12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Ophelia
I get about halfway through this damn movie and I can't do it anymore. It's really uncomfortable. Not seeing intimate scenes with Dominic. Unfortunately, I've seen some before. It's with Melanie that's horrible. Not because I still love him. I don't. Really it's just gross as hell.
I look at Julian sitting next to me. His face makes it almost impossible not to break into a fit of laughter. I can tell that he's trying to watch it, but he looks like he's in pain.
I lean in close, my voice low so only he can hear. “Hey. Want to get out of here?”
Julian exhales like I’ve just handed him salvation. A slow grin spreads across his face as he turns toward me. “I thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.”
His fingers tighten around my wrist, firm and inescapable, his grip humming with something just shy of a promise. He lifts my hand, pressing a deliberate kiss to my palm before rising to his feet. In one smooth motion, he helps me up.
We barely take three steps before—
"Ophelia!"
The sharp whisper-yell cuts through the theater, frantic and full of disbelief.
I glance over, unbothered. Melanie has fully turned in her seat, her manicured nails gripping the armrest like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. The fact that half the audience is now watching us? Not my problem.
"Where are you going?" she demands.
I shrug, keeping my tone light. “We’re leaving.”
Melanie blinks at me, her mouth parting in pure horror. “You’re leaving?”
"Yup." I pop the p just to drive it home.
Her whole body jerks forward, as if physically wounded by my audacity. “How could you? It’s my big night!” She gestures wildly around her, like I should be taking in the sheer magnitude of this event. “You should at least try to fit in! Be normal! For once!”
I tilt my head, smiling sweetly, letting the moment stretch just long enough to make her squirm. With practiced ease, I throw her own words right back at her.
"Oh, dear sister. Remember?" I mimic her exact tone—that perfect, condescending, media-trained delivery. "She’s never really been interested in what the rest of us do. She’s never tried. Never fit in."
Julian laughs—loudly, unapologetically. A real, deep burst of amusement that turns more heads than Melanie ever could.
Still chuckling, he slides an arm around my waist, guiding me toward the exit like he’s thoroughly enjoying every second of this.
As we push through the doors, I swear I hear a round of applause. And considering how boring this movie is? It’s definitely not for that.
"I'm so proud of you," Julian says while lifting me up and twirling me around.
I look at the marquee above the theater. The Eclipse Theater. That makes me laugh. Melanie always thought she was the sun, but even the brightest star can be eclipsed when something stronger steps into its path.
I hate being complimented. It always makes me feel weird, so I do what I do best—I change the subject.
"Well, what now? I can grab us a cab, and we can head back to my place."
Julian exhales, dragging his gaze over me with slow amusement. "Or…" he starts, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips. "I can give you a taste of my world."
I narrow my eyes. Never trust a demon when he sounds too pleased with himself.
"Your world?" I ask, skepticism laced through my voice.
Julian spreads his arms in an easy shrug. "You don’t think demons use cabs, do you?"
"I guess I never really thought about a demon’s mode of transportation," I admit, crossing my arms. "Not like I ever expected to meet one."
His smirk deepens. "A tragic oversight."
I huff. "I’m assuming you don’t drive?"
"Not when I have faster options." His gaze gleams with something wicked, something undeniably entertained.
"Right, so what do you do?" I ask dryly. "Just snap your fingers and appear places?"
Julian steps forward, deliberate, his presence pressing into mine just enough to steal the air between us. "Something like that," he murmurs.
I tilt my head. "So what? You’re going to teleport us?"
His eyes glint. "No, darling. I’m going to fly us."
I freeze. My lips part, words failing me for a solid five full seconds before I manage to spit out—
"I beg your fucking pardon?"
Julian laughs, low and amused, as if this is the best part of his night. "Oh, come on. Where’s your sense of adventure?"
I throw my hands in the air. "I left it back at the theater, right around the time you started calling me darling."
"Lia, Lia, Lia," he tsks, shaking his head, all smooth arrogance. "You wound me."
I arch a brow. "You’ll live."
"I will," he muses, stepping closer, his fingers brushing against my wrist, light but intentional. "After I take you for a little ride."
I glare at him, watching the way his eyes gleam—too entertained, too sure of himself.
"Unless you’re scared?" he adds, the words a taunt wrapped in honey.
I inhale slowly, steadying myself before narrowing my gaze. "I hate that you know exactly how to push my buttons."
Julian chuckles, tipping his head, looking far too pleased. "A gift."
"A curse," I mutter.
"Semantics," he says with a lazy shrug. His expression shifts, sharpening like a blade, all challenge, all temptation. "So? Do you trust me?"
