Their planned dinner alone didn’t end up quite the way they expected it to. At the insistence of both Dara and Johnny, Eric accompanied them just as a precaution. The bodyguard sat at a table a few feet away from theirs, not quite inconspicuously, but their dinner still managed to be somewhat private and intimate.

They both relaxed during the meal. For the first time in a couple of weeks, Casey stopped thinking about Tony. And for his part, JC was pleased to see that she was genuinely enjoying herself. They wanted to exist together as a normal couple, with no worries about paparazzi and crazy exes, and for a few hours, they did.

They were finishing up their second bottle of wine when Casey stopped mid-sentence. She looked across the room, squinting. His back was to her as he was walking away, but she was positive it was him. Her blood ran cold and she lost feeling in the her fingertips, nearly dropping the wine glass in her hand.

JC was saying something to her, but she couldn’t hear him. With no word and no warning, she set her glass down and tossed her napkin onto the table. “Be right back,” she mumbled, already stumbling out of her seat.

He rounded the corner about ahead of her, briskly crossed the carpeted lobby, and stepped through the automatic door toward the courtyard.

Without even thinking about it, she opened her mouth. “Tony!” she shouted, running out of the door behind him.

He turned around slowly, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “Casey. Good to see you again.”

She blinked slowly and for one instance, stopped moving, an intense feeling of sickness creeping up on her. He looked the same. The same full of shit expression on his face. But this time, she felt no fear. She wanted nothing more than to knock it straight off of his face--and possibly break a few of his preternaturally straight, white teeth in the process.

She stopped a couple of feet from him and clenched her hands into fists at her side. Her heart beat furiously in her chest as two years’ worth of memories crashed down around her. “What the hell? Are you following me now?” Casey’s eyes were daggers in Tony’s direction.

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Well, you’re just full of yourself now, aren’t you, Casey?”

“Hey!” JC began, coming around the corner. “Casey, hold on a--” He looked past her and his gaze fell on Tony. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s a great question, Tony. What the fuck are you doing here?” Casey spat.

Tony’s eyes narrowed as he looked between Casey and JC, who had come up behind her. He sneered at JC, before turning his glare to Casey. “And what the fuck are you doing with him?”

“Pretty sure that’s none of your fucking business. Why are you here?” she repeated venomously.

Understanding dawned in Tony’s dark brown eyes and he laughed, throwing his head back. “Oh, I get it.” He nodded, glancing at JC again. “I was right. You are fucking one of these pussy ass white boys. I just had the wrong one. I figured the one who thinks he’s so down would be more your type.”

“Casey, let’s--” JC placed a hand on her shoulder but before he could do much else she sprung just beyond his grasp.

Tony’s mouth was moving, that much she knew. But once he started laughing she could hear nothing but the rush of her own blood in her ears. He had looked at her the same way before. That night. She couldn’t fight back that night; he had made sure of it. But tonight...tonight there was absolutely nothing standing in her way.

Casey’s fist made sharp contact with Tony’s face.

“Casey!” JC exclaimed in shock.

In the next moment Eric, who had come up behind him and Casey unnoticed by anyone, grabbed her around the middle.

“You bitch,” Tony roared, cradling his jaw and lip. Blood was pooling between his fingers from the place where she’d made contact.

“You’re the bitch, motherfucker!!” she yelled back, straining against Eric’s hold on her. “I owe you more than that, asshole. I owe you way the fuck more than that.” Her breath came in heaves as she pushed against the bodyguard. “Let go, Eric!” she yelled.

“Casey.” JC was leaning in close to her ear, speaking calmly and directly. “Calm down. He’s not worth your time, honey. He’s not worth shit.”

“You know what? Fuck you, too, white boy. Fuck you both!” Tony leaned over and spit blood onto the sidewalk beside him.

“Casey, I’m gonna let you go. JC, take her back inside. I’m right behind you,” Eric said quietly, eyes trained on Tony.”

“Come on, Case,” JC said, taking hold of her arm gently. “Let’s go.” She stopped struggling and let him pull her away from Eric.

