Page 94 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

Will

I wake up, blinking slowly, squinting against bright morning light filling Juliet’s room. It takes my eyes a moment to focus, but then I see her, sitting on the bed beside me, her hair wild and frizzy, haloed around her head. My shirt from last night drapes over her body, slipping off her shoulder.

She smiles. “Hey, you.”

I peer up at her and smile. “Hi, beautiful.”

My limbs are heavy, still groggy from sleep, but I need to touch her. My hand slides across the sheets, cool, crinkled cotton, up to the satin smoothness of her thigh. I wrap my hand around it, my thumb sweeping over her skin. “How’d you sleep?” I ask.

“I fell asleep mid-kissing you,” she says, eyebrows raised, “and didn’t move until I woke up ten minutes ago. So I’d say I slept pretty darn well, though I didnotmean to fall asleep when I did. Apparently, all it takes is two orgasms from you, and I go comatose.”

I grin, remembering how beautiful she was when she came, head thrown back, lush mouth parted, dark hair spilled across the pillow, crying out my name. A happy sigh leaves me. “Glad to hear it.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “How’dyousleep?”

“Like a rock.”

Her smile fades a little, as her eyes search mine, and I know,dread settling in my chest, what’s coming. “Just before I fell asleep, I tried to touch you. You did the same thing that you’d done, right when we came into the apartment last night. You took my hand and held it instead. You…stopped me. All you did was give last night, Will. And I never got to give back.”

I swallow roughly, anxiety humming through me. “What can I say? Giving is my love language.”

Love.The word lands like a bomb in the room.

“It’s gifts,” she says quietly.

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Gifts,” she says, “are the love language.”

Juliet links her fingers with mine and draws my hand onto her lap, staring down at it, tracing the veins across its back, up my wrist, to my arm. “I think maybe you’re thinking of another love language—acts of service.”

Slowly, I sit up and lean against the headboard. I battle nerves, unsure where this is going. “You saying I served you well last night, Juliet?”

She gives me a pointed look. “You know you did.” With her other hand, she starts to massage my hand, the hand that touched her last night, that learned her and pleased her and made her come undone. A groan leaks out of me as she rubs beneath the base of my thumb.

“And now,” she says softly, her eyes holding mine. “I want to serveyou. But, Will, you have to let me.”

“I know,” I tell her, a rough swallow working down my throat. “I just…panicked. You were worn out, and I was…really keyed up. I didn’t want to ask you for more than you felt you had to give or hurt you when you were already hurting.”

She nods. “That makes sense.” A faint smile lifts her mouth. “But you wouldn’t have hurt me. And I would have told you if I couldn’t handle something you wanted. Do you think, next time,you can trust me that way, and ask for what you want, even if you’re not sure what I’ll say?”

Our eyes hold. Our fingers dance against each other. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I do.” A beat of silence hangs between us as we stare at each other. “Come here?” I nod my way.

Juliet crawls toward me, settling in, tucked against my side. I wrap an arm around her and curl her even closer, her head on my chest, then grab her thigh and drag it over mine. Her head heavy on my chest, her chest pressed into mine, her thighs weighing down on my own, send soothing calm washing through me.

Squeezing her hip, pressing a kiss to her forehead, I try to tell her, as words escape me, that I want to say more, that I want to explain. It’s just…hard.

“I…” My words catch when I try to begin. “I…historically have not…enjoyed receiving what I gave you last night. Well, no, that’s not exactly true. Idoenjoy it, but it’s often been hard to enjoy when it comes with touch that I don’t like, when I’ve worried that asking for what I want will make my partner feel…inconvenienced.” I peer down at her, trying to lighten up what I’ve just confessed. “Plus, getting you off just really does it for me.”

“What if,” she whispers, her hand cupping my face, her thumb tracing my lips, “I told you that gettingyouoff really does it forme?”

Air rushes from my lungs as her thigh nudges higher up my leg.

“What if”—she presses a kiss to my neck, my jaw—“I told you that the thought of you telling me everything you like, of me doing that and giving you everything you need to make you come, makes me so obscenely wet.”

My hand slides from its place curled around her shoulder, down her hips. I squeeze her ass. “Jules,” I breathe.

“What if,” she mutters against my collarbone, nipping tenderly with her teeth; her hand drifts down my arm and finds my hand,too. “I said that I’d love it if you showed me, if you taught me everything you like, so I can make you feel as good as you deserve to?”

---