I hold his gaze, searching his face for any trace of deceit, any flicker of something insincere. But there’s nothing.
Just him.
And the truth I already know.
I exhale, shaking my head. "Don’t drop me, demon."
Julian smirks, stepping in closer. He lifts my hand again, bringing it to his lips, his breath warm against my skin as he murmurs, "I’d never let you fall, sweetheart."
And suddenly—
The world disappears.
Not in pieces. Not in stages. All at once.
A rush of air steals my breath as reality bends, stretching into something vast, untethered, impossible. It’s not falling. Not flying. It’s both—weightless and electric, like being yanked through space by something too big to fight.
Colors blur—streaks of silver and violet folding into themselves, warping into something that doesn’t belong to this world. The shift is sudden, dizzying, exhilarating.
My first instinct is to panic. My second is to hold onto Julian.
I don’t think about it—I just grip his jacket tighter, my fingers curling into the fabric like an anchor. And that’s when I realize…
I’m not afraid.
Adrenaline pulses through me, sharp and heady, but there’s no fear. No hesitation. Because he’s here.
His hands don’t waver. One stays firm on my waist, the other curves over the small of my back, pressing me closer. His warmth bleeds into my skin, steady and deliberate, grounding me even as the world bends.
I feel his presence everywhere.
Not just his touch. Him. The space between us hums primal, ancient, like a thread connecting us to something bigger than either of us. Something that has waited too long to be acknowledged.
It’s too much. It’s not enough.
The movement slows—just enough for me to register the shift. Suddenly, the world snaps back into focus.
My feet slam onto solid ground, my balance wrecked, breath dragging in sharp. The contrast is jarring, my body struggles to adjust to stillness after the breakneck speed of whatever the hell just happened.
Julian doesn’t let go.
His grip tightens slightly, fingers pressing into my waist before trailing upward, slow and deliberate, like he’s testing me. Like he’s waiting to see how I’ll react.
I inhale, but I’m still buzzing, it’s too hot under my skin. The feeling lingers—not just from the teleportation, but from him.
Julian smirks, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Well?" His voice is smooth, satisfied.
I force a breath, willing my pulse to settle. “That was—”
His thumb grazes my hip, a whisper of contact that sends a sharp jolt through me.
Damn him.
"—unnecessary," I finish, ignoring how my voice betrays me—rougher, more breathless than it should be.
Julian hums, tilting his head, gaze dropping to my lips for just a second before flicking back to my eyes. "Liar."
I roll my eyes and really look around for the first time.
The world is no longer spinning, but the pulse of magic still lingers, clinging to the air. I realize we’re home.
I’m in my apartment.
The lights are low, it’s familiar, but something feels different. Like the space has shifted, like it recognizes the change in me. Maybe because it’s not the same place I left earlier tonight.
Maybe because I’m not.
Something unspoken simmers between us, stretching the space, coiling tight like a wire. I should step away, create distance, regain my footing, pretend this isn’t affecting me the way it is. But I don’t. And neither does he.
His hand remains on my waist, casual but deliberate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Like he’s waiting for me to acknowledge that I felt it too. Because I did.
Julian lifts a brow, his smirk slow and knowing. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”
My stomach tightens, a flicker of something dangerous curling low. “About what?”
His thumb moves again, tracing a slow, lazy circle against my hip, sending a sharp thrill down my spine that I refuse to react to. "Doing that again."
I inhale deeply, steadying myself, ignoring the way my pulse jumps beneath my skin. “You wish.”
Julian chuckles, the sound dark and rich, leaning in just enough that his breath ghosts against my skin. The warmth of it, the closeness, him— it’s all too much, and yet not enough.
"You don’t need to say it, little artist." His grip tightens, subtle but certain, the pressure enough to remind me of exactly where I am. Of exactly who I’m with. His voice dips lower, just for me.
"I already know."
There’s something about the way he looks at me; llike he sees me. Not just the way people think they do—reading body language, searching for reactions. He doesn’t need any of that.
He just knows.
I used to think the Mark was the reason. That it was the thing pulling us together, making me feel like I couldn’t breathe when he wasn’t near, making me want him before I even understood why.
But it’s not. Not anymore.
Because it wasn’t the Mark standing beside me at the premiere, keeping me steady. It wasn’t the Mark letting me take control, letting me fight my own battles while knowing, without question, that he would step in if I needed him.
That was him.
And it’s easy with him. Instinctive. Natural. He doesn’t need me to explain things I don’t know how to say, doesn’t need me to force emotions I can’t show. He feels them anyway. Understands them without asking.
