Chapter 18 Julian #2
I tip her chin up and wash her face. She closes her eyes and lets me do it, lets me erase the evidence.
We don’t talk. There’s beauty in the silence.
When I finish, I rinse her and quickly wash myself before leaning back and wrapping my arms around her. Her body fits perfectly, every line aligning with mine.
She leans back, boneless, and lets me hold her up.
For a while, I just breathe her in.
She smells like soap and blood and the end of the world.
Like the beginning of a new one.
Eventually, she opens her eyes and says, “What happens now?”
I answer without hesitation. “Whatever we want.”
She nods, once. The water ripples around us, pink and warm. Outside, the city is waking up, the streets below a blur of movement and light.
In here, there is only us. Only what we choose.
I press my mouth to her temple. I taste the salt of her skin and memorize the moment.
We don’t move until the water goes cold.
The sun sets behind a curtain of glass and steel, city lights erupting in the twilight. The penthouse terrace is empty, a plateau above the world, and the infinity pool glows blue, as if some goddamn deity made it just for us.
I guide her out, still naked underneath the big, white robe she wears loosely. She tries to cover herself when I start undoing it, but I stop her with a hand on her wrist.
“No one can see us,” I say, pulling it off and shedding my own. “Don’t worry, baby girl, I’ll pluck the eyes out of anyone who looks at you the way only I can.”
We step onto the tiles. The night air raises goosebumps, but the pool steams, surface trembling with its own private climate. She slides in first, water rising over her chest, hair floating behind her like a halo. I follow, the heat feels nice in the spring chill.
The city hums below, but up here there’s only the pulse of blood and water. We drift toward the edge, nothing but a thin strip of stone between us and the empty air.
She looks out for a few minutes before jumping down and swimming to the shallow end and sitting on the ledge, legs dangling in the water, and I wedge myself between her knees. My hands run up her calves, over her thighs, and I watch the shiver ripple through her.
She leans in, lips parted. I kiss her hard, biting her bottom lip until she gasps, and then I push her back, splay her on the edge, and kiss my way down her neck, her breasts, her stomach. Her scars are a map, a story I know by heart now. I want to add more.
I kneel in the pool, grip her hips, and yank her to the very edge.
Her ass slides on wet stone. I spread her legs and bury my mouth between them, tongue working the nerves until she’s writhing, hands clutching my hair, breath coming in little animal sounds.
I don’t stop, don’t slow, don’t let her run from it.
She comes fast, her whole body locking up, heels digging into my back, and I drink it in, savor every tremor.
When it’s over, she lies back against the tile, chest heaving. I don’t give her time to recover. I pull her up and down into the water, turn her so she’s facing the city, her legs splayed over my legs, her hands braced on my thighs, and I push into her from behind, burying myself to the root.
She cries out, and the sound shreds whatever leash I had left. I fuck her slow at first, hands gripping her waist, fingers bruising the flesh. The water laps at us, cool on our skin, hot where we’re joined.
She grinds down against me, matching my rhythm, head thrown back, hair dark and wet. I grab a fistful, yank it so her head tilts up.
“Look,” I growl, and she does. “See the world down there? Not a single one of them will ever hurt you again. Now come for me.”
I reach around, find her clit, and rub it hard and fast. She’s hypersensitive, twitching, gasping, almost sobbing. I want her to remember this forever, want it to overwrite every bad thing that ever happened.
She comes again, screaming my name, nails digging into my thighs. I fuck her through it, chasing my own release, hips snapping, breath gone ragged. When I come, I bite her shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark.
I don’t pull out. I hold her there, both of us shaking, her body twitching around me. Her head falls back on my shoulder and her chest heaves before slowly regaining it’s pace.
We float, tethered to each other, breathing each other in.
She turns to face me, arms around my neck, legs around my waist. Her eyes are glazed, but she’s smiling. I kiss her, slow this time, lips gentle on her swollen mouth.
She sighs, melts against me, and I crab walk to the stairs. We sit together on the bottom step, water up to our chests, her head on my shoulder.
She whispers, “Will it ever go away?”
I know what she means. The nightmares. The hunger. The ache that nothing else touches.
I squeeze her tight. “No. But we can live with it. Rewrite it. Make new memories to replace the old.”
She laughs, “Well, I’d say this is a good start.”
We stay there until the moon is high, until the water cools, until our skin wrinkles and we can barely move.
I carry her inside, wrap her in a towel, and lay her on the bed. I watch her sleep, every so often tracing the bruises already blooming on her hips, the bite on her shoulder, the nail indents on my thighs.
We belong to each other now, in the most primitive, permanent sense.
There’s only two things left to do:
Change her last name.
And make her the mother of my children.