Julian has been avoiding me for three days. Polite nods. Clinical emails.
Thursday evening, I drop Milo at Lena's and knock on Julian's door.
He opens in sweatpants, exhausted. "Rory."
"Can we talk?"
He lets me in. Sits in the armchair, not beside me. Distance as weapon.
"I created Viola because I was invisible. Nathan said no one would want me. So I made someone who mattered." I meet his eyes. "Then you fell for her, and I was terrified the real me wouldn't be enough."
"You didn't give me the chance."
"Because if you rejected Rory after wanting Viola—" My voice breaks. "I couldn't survive it."
Silence. Then: "It hurt. But I dismissed you at work too. Never gave you a chance to be seen."
"Don't hide anymore. Be both—Rory and Viola. That's who I want."
Something breaks open in my chest. All the fear, the shame, the desperate need to be seen—it cracks like an egg and spills everywhere.
I kiss him.
Desperate, grateful, relieved. My hands fist in his t-shirt, pulling him closer like I can physically merge us together through sheer determination.
He responds immediately, his mouth opening against mine, hands cupping my face with devastating tenderness.
"I'm sorry," I gasp between kisses. "I'm so sorry—"
"Stop apologizing." His forehead presses against mine. "Just be here. Be you. That's all I've ever wanted."
His mouth finds mine again, deeper. His tongue slides against mine, tasting, claiming. I moan, fingers tangling in his perfectly styled hair—now completely wrecked by my desperate hands.
Good. I want him wrecked.
Julian pulls back to eye my cardigan. "How many of these do you own?"
"Seventeen. It's a collection. Very valuable on the ugly sweater market."
"I'm burning them all." He peels it off, tossing it toward the armchair. It misses. "Oops."
"That's vintage!"
"That's kindling." He's already working on my shirt, pulling it over my head with efficiency. "This too."
My beige bra gets pure disdain. "We're also burning this."
"It's supportive!"
"It's a crime against breasts." His hands cup them through fabric, thumbs brushing over nipples that immediately betray me. "These deserve lace. Silk. Something that doesn't scream 'Sensible Undergarments for Invisible Women.'"
I laugh even as heat pools low. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm invested in your lingerie choices. There's a difference." He flicks open the clasp one-handed. "Much better."
His mouth descends before I can respond. His tongue circles my nipple, then sucks hard enough to make my back arch. His teeth graze sensitive skin, sending electricity straight to my core.
"Julian—" My fingers dig into his shoulders. "God—"
"Keep making those sounds." His voice is rough. His hand kneads my other breast, pinching and rolling. "I've missed hearing you fall apart."
He switches sides, giving my neglected breast the same devoted attention. His free hand slides down, popping my jeans button with practiced ease.
"These too," he mutters. "Everything goes. I want nothing between us."
We shed the rest frantically—jeans shoved down legs, sweatpants kicked away, practical underwear meeting its undignified end near the coffee table.
Then we're skin to skin. His chest pressed against mine, the hard length of him hot against my thigh, his hands everywhere like he's memorizing me through touch alone.
"You're so fucking beautiful," Julian breathes against my throat. His mouth trails down—collarbone, sternum, breast. "Every version of you."
His hands spread my thighs, settling between them. When his mouth reaches my center, I nearly levitate.
"Jesus—Julian—"
"Just me." His tongue makes one long, slow lick, and I see stars. "And you taste incredible."
He devours me. His tongue circles my clit with maddening precision—perfect pressure that has me gasping within seconds. He adds fingers, sliding two inside with ease.
"Look at you." His voice vibrates against me. "So wet for me. Were you this wet when you knocked on my door?"
"Yes—fuck—yes—"
"Good girl." He curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes my vision blur. His tongue never stops, circling and flicking in perfect rhythm.
The pressure builds impossibly fast. I'm teetering within minutes, thighs trembling.
"Julian—I'm going to—"
"Come." The command rumbles through me. "Let me taste you falling apart."
His fingers thrust harder, tongue presses firm, and I shatter. The orgasm crashes through me, my back arching as I cry out loud enough his neighbors definitely know.
He doesn't stop. He licks me through it, drawing out every pulse until I'm boneless.
When he rises, his mouth glistens. "Come here." I pull him up, tasting myself on his tongue as I kiss him deeply. My hand wraps around his cock—thick, hard, already leaking. "Need you inside me. Now."
"Bedroom," he manages. "I have—we should—"
"Couch is fine. Couch is perfect." I stroke him slowly, base to tip, feeling him pulse in my hand. "I'm on birth control. I'm clean. You?"
"Clean. Tested last month." His hips thrust into my grip. "Rory—"
"Then stop overthinking and fuck me already."
Something in his eyes darkens. He positions himself between my thighs, the head of his cock nudging my entrance. Our eyes lock as he slides in—slow, deliberate, letting me feel every inch.
The stretch is perfect. The fullness overwhelming. I gasp as he bottoms out, seated so deep I can barely breathe.
"Okay?" His voice is strained with the effort of holding still.
"Move. Please move."
He does. He pulls back almost completely, then drives in hard enough to make me see stars. Again. Again. Each thrust hits deep, angled perfectly to make my toes curl.
"Missed this." His forehead presses to mine. "Missed you. Both of you."
"I'm right here." My legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his ass. "Not going anywhere."
The rhythm builds—slow and deep giving way to faster, harder. The leather couch squeaks beneath us in a rhythm that would be embarrassing if I had any shame left. His hand slides between us, thumb finding my clit, circling with that same maddening precision.
"Come again," he commands. "Want to feel you."
"Bossy—"
"You love it." He's not wrong. His thumb presses harder, hips snapping faster. "Come on, Rory. Give me another one."
The second orgasm builds different—deeper, fuller, rolling through me like thunder. My walls clench around him, drawing a groan from deep in his chest.
"That's it—fuck—so tight—" His rhythm falters. "Where—I'm close—"
"Inside." I pull him closer. "Want to feel you come inside me."
Three more thrusts and he's gone—head thrown back, my name torn from his throat as he pulses deep. I feel every jet of heat, every shudder, holding him through it.
We collapse together in a tangle of sweaty limbs and satisfied exhaustion. Manhattan glitters beyond the windows. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my skin—abstract shapes, aimless wandering.
"Just be you," Julian says quietly into the darkness. "That's all I've ever wanted."
I press closer, breathing him in. "I can do that."
"Good." He kisses my hair. "Because I'm not interested in goddesses or office mice. I'm interested in Rory Kane, who checks closets for velociraptors and creates alternate identities when the world won't see her. All of it. Everything."
The words settle into my bones like coming home.
Outside, the city pulses with life. Inside, wrapped in Julian's arms, I finally feel like I can breathe.