“Yeah, let her go,” Tony called. “Swing at me again, bitch, and I--”

“You’re gonna turn around and walk away,” Eric said evenly, eyes leveled on Tony. “And you’re not gonna call her out of her name again, either.” He took a menacing step closer to Eric as JC pulled Casey away.

Tony looked at the big man and back at JC’s and Casey’s retreating figures. “She’s not worth shit anyway.” He took a step back from Eric. “Pussy was wack as hell,” he mumbled under his breath.

“I’m not gonna warn you again, man. Do not disrespect her another time.”

Eric didn’t raise his voice, but hackles rose on the back of Tony’s neck.

“Fuck all of you,” he spat. He backed up again and turned around, throwing one more backward glance at Eric before heading away.

***

She was trembling; JC could literally feel her shaking against him. He had one arm around her waist and was using his other arm to hold one of hers. She wasn’t leaning against him exactly, but he still got the very distinct impression that she was only moving because he was guiding her. Other than the harsh and heavy sound of her exhalations, she was silent.

“Casey,” he said quietly, when they had reached the elevator. He looked down at her when she didn’t respond.

Her eyes closed slowly and she dropped her head against him. The tears were forming right behind her eyes, and if she opened her mouth they were undoubtedly going to come down in a torrent. And that was saying nothing of her stomach, roiling with nausea.

He kissed the top of her head and pulled her closer. “It’s going to be OK, honey.”

His voice, so filled with tenderness and care and concern, pulled at every invisible string on her heart. She turned her head into his chest, wrapped her arms around him and began to sob. He pressed her closer and rubbed the back of her head.

“It’s OK, Casey. It’s OK.” He shushed her, and whispered against her hair. The bell dinged as the elevator arrived on the floor. “Come on, honey.” He led her out of elevator, her head still buried against him, body still wracked with her crying.

They reached the door of their hotel room and with one arm still wrapped around her, he maneuvered the keycard out of his back pocket and into the slot with one hand. Once in the room he guided her to the to the loveseat. When they were sitting, she tucked her feet up under her and turned into him, fully leaning against him. He folded her into his arms and held her as she continued to sob.

After several minutes the worst of her crying appeared to be over; she inhaled shakily several times before giving a soft, maudlin chuckle.  “Your sh-sh-shirt,” she sniffled. “It’s soaked and p-p-probably really g-g-gross.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he whispered against the top of her head. “That’s what washing machines are for.”

“I think in this case you may want to throw it away. I’m pretty sure you’re covered in snot right now,” she stated matter-of-factly. He snickered and she sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. About...all of this.”

“Casey,” he began haltingly, “don’t. Tony is the only one who needs to be sorry.” He shook his head and leaned it against the back of the couch. “What the hell was he even doing here?” He was thinking aloud, knowing she didn’t have any more of a clue than he did. He rubbed her back absently.

Casey cradled her face in her hands and sniffled again. “I just--” Before she could finish her sentence a knock sounded at the door.

“It’s probably Eric,” he said, glancing back at the door.

She nodded. “You get it. I need to clean off my face.” She left the couch and headed to the bathroom while JC opened the door.

“She OK?” Eric asked immediately.

After stepping back to allow the bodyguard into the room, he blew out a breath. “Man, I don’t actually know. I guess she’s fine for now. What happened?”

Eric nodded slowly. “He’s gone. I called Everett and he checked; he isn’t registered at the hotel so he must’ve found out she was staying here and came in just to mess with her head.”

JC rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Hey, I’mma leave you to it,” Eric said. “If you need anything holler.”

JC closed the door behind him just as he heard the bathroom door open. He rubbed his hands over his face and back through his hair, then turned the lights off in the room and went back to the suite’s bedroom.

“Was it Eric?” Casey rummaged through her suitcase which was propped up on a luggage rack.

He stood in the doorway of the room, leaning against the jamb, watching her. “Yeah.”

