Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Gator
When I closed the door of the condo behind us, it felt like I was sealing us in, or better yet, sealing the world out.
Only a day. One fucking day. But it had been a lifetime of terror, imagining him hurt, scared, wondering if I’d get there in time.
Seeing him now, whole and standing in our hallway, the relief was so intense it made me lightheaded. He looked weary, but his shoulders were squared, his eyes meeting mine directly.
He ran a hand through his messy curly hair. “God, it’s good to be home.” He offered a small, tired smile.
“Ju Ju’s home. Ju Ju’s home,” Trixie squawked from the other room, and he let out a little laugh that turned into a small sob.
I reached for him and pulled him to me.
“I don’t know why I’m crying. I knew you would come get me. I knew it, but still hearing her say I’m home—”
“I know, mon petit, I know. But you are home and you are safe.”
I held him for a few more seconds before he pulled back. “Fuck, I reek of that place. It’s like damp concrete and fear. Mind if I grab a shower?”
The casualness of it, the sheer normalcy of him wanting a shower after being kidnapped, after my world had stopped turning, hit me like a physical blow. My throat tightened. The thought of him being out of my sight, even for five minutes behind a bathroom door…
No. Not happening. Not yet.
“Yeah, a shower sounds good.” I closed the distance between us. My hand came up to curl possessively around the back of his neck, my thumb rubbing slow circles on the tense muscle there. He leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. “I’ll join you.”
His eyes snapped open, surprise flickering, then warming into understanding and something softer. His hand came up to rest on my chest, right over the frantic beat of my heart. “Okay, Daddy. Let me give Trixie a treat and then we’ll take a shower.”
I went with him and watched as he murmured reassuring words to the bird before filling her bowl with pistachios.
Then he turned back to me and held out his hand.
I took it, and we walked to our bathroom together.
I flicked the light on, the familiar white tile and chrome were like a sanctuary from the horrors of the day.
Julius started removing his clothing, but I moved behind him, my hands covering his, halting his movements. “Let me,” I rasped, my voice thick.
He stilled, then relaxed, dropping his hands to his sides. I made quick work of pulling his shirt over his head and letting it drop to the floor. His skin was warm under my palms as I traced his collarbones, down his arms. He shivered slightly, but it wasn’t fear.
I turned him gently to face me, my fingers finding the waistband of his pants.
I hooked my thumbs in them, pushing them down over his hips.
He stepped out of them, standing naked before me in the bright light.
My gaze swept over him, searching for marks or any sign they’d hurt him.
A small bruise bloomed on his hip, another faint one on his ribs.
Those fuckers were lucky I left them breathing.
I took a breath. Alive. Safe. Mine. The possessive thought roared through me, a primal echo of the terror I’d lived with ever since I got that call.
He reached for the hem of my shirt, his fingers surprisingly steady. “Your turn,” he said softly, his eyes meeting mine.
I quickly shed my own clothing and stood naked before him.
He stepped closer, pressing his forehead against my sternum for a moment, breathing me in.
The simple trust in that gesture nearly undid me.
I forced back all the thoughts of what could have gone wrong and let the knowledge that he was here, with me, where he belonged, sink in.
I reached past him and turned on the shower, adjusting the taps until steam began to billow out, fogging the mirror. I guided him under the spray first, following close behind. The hot water cascaded over us.
I reached for the soap, working up a thick lather in my hands.
Starting at his shoulders, I began to wash him.
My touch was firm and thorough, moving over the planes of his back, down his arms, and massaging the tension from his muscles.
I felt him relax incrementally under my hands, his head dropping forward, water sluicing down his hair.
“Knew you’d come,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the water. He turned slightly under the spray to look at me over his shoulder. “The whole time. Knew you’d find me.”
His absolute faith, spoken so simply, was a punch to the gut.
It laid bare the sheer terror I’d felt. The moments of doubt, the paralyzing fear that I wouldn’t get there in time.
