I close the distance between us with measured steps, my heart thundering so loudly I'm certain he can hear it. Each footfall feels weighted with intention, with want, with something I'm not quite ready to name. The space between us shrinks—three feet, two feet, inches—and I watch his chest rise and fall when I reach him.
When I'm finally close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, he moves. His hands come up to frame my face with a gentleness that contradicts the hunger I see flickering inthose dark eyes. His hands are warm against my cheeks, fingers threading back into my hair, and I hear the sharp intake of his breath—ragged, unsteady, like he's been holding it this whole time and only now remembered he needs oxygen.
Then his mouth is on mine, and everything else falls away.
His hands move to the hem of my dress, tugging upward with an urgency that makes my skin catch fire. When I lift my arms for him, he pulls the fabric over my head, and it falls somewhere behind us—forgotten, irrelevant. My fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt, clumsy in my haste, and he helps me, shrugging it off while I work at his belt.
We're frantic now, graceless and desperate. His jeans hit the floor. My bra unclasps. Skin meets skin, and I gasp at the contact—electric, overwhelming, perfect.
By the time we reach the bed, we're both down to our undies and socks. I smile at the sight of us, and kneel down. I look up at him, and his expression is so vulnerable. I want to bring him pleasure, and I do—I peel off his silky briefs and take him in my mouth. I’ve done this before, but never enjoyed it so much. He moans as I take him deeper, and as his breathing gets away from him, he grabs a fistful of my hair and gently tugs. “You… need to stop…” he breathes, his words ragged.
I pull away. “But I want to—“
He closes his eyes. “I want to fuck you so bad…” He pulls me up with hands that are firm but soft, dominant without being rough.
Then he shoves me on the bed.
My back hits the mattress, and he hovers above me, eyes searching mine for permission I've already given a thousand times over.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he breathes against my skin, his voice rough with want, those dark eyes locked on mine with an intensity that makes my heart stutter. "Every inch of you."
He reaches for his bedside table, and grabs a condom. In the blink of an eye, his mouth is on me—trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck, across my collarbone, between my breasts. Every touch makes me more aroused. My fingers thread through his soft hair, tugging gently as he explores lower, worshipping every inch of my body like he's committing it to memory.
I've been with men before—more than I care to count—but this is different. This isn't just attraction or chemistry or physical need. This is something deeper, something that feels inevitable, like we were always meant to find each other in that convenience store, like fate conspired to bring us together through violence and fear so we could land here, in this moment, tangled up in each other.
"Julian," I whisper, arching into him. "Please."
He moves back and slides my pink polka-dot panties off as I eagerly help him—so freaking turned on, I can’t stand it.
He settles himself between my thighs, and when he finally enters me, I cry out—overwhelmed by sensation, by emotion, by the sheer rightness of it. The pressure—that need, that want—is gone. I have him now.
He moves with deliberate rhythm, watching my face, following my lead, responding to what makes me gasp and moan—the man knows what he’s doing—my pleasure is everything to him.
I'm lost in him. Completely. The tension builds faster than I expect, coiling tight in my core until it snaps, and I shatter beneath him with a broken cry. He follows seconds later, groaning my name as he collapses against me.
We lie there, breathless and tangled, and then we're both laughing—surprised, and a little embarrassed by how quickly we fell apart.
"That was—"
"Yeah," I breathe, grinning up at him. "It really was."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The fluorescent lights in the mall are harsh and unforgiving, but I don't care. I'm floating, riding a high I haven't felt in—maybe ever. My fingers trail along the glass display case at the MAC counter, eyeing a deep berry shade that would look killer against my skin.
"Can I help you find something?" The sales associate beams at me—all gleaming teeth and perfectly contoured cheekbones.
"That one." I point to the berry. "And maybe something bolder? Like a true red?"
She pulls out three shades, swatching them across the back of my hand with practiced efficiency. I study them, tilting my wrist under the light, but my mind keeps drifting back to Julian's brownstone. To his hands on my skin. His mouth on my neck. The way he whispered my name like a prayer.
I'm being ridiculous. Completely gone.
Just be chill, Jenna's voice echoes in my head, that gentle but firm tone she uses when I'm spiraling.Just enjoy your happiness for once. Don’t overthink it.
Easy for her to say. She's pregnant with her second kid, married to a rich guy who worships the ground she walks on. She's never had to worry about the other shoe dropping.
But then again, maybe I shouldn't either. Maybe Julian's different. Maybe this time, it's real.