“What’d he say?” She stripped out of her clothes, tossing them on the floor. Once her bra was disposed of, joining the pile of the rest of her clothes, she grabbed a tank top out of the suitcase and pulled it over her head. She closed the top of it and went over to the bed, pulling the bedcoverings down.

JC made an indistinct sound and moved further into the room. “He’s gone. For now that’s all that matters.”

He unsnapped and unzipped his jeans and pulled them off, tossing his clothes in the pile she had started. His shirt followed and she laughed.

“I’m serious about that shirt. You should trash it.”

He flashed her a brilliant smile and went into the bathroom. “I’m not throwing a shirt away because you cried on it. Detergent washes out snot, I’m pretty sure. Besides,” he peeked his head around the corner, “It’s not the first time I’ve had your fluids on me.” He winked and went back into the bathroom.

“That’s really nasty, JC.” She made a face at him.

Casey lay on her back, eyes closed, and listened as he brushed his teeth. She heard the toilet flush, the water in the sink run, and then the soft sound of his feet on the carpet as he walked toward the bed.

Eyes still closed, she turned toward his side of the bed and waited for him to get in. The bed shifted under his weight, and then he was climbing in, one arm snaking around her waist.

“Hey,” he said softly, kissing the tip of her nose.

She opened her eyes and looked into his. He was looking at her, wide open and honest, and she blinked back the feeling of more tears. “Hey,” she whispered.

He rested his forehead against hers. “You were saying something before Eric came by.”

She had hoped he had forgotten. “Yeah.”

He waited a moment to see if she would speak more, and when she closed her eyes he pinched her hip gently. “Hey.”

She opened her eyes to see him looking at her, noting nothing but more warmth lurking behind his intense blue eyes.

“You can finish now, you know? What you were going to say?”

She closed her eyes again, and brought one of her hands up to the back of his neck, where she played with the soft hair there. “I’m tired, JC. I don’t want to think about Tony or any of this anymore.” She opened her eyes and brought her lips to his.

He kissed her back softly at first, until her hand tangled in his hair more insistently. She tugged at him until he rolled over on top of her.

“I thought you said were tired,” he said lightly.

“Tired,” she agreed. “But not sleepy.”

He let her lead, kissing her back as she kissed him harder. She arched her back, grinding her body up against his. And though his body began to react to her physically, he was conflicted.

She needed to talk, that much was obvious. And she’d been about to, before Eric knocked on the door. Whatever had happened months ago behind the closed doors of their hotel room, whatever was currently happening, JC knew she needed to talk about Tony.

He was still shocked at the fact that she’d punched him. He’d seen her frustrated before, maybe even a little angry. But there was nothing but unadulterated hatred in her eyes when her fist shot out and into the man’s face.

JC’s lips moved down to her neck, even as his thoughts continued to wander. As much as he wanted her to feel comfortable enough with him to give vent to whatever she was feeling about Tony, he began to doubt his ability to handle it. He felt guilty, even as his fingers played over her skin, feeling that maybe he wasn’t the person she could rely on while she dealt with things. He wanted to be that person, but maybe he wasn’t capable of it. And maybe, he thought as his fingertips brushed over the skin of her belly, all he was doing was making it easier for her to distract herself.

He pulled his lips away from her and scooted up to look her in the eye. “Baby, maybe tonight we should just...talk, or…I don’t know. Not do this.”

Casey shook her head firmly and tightened her hold on him. “I don’t want to talk. I just...I just want to feel you. And not think. That’s all.”

She pressed her mouth against his insistently, and he sighed as he gave in to her.

He was hard, had been since she’d pulled him down on top of her, because that was just the way he responded to her. But it made him hate himself just a little bit, because she was vulnerable and it almost felt like taking advantage of her. But maybe, another voice in his mind offered, it was OK. If it would take her mind off of things for even a little while, maybe it was OK. She wasn’t drunk or anything. And with the way she was taking his hands and guiding them to her breasts, she clearly wanted it.

As his fingers rolled her nipples through the fabric of her tank, her back arched and she moaned his name.

