Chapter17 I'm scared too
Chloe
The question hit like a physical blow. My mouth went dry. "Why... why are you asking?"
The words felt strange even as I said them—it was such an odd thing to ask, out of nowhere. I searched his face, trying to make sense of it.
"Just tell me," he said. His gaze didn't waver.
Something about the specificity of it unsettled me. Scars. Not insecurities, not anything bothering you—scars. I pressed further. "But why would you even think to ask that? Where is this coming from?"
Julian was quiet for a moment. Then, simply: "It's nothing. Forget I asked."
It wasn't nothing. But the car was already slowing.
My hands twisted in my lap so violently I might have snapped my own fingers. My lungs seized—I literally couldn't draw breath. The air in the car turned suffocating, pressing down on my chest like a physical weight. Oh God, oh God— Should I tell him? Should I lie? My mind blanked completely, every coherent thought scattering like shattered glass.
"Well, I... yes." The words came out barely above a whisper. "I was in a car accident. Years ago. There are some scars from that. But they've healed. They're old now."
Julian's hand tightened on my knee. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly gentle. "Scars won't change anything. You have nothing to be ashamed of."
But he didn't understand.
It wasn't just about them being ugly. It was about what they represented—the moment I lost everything. If he asked too many questions, if he wanted details, I'd have to relive the worst day of my life.
I turned away, blinking back tears.
Please don't push. Please just let it be.
The car pulled up to the mansion. Julian took my hand, lacing our fingers together as we walked through the grand foyer. I could feel the staff watching, but he didn't let go. If anything, his grip tightened.
"Julian, they're staring..."
"Let them." He guided me toward the sweeping staircase. "They need to know you're the lady of this house."
We climbed in silence, my heart pounding harder with each step. Down the hallway. Past closed doors. Until we were standing outside the master bedroom.
Julian stopped, turning to face me. The look in his eyes made my knees weak.
"Last chance," he said softly. "If you want to stop, say so now. But if you come inside with me..." His thumb brushed across my knuckles. "I won't be able to stop, Chloe. Not tonight."
My mind screamed at me to run. To protect myself. To maintain the distance that had kept me safe all these years.
But my body—my treacherous, desperate body—wanted to stay.
I looked up at him. This beautiful, powerful man who somehow saw me. Who protected me. Who made me feel things I thought I'd buried forever.
"I'm coming in," I whispered.
---
The door clicked shut behind us. Julian locked it with a decisive turn of his wrist.
The bedroom was bathed in soft light from the bedside lamps. Too bright. Too exposed.
Julian's hands found my waist, pulling me against him. His kiss was different this time—deeper, hungrier, a promise of what was to come. I melted into him, my fingers clutching his shoulders.
His lips trailed down my jaw, my neck. His hands found the zipper of my gown, slowly pulling it down.
Panic surged through me. "Wait—"
He stopped immediately, pulling back. "What's wrong?"
"Can we... can we turn off the lights?"
His brow furrowed. "Why? I want to see you."
Heat flooded my face. "I'm not... I'm not used to... it's too bright. I'll be embarrassed."
I bit my lip, unable to meet his eyes. "And my scars... they're not pretty. I don't want you to see them under such harsh light."
Julian studied me for a long moment. Something shifted in his expression—understanding, maybe, or calculation. Finally, he nodded.
"Alright. If that's what you need."
He crossed to the wall and switched off every light. Darkness swallowed the room, broken only by faint moonlight filtering through the curtains.
I exhaled shakily. In the darkness, I could hide.
Footsteps approached. Julian's hands found me again, gentle but insistent. He lifted me, carrying me to the bed. His weight settled over me, his lips finding mine in the dark.
His kisses trailed lower—neck, collarbone, shoulder. His hand slid along my side, but I was hyper-aware of every touch, every movement, terrified he'd find that particular scar in the darkness.
"Julian," I whispered, my voice shaking. "I need... could I have some wine? Just a little. To help me relax."
He went still above me. "Wine?"
"I'm nervous." The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "I just... I need something to take the edge off."
I didn't elaborate. I couldn't tell him that this was my first time being fully present, fully aware. That the only other time didn't count because I had been drugged, barely conscious, drowning in shame.
Silence stretched between us. I couldn't see his expression in the dark, couldn't read what he was thinking.
Finally, he shifted, pulling away. "Alright. I'll get you some wine. Wait here."
The door opened and closed. I was alone in the darkness, my heart racing, my body still humming with unfulfilled desire.
What was I doing? Why had I asked for wine? He probably thought I was ridiculous.
The door opened again. Julian's silhouette appeared, a wine glass in his hand.
"What took so long?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
"I was in the wine cellar." There was something in his voice I couldn't quite identify. "Took me a while to choose the right one. I wanted something that would help you relax without making you feel sick."
The thoughtfulness of that answer caught me off guard. Even now, even in this moment charged with desire, he was thinking about my comfort.
I took a sip. The wine was rich, warming as it slid down my throat. I took another sip, then another, feeling the tension in my shoulders start to ease.
Julian watched me in the darkness. I could feel the weight of his gaze, even if I couldn't see his eyes.
"Better?" he asked softly.
"A little." I set the half-empty glass on the nightstand. "Thank you."
His hand found mine, fingers lacing together. "Chloe, I need you to understand something. I don't care if you're nervous. I don't care if you think you'll mess this up. All I care about is you—being here with me, trusting me enough to let me close."
His thumb brushed across my knuckles. "We'll go as slow as you need. And if you want to stop at any point, just say the word. I promise I'll listen."
The sincerity in his voice broke something inside me. All the fear, all the doubt—it didn't disappear, but it softened. Became manageable.
I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against his shoulder. "I'm scared," I whispered. "Not of you. Of... everything. Of what this means. Of how much I want this."
Julian's arms came around me, holding me close. "I know. I'm scared too."
That admission—so unexpected, so honest—made me look up at him.
"You're scared?"
"Terrified." His hand cupped my face, thumb stroking my cheek. "Because I've never wanted anyone the way I want you. And that scares the hell out of me."
In the darkness, we found each other again. That time, when he kissed me, there was no hesitation. No holding back.
And when his hands explored my body, when they brushed against old scars in the dark, he didn't ask questions.
He just kissed each one he found, gentle and reverent, as if he was trying to heal wounds that had long since closed.