my lap. Without thinking, my hands fall onto her calves.

She's wearing shorts and my palm melts over her smooth skin. It's not like I'm going to move her legs away, even if the sight of her long, bare legs stirs something wild in me. Something I've been having a harder time containing.

We argue for a few minutes over the movie. She wants, of course, a chick flick, whereas I want a little less talking about feelings and a little more of things exploding. Finally, we settle on a romantic thriller. 

The movie's good, we're both so glued to the screen we barely move. But early on, it becomes clear that the main characters have insane chemistry. Every line they speak, every move they make around each other is charged with explosive sexual energy. I didn't expect this. Pretty soon, the innocent gesture of Julia's legs over my lap no longer feels like a comfortable and unassuming position between two friends. 

My eyes drag along her bare legs, up to where her shorts end. Those shorts. They're loose fitting and the leg holes are so large I could easily slide my hand between them.

It takes me a moment to notice that I've started stroking her calf, slowly, my palm warming her skin. She doesn't stop me, her eyes are on the screen, but her chest is rising and falling at slower intervals than it was before.

The actors onscreen start kissing, their heavy breathing and the woman's low moan make the room unbearably warm, heat stinging at my skin. I'm no longer thinking straight. Whatever slivers of self-control I've held on to evaporate around me. And I can no longer pretend I care about what's happening on the screen. I look down at her legs on my lap, her knees bent slightly. But I think she can feel the beginnings of a hard-on growing in my pants.

I bring my hand up to her knee and let my fingers curl over it, then slide my hand a little between, parting her legs just a bit. She doesn't move, doesn't even look at me. 

My hand inches up the inside of her leg, stroking her in soft circles. I'm almost to her inner thigh when she finally looks at me. Her gaze far off and cloudy, lips parted long before words come out. 

"What are you doing?" Her question is a whisper. An unassuming whisper frayed with hopefulness.

Eagerness.

"I'm touching you," I say, my voice just as slow. "Is that okay?"

The longest three seconds of my life pass between us before she gives me a slow nod and turns her attention to the television again. 

This is strange. Everything about this is stealthy and dangerous, like we are treading right on the edge of a grenade and pretending it's not a big deal at all. 

Pretending this can't destroy everything. 

My fingers are determined as they trace small circles at the innermost nook of her inner thigh, right before her shorts begin. I urge her legs farther apart, and she lets one of her feet drop to the floor, while the other leg remains on me, held in place by my left hand. 

Meanwhile, my right hand works to trace the curve of the shorts, listening for the changes in her breathing, the slow hitch as my fingers break past the material and find her underwear.

Using a single finger, I trace the edges of the triangle patch of cotton. She takes a sudden breath and her hips shift a fraction, into my touch. I continue my exploration, gently nudging aside her underwear until my fingers are greeted by slippery skin and searing warmth.

Fuck. She's wet. I'm not sure what else I expected, but the evidence of how I'm turning her on brings me to a full-blown erection.

"Do you like this?" I ask, keeping my fingers right outside of her entrance, tracing her wet skin. 

She doesn't answer me. Doesn't even look at me. Her face is still turned to the television, but her head is on the headrest now, eyes closed. 

"Answer me, Julia."

A beat passes.

"Yes," she whispers.

"Do you want me to stop?"

Another beat.

"No."

"Then look at me."

She faces me but her eyes remain closed, head tilted back. I push a finger inside of her and her mouth opens on a small gasp. Her back arches slightly off the couch, inviting me all the way in. I lean forward, finger still inside of her, and bring my lips right up to hers. I'm surprised by the way her eyes fly open, eclipsed by a lust so deep it turns me to stone. But she shifts her face before I can kiss her. 

I kneel over her, my free hand tightening over the arm of the couch to anchor myself. My knee buries into the couch cushion, somewhere down by the outside of her leg. I want her closer. Her body is too far from mine. Even while my face is in her neck, breathing her in, and my finger pulses in and out of her.

She squeezes around me. If I didn't know any better, I'd think there's never been anything thicker than my finger inside of her.

"Let me kiss you," I say. Beg, really.

She shakes her head and her lids pull shut even tighter.

I start rubbing her with the palm of my hand. Rough, mean strokes. And moans leave her in a low and hesitant way, her eyebrows turning upward.

Her breathing picks up, her hips angle toward me. And I'm so fucking hard I'm about to bust a hole through my jeans. Without thinking, I pull my hand away from her and slam the bulge in my pants between her legs. She cries out. Her legs wrap around my waist as I start grinding against her.

How the fuck does this feel so good? All I'm doing is rubbing my hard-on against her through my clothes. But the movements scratch an itch I can't describe. And the way her body reacts to feeling me makes it so I could come in my pants any second, just listening to her moaning. 

Her hands grip my shirt, pulling my body down as her hips jut up, grinding desperately. Her eyes are glued to mine and I watch her pleasure. I see it in the flutter of her lashes, the rounding of her mouth, her long moan.

We're nose to nose and her warm breath is on my lips. Somehow, I know she'll turn her face away again if I try to kiss her. So I keep my lips right over hers, feeling the prickle of the slight touch.

I bring my finger to her mouth, the same finger that was inside of her, and trace the curves of her lower lip, tugging it down a little until her mouth opens.

She closes her eyes and just as my finger starts to make its way into her mouth, the sound of a lock clicking makes us both jerk apart. 

I sit back and she rushes to sit up. The front door opens and just before Ava comes into view, I pull one of the throw pillows onto my lap. Julia, somehow sensing what I'm trying to hide, or maybe trying to accentuate casualness, throws her legs over the pillow--which makes me bite back a groan as pain shoots through my crotch. She starts laughing, a loud and genuine laugh, which somehow serves as the perfect sound to break the awkward silence. 

Ava turns the corner of the entryway to see us sitting on the couch, me against the backrest, and Julia leaning on the armrest with her legs thrown over me. I think we look like a perfectly platonic pair of friends. Maybe. 

Still, Ava freezes when she sees us. "What are you guys up to?"

That's when I realize there are moaning sounds coming from the television. Julia and I may have been interrupted, but the actors on the screen are very much eager to carry on.

Julia answers before I can, "Watching a movie. George Clooney is getting some action. Want to join?"

Ava looks at the screen for a while then shakes her head. "I've got an early day tomorrow."

She goes to the kitchen and fixes herself something to eat. Julia and I don't look at each other. I'm sure she's bright red right now and I'm going to burst into laughter if I do look at her.

"You guys are still in for the baseball game next week, right?" Ava asks as she settles down at the table.

"You know I'll be there," I say, turning to Julia for her response. She's not looking at me, but tenses at my attention. 

Clearing her throat, she says, "Uh...Yeah, me too. Sounds fun."

It takes Ava twenty-five minutes to eat and head off to her room. By then, my blood has flushed the lust from my veins.

"Julia--"

"Shh," she says, nodding at the screen.

She doesn't look at me, though the skin over her collarbone is still pink and every inch of her seems aware of our physical closeness. There's an echo in the silence between us, a reminder of the delicious noises she made when my hard dick rubbed against her through our clothes. 

Who knows how far we would've gone if we hadn't been interrupted. Julia can sit there and avoid my eyes if that's what she needs to gather herself, but it's obvious we both gave in to a deep urge we've been battling for a long time now. The urge to be on each other, to feel each other. We both gave in at exactly the same time, silently admitting that maybe we can't overlook our attraction after all.