Chapter 173 Mine
Julian： POV
"Tell me what you need."
"You," she breathed, her hips rolling up against mine.
"Just you."
That broke me.
Four years. Four fucking years of emptiness, of going through the motions of living while feeling like I was already dead inside.
And here she was, looking at me like I was her salvation instead of her destruction. This was poison, I knew that. But it was the only poison that had made me feel alive in four years.
I pulled back just long enough to yank my shirt over my head, and she made a sound of approval, her hands immediately going to my chest, her nails scraping lightly across my skin. The touch sent electricity through me—not just desire, but recognition. My body remembered hers even if her mind didn't remember mine.
I caught her mouth again, kissing her harder this time, swallowing every gasp and whimper as my hands found the hem of her dress. I was drowning and she was air, even if breathing her in would kill us both.
"This comes off," I said against her lips, already tugging the fabric up.
"Now."
She helped—or tried to—her movements uncoordinated but eager, and within seconds the dress was bunched around her waist, leaving her in nothing but a thin bra and underwear.
I stared down at her, my breath coming hard and fast, and she stared back, her eyes dark and pleading. God, she was still so beautiful it hurt to look at her. Four years of imagining this moment, of hating myself for wanting it, of knowing I'd damn myself for it if I ever got the chance.
"Please," she whispered, and that one word destroyed whatever was left of my restraint.
I was going to hell for this. I knew that. But I'd been living in hell for four years anyway—at least this way, I'd have something worth burning for.
I leaned down and kissed her again, slower this time, my hands sliding up her sides to cup her breasts through the lace.
She arched into my touch, her head falling back against the seat, and I took the opportunity to trail my mouth down her throat, tasting the salt on her skin, feeling the flutter of her pulse beneath my lips.
"You're so fucking beautiful," I murmured, my fingers finding the clasp of her bra.
"Do you know that? Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
What you've always done to me. What you did to me when you left. What you're doing to me now by being here, by wanting me when you don't even know who I am.
She didn't answer—couldn't, probably—but her hands found my hair, tugging me closer, and I took that as permission to keep going.
The bra came off, and I tossed it aside without looking, my attention entirely focused on her.
I lowered my head and took one nipple into my mouth, sucking gently, and she cried out, her back bowing off the seat.
She gasped, her fingers tightening in my hair. "Oh god—"
I switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, and she was writhing beneath me now, her thighs pressing together, seeking friction.
I slid one hand down between her legs, feeling the heat of her through the thin fabric of her underwear, and she moaned, her hips bucking up into my touch.
This was madness. Beautiful, destructive madness. I was taking advantage of her drugged state, her vulnerability, her amnesia—and I couldn't stop. Four years of grief and rage and desperate love had twisted into something dark and hungry, and she was feeding it willingly.
"So wet already," I said, my voice rough.
I hooked my fingers under the waistband and pulled the fabric down, exposing her completely.
"Is this what you want? You want me to touch you here?"
"Yes," she breathed, her voice breaking.
"Please, yes—"
I slid two fingers inside her, and she cried out, her body clenching around me.
She was so tight, so warm, and I had to grit my teeth to keep from losing control completely.
"Fuck, Elena," I groaned, starting to move my fingers slowly, watching the way her face twisted with pleasure.
"You feel so good. So fucking good."
Just like before. Just like all those nights I'd replayed in my head until they felt more like torture than memories.
She was already close—I could feel it in the way her body tensed, the way her breathing grew more ragged—and I curled my fingers, finding that spot inside her that always used to make her fall apart.
"Julian," she gasped, her nails digging into my shoulders.
"I'm—I'm going to—"
"Come for me," I said, my thumb finding her clit and pressing down.
"Let me see you come."
She shattered, her body convulsing around my fingers, her mouth falling open in a silent scream.
I worked her through it, drawing out every last tremor, until finally she collapsed back against the seat, boneless and gasping.
I pulled my fingers free and brought them to my mouth, tasting her, and her eyes went wide.
"You taste like heaven," I said, already reaching for my belt.
"But I'm not done with you yet."
I was going to take everything she was offering, even knowing it would destroy us both. Even knowing that when the drugs wore off, when reality crashed back in, she'd hate me for this. I'd hate myself too. But right now, in this moment, she was mine again, and I was too selfish and too broken to let that go.
She watched as I freed myself, her gaze dropping to my cock, and I saw the moment her drugged mind registered what was about to happen.
Her thighs fell open wider, an invitation, and I didn't waste any time.
I positioned myself at her entrance, the head of my cock nudging against her slick heat, and I paused, looking down at her.
"Last chance," I said, even though I knew I was lying.
There was no way in hell I was stopping now. This was my damnation, but it was also my salvation—the only thing that had made me feel human in four years.
"Tell me to stop and I will."
She reached up and pulled me down into a kiss, her legs wrapping around my waist.
"Don't stop," she whispered against my lips.
"Don't you dare stop."
So I didn't.
I pushed inside her in one slow, deliberate thrust, and we both groaned at the sensation.
She was so tight, so perfect, and I had to pause for a moment just to catch my breath, to keep from finishing right then and there.
"Fuck," I breathed, my forehead dropping to hers.
"You feel—god, Elena, you feel—"
Like home. Like everything I've been missing. Like the piece of my soul I thought was gone forever.
"Move," she said, her voice desperate.
"Please, Julian, move—"
I pulled back and thrust in again, harder this time, and she cried out, her nails raking down my back.
I set a rhythm—slow at first, then faster, deeper—and she met me thrust for thrust, her body rising to take me in.
"Look at me," I said, catching her chin and forcing her eyes to mine.
"I want you to look at me while I fuck you."
She did, her gaze unfocused but locked on mine, and I felt something shift in my chest.
This wasn't just sex.
It wasn't just the drug making her compliant.
This was us—broken, fucked up, but still somehow finding our way back to each other. Even if it was built on lies and chemicals and my own desperate selfishness.
"You're mine," I said, my voice rough.
"Say it. Say you're mine."
"Yours," she gasped, her body starting to tense again.
She came again, harder this time, her body clamping down around me, and I followed her over the edge, my release slamming into me with enough force to make my vision white out.
When I finally came back to myself, she was limp beneath me, her eyes closed, her breathing slow and even.
I pulled out carefully and tucked her against my side, my hand smoothing over her hair.
The guilt was already creeping in, cold and sharp. What had I done? What kind of monster was I?
"I'll get you back," I whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"I swear to god, Elena, I'll get you back."