And I don’t care how he does it. Because it’s enough just to be understood.
I pull him in, crush my lips against his, and he doesn’t just respond—he takes.
His hands lock around my waist, dragging me flush against him, and the moment our bodies connect, heat erupts between us. There’s no slow build, no teasing—just raw, unrestrained hunger.
His lips move against mine with a possessive intensity, his grip tightening like he’s afraid I’ll pull away. I won’t. I press closer, fingers threading into his hair, tugging, needing more.
He groans, deep and low, a sound that sends a shiver straight through me. His hands wander, trailing fire down my spine, his touch just rough enough to leave me breathless.
The kiss deepens, darkens, devours.
His teeth graze my lower lip, teasing, punishing, and when I gasp, he seizes the moment, claiming my mouth completely.
The room spins, my skin burning where he touches me. Everything else disappears. It’s not just a kiss. It’s a storm, a collision, a promise.
He breaks away just far enough to piss me off. I want to stomp my foot. I want more. “Bedroom?” he murmurs, voice smooth, teasing.
I blink at him. “Julian. It’s a studio apartment.”
He tilts his head, completely unbothered. “And?”
I gesture vaguely behind me. “It’s literally right there. We don’t have to go anywhere. We could blink and be there.”
His lips curve, delighted. “So what you’re saying is… efficiency.”
I roll my eyes, patting his chest like I’m proud of him for putting that together. “Wow. Yes. Incredible deduction skills. Really putting that big, immortal brain to use.”
He grins, not even a little offended. “I do my best.”
I shake my head, laughing—but before I can say another word, he moves.
One second, I’m standing. The next, I’m flying.
Julian moves effortlessly, lifting me like it’s nothing, his hold firm and unapologetically possessive.
"Julian!" I yelp-laugh, gripping his shoulders. "I can walk!"
His smirk deepens. "I know."
The mattress meets my back before I can argue, soft but jarring enough that my body bounces slightly. I barely have time to react before he follows.
He doesn’t pounce, doesn’t rush—just shifts over me in one smooth, devastatingly controlled motion.
My breath catches.
Julian rests on his forearm, his body aligning with mine, his presence impossibly close. Heat rolls off him in waves, sinking into my skin, seeping into every breath like something I’ll never shake.
His free hand drifts lazily down my arm, his fingertips barely grazing, sparking little jolts of electricity in their wake. Not demanding. Not teasing. Just a deliberate, lingering touch, like he’s waiting for something.
His breath fans over my cheek, a quiet shift in the air. “There’s something else a demon can do.”
A slow, wicked pulse uncoils in my stomach. I arch a brow. “Oh?”
Julian doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his fingers pause at my ribs, pressing just enough to make me feel him.
I know this look. It’s hesitation, he’s giving me a choice. Letting me decide.
The moment stretches, anticipation crackling between us. My pulse hums, sharp and needy, but I hold his gaze steady, my breath shallow.
I don’t look away. I don’t overthink.
I smirk, my voice barely above a whisper. “Julian.”
His pupils darken, red bleeding into gold, his fingers tightening against my waist. His grip flexes, control slipping just enough to make me wonder how much he’s holding back.
I want to make it known this is something we're doing together. I urge his eyes to mine. “I want this.”
Julian doesn’t blink. Doesn’t smirk. He just stares, memorizing me, before his lips part, and his voice drops into something purely wicked.
And just like that—our clothes are gone. No movement. No effort. Just gone.
The rush of cool air hits first, kissing every newly exposed inch of skin. But the real heat is him.
“That’s…” My voice fails me for a second, my head spinning, my body already too aware of his. “That’s… cheating.”
Julian grins, his mouth hovering just close enough that I can feel the heat of it.
“No, little artist.” His lips ghost along my ear, his voice nothing but sin, slow and deliberate, silk over steel. "That’s demonic efficiency."
He settles over me, his body a furnace, heat rolling through every inch of my skin. He’s taking his time.
The bastard.
His lips barely graze mine, hovering, teasing, waiting. Like he’s daring me to take what I want.
I don’t wait.
I surge forward, crushing my mouth against his, swallowing the smirk before it can fully form. His responding growl vibrates against my lips—a dark, pleased sound that sends a sharp pulse through me, tightening my stomach, making my thighs press together.
His hands slide down my sides, fingers pressing into my ribs, firm and possessive, like he’s reminding me exactly who he is. His mouth moves to my jaw, my throat, my collarbone—biting, soothing, worshipping—leaving heat in his wake. My head tilts instinctively, giving him more.