He pushes the shirt up and his hands are relishing the silky warmth of her skin and fuck she feels so good but he feels so bad because is this what she really wants? He’s raining kisses on her abdomen, and his tongue flicks over her navel and he’s moving down and down and pulling her underwear off, one leg at at time. He’s kissing her inner thighs, nipping and sucking her skin, and she’s whimpering and saying his name all pant-y and breathy the way he really likes.

Now he’s moving closer to where she really wants him to go and she’s begging (pleasepleaseplease) and his mouth is on her and she’s melting against his tongue and his lips and he’s french kissing her intimately and being this close to her makes him dizzy in the most amazingly beautiful way. He’s moving so painstakingly slow, covering every inch of her with his lips. His lips close over her clit and he begins sucking, but so gently and she’s gasping for air. She’s close, he can tell by the way her stomach is fluttering and she’s cussing softly and he moves back to her thigh.

She’s whimpering and whenever he does this to her it’s only a matter of time before she’s melting into his mouth, but he stops, and she’s a little dismayed to not be coming after all. Casey runs her fingers through his hair and starts pulling at it, probably too hard, but fuck it. She can’t even think about that right now. Right now every thought of everything including old what’s-his-face is obliterated by JC’s tongue and the fleeting thought that she wants to feel him, this way, for the rest of her life, and oh shit where did that come from. Every cell in her body is vibrating and fucking fuck she wants to come so bad but he’s not letting her and then his fingers are inside her and (oh fuck) this is it for real. His tongue is on her clit (flickflickflick, rub, suck) and those two fingers are right on that most magical of spots and he kissing and sucking and massaging and she’s coming so hard she sees stars and spots and flashes of colored lights and she’s still trying to inhale and exhale like she knows how to breathe.

JC is the reason she understands why it’s called la petite mort, except there is nothing little about how amazing it feels. He pushes her shirt up and over her arms and, with her eyes still closed, she smiles as the fabric of his underwear slides gently against her as he pulls it off. In the next instant his body is pressed right against hers and he’s kissing her and, fuck this is is so erotic, she can taste herself on him. Her hands find their way to the back of his head, and she presses her lips tightly against his. She’s so turned on, which he knows and it turns him on, which turns her on even more. She raises her hips to meet his, and with a small smile, he’s guiding himself inside her.

She gasps at the sensation of being filled by him and (shitmotherfuckerdammit) she may come again just like that. He’s doing that thing where he’s just rocking up against her spot and (yesyesyes that’s it fuck)  she’s exploding again.

JC’s marveling at how quick that was, and how it’s never that quick, but tonight is different and he’s pretty pleased with himself. Her eyes shut so tight and her thighs are locked around his waist and he leans in close to her ear. “Look at me, baby,” he whispers.

She seems to force her eyes open, and she finds him watching her and it’s almost too intense because his eyes are just too blue and too focused on her and she’s pretty sure she can read everything he hasn’t said yet behind his eyes. She wonders if he’s aware that she feels the same way about him, and they’re staring at each other.

Now he’s sliding out of her slowly, inch by glorious inch, and she gasping and scratching at his back as he slides back in slowly, and she’s one hundred percent sure she has never been this wet before and he’s goes as far as he can possible go and then he’s pulling out again and he hasn’t once broken eye contact. He’s up on his forearms over her, and she looks down for a moment and watches, biting her lip, where they’re joined as he moves in and out of her.

“You like watching, baby? The way I’m moving out of you, so slowly. and then back in?”

She gasps, nods.

“You’re so wet and you feel so good.” JC groans right against her ear. “You make me so fucking hot, baby. And I don’t know whether to keep doing this, this slow, driving us both crazy...or if I should just fuck the hell out of you so we can both come. I want to come so bad.”

