Burning Daylight: Chapter 48

There’s still blood on my hands.

Not physically—I spent the past twenty minutes scrubbing them in the bathroom of the gas station at the edge of campus—but mentally, all I can see on my fingers is red and the memory of a gun I was never meant to hold.

My mind is running a thousand miles a minute.

Merrick’s body.

Tyler twitching on the ground.

Frederick’s smile as he told me my father was dead.

I don’t know how to tell Juliette what happened, not sure if I can tell her.

And the game has changed completely. Frederick tried to kill me.

I can’t even focus on that right now, on the fact that technically, if my father is dead, I’m the new Montgomery patriarch.

My stomach lurches violently, bile teasing the back of my throat.

Frederick’s going to need me dead for his plan to work.

What the fuck am I going to do?

And he knows everything. Everything.

My sister. My mother. He’s been my father’s closest confidant for years.

My hand trembles as I pull out my phone and call Brooklynn, praying to God she answers.

“Roman?”

Her voice hits me everywhere and I close my eyes. “Hey, kid.”

“You okay? You sound weird.”

I drag a hand down my face. “I’m fine, are you home?”

“Yeah, why?” She hesitates. “Is something wrong?”

I shake my head, swallowing around the knot in my throat. “Just needed to hear your voice.”

There’s a pause on her end, and I can picture her frowning, arms crossed, like she knows I’m full of shit.

I grip the edge of the gas station sink, knuckles going white. “You’re safe? Doors locked?”

“Dude, I’m not twelve.”

“I know,” I murmur. “Just…humor me.”

Another second passes, and her voice softens. “I’m safe. I promise.”

I exhale, some of the weight loosening in my chest. “Good.”

“Hey, speaking of, is Mom with you?”

I freeze. “What do you mean?”

“I know you said not to try and contact her at that fancy rehab, but I called anyway, you know? I was worried…and they said she never checked in.”

I turn away from the mirror, ripping the bow tie until it’s hanging loosely around my neck. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

Lie.

Her voice cracks. “Do you think she’s okay?”

“I think she’s smart enough to lay low when needed. I’ll find her.”

“You always say that like you can fix everything.”

A small smile breaks through the panic swirling like a hurricane in my chest. “And have I been wrong yet?”

She exhales. “Be careful, Bear.”

I stare at the wall, my throat thick. “Love you, kid.”

“Ditto.”

We hang up, and for a second, the world stills.

Then I slide the phone back in my pocket, and everything starts moving again.

Juliette. Frederick. My father’s legacy. My mother, missing.

And me, somehow still standing in the middle of it all.

My fingers curl around the holes of the trellis as I climb up the side of the house until I can swing my legs over the railing of Juliette’s balcony.

It’s late.

And quiet.

Part of me is worried that her doors will be locked and I’ll have done all of this for nothing, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. I have to know that she’s okay.

She wasn’t at the gala, she wasn’t at Upside Down Rock… This is me hoping she’s here.

I know I should stay away. Should focus on what the hell I’m going to do next, but there’s a high chance I might end up dead before morning, and I can’t not see her one last time. And I’m a little on edge, worried that Frederick might do something insane like use her to get to me.

Slowly, and as quietly as possible, I walk across her balcony until I’m facing the double French doors, my reflection gleaming in the windows. Swallowing, my hands tremble as I reach out and try the handle.

The door clicks open immediately, and I blow out a large sigh of relief, my nerves quieting as I open the door and walk inside, my eyes immediately searching for her.

Her room is large, a four-poster king bed in the very center and detailed crown molding around the edges of the walls.

At least two of my entire studio apartments could fit in here with space to spare, and it hits me fully, maybe for the first time, that she’s grown up in this atmosphere, and I’m just now learning how to embrace it.

How, if I somehow make it out of this alive, I’m going to have an empire to take over, and a legacy to fix.

“Juliette,” I whisper into the dark.

Nobody answers.

My breath catches from the type of fear that creeps in with cold fingers and grips your spine. Each step is slower than the last, my pulse a staccato rhythm beating in my ears.

