Chapter 35
Elara
Julian told me not to wear the wine-colored satin chiffon slip dress I’d chosen for the night. I wish I had listened. His grunting and growling at every man who even looked my way was funny at first, but now I was just annoyed.
We hadn’t even made it past dessert before he snapped.
“Excuse us,” he barked at the guests sharing our table. His mother was somewhere across the ballroom, expertly closing deals; Julian had brought me here to network, to be the face of our new partnership. But his focus wasn't on the business.
He pulled me from my seat, gripped my wrist, and dragged me through the hallway, quiet and fast. We moved past the busy waitstaff and through the swinging doors into a small staging pantry. The second the door clicked shut, my back hit the wall.
Bunching my dress up around my hips, he held me there.
“What are you doing?” I questioned, my breathing already hitching.
“I told you not to wear this dress. You’re trying to drive me to madness,” he whispered, his mouth brushing my ear. “Do you know what I thought about during that entire speech? You. On your knees. Under the fucking table. Gagged on me while all those men who wanted you watched.”
I gasped. He grinned, a manic light in his eyes.
“You like that, don’t you? Pushing my buttons. Wearing this little dress like you didn’t know exactly what it would do to me.” He pulled the strap off my shoulder and pressed his teeth into my skin.
A hiss broke loose from my lips before I could swallow it. Heat slid down the inside of me like spilled wine, sticky and staining. He heard it. “You like the thought of them seeing you like that. For me.”
“I don’t,” I breathed, but the protest was weak.
“Liar.” He captured my mouth in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue. When he pulled back, we were both panting. “You love knowing you could bring a room to its knees, and I love that you let me ruin you in the dark.”
His hand dipped between my thighs. “Say something sweet. Pretend you want forgiveness.” He ordered.
I shook my head, my stubbornness flaring even now. “I didn't do anything,” I sassed.
His fingers massaged the heat between my legs, ignoring my defiance, the fabric of my underwear making it nearly unbearable.
. He slid one hand behind my neck, guiding my face toward his.
“You did. You tempted me. Maybe I should fuck you right here as punishment? Bend you over that tray table and make watch your cum faces in the silver.”
He pulled my panties aside and slipped two fingers inside of me without warning.
My mouth opened. The sound I made was obscene. He caught it in his palm.
“Quiet,” he warned. “You don’t want my mother’s friends catching you back here with my fingers in you?”
I shook my head, helpless.
“Then be good.” He flattened his palm to rub my clit, making my eyes roll back into my head. I grabbed at his jacket, biting my lip until I tasted copper. My thighs trembled.
“Julian, please—”
“Shhh. “Be good,” he said. “Obedient. Cum for me while they eat lemon fucking tarts.”
I came fast—hard and silent. He held me up with one arm until my legs went soft. Then he pulled out, fixed my dress, and wiped his fingers on his handkerchief like the gentleman he pretended to be. He kissed my temple.
“Go sit back down when you get yourself together,” he said. “You can make it up to me later.”
He walked out first. It took everything in me to follow an hour later, after imagining that everyone in that ballroom knew exactly what had happened in the dark.
Making it through the rest of the night was agonizing. The second the car door shut, I exhaled hard, tugging my dress down. My pulse was still unsteady, my lipstick smudged.
“Julian,” I said, staring straight ahead. “You need to get it together.”
He didn’t start the car. He didn’t even look at me. “Oh? We’re doing this?”
“Yes, we’re doing this. You cannot do what you did tonight every time a man looks at me. Not in public. And especially not around your mother.”
He angled his body toward me, eyes shadowed. “Elara, my mother is aware I’m a man. Not a monk.”
“That’s not the point. The point is your jealousy is irrational.”
“You think I care who looks at you?” he asked, leaning in until our foreheads brushed. “Let them look. I get jealous because you haven’t given me a title. Those men think they have a chance because you walk into a room like you don’t belong to anyone. Like you’re available.”
My jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
“You won’t marry me, you don’t wear a ring, you correct people when they call me your partner—what exactly do you think that signals?”
“People know I’m still married to Alastair! What am I supposed to say?”
“That you’re mine!” he shouted. “That you’re not up for discussion or fantasies from men who couldn’t survive five minutes of being loved by you.”
I sighed, defeated. “Julian—that’s not rational. It’ll make things messier.”
“I’m not rational,” he growled. “I’m in love.”
“Okay, Julian. Next time we’re out, I’ll tell everyone you’re my man. Happy?”
He reached over and cupped my neck, his thumb brushing my jaw. The annoyance melted into something suddenly, achingly gentle.
“No,” he murmured. “But I’m… satisfied.”
“I’m not trying to ignore you,” I said quietly. “I just… don’t want to lose myself again.”
Julian kissed the corner of my mouth. “I know. That’s why I lose my mind. I’m terrified you’ll find yourself and realize you don’t want me.”
“I won’t. I choose you,” I whispered. “Just… let me keep choosing you. One moment at a time.”
He kissed me again—slow, his hand sliding to my waist as if he needed to feel the reality of me under his palm. I let myself relax. I could live with his jealousy, but he was going to have to meet me somewhere between devotion and fear—or his love would swallow me whole.