Julian & Lia
Page 6
"Julian," I whisper. His face is so close to mine, and I reach up and place my hand on his cheek, feel his bristled jaw harden under my touch. I run my hand up into his hair. I want to pull his head down, want him to kiss me.
Instead, he grabs my hand and pulls me into the living room. "I'm walking Lia back to her dorm," he says loudly.
"OK," says Vanessa, a confused look on her face. "You all right, Lia?"
"I'm fine," I reply. "Just tired,"
"OK, hon. See you soon?"
I nod and follow Julian out the front door.
He's walking so quickly I can barely keep up. "Julian," I gasp, slightly out of breath. "You're being a jerk, you know that?"
"It's easier to keep my hands off of you that way.”
I don't know how to respond to that, so I say nothing until we get to my dorm. Outside, I shiver and turn to him. "Well, I guess I'll see you in class." I'm trying to be just as cool about things as he is, but I think he can see some of the anguish I'm feeling.
"No, Lia," he says, staring hard at me. "I'm coming in with you."
"Why?"
"We need to talk."
***
I know Greer's probably out, but I literally breathe a sigh of relief when we enter the room and she's gone. I flick on my desk lamp, then sit on the bed. Julian stands awkwardly by my desk, then pulls out the desk chair and sits on it backwards, facing me.
For a few minutes we just stare at each other. Finally, I can't stand it anymore.
"Look," I say. "I don't understand you. You keep sending me really mixed signals, and I don't know what to make of them. Of you."
He makes a low growling sound, the same sound he made in class when I passed him that note, and I flush remembering what I wrote to him.
"I've told you how I feel," he says. "You're really fucking young. And innocent.”
“So?”
“So there is nothing about me that’s innocent. I’m not the kind of guy you want to get involved with.”
“How come you’re always so sure about what’s best for me?”
He runs his hands over his face. “Lia, I’m kind of an asshole when it comes to women, OK? And I don't want to be responsible for your . . . corruption."
"You could carefully corrupt me." I'm trying to make a joke by referencing the conversation we had with Vanessa about drinking. But my voice comes out too whispery.
"Fuck. You can't talk to me like that."
"I can talk to you however I want to."
"Don't keep asking me to do something we'll both regret."
"Why are you so sure we'll regret it?"
I can hear him swallow, can hear his breaths coming harder than before. "Lia, this cannot happen."
"Just because I'm a virgin?"
"Yes. Look. There are lines I won't cross, and this is one of them. You're a nice girl. You don't want to get involved with someone like me."
Nice girl. Great. That's exactly what I wanted to hear from the first guy I really want.
"Don't you want to?" My driving need to hear his answer makes my voice come out low and sultry, and a muscle twitches in his lower jaw.
"Lia," he says, his voice strained. "You have no idea how many times I've fantasized about ripping your clothes off and fucking you so hard you can barely breathe. The other day in class? That note? Do I want to? You have no goddamn idea how badly I want to."
"I meant it," I say quietly. "The note? I meant it about you teaching me things." My heart's pounding; I can't believe we're talking about this, but I have to know if this is a possibility.
"Goddamn, Lia," he mutters.
"Like, we could take it slow. That way you wouldn't have to worry about hurting me."
He groans, then before I know it, he's off the chair and on top of me, pushing me back onto the bed so I'm lying down with him kneeling over me.
"Lesson One," he whispers, his voice hoarse as he stares into my eyes. My body stiffens, an ache beginning between my legs. I clench my muscles against the desire I feel, but it just makes me want him even more. "Just so you know," he says, his voice playful now, "you're not going to be satisfied. I'm going to leave this room with you wanting so much more than you're going to get. Your homework? After I leave, I want you to make yourself come while you're thinking about me."
I don't say anything, but my body's wriggling slightly, involuntarily, as his words make me wet.
"Do you understand?" he asks harshly.
I nod.
"Say it," he demands.
"Yes. I understand."
"Good. If I’m giving you lessons, you have to do exactly what I tell you. Exactly, Lia.”
“I will,” I sigh, an exquisite mix of arousal and disbelief coursing through my body.
“Now I'm going to kiss you now, but no tongue. If you use your tongue, I'll stop and leave right away."
"OK," I murmur, and he lowers his face, his lips slowly touching mine. He takes my upper lip between his lips, nibbling it then releasing it, then does the same with my bottom lip. He repeats that, and I feel my body grinding up against his.
"Stop," he says. "Hold still."
"I can't."
"Do it or I'll leave." He kisses my lips some more, then my neck, and it's so hard to keep my body quiet under his. When he returns to my mouth, he licks my lips with his tongue. Tentatively, I open my mouth so his tongue moves inside, and we begin kissing for real, lips and tongues, breathing hard. So the rules can be broken. I file that away for later.
"I told you not to move," he whispers into my neck, and I realize that my body is straining up against his. I can feel his erection—it’s so huge!—against my stomach and I want to keep rubbing up against it.
Slowly, I run my hand down his body. I want to touch him through his jeans, to see what it feels like, to see what his reaction will be, but he grabs my hand just before I'm at my target.
"Did I say you could touch me?"