The shadows seem to bend around me as I move deeper into her room, my gaze scanning the area until I land on the shape of her on the bed.

She’s not moving.

I step closer and her outline sharpens. An arm is draped over her blanket, her hair spilling like ink across the cream pillow.

She lets out a tiny snore, and my legs nearly collapse.

I press a hand to the nightstand just to stay standing, the sudden rush of relief blurring my vision.

Juliette’s here. She’s safe.

The pale light of the moon streams in through the windows, kissing her skin, and I swear I’ll spend every moment for the rest of forever thanking God that she’s all right.

She looks so innocent when she’s this way, and my heart physically cracks in my chest knowing that when she wakes up in the morning, her world is going to break in two. And I can’t take her away from mourning her cousin. From her family.

Not like this.

How fucking naive were we to think that running away would solve anything?

My fingers dust along the side of her face and across her cheekbones, lightly, like she might dissolve into nothing if I touch her too hard.

She’s so beautiful it hurts.

She’s the only thing that feels good, and I don’t want to give that up. I want to foster it instead, water it like a seed and watch it grow, and maybe in another life, we’ll be able to.

Her lashes flutter, and my fingers stall.

She blinks up at me, hands tucked beneath her chin, lips curved in a lazy smile.

It undoes me. Completely. Something inside me cracks, splintering right down the middle like a bone breaking.

“Hi,” she murmurs.

“Hi,” I whisper back, my voice hitching on the word.

She studies my face, and slowly awareness creeps in, and she jerks upright in the bed.

“Are you crazy?” she hisses. “You’re sneaking into my room now?”

“I had to see you,” I admit. There’s a knot in my throat, and it’s hard to form the words.

Her eyes dart to the window. “What if someone saw you?”

“They didn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

Sighing, I run a hand through my hair, praying she doesn’t see it shake. “I need to tell you something.”

Her eyes darken, and she slaps a hand over my mouth. “No.”

Her palm is warm. Familiar. And it’s shaking, like even if she doesn’t know, her body does; something has changed irrevocably between us forever.

I run my fingers over her face again, drinking her in like fine wine, desperate to touch her, to catalogue every single inch of her so that I can draw her a thousand times and keep her with me always.

She chews on her bottom lip, and the spaghetti strap of her pink silk tank top drops off her shoulder and rests on her upper arm.

My eyes follow its trajectory.

“I need to tell you something,” I say again, although it’s barely audible. Just a raw rasp lodged somewhere between my ribs and my throat.

Her pouty lips part, and her tongue swipes across the bottom one. I keep myself from leaning in and repeating the motion with my own like muscle memory.

But I can’t force myself to move.

“What is it?” she asks.

The words stick on my tongue like smoke.

I open my mouth.

Try to speak.

Fail.

And I’m a fucking coward, but I can’t be the one to tell her. Not when she’s looking at me like I’m giving her the world, and I know how much worse things are going to get when I walk away.

Images of her cousin, twitching on the ground, flash in my brain and I grit my teeth, my eyes closing as I try to force it away.

“I love you,” I breathe.

She stares at me for what feel like the longest seconds of my life, her bottom lip getting chewed half to death, and then the most beautiful smile graces her face, and I think it might kill me.

“I love you, too,” she whispers back.

My heart gallops, stutters, rages against my ribs like it’s trying to tear me apart to stay by her side…but I ignore it. Because I know that tomorrow, she might think of me differently.

She moves to her knees and scoots close, wrapping her arms around my neck, her perfect fingers threading in my hair. “What’s wrong?” she whispers.

I grit my teeth. “I can’t—” My voice breaks, and I choke back a sob.

“Roman,” she murmurs, leaning in and pressing kisses to my face. To my eyes, my cheeks, my nose, my lips. “It’s okay, Trouble.”

It’s not.

I lean in, gripping her face in both of my palms like she’s the only thing tethering me to Earth, and I force her gaze to mine.

