Bastian

I never wanted Julia to find out about my illness like this. When I heard someone ringing the doorbell, I thought maybe it was just some salesperson. Then came the second ring, and I hauled ass out of bed to make sure it wasn’t some emergency. Opening the door, I could barely put two and two together, seeing Julia there. She seemed so out of place, like there was no way she could be standing in front of me, at my house, seeing me looking so pathetic.

She’s trying to be helpful now. I appreciate it—I do. She’s a good person, and I know she won’t just leave me to rot. I watch as she moves about my bedroom, tidying up, and she smiles at me over her shoulder.

This wasn’t supposed to be how it goes. Julia’s not supposed to become my nurse and see me at my lowest point. I have the urge to tell her to get the hell out; instead, I bite my tongue until I can taste copper in my mouth.

Julia eventually sits next to me, chatting away, and I can’t take it anymore. I can’t have her here. If it destroys the budding relationship between us? So be it.

I’d rather be alone than have her become my caretaker.

“I’m sorry, Julia,” I tell her quietly, “but I think you should leave.”

Her hurt look pierces through my heart, but I stand firm. Desperate, I add, “Please.”

She gets up to leave, and I sigh. I can’t help it. I want her to leave, I don’t want her to leave, and I’m so tired I just want to sleep for an eternity.

But Julia Rominger has never been one for following the rules. She turns, her expression set. “I’m not going anywhere, Sebastian Rich.”

She sits back down onto my bed, as if daring me to tell her to go again. To my shock, relief fills me. I don’t want to be alone, I think. Stay with me, Julia.

I don’t say anything. But I think my eyes give away everything I’m thinking, because Julia’s initial hurt look fades into one brimming with sympathy.

We don’t talk for a while, just enjoying each other’s presence. I close my eyes and doze briefly. When I awaken, it’s the afternoon, and Julia is there beside me, reading a book. Seeing me wake up, she sets the book aside and feels my forehead.

“Your fever has definitely gone down. How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Better,” I croak. “I think I’m even hungry.”

She brightens. After making sure I’m comfortable, she fetches her purse, preparing to go to Cooper’s for some groceries. Although I protest, she won’t hear no for an answer. “At least use my credit card to pay,” I say. “My wallet’s on my dresser.”

She smiles. “I’m very familiar with your wallet, Mr. Rich.” She puts it into her purse. “I’ll be back in a bit, okay?”

I haven’t had anyone take care of me like this since my parents, to be honest. Oh, some girlfriends have tried here and there, and they meant well. But inevitably I would get irritated with their fussing and tell them to go away. They’d be hurt, and then they’d stop taking my texts and calls until we broke up. Thus why I resisted Julia becoming like my other girlfriends-turned-nurses: I didn’t want to ruin what we had just started.

I’m still afraid that’ll happen. But I’m trying to react differently this time, and for some reason, having Julia be that person doesn’t frustrate me the way those other women did. I think it’s because I’m just more comfortable being around her.

After she gets back, she prepares some food, and we have lunch in bed together. Although she’s taking care of me, she doesn’t treat me like a child. She’s efficient and thoughtful, but not overbearing. If I weren’t so weak, I’d kiss her and show her how much I still want her.

When lunch is over, Julia seems like she’s trying to say something but is unsure how. So I wait and let her gather her thoughts. I wonder if she’s going to ask more questions about my lupus, and I cringe inside. I don’t really want to talk about it, not even with her.

She surprises me, though. She gazes at me with a frank, open expression and says, “I want to tell you why I dropped out of college.”

It’s not remotely what I was expecting, but I sit up all the same, intent on listening. I never thought she’d tell me the reason. Her trust in me fills me with a feeling I can barely understand right now.

“I didn’t drop out because I was bored with school or ran out of money or any of the usual reasons. It’s much, much more embarrassing than that.” She laughs a little, but it’s a sad laugh. “I’m afraid you’ll think badly of me when I tell you, though.”

I catch her hand, enfolding it in my own. “I could never think badly of you,” I say.

“Thank you. But you haven’t heard the reason yet.” She sighs and then takes a deep breath. “I was attending college on a music scholarship, focusing on guitar and singing. I loved it. I never wanted to graduate. I had friends, and my professors liked me, and my grades were good. Great, even. I was at the top of my class. But then I met the professor that didn’t like me. The professor that everyone revered. Put on a pedestal. He came on to me. I refused him. He basically told me I sucked. That I’d never be more than a hack. Only I didn’t listen to him.”

I stroke her hand. “Good. I’m glad you didn’t.”

She shakes her head and smiles sadly. “One night, I went to a party at a frat house. No big deal, right? This frat was notorious for its parties, and I’d never had the balls to go to one. But this time I wanted to do it.”

My mind whirls with scenarios, hoping against hope they don’t come true. Was she assaulted? Raped? The thought makes me sick inside.

