• Tomorrow Will Be Different • {J.C} (P.1)

•Chapter Twenty-Nine•

        Julian ravenously planted kisses all over Erin's face—feverish with frenzy. He involuntarily moaned at the sound of a soft whimper escaping her mouth.

He often fantasized what Erin might sound like; what she might look like under her clothes. He had seen her out of them once, but had been too drunk to appreciate it.

A part of him wished he was drunk now, to have the confidence he needed to do this—to handle her the way she deserved to be handled.

He was scared of hurting her, of getting too carried away and somehow forgetting the tender contusion that would forever be burned into his mind. It was inevitable that Julian would be awkward—he was doomed from the start.

Perhaps the desire to be inebriated was selfish. His fervent affections were suddenly turning into crippling apprehension.

       Erin was apprehensive too, but for different reasons.

She was nervous of what he would think of her, recollecting vivid memories of two other women he had taken to bed before her.

She wasn't apprehensive for the same reasons as Jules, no.
      ...Julian would never hurt her—that much she knew.

Erin had once questioned if he could, remembering their walk to the apartment from the bar.

She recalled the way Julian had smacked the man harassing her. He had struck the stranger's head, (hard) then proceeded to push him toward the direction of his rowdy, obnoxious friends.

No, Julian could never hurt her—he would most likely hurt himself before ever putting Erin in harms way. Jules was benevolent—compassionate...
     ...he was nothing like Michael.

        Erin was scared of his judgements. She often fell victim to Julian's critical observations; she didn't want her body being scrutinized the same way.

Erin cared what Julian thought of her, as much as she didn't like it—Julian's opinion mattered.

        Biting her lip, Erin's hands trailed down his arms, softly brushing circles just above his elbows. Erin lay beneath him, impatiently waiting for Julian to make the next move—still fully clothed.

        Though neither would say it aloud, both hesitated to suggest moving out of Albert's bed into Julian's. They feared the possibility of stifling what was about to transpire.

Then suddenly, Julian remembered something—something important he had never forgotten before.

        "If I stepped out for a minute, would that kill the mood?" Julian asked, wincing with narrowed eyes and pressed lips. His stomach grew heavy, sensing that he already killed it.

"What?" Erin laughed softly.

        "My condoms are in there-"

"He-Man, Al's top drawer." Erin exclaimed without thought.

        Erin covered her face, peering up at Julian through her fingers. He grinned with playful suspicion, laughing softly through his nose.

        "So, you and Al?..."

"No! He mentioned it in passing once." Erin spoke self-consciously.

       He opened Al's top dresser drawer—there in the corner next to the neatly arranged socks, was indeed a vintage metal tin that read, 'Masters of the Universe, Wave 1 1982.'

        "You think we should go to your room? It's a little twisted to have sex in his bed—isn't it?" Erin sat up as Julian tore a condom connected to several others.