Chapter18 You're mine（Julian）
Julian
She was propped against the headboard, shirt buttons undone just enough to reveal flushed skin. Hair wild, eyes locked on mine—raw vulnerability cracking through her armor.
"Julian..." Her voice caught. "I need... could I have some wine? Just a little. To help me relax."
I read the tension in her white-knuckled grip on the sheets. That last instinctive retreat before full surrender.
But those eyes—trust flickering against fear—they owned me completely.
"Alright. I'll get you some wine. Wait here." I pressed a kiss to her forehead and slipped out.
Down in the cellar, I grabbed the Romanée-Conti—the one she had mentioned once, casual conversation she thought private.
My mind drifted as I climbed back up. That night a year ago—the woman who left me a crumpled dollar bill. I had searched obsessively for her.
Could it be Chloe?
The timeline fit. A year ago she had been at her lowest—two hundred pounds, drugged by Mia, desperate.
That crescent moon scar on her left waist—if it was there, I'd have my answer.
Tonight I'd finally know.
Halfway back through the hall, a door banged open. Ethan stumbled out, rumpled and sleepless. His eyes hit the bottle, then me, narrowing.
"Wine? This fucking late?" Venom dripped from every word.
"My wife asked for it." I met his glare. "Got a problem?"
He stepped closer, fists clenched. "How much do you really know about her?"
"I grew up with her," he snarled. "I know her favorite flowers. Birthday wishes. Nightmares where she needs holding. I know everything."
A bitter smile twisted his mouth. "Her dating history? College boyfriends. More than one. She's not your pure little wife."
My grip tightened on the bottle until my knuckles paled.
"That all?"
"Marriage doesn't own her! Contract husband for cash, her mom's pills. She'll ditch your ass once it's over. I'll be waiting. Always."
His fist swung wild. I dodged easily, caught his wrist, twisted just enough to drop him gasping to his knees. Set the bottle down deliberately.
"Ethan Sterling." Ice-cold, leaning close. "Twenty-one. UCLA junior. Tuition? Her grinding club nights. This house? My gift to her. Every goddamn floorboard—mine."
His face drained white.
"Her past? Don't care. Spit that lie again, you'll regret it."
He swung again, desperate. I blocked it, pinned him against the wall, forearm to throat.
"You want Chloe asking why you're bruised? She'd kick you out. Me? I'd own her completely—body and soul. Walk away. Now."
The fight drained out of him. He slumped, defeated.
I grabbed the bottle, headed for the stairs. At the top: "She's my wife. A fact you can't change. If you love her? Let go."
Outside the door, I breathed deep, forcing down anger and smoothing my rumpled shirt.
I pushed inside.
The main lights were off, but a dim bedside lamp cast a soft golden glow, moonlight filtering through the windows.
Chloe was at the vanity in white lace, hair cascading down. She turned—eyes lighting up.
The anger evaporated.
I crossed to the nightstand, setting the bottle and glasses down.
"Here." I sat beside her, pressing the glass into her trembling fingers. "Drink slowly."
She took a sip, then another. The tension in her shoulders eased.
"Better?" I asked softly.
"A little." She set the half-empty glass on the nightstand. "Thank you."
My hand found hers, 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."
My thumb brushed across her 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."
She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against my shoulder. "I'm scared," she whispered. "Not of you. Of... everything. Of what this means. Of how much I want this."
My arms came around her, holding her close. "I know. I'm scared too."
She looked up, surprise in her eyes. "You're scared?"
"Terrified." My hand cupped her face, thumb stroking her 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 I kissed her, there was no hesitation. No holding back.
And when my hands explored her body, when they brushed against old scars in the dark, I didn't ask questions.
I just kissed each one I found, gentle and reverent, as if I was trying to heal wounds that had long since closed.
I scooped her up, carried her to the bed where her hair spread across white sheets.
My shirt shed deliberately—a final chance to stop. Then I covered her, claiming her mouth deep and hungry before trailing down: the pulse point in her throat, teeth grazing her collarbone, tongue tracing where lace met skin.
Her slip whispered down under my hands.
In the darkness, my fingers explored. I felt a raised line along her right shoulder blade—rough, uneven texture. My fingertips traced it carefully.
Another scar crossed her left hip. Jagged, skin puckered where it had healed.
She tensed, her breathing quickening. Heat radiated from her skin.
But I didn't ask. Instead, I pressed my lips where my fingers had traced, lingering until I felt her relax.
My hand continued, finding another along her ribcage. Each one told a story my fingers read in the darkness.
I needed to find that waist, that crescent moon. But as my palm skimmed lower, something shifted.
The texture of her skin—silk over steel. The way she trembled. The catch in her breath. The heat radiating from her core.
The need to claim her overwhelmed the need for confirmation.
Fuck the scar. I'd find it later.
"Tell me if it's too much," I murmured against her ear as my hand slid lower, finding her slick and ready. She arched into my touch, a broken sound escaping.
I worked her slowly, deliberately, listening to her breathing grow ragged, feeling the heat intensify under my palm.
When I felt her trembling on the edge, muscles tensing, I finally shed the last barriers.
The first push drew sharp gasps from both of us. I forced myself still, feeling her adjust, fighting every instinct. Her nails dug into my shoulders—a sting, urgency in her grip.
I started slowly, feeling every inch as her body opened. The tight heat nearly undid me, but I gritted my teeth, determined.
"Say my name," I rasped.
"Julian..." Broken, almost a sob vibrating against my chest.
Every chain broke loose.
The rhythm built—measured to relentless, her hips rising to meet each thrust. I felt her shatter, body clenching tight, heard her cry out.
The sensation dragged me over with her. I poured everything into it as we crashed together.
We collapsed breathless, tangled. I felt her heartbeat slow against my chest, syncing with mine.
I tucked her close, pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Mine now, Chloe. Forever."