“I didn’t get it at first, why everyone was being so cold to me. So mean. But I figured it out soon enough. Someone had spread a rumor that I’d come on to Professor Macintosh. That I wanted to have sex with him in exchange for a passing grade. Because I was just an untalented hack otherwise. For the next several weeks, I became somewhat of a target. If you can picture the jock that knocked books out of the nerd’s hands in high school? Well, it wasn’t too terribly different from that, only it was more mental than physical bullying, and we were in college, for God’s sake. My grades started to suffer. I fell into a depression so bad I started skipping classes. Started missing work until my boss let me go. I no longer had a way to pay for my living expenses, which weren’t covered by my scholarship, and if my grades continued to fall, I wouldn’t even have the scholarship to rely on for much longer. I can’t believe it now…what I did…but I just gave up. Packed up all my things. Quit school. I was depressed for a long time and when I finally started to come out of it…” She shrugs. “I regretted quitting school, but what could I do? I was too proud to go back. Too proud, can you believe it? I gave up my dream for something so stupid and I…”

She’s shaking, her face twisted with disgust. Not disgust for her asshole professor or the college kids who’d treated her poorly, but disgust at herself.

I grip her hand tighter. “You were young, Julia. Filled with self-doubt. You were upset—”

She returns her gaze to me, sadness and shame in her face. “I cared too much about what other people thought. Isn’t that laughable? Because as grateful as I am to Mr. Cooper for giving me a job, I’ve spent the last five years working in a grocery store, going nowhere, doing nothing, being no one.”

“Stop it,” I snap. “You are someone. You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met and I don’t want to hear you talk like that about yourself. When you’re ready, you’ll go back.”

She shakes her head. “That time in my life has passed. It would be silly to go back now.”

“It would be silly if you didn’t go back—” I begin, but she ignores me.

“I just wanted to tell you about what happened—what I did—because you shouldn’t be embarrassed by being sick. If anyone should be embarrassed, it’s me.”

I’m touched. My chest contracts, and I know that I’m very close to falling in love with this woman. “You’re a better person than anyone I’ve ever known,” I tell her.

For the next hour, I hold her and very little is spoken between us. It’s as if we’ve both bared our souls and have nothing left to give but the comfort of our bodies touching.

“I should go and let you get some rest,” she finally says and pulls away.

I want to ask her to stay and sleep with me, just sleep, but she looks tired, and I don’t want to crowd her. So I simply push back her hair, kiss her forehead tenderly, and say, “Thank you. For being here with me. For sharing what you did.”

She blushes a little and gives me a hug. Then a kiss. Then another. We’re both breathless by the time she breaks away and actually makes it out the door.

When I hear her car pull away from my driveway, I lean back into the pillows and sigh.

How could I ever have thought I’d be able to resist a woman like Julia Rominger?

I’m back at work the following Monday. Although I’m still tired and I have to take things easy, I’m able to meet with clients and talk with Lucian about what I missed while I was ill. I also make sure to keep texting with Julia, who has been adorably relentless in checking up on me.

I know now that avoiding her will never, ever work, and it’s an amazing feeling.

Monday turns to Tuesday and Tuesday to Wednesday, and although Julia and I talk often and meet for lunch and two dinners, I can feel the slight distance she’s put between us. At first I wonder if seeing me sick has made her think differently about me. But then I remember how hard it was for her to tell me how she’d quit school, and I realize she’s still embarrassed. And maybe afraid that I’ll have lost respect for her, after all.

Foolish girl. I have the utmost respect for her. And I’m determined to help her regain the confidence to pursue her dreams. I’m equally determined to get our relationship back on track. We’ve kissed and made out plenty over the past week, but whenever things should have progressed to the bedroom, she’s pulled away and made an excuse about being tired or needing to be somewhere. I wonder if she thinks she’s doing the right thing, letting me get back my strength before demanding too much of me, and the thought pleases me even as it annoys me. I don’t want to be coddled or treated like an invalid. What I do want is to taste her. Touch her. It’s been too damn long, and—

When my cellphone rings and I see the caller is Julia, my annoyance is instantly replaced with joy. There’s no denying it—I’m gone for Julia Rominger, and I don’t care if the whole fucking world knows at this point.

“I was just thinking about you,” I say when I pick up.

“Really?” she asks, her tone pleased. “How do you feel about seeing me? I got off work early today and I was thinking I could make you dinner.”

“Where are you now?”

“At home,” she says, and I immediately picture her out of her work clothes, fresh out of the shower. The mental image has me instantly hard and yearning for her. I stand and lock my office door before sitting down again.

“What are you wearing?”

Silence. Then the barely-there puffs of her quickened breathing. “Um…I…I just got out of my uniform and was about to take a shower.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Julia,” I say, deliberately adding an edge of command to my voice. In the past, Julia’s enjoyed it when I took charge, when I threw her off guard, and that’s exactly what I plan to do now.

