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Julian’s arms tighten around me, crushing me to him. “Did they hurt you?” He pulls back, eyes roaming over my face and body, looking for damage. “If someone laid a hand on you, I will—”
I shake my head. “No, no. I’m not hurt. It was…” I don’t know how to say this without Julian losing it. “It doesn’t matter. It was fine.” I try to step away, but he doesn’t let go.
“Rocky, it’s not fucking fine. If it was fine, you wouldn’t have called me. Who. Touched. You?”
Shit. He’s staring, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to puzzle it out of me. His hair is loose, curling and dripping wet. A thick strand is stuck to his cheek, tangled in his beard. I want to pull it free, bury my fingers in his hair and forget everything that just happened.
“Frankie.” He runs his hand over my cheek, then pinches my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye. The anger is gone from his face, his eyes soft and vulnerable. Begging me to tell him what happened. “Who?”
“Derek.”
“What?” He whirls away, hands dug into his scalp, before turning back to me just as abruptly. “Did that motherfucking asswipe, piece of shit lay a finger on you?” He grabs my hands, crouching down in front of me. “Frankie, tell me the truth. Did that son of a shitbag touch you? I swear to God, I will end his fucking excuse for an existence if he hurt you.”
I wince. “He just scared me. I didn’t see him when I came out, and then he grabbed my shoulders, and when I screamed, he covered my mouth with his hand.”
Julian stands up, pulling away, but I tighten my grip and pull him back. “No, don’t. That’s it. He didn’t—” I swallow. “He didn’t touch me other than that. He was trying to stop me from screaming.”
“You didn’t sound okay when you called, Rocky. What else happened?”
Pulling him back so I can hide my face in his chest, I don’t look at him as I finish telling him, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. “He told me to be careful. That I shouldn’t be out late at night.”
A large, warm hand strokes the top of my head. “I don’t think that’s everything, is it? What aren’t you telling me, Rocky?”
“He said I shouldn’t be with you.” I mutter the words into his chest, praying he doesn’t hear. But from the way his spine stiffens beneath my hands and his chest stops, I know he did. “I know this is supposed to be fake…but you know I think he’s full of shit. Right?”
Julian doesn’t answer. I risk a glance, and even through his beard, I can see his jaw tightening.
“Julian? Fake relationship or not, you are worthy of dating anyone you want. He’s the asshole who isn’t worth my time.” I reach up to cup his jaw with my hand, wanting him to look at me. “You’re a good man, Julian.” I want him to know that I don’t see him the way Derek does. The way anyone else does. I don’t see danger when I look at him—I see comfort. “I’m alright now. Being here with you? Makes me feel safe.”
I give in to temptation and brush back the hair stuck to his cheek, tucking it behind his ear. He closes his eyes and leans into my hand as I trail my fingers across his jaw. For all that it scratched and reddened my skin, his beard is soft under my fingertips.
A shiver runs down my spine, whether from the memory of his lips devouring me last weekend, or because I’m still soaking wet, I don’t know. Julian snaps his eyes open at the movement. “Shit, you must be freezing. Let me get you some dry clothes.”
He pulls away, but I keep one hand holding tight to his wet T-shirt, pulling him back. “Thank you.” My words are small and quiet, but I mean every bit of them.
And just like before, being alone with Julian makes me brave. Makes me want things. It’s possible I’m still high on adrenaline from earlier, but the need for this man, need that I’ve been ignoring for weeks, rushes to the surface, setting my skin on fire.
Unsure of what to do, I meet his gaze, still holding his shirt. My free hand rests on his hip, my fingers brushing the exposed skin above the waistband of his sweatpants. The confusion in Julian’s eyes clears, turning heated when I don’t stop touching him.
“Frankie?” When I don’t answer, he traces a single finger along the edge of my ear and down my jaw. “What do you want me to do?”
This one is easy. “Take off your shirt.”
He peels out of it, dropping it with a wet splat to the floor beside me. “What would you like me to do next?” He reaches out to tuck a strand of damp hair behind my ear, caressing my cheek with the motion.
“I want…” I hesitate, unsure of what I want next. The desire to touch his chest, to study and trace the art inked into it wars with a desire to be touched by him.
“Can I offer a suggestion?” There’s a smile in his words. When I nod, he leans forward to gently kiss my lips. “May I undress you?”
“You may.” Another shiver runs down my spine as his fingers work their way under the hem of my sweater before pulling it up and off me, leaving me in just the camisole I wore in place of a bra. The sweater lands on top of his shirt, bright blue in the dim apartment.
Without waiting for him, I unbutton my jeans, but he takes my hands, pulling them away before I can unzip them.
“That’s my job.” His growl is loud in the silence. He brings my hands up to rest on his chest before dragging the zipper down, agonizingly slow. His pecs tense under my fingers as he slips his thumbs into the waistband of my jeans. He hasn’t taken his eyes off my body, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. I can’t look away from his face, stunned at the expression on it.
No one has ever looked at me this way before—like I’m worth handling with care.
Julian drops to his knees, tugging my jeans down with him. One warm hand steadies me with a grip on my hip as the other slides down the back of my thigh before freeing my foot. Then the other. My damp jeans join the pile of clothing on the floor.
