Dinner was a silent, clinical affair. Sushi that tasted like nothing and a bottle of wine that cost more than my first car. We didn't talk about Silas. We didn't talk about legacies or babies or the muddy roads of the ridge. We just watched each other across the dark mahogany table, the air between us thick enough to choke on.
By the time Julian led me upstairs, my skin felt like it was humming.
The bedroom was a cathedral of silk and shadows. He didn't wait for the door to click shut before he was on me. He pinned me against the heavy oak, his hands diving into my hair with a desperate, frantic hunger.
"Still wearing the flannel, Alina?" he murmured against my throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below my ear. "It's practically a vintage relic by now."
"It's called 'character,' you prick," I panted, my hands fumbling with his silk tie. "Something you wouldn't know anything about, buried under all this custom-tailored armor."
Julian let out a low, dark chuckle, a sound of pure, unadulterated triumph. He hauled me up, my legs instinctively locking around his waist, and carried me to the bed. He dropped me onto the charcoal sheets, looming over me like a predator who had finally cornered the only prey that mattered.
"God, I've missed that mouth," he hissed, his eyes Dilating until the blue was just a thin, rim around the black. "I've missed the way you look at me like you're deciding which artery to open first."
"Don't get your hopes up," I whispered, reaching up to yank his shirt open, buttons skittering across the hardwood floor like hail. "I'm just here for the thread count."
Then there was no more talking.
Julian didn't make love, he conducted a siege. He moved over me with a calculated, obsessive intensity that made my mind go blissfully, terrifyingly numb. Every touch was a claim, every kiss a brand. He explored the curve of my hip and the scars on my palms with a reverence that felt almost religious, as if he were memorizing a map of the only territory he ever wanted to own.
I arched into him, my fingers digging into the muscles of his back. For the first time in weeks, the noise in my head stopped. The image of Silas on the porch, the sound of the news anchor's voice, it all burned away in the heat of Julian's touch.
"You're mine," he groaned, his voice a raw, shaky rasp as he buried himself in me. Hard and deep. "Tell me, Alina. Tell me you're not thinking about the mountain."
"What mountain?" I gasped, my head falling back, my eyes fluttering shut as the first wave of pleasure hit me.
Julian's movement became more frantic, more desperate. He was floating in it, the pure, intoxicating high of having her back in his space, under his hands. For him, this wasn't just sex; it was the final validation of his obsession. He had outlasted the hero. He had outwaited the peace. He had won the girl by letting her see the worst of him.
His hands gripped my hips, pulling me to meet his harsh thrusts. "God-" I choked out.
"Not God. Me." Julia growled like a possessive maniac, giving me a particularly deep thrust.
I felt the coil in my stomach tighten until it was unbearable. My wit was gone, replaced by a low, guttural moan that I didn't recognize. The world narrowed down to the scent of Julian's skin, the weight of his body, and the sharp, electric friction that was turning my brain to static.
When the climax hit, it was a total blackout. I felt Julian shudder against me, his entire body racking with a violent, exhausted release. He shouted my name into the crook of my neck, his fingers bruising my shoulders, clinging to me as if the floor had disappeared beneath us.
We lay there for a long time, the only sound the ragged synchronization of our breathing.
The room was cold, but I was burning.
Julian shifted, pulling the heavy duvet over us, but he didn't let go. He tucked my head under his chin, his hand resting firmly over my heart, as if he were counting the beats to make sure I was still there.
"I'm never letting you leave this house, Alina," he whispered into the dark.
"Good luck with that," I muttered, my voice thick with sleep and the lingering hum of pleasure. "I hear the security in London is shit."
But I didn't move. I didn't pull away. I lay there in the dark with him, finally finding a numb, hollow kind of peace in the center of the obsession.