And there it is, again. That build up. Fuck He feels so indescribably good, and when he talks like that in her ear it takes everything in her not to beg him to fuck her (hardhardhard) and she’s sure the bed is one huge wet spot and they’ll definitely be putting towels down tonight but fuck she needed this and she’s gripping his back and biting his shoulder--not too hard--and moving with him and keeping up the pace and the rhythm and that feeling is getting bigger inside her like a balloon that’s slowly being inflated and it’s almost past the point where it’s just too much and she’s going to pop.

“Fuck, Casey, please tell me you’re close. I wanna come so bad but I wanna do it with you.”

She hears him and tries to answer him, not sure if she can form words. “Yes. Close,” she manages in between labored breaths.

And then she’s not breathing again exactly, but gasping for air, and she can’t feel her limbs but he’s pounding and saying her name and she’s exploding and he’s erupting.

Fuck, he thinks even as he continues pumping into her, even as he’s coming harder than maybe he ever has. She’s all rhythmic and tight around him and she’s whimpering, and though he’d hate to admit it, he’s whimpering too. He repeats her name over and over and presses his forehead to hers as she runs her fingers through his hair.

They’re both panting heavily, and trembling against each other. He’s still inside her, she’s still clenching around him, her aftershocks making him feel spectacularly good. It’s funny, he thinks, that after all that he hasn’t gone completely soft yet.

He puts his lips against her temple, trails them down her cheekbone, to her cheek and he feels the wetness there before tasting the saltiness of her tears. He pulls back to look at her and her eyes are clamped shut and he sees that her shuddery breaths aren’t just on account of the sex, but she’s crying again.

Just as suddenly she tries to cover her face with her hands but he pulls them away and kisses her again. “Casey…” he starts and stops, not sure how to even finish the sentence.

And then she’s sobbing, and trying to push him away, but he’s firmly holding her tight and kissing her face and telling her it’s OK, it’s going to be OK.

He gathers her into his arms and holds her, and she mumbles something about losing it on him for the second time, and he tells her doesn’t care.

Casey doesn’t have time to care much herself because the more he comforts her, and kisses her, and touches her so gently and whispers all of the beautiful sweet wonderful things he’s whispering, the harder she cries. And maybe, she thinks, this isn’t about Tony at all. Maybe this is about JC and the fact that he takes care of her and listens to her and allows her to be her messy, flighty, chaotic self without any iota of judgment of disdain.

And fuck it all, she also thinks, because she’s in love with him. Which makes her cry harder.

JC continues to kiss her, and after a little while she  stops trying to push him away. He’s not even sure what he’s saying, just telling whatever he can think of because all he wants is for her not to hurt. And the fact that she’s she’s she’s obviously hurting, and has been for so long, makes him hate Tony maybe more than he’s ever hated anyone.

And he hates him more because right now especially, he doesn’t want to even think about the son of a bitch. She’s silly and melodramatic sometimes, and she’s fiery and bubbly and why anyone would purposely want to hurt her he can’t fathom. Because she’s also sweet, and kind, and generous, and sometimes so unsure of herself that it hurts him. And he is in love with her. And he knows it, and he’s known it for awhile and he’s been trying not to acknowledge it but right now, with her naked and crying and the most vulnerable anyone could ever be with anyone else, all he wants to do is make her hurt stop.

He wraps his arms around her, and pulls her close to his chest, turning them over so he’s on his back and she’s kind of half on him and she’s shaking so hard with her sobs and he would literally give anything right now to make her stop hurting. So he holds her, and tells its going to be OK and he almost tells her he loves her, but he doesn’t want it to come out like this, not when she’s like this. Not when it may scare her even more than he’s pretty sure it’s going to scare her when he finally does say it.

And in that instant he decides that he’s definitely going to say it because she needs to know. She needs to know how he feels, and that because of how he feels, he’s not going anywhere. And whatever happened or didn’t happen with Tony, and whatever shitty drama he’s trying to stir up now, and no matter what the media or anyone else says about their relationship, he loves her. And she needs to know it. And as soon as she knows it, he doesn’t care if everyone else in the world knows it. But he’s not going to hide it anymore. Not as soon as he can figure how--and when--to tell her.