He feels it. He always does.
"You’re so responsive," he murmurs, his voice velvet and smoke. "I wonder…"
I shudder. He hums—pleased, amused, starving.
"Julian," I whisper, but it’s not a protest. It’s a plea. A command. A surrender. I should tell him to hurry up. I should tell him I want more. But I don’t—because I do want this. Every second of it.
His mouth travels lower, lips skimming down my stomach, his hands parting my thighs with ease. His breath is warm against my skin. Too warm. I feel his smirk before I see it.
"You’re already trembling," he murmurs, fingers ghosting up my thigh, teasing, never quite touching where I need him.
I make a sound—frustration, need, something dangerously close to begging.
His eyes flick up, molten red-gold, utterly enthralled. "Tell me what you want, little artist."
I don’t answer.
So he presses a single, devastating kiss between my thighs.
I jolt, sucking in a sharp breath, my fingers twisting in his hair, tugging, demanding.
He groans, deep and wrecked, entirely too satisfied. "That desperate for me already?"
I want to snap something back, something sharp, something that will wipe the smugness from his face.
His tongue flicks against me.
I forget how to think.
My back arches off the bed, a moan breaking free before I can stop it.
"That’s it," he rasps against my skin, his grip tightening, holding me in place. "Take what I give you."
And I do.
I unravel beneath him, the world narrowing to his mouth, his hands, the merciless pace that sends me spiraling higher, faster, too much, not enough.
I shatter. Hard. But Julian doesn’t stop. Not yet. He takes everything. Devours it.
I gasp, clawing at his shoulders as he moves up, kissing me again—deep, thorough, letting me taste myself on his tongue.
My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, needing more. Needing him.
"Oh, love," he chuckles against my lips. "I’m not done with you yet."
Julian's lips crash against mine, his hands gripping my hips, my waist, my thighs, like he wants to touch every part of me at once. Like he can’t get enough.
He pulls back just enough to look at me.
"You look wrecked already, little artist," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over my kiss-swollen lips, his eyes burning. "And I haven’t even started yet."
I should say something sharp, something to wipe that arrogance off his face.
He rolls his hips against mine, pressing exactly where I need him. I forget how to breathe. My fingers dig into his shoulders, nails scraping over muscle. Julian groans, his control slipping—just slightly.
Good.
"I need you," I breathe, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
His expression darkens, something feral flickering behind his gaze. "Say it again."
"I need you." I pull him down, arching into him, aching.
His hands tighten, grip turning bruising.
"Say my name."
I meet his gaze, heat pooling low, drunk on the way he’s looking at me. "Julian."
And he snaps. He kisses me like he’s drowning—and I’m the only thing that can kill or save him. There’s no hesitation. No air. Just fire and teeth and surrender.
I feel every inch of him, the tension in his muscles, the way he’s barely holding back. Not for his sake. For mine. But I don’t want restraint. Not tonight.
"Don’t hold back," I whisper, tilting my chin, baring my throat to him. An invitation. A dare. A challenge.
Julian growls, the sound vibrating against my skin, his lips trailing down my neck, my collarbone, lower, lower—his tongue flicking against sensitive skin, his teeth teasing, threatening, never quite biting.
I am burning. I am desperate. I am losing my mind.
He shifts, one hand bracing my thigh to spread me wider, and thrusts into me.
One slow, merciless stroke.
He fills me completely, stretching me open, branding himself into my bones.
I cry out, my head falling back, my body arching, my fingers clenching around his arms.
Julian shudders, curses, his grip bruising, his control snapping completely.
"You feel—" He cuts off, his jaw clenching, his forehead pressing against mine, his breath ragged. "Fuck."
I can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything except feel.
And he’s not done.
Julian pulls back—just enough to make me whimper, just enough to make me desperate—and slams back in, harder, deeper, perfect.
The pleasure is instant, blinding, a white-hot spark exploding inside me.
"Julian—" My voice breaks on a moan.
"I know, love." His lips graze mine, his hands pinning me exactly where he wants me. "I feel it too."
His pace builds, every movement deliberate, controlled, hitting exactly where I need, exactly how I need.
Too much. Not enough. Too perfect.
I am unraveling.
He knows it.
"Let go for me," he murmurs, his voice all heat and sin and command.
My body tightens around him, pleasure ripping through me in waves, white-hot and searing.
Julian groans, curses, driving into me faster, chasing his own release, pushing me even higher, not letting me come down.
"Again," he demands. "Give me another."
I do. Because I belong to him.
And now, he belongs to me.