“I need you to hear me,” I tell her, my voice thick. “No matter what happens, I will love you for the rest of this life, and every one that comes after. You are my reason, Juliette. I’ll spend every moment sketching you into the corners of this world.” I pause, swallowing hard. “And when I’m gone, I’ll paint you in the sky.”

She sucks in a breath. “You’re scaring me.”

“And you’ve wrecked me.”

In this moment, there is nothing else that matters. There is only Juliette.

I press my forehead to hers, trying to memorize her smell, her breath, the warmth of her skin beneath my palms. Maybe if I can burn my touch deep enough, it’ll stay with her after I’m gone.

She’s mine. I’m hers. That’s an irrevocable truth of the universe.

But if this is all we get in this life, then let this be the moment I carry into the next.

My breath falters, chest squeezing like the fist of death is closing around it.

And then I kiss her.

Our mouths crash together, messy and urgent. It’s not pretty, our teeth bump and our breaths tangle, but it’s real.

It’s us.

She moans into me like she’s starving, and I grip her tightly, terrified she’ll vanish if I let go.

She pulls away, her lips brushing mine as she whispers, “Promise me something.”

I groan, my body thrumming with fire. “Anything,” I say, my voice hoarse.

“Promise me that no matter what happens with us, even if we have to stay away from here for years, you’ll try to mend the rift between our families.”

A lump forms in my throat. I want to tell her the truth. That the damage runs too deep now, and that some wounds never heal.

But for her, I’ll die trying to reach peace, anyway. “I promise.”

She nods, slipping her arms around the back of my neck, pressing her forehead to mine. “I know something’s wrong, and I won’t make you tell me right now. But I do want you to tell me.”

“Juliette.” My voice cracks.

“Shh,” she soothes, her fingers running through my hair.

We stay like this, suspended in a fragile moment where nothing else exists other than her breath against my skin, and her heartbeat echoing mine.

Her eyes lock onto mine, and her fingers tighten around my neck. “I want you to make love to me, Roman. Whatever it is, just let it go. Be with me. We can worry about the rest in the morning.”

There’s a choice here. And maybe a better man would choose differently, but I’m not that man.

I’m desperate for her.

My hands snap to her waist and drag her into me, my lips fusing to hers.

I groan at the taste of her and then I’m pushing her back on the bed, and she’s spinning us until she’s on top and can clamber into my lap.

Her thighs bracket my hips, her sleep shorts riding up as she rocks forward, grinding herself down until I feel her heat pressed flush against me.

One of my hands tangles in the thick waves of her hair, tugging her back just enough to bare her throat, and the other grips the small of her back like I’m trying to tie us together.

I harden beneath her.

“Fuck,” I breathe against her mouth.

She smiles, wicked and soft all at once, and nips at my bottom lip like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Then she rolls her hips again.

It breaks something open in me.

I buck up to meet her, matching her rhythm, my cock straining against the thin barrier of my boxers, and these ridiculous fucking pants, and Christ, has anything ever felt this good? I grip her tighter, dragging her down harder against me, thrusting up as she rides the friction between us, our bodies moving like they’ve been waiting for this, aching for it. My fingers twist in the hem of her sleep tank, and then slip down the front of her stomach, feeling it tense and release. And then I’m dipping beneath the waistband of her tiny little sleep shorts, and I’m where I want to be most, pressing the pads of my fingers against her center.

She moans when I apply pressure, and I swallow the sound with my tongue.

I flip us around, her back hitting the mattress, and I’m on top of her in the next instant, a raging inferno of carnal need, unable to focus on anything else besides how badly I want to claim her.

She’s mine. Even if the world says otherwise. Even if the clock’s already ticking down on this moment.

The next few seconds are a blur of hands twisting in clothes: me tearing off her shirt and tossing it to the floor. I pause to drink in the sight of her; those bare breasts rising with her shallow breaths, and her skin flush and glowing in the moonlight.

“Perfect,” I mutter, cupping them in my hands, thumbing her nipples until she gasps, wiggling her body beneath mine and pressing her hot little cunt into my dick.

Her fingers twist in my hair. “Roman.”