"Why do you get to make the rules?"
"I'm in charge. We agreed to do things my way."
"OK," I sigh.
"Good," he murmurs, and he kisses me again, fiercely, his hands moving into my hair. A moan escapes from my lips, and he kisses me even harder, like just hearing the noises I make gets him even more excited. His hand touches my neck, then moves lower, over my chest, and I inhale sharply when he stops and touches my nipple through my clothes.
He moves his hand up again, tracing the v of the low-necked sweater. I tremble under his touch.
"This shirt," he whispers, "is far too revealing." With that, he slips a hand into the v of my sweater and inside my bra, his fingers so cool against my hot skin, immediately finding my nipple, which he teases until it's hard, then moves to the other one.
I moan again, and I try desperately to hold still, but it's so difficult.
"How does that feel?" he mutters into my neck.
"Good. So good, Julian."
"Should we keep going?"
"Yes," I murmur.
He pulls away immediately and stands up next to the bed. "No."
"No?"
"That was Lesson One."
"What?" I sit up, startled.
“Don't forget your homework," he says with a wink, and he's gone before I've even had a chance to catch my breath.
Chapter Five
The night before Film Studies I can barely sleep, tossing and turning, anxious and excited, my entire body tense. I haven't seen Julian in three days, since the "lesson" in my dorm room, and the anticipation of seeing him again is killing me. I'm not tired in the morning, though, despite my restless night. Rather, I feel so alive and intensely ready as I get out of bed. I pull on a pair of jeans and wish I had something sexier to wear this old white cable-knit sweater, but it’s comfortable and reminds me of home. I brush my hair and study myself in the mirror. Why am I so worried about how I look? He's seen me like this in class many times and is still attracted to me. It shouldn't matter what I wear. I pull on my jacket and head to class.
"Oh," I whisper to myself.
The girl he walked out with a few weeks before reaches out to grab his sleeve, tossing her glossy hair back as she opens her mouth to say something, probably sexy and witty, but he ignores her and keeps going until he's next to me. Without a word he sits down.
"Julian," I say, trying to sound cool and collected. The girl shoots me a nasty look and I can't help the small jolt of victory that passes through me.
"Lia," he says with a nod. He sounds curt, but I know enough by now to understand that how he seems isn't always indicative of what he's really thinking. He's good at disguising his feelings.
We're watching a movie about the history of film, and I know even before it starts that it's going to be boring. Maybe boring enough that even I, a typical good student, would skip class. But today, there's no way I'm leaving this room. Just sitting next to Julian makes me feel alive.
When the lights go out and the movie starts, I hold my breath, listening for the sound of Julian's breathing. Even that makes me unbearably turned on. Suddenly, he leans over to me, his lips right against my ear. "Did you do your homework, Lia?"
I breathe in hard. Maybe it's even a gasp. I stare straight ahead, unable to process the fact that he's asking about something so private in such a public place.
"Answer me," he whispers against my ear.
"Yes," I whisper back. "I did."
"Good girl." He moves away from me, then pulls out a piece of paper, writes something on it, then slides it onto my desk. I read it: Tell me about your homework.
I didn't know there would be an essay question on the test, I write back.
Ha, he writes back. Under that: I'm not playing. Tell me about it.
I think for a few seconds. Can I actually write about touching myself? And what will happen if I don't? I decide, against my better judgment, to ask him.
What if I don't? I write, then fold up the paper and slip it onto his desk.
I wait a few minutes for him to respond. I glance around the room, and it feels so strange to be sitting here in class, having such an intense experience with Julian, without anyone aware of what's going on. If they only knew. I bite back a giggle.
Julian drops the paper on my desk. I unfold it and read: Better question might be, what will happen if you do, Lia? Even his writing looks powerful. And there's something about seeing my name written by his hand that tugs at my insides, makes me feel a sweet swell of desire. It's like he's actually touching me, even though it's just a word on a piece of paper.
Fine. Suddenly I feel unexpectedly saucy. If he wants to hear about it, right here in class, then I'll tell him about it. All about it. I can't wait to see his expression when he reads my note, and I'm almost gleeful as I start to write. I decide to give him details, to make him squirm, literally and figuratively.
Julian, I write, thank you for your lesson a few days ago in my room. I promise to be a good student, so I conscientiously did my homework as soon as you left. First, I lay on my bed, and I spread my legs open a little bit. I unzipped my jeans and slid my hand down into my underwear, which were really damp from how excited you had already gotten me. I touched myself slowly at first, but I was getting so excited that I needed to go faster. My jeans were making it hard for me to touch myself enough, so I pulled them off, then took off my underwear too. The air felt so cold between my legs, but it was refreshing, and I imagined that you were touching me as I put a finger inside myself. I moaned because it felt so good, and because I was thinking of you. Then, with my very wet finger, I touched my clit. Again, I pretended it was you (I wished it was you) touching me. I thought about how it will feel when you are inside of me for the first time, how even though it might hurt, I know it will be better than anything I've ever experienced. I couldn't stop thinking about how big you probably are. I was touching myself faster and faster, and I wanted to slow down so I could feel good for longer, but I couldn't help it, and I kept going until I came hard, whispering 'Julian, oh Julian' as I did.
