Page 49 of Meet Me In The Dark (Skeptically In Love #3)
Celeste
I wake to faint light filtering through the curtains, and Julian’s side of the bed empty.
Stretching, I toss off the covers and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth before slipping into my running gear. My muscles are pleasantly sore in a way that has nothing to do with exercise, and I’m already imagining him leaning against the hood of his car, waiting for me.
Shoes laced and hair tied back, I head downstairs and push open the door.
The street is quiet.
I glance left, then right. No black SUV. No Julian.
Frowning, I check my watch. I’m on time, and he’s usually early.
I stretch and scan the street again.
A minute passes. Then another.
My phone buzzes.
Julian: Can’t make it this morning. I know there’s no point telling you not to go, so be careful and let me know when you’re home safe.
A small knot forms in my chest.
Me: Is everything okay?
Julian: Business emergency.
Yeah, he told me that already.
I swallow the uneasy feeling rising in my throat and push my phone into my armband. It’s fine. He has a meeting. A call. Something urgent. Still, the run feels different. My footsteps sound too loud without his matching stride beside me.
By the time I get to work, I’ve convinced myself I’ll see him at our eleven o’clock meeting.
“Your eleven with Mr. Blackwood has been cancelled. His office just called,” Louise tells me, peering her head into my office.
The knot tightens.
“Thanks, Louise,” I say, forcing a smile even when everything inside me is sinking.
By evening, the knot has dulled into something manageable—mild worry, but nothing sharp enough to panic over.
Julian is a busy man.
We can’t spend every night wrapped up in each other like we have been.
I tell myself that as I curl up on my couch with a book that I’m hardly reading.
I’ll see him tomorrow .
We’ll fall back into our rhythm.
I’m almost persuaded when someone pounds on my door.
The book slides from my hands as I stand, my pulse climbing.
I cross the room and pull the door open.
Julian is on the other side, and he looks… destroyed.
Like someone swung a wrecking ball at him and left the rubble barely standing. His jaw is clenched, his shoulders tense, but his eyes—God, his eyes—are raw.
“Julian? What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t answer.
His gaze drops to my sleep shorts and tank top, and when it lifts, there’s a different kind of darkness there.
Before I can ask again, his mouth is on mine in a kiss so fierce I have to hold onto his arms. I stumble backward, but he pulls me close like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.
It’s then I taste the salt in his kiss. It’s not from the sea air. This is the metallic tang of grief I taste with every stroke.
Something is breaking wide open in his chest.
Something he hasn’t said.
Something he’s not ready to say.
So I don’t ask.
I just give him my body. If that’s what he needs tonight, he can have it.
My fingers curl into his shirt and tug because I need his skin on mine.
He breaks the kiss only long enough to strip it off, then he’s back, lips moving down my throat, hands roaming like he’s trying to memorize every inch of me.
I lead him to bed, but no matter how gentle I try to be with this man’s heart tonight, he won’t accept it.
His kiss bruises while his hands worship.
Every touch is a contradiction: every pull of my hair soothed by gentle kisses down my neck, every sting of his palm chased by the slow push of his cock.
He’s everywhere at once, holding me down and holding me together, driven by a need that’s not really about sex. It’s about craving to feel something without pain. It’s about pouring whatever’s tearing at him into me, knowing I’ll take it because I’m using him right back.
I meet him thrust for thrust until the urgency bleeds into something slower. Eventually, the fight in his body softens into a plea he can’t voice.
When we both reach our limit and he groans into my mouth, I swear I taste the bittersweet whisper of goodbye in his kiss.
And in the quiet that follows, with his body still heavy over mine, I feel it settle into my bones.