I didn’t trust my voice. Instead, I turned him fully to face me.
My soapy hands slid over his chest, his stomach, mapping the familiar territory, washing away not just the dirt but the fear of the day.
He took the soap from me then, his own hands slick and warm.
He started on my chest, washing me with the same deliberate care I’d shown him.
His fingers traced the lines of muscle, the old scars, and the frantic pulse still hammering in my throat.
With every touch, it was like he was sending a message.
I’m here. You found me. I’m safe. He looked up at me from under wet lashes, water streaming down his face, and the love in his gaze stole my breath.
I cupped his face in my hands, water running between my fingers.
“I never would have stopped looking for you,” I managed, my voice rough.
He smiled, a real smile this time, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips under the falling water. “I know,” he whispered against my mouth.
We rinsed off, the water turning clear, washing the last of the soap and the lingering ghosts down the drain.
I shut off the tap. The sudden quiet was profound, filled only by the drip of water and our breathing.
Steam curled around us. I grabbed two large, fluffy towels and handed one to him, keeping the other for myself.
Neither of us spoke as we dried off and headed to the bedroom.
I dropped my towel at the foot of the bed.
Julius followed suit, his skin glowing faintly in the dim light.
He moved towards me with quiet certainty.
I met him halfway, my arms sliding around his waist, pulling him flush against me.
His skin was warm, slightly damp, and smelled faintly of our shared soap.
He tilted his face up to me, and I met him with a slow, deep kiss.
I poured all the fear, the relief, the bone-deep gratitude, and my overwhelming love for him into it.
He answered with the same intensity, his hands sliding up my back, fingers tangling in my still-damp hair.
We sank onto the edge of the bed, the cool sheets a shock against our heated skin.
I eased him back, following him down, my body covering his, our legs tangling.
My hands roamed over him again, tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his shoulder, the dip of his waist, the swell of his hip. Every touch was a reaffirmation that he was here, whole, mine. He arched into my touch, soft sighs escaping his lips.
The slow burn built, a steady heat. I kissed my way down his neck, sucking lightly at the pulse point, feeling his heartbeat quicken under my lips.
Lower, tracing the line of his collarbone with my tongue, nuzzling the soft hollow at the base of his throat.
He moaned, his fingers tightening in my hair.
I moved lower still, taking one nipple into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the peak until it hardened into a tight bud.
He gasped, his back arching off the bed, a low groan rumbling in his chest. “Daddy…”
Hearing him call me Daddy, reaffirming who I was to him, sent a fresh surge of heat through me. I lavished attention on his other nipple, my hand sliding down his stomach, then lower. I wrapped my hand around his length, giving him a slow, firm stroke. He cried out, his hips lifting off the bed.
“Easy, mon petit,” I murmured against his skin, my thumb rubbing a slick circle over the head, gathering the moisture beading there.
I stroked him slowly, deliberately, building the pleasure with a torturous, loving pace.
I wanted this to last. I wanted to drown him in sensation, to replace every echo of fear with the overwhelming reality of this pleasure, this connection.
He writhed beneath me, breathless pleas falling from his lips.
“Please… Daddy… touch me… more…” His need was beautiful, intoxicating.
I bent down, my lips trailing down his stomach, over his hipbone, kissing the small bruise there gently before moving lower still.
I nuzzled the crease of his thigh, inhaling his clean, aroused scent. Then I took him into my mouth.
He cried out, a sharp, ragged sound of pure pleasure.
His hands flew to my head, fingers twisting in my hair, not pushing, just holding on.
I took him deep, savoring the salty-sweet taste of him on my tongue.
I worked him slowly, using my tongue, my lips, varying the pressure, listening to the symphony of his gasps and moans.
His hips lifted slightly, seeking more, but I held the pace, drawing it out, making him feel every exquisite sensation.
“Fuck… can’t… I’m close…” He gasped, his thighs trembling.