I want her so consumed by passion that she can’t possibly worry about my health, or her past, or any other damn thing besides when and how I’m going to get her off.

“I’m in a robe,” she finally says. She takes another deep breath, like she’s gathering her courage. Then, in a throaty voice that sends a burst of electricity through my body, she says, “And I’m naked underneath it.”

I close my eyes with a sigh. Then my hand rises to the top of my white button-down and my fingers begin popping buttons. “I wish I was there with you.” I finish popping the buttons of my shirt and toss it to the floor. I caress my bare chest with one hand. “Tell me what you see when you look at yourself. Are your nipples hard? Are you flushed and hot?”

She makes a sound. “My nipples have been hard since you started talking to me.”

I groan. “Fuck, Julia. Keep talking to me.”

“My breasts feel heavy, like I need you to touch them. Cup them and play with them. I wish your fingers were here, stroking my nipples until they’re aching. All day, my nipples have been swollen because I keep imagining you touching me.” She’s panting now. “I can’t get anything done because I want you so much.”

“And I feel the same way. My cock gets hard whenever I think of you. I have to stop myself from getting one off every time I so much as think your name.”

We’re both breathing heavily now. I imagine her scent, her warmth, her smile. My cock is swollen against my pants. I unbuckle my belt and unzip my trousers; my cock strains against my boxers.

“I want to touch you. But since I can’t, I want you to do it for me,” I tell her.

“Right now?”

“Right now, Julia.” My hand roams past my belly button to flirt with the lining of my trousers. “Are you touching yourself?”

“Um…”

“Are you? Or were you just looking at your beautiful body in the mirror? Tell me. I don’t like fakers.”

She lets out a laugh. “Fine. I have been touching myself. My nipples and my pussy.”

“Imagine me there, my body hovering above yours.”

“Okay. I am.”

“Now imagine my cock brushing your clit, so close to thrusting inside of you.”

She gasps. “Wow. This is getting very graphic.” She sounds excited, though, and it only makes me more excited as well.

But I have to make sure: “Does that bother you? Because we don’t have to do this.” Please tell me you want to do it. Please. I need this right now. I need you.

“No, no. I want to.” She breathes heavily. “What are you going to do next?”

“I’m about to enter you.” I push my boxers down slightly, just enough so that I can take hold of my hard cock. My fingers wrap around the base, and I stumble on my own breath. “I’m above you, shaking with anticipation. I want to feel myself inside of you, but I’m waiting for permission.”

Julia’s silent as I begin to stroke my dick with a slow rhythm. Although I’m tempted to squeeze and stroke myself into oblivion, I force myself to keep things leisurely. I want this to last.

“Julia?” I question. “Are you still there?”

“Yes.” She swallows audibly. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to tell me to fuck you.”

“Yes, please.” Her voice is breathy.

I thumb the slit at the tip of my cock, leaking pre-cum. “But since I’m not there, I want you to close your eyes. Press one of your fingers against yourself. Imagine me there as you push a finger inside of your tight cunt, imagining that it’s my breath hot against your neck as I sink into you, all the way until I’m filling you to the hilt.”

She moans through the phone, and it turns me on beyond belief. My cock hardens even more. My fist pumps up and down my manhood, and my dick is threatening to erupt at any moment. Just thinking about her fingering herself, her pussy wet and pink, her entire body flushed, sends my mind into a tailspin.

“How does it feel, Julia? How does it feel to have me deep inside you? How do you want to be fucked?”

“How do you want to fuck me?” she counters.

“I want to fuck you hard.” I choke on my breath as I fight an impending eruption. “I want to turn you over. I want you to crawl on all four as I fuck your tight pussy from behind with my fingers curled in your hair.”

“Yes!”

“I’m deep,” I groan. “Too deep. I want to come inside your hot pussy.”

“Make me come. Oh my God, Bastian, I’m so close.”

“I want you to come around my cock.” I increase the speed and intensity of my strokes so that I start with the base and slip over the head with each pump. In my imagination, I can feel every ridge of her pussy. I can feel her warmth and her depth, and as her breathing escalates, I can feel her tightening around my cock.

All of a sudden her voice is muffled, but I can still hear her cry out in ecstasy as she climaxes. I can see her leaning backward as she fucks herself, her breasts rising and falling with each breath. Does her pussy get even wetter as she comes? Just the very thought of that sends me over the edge as I stroke myself to completion, shooting my seed all over my heaving abs.

I throw my head back and fight to catch my breath as I come down from one impossible high. From my phone, I hear rustling and then her heavy breathing on the other end.

“I’m sorry,” I say after a few moments. “I can’t make dinner tonight, Julia. I have a meeting. But you can bet, the next time I see you, I’m going to feast, not on food, but on your body.”

“Sounds perfect to me,” she says softly.