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It was all those things.
It was everything about her.
He loved it all.
At the “L” word forming in his head, adrenaline shot through his body, taking him from relaxed to frantic in just a few seconds.
He immediately jumped out of bed, looking around him as if for an escape hatch to stop him from dying in a fiery crash. Panic coursed through him.
Fuck, he couldn’t breathe, and he saw spots in his eyes.
Because he thought the word “loved” in conjunction with thoughts of Skylar?
Apparently.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he bit out.
Like a wild animal, he punched the bedroom wall in front of him before sagging against it, and pain immediately exploded in his hand and arm. His breathing was ragged and uneven. He closed his eyes and rested his sweaty forehead against the dented wall and forced himself to breathe.
In. Out.It was just a random thought.
In. Out.He didn’t love her. He wasn’t capable of love. Not anymore.
In. Out.Skylar wasn’t in control of him, not unless he gave her control, and that was over.
In. Out.He was in control. No one else.
He was in control.
He was in control.
He was ingoddamn control,and he knew how to protect himself. He’d learned his lesson early.
And it was a lesson he was never going to forget again.
* * *
At some point,Julian didn’t even know how long, he straightened from the bedroom wall, his breaths calm and even. Thinking clearly.
Yes, he’d had reason to be upset. Here he’d been enlightening Skylar about the various forms of control, and the entire time, he’d been losing control of his emotions. He knew the danger in that. Losing his control made it difficult to stay unbiased as a journalist. It also made him vulnerable to the whim of others. Those were both reasons why he usually kept that shit locked down.
And it was firmly locked down again.
No need to panic anymore.
He’d fulfill his promise to Skylar. Give her everything he had to make her come. But that’s all. No more giving her time to be sure by taking her out for picnics or providing reassurance that she was always in control by letting her give him head— the most spectacular head he’d ever received— in a strip club.
It was time to get on with things.
He was about to head into the shower when his cell phone rang. He froze at the familiar ring, the one he used for all his clients except Margaux.
He picked up his phone, recognized the number, and answered. “How are you, Elena?”
Elena Frey. A voice from his past. She’d been a regular for about five years until she married her third husband and vowed to be “faithful” to the man. Once a month for those five years, Julian would meet her at the Plaza at noon, where Elena would first wine and dine him, then bring him upstairs to a luxuriously appointed suite. They’d fuck the rest of the afternoon until he left her panting and boneless.
Then Julian had told her he was retiring. Last he’d heard, she’d married her fourth husband.
“I’m not doing well, Julian. I’ve missed your cock. How are you, big boy?”