I trail kisses down her stomach, my palm slipping back to her slick pussy. I find her clit and circle it. She writhes, her hips chasing the pressure.

“Always so soaked for me, dirty girl,” I rasp. “Is this what you want? Me between your legs and making you squirm?”

She whimpers, and my cock throbs behind my dress pants.

I move back up to press my mouth to hers, fingers slipping inside her until I’m stretching her open.

She breaks away, fumbling at my shirt, frantic and clumsy, tugging at the buttons until they pop free.

A sharp gasp and her eyes narrow as she leans in, staring at my clothes.

The blood.

She glares at the crimson stains like she’s trying to will them away. “Roman…what is that?”

“It’s what I need to talk to you about, I just⁠—”

“Never mind,” she says, cutting me off. “I don’t care. I don’t… I know something’s wrong, but I just… I don’t care.”

I watch her for a moment. And then two.

But I’m a selfish man, and if she’s willing to overlook my sins and let them stay in the dark for a while longer, I won’t be the one who stops her.

I shrug it off and crush my mouth to hers before she can ask again. Before she changes her mind.

My pants drop next, and then I’m slotting myself between her thighs, the heat of her pussy dragging a groan from the deepest part of my chest.

“Tell me you’re sure,” I beg.

“I’m sure.”

Everything after that is a haze, and I’m lost to her.

She guides me, fingers wrapping around my cock with a possessive grip, and then presses my tip to her entrance, but she doesn’t let me in.

Instead, she flattens her palm, holding me there as her hips begin to roll back and forth. Slow. Torturous.

I glide between her folds, my length glistening from her wetness and how badly she’s making me leak.

“Jesus, Juliette,” I choke, bucking into her on instinct.

Her thumb swipes over the swollen head, spreading my pre-cum down my length as she strokes me with a singular purpose.

“You’re close already,” she whispers, her mouth at my ear. “You want inside me so bad, don’t you, Trouble?”

I moan into her shoulder, putty beneath her hands.

“Let me take my time with you, baby,” I plead.

She shakes her head, her hand tightening against me as she physically pulls me into her until the head of my cock is poised at her entrance, teasing her center.

“Goddamn,” I rasp, my arms about to give out from how stiffly I’m holding myself above her.

Her hand moves again, trying to guide me in, and I smack it lightly away with a grunt, grabbing both her wrists and pinning them above her head in one hand.

“No,” I force out. “Not yet.”

I lean back just enough to look at her—really look at her. Her skin glows with a sheen of sweat, her arms trembling from where I’ve locked them in place, her breasts rising with every quick, broken breath. She sees me watching, and her gaze lights up like a wildfire.

Her thighs fall open, glistening with arousal.

My heart falters and cracks.

I’m going to lose her.

Maybe to tomorrow.

Maybe to my death.

Maybe because I’m too much of a coward to take her with me.

But right now, she’s mine, and I’m going to make sure she feels me long after I’m gone.

“You want me to fuck you, Little Rose?”

I drag the thick head of my cock along her soaked slit, her wetness coating me. I press the tip to her clit, teasing us both mercilessly, and then slide it back down, skimming her entrance without pushing in.

Not yet.

She mewls, her body arching against me as I keep her wrists pinned above her head. “Roman, please.”

I grin. “Please, what, Princess?”

That nickname does her in, and she glares at me, even as she trembles beneath me. “Please put that big mouth to better use,” she bites, lifting her hips to grind her hot cunt against my dick. “Unless all that talk has always been just talk.”

A groan tears itself straight from my chest.

Her breath stutters.

“You’re the one spread open and begging, baby. You think you’re in charge here?”

She smirks, rising as far she can and licking my neck. I hiss, tightening my grip on her arms, and thrusting forward just enough to nudge into her.

“You look like you needed the win,” she replies.

“Jesus,” I mutter, letting out a quiet laugh, even though my chest pulls so tight it makes the sound catch in my throat. “You’re so goddamn mouthy.”

I push my length in another inch.

She gasps, hips rocking up into me, and I hold myself steady above her, arms trembling from the effort it takes to not just sink into her and lose myself completely.

