Chapter 57
Evelyn's POV
I felt Julian's whole body go rigid against mine. His throat worked as he swallowed hard. The movement was so pronounced I could feel it where my cheek rested against his neck. His Adam's apple bobbed visibly beneath his skin.
Something about his reaction made me relax. Made the knot of tension in my chest loosen slightly. Here was Julian Russell—the man who commanded armies, who'd built an empire on ruthless confidence, who always seemed three steps ahead of everyone else—completely undone by my naked body pressed against his.
It was... amusing.
And strangely empowering.
I was going to die anyway. So why not take something for myself before the darkness claimed me? Why not feel pleasure instead of just pain? Why not let someone touch me with desire instead of violence?
If I was already condemned, I might as well enjoy the fall.
I pulled back just enough to look at his face. His jaw was clenched tight. A muscle ticked in his cheek. His eyes were fixed somewhere over my shoulder, still refusing to look directly at me. But his pupils were blown wide. His breathing had gone shallow and rapid.
"Julian," I said softly. Testing.
His gaze snapped to mine. The gray of his eyes had darkened to almost black. "Evelyn," he said. My name came out rough. Strained. "You need to—we should—"
Instead of letting him finish whatever protest he was trying to form, I reached up. Traced my fingers along the strong line of his jaw. Felt the rasp of stubble against my palm. His breath hitched at the contact.
I let my hand drift lower. Down the column of his throat. Felt his pulse hammering beneath my fingertips. Fast and hard. Proof that he wasn't nearly as controlled as he was trying to appear.
My fingers found the hem of sweater. Slipped beneath it to touch bare skin. The muscles of his abdomen tensed under my touch. Rock hard. Radiating heat.
"Evelyn." This time my name was almost a warning. "What are you—"
I pressed my palm flat against his stomach. Felt the way his breath caught. The way his whole body seemed to vibrate with tension. I traced upward slowly. Exploring the defined ridges of muscle. The scattered scars that matched my own. Evidence of a life lived in violence.
Julian's control snapped.
One moment I was standing pressed against him. The next I was falling backward. My back hit the leather sofa cushions with enough force to drive the air from my lungs. Julian came down over me, his weight pinning me in place. His hands bracketed my head. His face hovered inches from mine.
"Are you serious about this?" His voice had gone low and rough. Almost dangerous. "Because if you're just playing games, Evelyn, you need to tell me now. Before this goes any further."
Instead of answering, I reached up and tangled my fingers in his hair. Pulled him down until our mouths met.
The kiss started awkward. Uncertain. Our noses bumped. Our teeth clicked together. For a split second I wondered if I'd made a terrible mistake. If this was going to be as uncomfortable and disappointing as I'd always feared physical intimacy would be.
But then something shifted. Julian made a low sound in his throat—almost a growl—and suddenly he was kissing me like he was trying to devour me. His mouth moved against mine with increasing confidence. His tongue traced the seam of my lips until I opened for him. The kiss deepened. Became consuming.
His hands started to move. One slid down my side with deliberate slowness. Traced the curve of my waist. My hip. The outside of my thigh. His touch was firm but careful. Like he was memorizing the shape of me. Committing every curve and hollow to memory.
His other hand remained braced beside my head. Supporting his weight so he wasn't crushing me. But I could feel the tremor in his arm. The barely restrained tension in his muscles. Like he was fighting the urge to simply take what he wanted.
When his palm slid back up to cup my breast, I couldn't stop the small gasp that escaped. The sensation was overwhelming. His hand was large and warm. Calloused from years of handling weapons. The rough texture against my sensitive skin sent sparks of pleasure racing through my nervous system.
His thumb found my nipple. Circled it with just enough pressure to make the peak harden under his touch. Heat pooled low in my belly. Between my thighs. I arched into his hand without meaning to. Seeking more of that maddening friction.
"Fuck," Julian breathed. His eyes were locked on where his hand covered my breast. Watching the way my nipple pebbled under his ministrations. "You're so responsive."
He shifted his weight. Brought his other hand down to cup my other breast. Now both his hands were on me. Kneading the soft flesh with increasing confidence. Rolling my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers until I was squirming beneath him.
The dual sensation was almost too much. Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire. I'd touched myself before, of course. Had learned what my body responded to during long sleepless nights. But this was different. This was someone else's hands drawing these reactions from me. Someone else making me gasp and arch and dig my nails into his shoulders.
Julian's mouth left mine. Traced a burning path down my jaw. My throat. The hollow of my collarbone. When his lips closed around my nipple, I actually cried out. The wet heat of his mouth was nothing like his hands. His tongue circled the sensitive peak before he sucked hard enough to make pleasure border on pain.
My hands tangled in his hair. I wasn't sure if I was trying to pull him closer or push him away. The sensation was overwhelming. Too much and not enough at the same time.
He switched to my other breast. Gave it the same attention while his hand continued to work the first. Pinching and rolling the wet nipple he'd just released. The combination made my hips buck involuntarily. Seeking friction against the hard length of him I could feel pressing against my thigh through his jeans.
"Julian," I gasped. His name came out broken. Desperate. "Please—"
He lifted his head. His pupils were blown so wide his eyes looked black. His lips were wet from kissing my skin. "Please what?" His voice had gone rough. Almost feral. "Tell me what you want, Evelyn."
"Your clothes." I tugged at his shirt with shaking fingers. "Take them off."
He pulled back slightly. His chest heaved with rapid breaths. His hair was mussed from my fingers. His lips were swollen from kissing. He looked thoroughly debauched and we'd barely started.
"I need to ask you something first." His voice had gone hoarse. He cleared his throat. A flush was creeping up his neck. "Do you have... I mean, are there any—" He paused. Took a breath. "Condoms. Do you have condoms?"
I blinked up at him. Surprised. "You came to a woman's apartment in the middle of the night and you didn't bring condoms?"
The flush spread to his ears. Turned them bright red. But he recovered quickly. Schooled his expression back into something closer to his usual confidence. "I usually do," he said. His tone was carefully casual. "I forgot tonight."