Then I add The End and a smiley face. I fold it up and hand it to him.
It seems to take him forever to read it. I keep waiting for him to write something down, for him to look at me, but neither happens. Did I go too far? It was a joke—sort of—and maybe he thought it was juvenile? What's he thinking? Finally, when I think I can't stand it anymore, he leans over to me. His whisper is hoarse as he says, "Tomorrow, Lia. Two o'clock. My place." Then he stands up and stalks out of the room, taking the note with him.
***
"Were you OK the other night? At my party?"
It's late morning, and I'm sitting across the table from Vanessa, eating pie at Sal's. It's my favorite thing on the menu, and when Vanessa asked me to meet her for coffee, I couldn't say no. I wanted to see her. She's probably my best friend at college. But at the same time, I feel horrible for hiding my secret relationship with Julian from her. I know the way she feels about guys who use her to get to her brother, and I don't want her to think that's what I'm doing. Even though I met her before I knew she was Julian's sister, I'm still worried that she'll be upset. How bad would it actually be to say, Vanessa, don't hate me but I have a huge crush on your brother? Oh, and by the way, he's going to give me sex lessons. Isn't it great?
No way. There's no way I can tell her that. There's no way I can tell anyone that. The fact that I'm going to see him later today makes me even more uncomfortable and uncertain.
"Yeah," I respond. "I was just tired. I had a few beers, and I guess it just hit me pretty hard."
"So, Pete asked about you."
"Really?" I'm surprised. Julian pretty much told him to lay off, and the fact that he went behind Julian's back to ask about me is interesting.
"He said you guys were hanging out at the party. And that you were going to call him? About meeting some of the journalism professors?"
"Oh, yeah." I forgot. In my excitement about Julian and our "lessons," everything else has trouble staying in my brain. "I need to call him. I'm thinking about going into journalism."
"That's awesome, Lia! That's a big deal, that you've chosen a major! It's hard to not know what to study. It feels kind of like you're free falling, and you're not sure how you're going to land safely." Her big green eyes are shining in genuine happiness for me. She pushes a strand of her long brown hair behind an ear and sips some coffee, a light tan color after all the cream she adds, from the oversized white diner mug.
I nod. It did feel like that, like I was free-falling. So does being with Julian. In fact, I'm having a hard time focusing on my conversation with Vanessa, knowing that in just a few hours I'll be in Julian's bedroom, having another "lesson." Every part of my body below my waist clenches as that thought flashes through my mind, and I must be blushing, but Vanessa either doesn't notice or chooses not to comment. Maybe she thinks I'm blushing about Pete.
"I think I have his number here," says Vanessa suddenly, pulling out her phone. "Let me call him now."
"Who?"
“Uh, Pete. Isn't that who we were talking about?" Vanessa rolls her eyes in mock frustration. She has no idea that the only "him" I can think about these days is her brother.
"I, well . . . " I'm not sure I want to see Pete right now. I do want to learn more about my potential majo
r, but I'm worried about Pete getting the wrong idea. Vanessa's already dialing, though, then talking, then handing the phone to me.
"Hello?" I say
"Lia? Hey." He doesn't sound as enthusiastic as he did at the party, and I'm fairly certain that has something—everything—to do with Julian's response to seeing us together.
"Hi. Listen. Vanessa said I should call. About you introducing me to some of the professors?"
"Yeah, sure. Are you free now? I just got out of class, and if you meet me over here I can show you around."
"OK." I have misgivings about this, but the prospect of learning more about my maybe-major is exciting.
"Come on. I'll walk you," says Vanessa, and we head over to the journalism building.
***
As soon as Vanessa leaves, Pete looks carefully at me, concern in his face. "Look," he says quietly. "I'm really sorry if I offended you the other night. At Vanessa's party. I liked talking to you, and I thought you were having a good time too. I apologize if I did something wrong."
"No. You're fine, Pete. Julian . . . " I'm not sure how to finish. Julian . . . what? Is domineering? Was being a jerk?
"Are you two . . .?"
"No," I say quickly. "We're in a class together. I think he sort of thinks he's supposed to look out for me."
Pete looks at me strangely, as if he doesn't quite agree with my assessment, but he doesn't say anything else. Instead, he leads me into the building and up a flight of stairs, all the while telling me about his experiences as a journalism student. The more he talks, the more excited I get. This feels like something I'd like. Something I'd love, even. He introduces me to two of his favorite professors, both of whom spend a lot of time talking to me and answering questions, and I meet with an adviser who gives me a list of the classes I'll need to take next semester.
"Thanks so much, Pete," I say as we're walking towards the exit. "You've spent, what, two hours with me? I can't even tell you how relieved I feel to possibly have a major!"
"Possibly? You mean I spent all this time with you and it might have been a waste?" He nudges me playfully and glances down at me, a smile on his face. It's a friendly smile, but after the other night I wonder if there's more to it. What would it be like to date someone like Pete? Someone cute, normal, safe? It would probably be nice, but when I think of Julian, my whole body tingles. There's nothing "nice" about him, and that's what intrigues me so much. I can't help it.