Page 114 of Fever Dream
“You should have stuck around,” he says, drawing my attention back to him. “Because if you had, you’d have seen me tell Richard where to stick it. There was no kiss. Jules, are you kidding me? I’m consumed by you. I can’t even think about anyone else. There was only a blowup on set and me fucking it all up.”
He approaches and stops before me. I stand my ground, blocking the entryway to my condo, still not sure it’s in our best interest for me to let him in. Emotions are running too high. We’re standing far too close to a dangerous precipice.
But when he lifts his tortured baby blues to my face, all my resolve crumbles.
“I don’t know what to do with all these feelings, Jules. You’ve brought a brightness to parts of me that have been forgotten in the dark for years.”
My eyes fill, and I reach for his elbow, giving him a tender squeeze. “Oh, Em.”
“I can’t shake you, Jules. No matter how hard I try. I wake up every morning and promise myself I’m going to stay away. I know I’m no good for you. But this feeling? It’s fucking inescapable.”
He claws at his own chest. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop looking for you. I can’t stop wanting you. Images ofyou fill my brain every second of every day. You’re everywhere. Like a song stuck in my head, even though I don’t want you there. I feel like I’m living in a fever dream that I can’t fucking escape.”
He’s breathing hard now, chest heaving. Eyes glistening.
And everything he’s said makes perfect sense.
“I know how you feel,” I say simply, getting lost in the tumult of his eyes.
He steps closer, pushing me back into my unit and kicking the door shut behind himself.
The apartment is quiet except for the steady rhythm of our breathing. His eyes hold mine—soft, searching, like he’s trying to memorize every line, every flicker of emotion behind my gaze.
“I need you, Julia.”
I nod over the lump in my throat. All I want to do is take care of him. Make him feel better. Show him that I need him too. Get him out of these soaked clothes and make him feel warm and sure again.
I reach for him, surrendering to instinct. His breath fans across my chest as I pinch the hem of his sopping shirt. Tentatively, I peel it back, lifting the cold, wet cotton while letting one hand slide over the hot, taut skin beneath.
He sighs beneath my hand, his muscles softening in relief. His head drops in my direction as I lift the fabric higher, tugging it free and over his muscled arms.
I take in every beautiful inch of him, licking my lips to keep my mouth from going dry at the sight.
He kicks his shoes off, which only serves to urge me forward. My fingers find his belt, the buckle jangling as I undo it and let it fall to the side. Then it’s buttons. A waistband. A tug.
I fall to my knees before him, peering up at his face. Strong brows, square jaw, baby blues full of longing.
My next tug is more desperate as I work against the wet denim. His control frays, and he pulls me back to standing, eyes burning with need.
“Lose the shirt,” he demands softly. And who am I to refuse him?
He steps out of his jeans as I reach down to grip the hem of my oversize sleeping shirt. In one smooth motion, I lift it and let it fall to the floor beside me.
Then I stand before the most beautiful man I’ve ever known, wearing only a pair of purple booty shorts and the truth of how badly I need him written all over my body. Goose bumps spray over my arms, my nipples stand pert and sensitive, and an inescapable ache curls low in my pelvis.
His gaze devours me, greedily roaming every inch of my body. My heart pounds, not from fear, but from something raw and honest I’ve never let myself feel before.
Finally, our eyes meet. And we’re back to staring. Like we always are.
He leans in slowly, and when our lips meet, it’s a promise. It’s a question and an answer all at once.
I pull him closer, craving the warmth and safety his touch brings. As he slides his hands down my back, every nerve ending sizzles and ignites, a sensation I can honestly say I’ve only ever felt with Emmett. Like every part of my body melts just for him.
He towers over me. Grips me. Consumes me. He drives me backward through the space, a man with purpose, and we both know where this is heading.
I kiss him as I move, letting him guide me toward my bedroom with his body.
We clear the doorway, and the backs of my legs hit the mattress. The jolt of awareness has us both drawing back, taking stock of our surroundings. My queen-size mattress on a suedeplatform frame, simple bedside tables. One glowing floor lamp in the corner, shedding a dim, yellow light through the space.