“Give it to me, Trouble,” she demands. “Stop torturing us both.”

I slide in to the hilt, her pussy clenching around me the second I’m bottomed out inside her.

Heat rushes through me; up my thighs, along my spine, bursting behind my eyes. She’s wet and tight and perfect, and I’m already fighting the edge.

“You feel that?” I whisper, pulling back out and then slamming back in. “The way you open up for me so fucking good?”

“Yes,” she moans.

“That’s all mine.” I bite down on her shoulder, my palm keeping her wrists pressed to the mattress. “This pussy. That sound you make when you come. The beats of your heart and the thoughts in your head. All of it. Mine.”

I release her arms now, and her legs lock around my waist, her hands shooting to the back of my neck and pulling me down until we’re chest to chest.

Heart to heart.

Her thighs tremble.

“You’re mine, too,” she replies, the way she always does when I get possessive like this.

I love it—the way she has to make sure we’re equals in every way, even in this. Because she’s right. I’m hers. Only hers. Forever.

“Of course I’m yours.” I press the words into her mouth. “I feel you everywhere, Juliette. You’re in my goddamn bones.”

I start up a faster rhythm, fucking her harder, and her heels dig into my lower back, urging me deeper. Every thrust is brutal and full of need, our slick skin slapping, her body rising to meet me over and over.

And right now, nothing exists outside of this.

No danger.

No death.

No blood feud.

Just us.

The way it’s supposed to be.

“Come for me, baby,” I demand. “Let go. I want to feel it.”

She breaks.

Her whole body bows beneath me, her pussy clenching hard around my cock as she comes with a cry that rips through the room. Her nails scratch down my back, and my pace stutters, hips jerking as I press deeper. I let go with a groan that’s more pain than pleasure, my cock twitching inside her as I spill deep, her walls still fluttering around me. My vision goes white. My body locks. And then everything shatters.

I collapse on top of her, and we stay like that, breathing hard, and our hearts pounding.

Her fingers trace slow circles along my spine. I press a kiss to her shoulder, noticing a bite mark I don’t even remember leaving.

It flares something primal and possessive inside me, though, and I wish I could ink it permanently into her skin. A mark that proves she was mine, even if the future may be unclear.

“Holy fuck,” I murmur, panting against her neck.

She hums again, her hands stroking my hair, my neck, my back, fingernails teasing my skin and sending shivers. That, mixed with the aftershock of my orgasm, and I’m practically melted against her, unable to move.

And yet, my chest is still heavy. My throat is still tight.

I manage to pull back just enough to see her face. Her sweat-damp hair clings to her skin, and I brush it away gently, my knuckles skimming along her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed under my touch.

Everything inside me stills.

I could spend forever right here. Just watching her. Breathing her in.

But eventually, I give in, sleep claiming me.

The room is dark when I wake a few hours later; gray light bleeds around the edges of her curtains, soft enough where I could still pretend the morning hasn’t started. And for a second, I allow myself to pretend. I let myself believe I could stay.

That this could be our morning, every morning.

But even now, I hear the tinkling of Juliette’s house coming alive, and I know that’s not reality. It slips under my skin like the cold edge of a blade.

There’s a weight in the pit of my stomach.

I stare at the ceiling, unmoving. My arm is numb from where she’s tucked into me, warm and soft and breathing slow, her fingers curled loosely at my ribs like she’s meant to be there. I don’t want to go.

Still…I ease her arm off my chest, pressing a kiss to her fingers before laying them on the bed.

I don’t breathe as I re-dress in my clothes, and after they’re on, the white shirt unbuttoned, and the reminder of what happened last night spattered on my sleeves, I sit at the edge of her bed with my elbows on my knees, digging my hands into my hair until my knuckles ache.

Behind me, she murmurs something in her sleep.

I close my eyes, swallowing at the way my heart’s shattering into a million icy splinters.

My skin is still sticky with her sweat. My senses still drowning in everything her.

I don’t want to go, I repeat to myself.

But I know that I can’t stay.