I released him with a soft pop, crawling back up his body. His eyes were glazed, his lips swollen, his chest heaving. He looked utterly wrecked and beautiful. I kissed him deeply, letting him taste himself on my tongue.
“Need you inside me, Daddy,” he whispered against my lips, the words raw and needy. “Now. Please.”
The plea ignited a fresh wave of possessiveness.
I reached for the lube on the nightstand, slicking my fingers quickly.
My gaze never left his as I pressed one slick finger against his entrance.
He yielded easily, a soft sigh escaping him as my finger slid deep inside.
I worked him open with tender thoroughness.
One finger, then two, stretching him gently, crooking to find that spot that made him gasp and arch.
He was pliant, eager, his body welcoming my touch, his gaze locked on mine, trusting and wanting.
When he was ready, breathless and pushing back against my fingers, I slicked myself. I positioned myself between his thighs, the head of my cock pressing against his entrance. I held his gaze, the connection between us thick and unbreakable.
“Mine,” I stated, the word a low growl, thick with emotion.
“Yours,” he breathed back, pure certainty shining in his eyes. “Always.”
I pushed forward, slow and steady, breaching him. His heat enveloped me, tight and perfect. When I was fully sheathed inside him, I paused, relishing the utter completeness of it. Home. This right here was home.
“Look at me, Julius,” I murmured against his lips.
He opened his eyes, dark pools reflecting my own fierce love.
I began to move. Slow, deep thrusts. Pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in with relentless, loving thoroughness.
There was no desperation, only a deep, resonant connection.
Each stroke was a vow, a promise. I set a rhythm that was both powerful and tender, my hips rolling against his, driving deep, my gaze holding his prisoner.
See me. Feel me. This is real. This is forever.
He met every thrust with his legs wrapped around my waist, heels digging into the small of my back, pulling me deeper. The intimacy was profound, a shared language spoken in touch and breath and locked gazes.
I shifted slightly, angling my hips, and hit his prostate dead-on. He cried out, his back bowing off the bed, his cock pulsing against my stomach. “Yes! Right there… don’t stop!”
I focused my thrusts, hammering that sweet spot with deep, deliberate strokes. Pleasure coiled low in my belly, building steadily, intensely. I reached between us, wrapping my hand around his cock, stroking him firmly in time with my thrusts.
“Daddy… I’m… gonna…” His warning dissolved into a guttural cry as his orgasm tore through him.
His body clamped down on my cock like a vise, hot pulses of release striping his stomach and my hand.
The intensity of his climax, the sheer visible surrender to the pleasure I gave him, sent me hurtling over the edge.
With a low groan ripped from deep within my chest, I buried myself to the hilt and pulsed inside him, my own release crashing over me in blinding, soul-deep waves.
I collapsed forward, catching my weight on my forearms, my forehead pressed to his, both of us gasping, trembling, slick with sweat and release.
The aftershocks pulsed through us, a shared, wordless resonance.
I stayed buried inside him, not ready to break the connection, my arms wrapping around him to hold him impossibly close.
I pressed soft, lingering kisses to his sweat-dampened temple, his closed eyelids, the corner of his mouth.
The frantic energy of the day, the terror, the relief, it all bled away, leaving behind a profound exhaustion and a deep, bone-melting peace.
Carefully, I pulled out, immediately gathering him against my side.
He curled into me, his head finding its familiar spot on my shoulder, one arm draped possessively across my chest, his fingers splayed over my steadily slowing heartbeat.
He sighed, a sound of utter contentment.
“Never letting you out of my sight again,” I murmured, the words rough but soft.
He chuckled softly, the vibration humming against my skin. “Good luck with that, tough guy.” He tilted his head up, his gaze meeting mine in the dim light, warm and sated. “But for the record? I’m good right here.” He nestled back down, his body relaxing completely against mine.
I held him and listened to his breathing even out, feeling the steady thud of his heart against my side. Here, in the warm, safe darkness of our bed, the only thing that mattered was the solid, undeniable weight of him in my arms. Here with me. Right where he belonged.