Chapter Five #2
Julian nodded, his eyes never leaving mine as I carefully shifted off his lap. I moved behind his wheelchair, my hands resting lightly on his shoulders as I leaned down to press a kiss to his neck.
"Lead the way," I murmured against his skin.
Julian guided his chair with practiced ease, navigating through the study doorway and into the hallway beyond. I walked beside him, my hand trailing along his shoulder, unwilling to break physical contact even for these few moments.
The journey to the bedroom seemed both endless and too short, charged with anticipation that made every second stretch. The wheels of Julian's chair made soft sounds against the polished floors, occasionally catching on the edges of plush area rugs.
When we finally reached the master bedroom, Julian paused just inside the doorway. The massive bed dominated the space, its pristine sheets a canvas waiting to be disturbed.
The room was bathed in the soft glow of dimmed lights, creating shadows that danced across Julian's face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones.
I moved to stand before him again, slowly dropping to my knees between his legs. Julian watched me with an intensity that made my skin tingle, his breathing visibly quickening as I reached for the buttons of his shirt.
"Let me," I said softly, and he nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.
I unfastened each button with deliberate care, revealing his chest inch by inch.
Unlike my own unblemished torso, Julian's was mapped with scars—some surgical and precise, others jagged reminders of the accident that had changed his life.
They traced patterns across his skin, telling a story of pain and survival.
Julian's hands covered mine as I reached the last button, stopping my progress. In his eyes I saw a flash of vulnerability, of uncertainty.
"You don't have to do this," he said quietly.
I turned my hand to grasp his, bringing it to my lips to press a kiss against his palm. "I want to," I assured him. "Every part of you."
Something in his expression shifted, the uncertainty giving way to cautious hope. He released my hands, allowing me to finish opening his shirt. I pushed the fabric aside, exposing his chest and abdomen fully to my gaze.
Julian watched me, tension evident in the rigid set of his shoulders, in the careful neutrality he was trying to maintain in his expression. He was waiting for disgust, for pity, for any sign that I found his scarred body less desirable.
Instead, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to the longest scar, a jagged line that curved around his ribs. His skin was warm beneath my mouth, the texture of the scar different but no less appealing than the unmarked areas.
Julian's breath hitched audibly, his hands moving to my shoulders as if to steady himself. I continued my exploration, mapping each scar with gentle kisses, working my way across his chest and down to his abdomen.
"Connor," he breathed my name like a prayer, his fingers tightening on my shoulders.
I looked up, meeting his gaze as my hands moved to the fastenings of his pants. "May I?"
He nodded, a jerky movement that betrayed his nervousness despite his desire. I unfastened his pants with the same care I'd shown his shirt, easing the fabric down his legs with his help. His boxers followed, leaving him exposed and vulnerable before me.
More scars marked his legs, telling the story of surgeries and trauma. I treated them with the same reverence I'd shown the others, acknowledging each without lingering long enough to make him uncomfortable.
When I finished, I rose to shed my own remaining clothes, feeling Julian's eyes on me as I stripped down to nothing. Unlike in the hotel room, where drugs had lowered my inhibitions, I was fully aware now, fully present in this moment of mutual vulnerability.
I approached the bed, helping Julian transfer from his chair with practiced movements that told me this was far from his first time, though perhaps the first in a long while. He arranged himself against the pillows and I followed, straddling his hips as I had with his wheelchair.
"Let me," I whispered against his lips as I positioned myself above him.
Julian's eyes widened in surprise as his body responded eagerly to my touch, his arousal evident against my thigh. "Connor," he gasped, his hands gripping my waist. "This shouldn't be possible."
I smiled against his lips, rocking my hips slightly. "And yet, here we are."
Julian's face was a study in wonder as he watched me above him, his hands gripping my hips like he was afraid I might disappear if he let go.
"I thought this part of me was dead," he confessed, the words raw and vulnerable in a way I never expected from a man who commanded boardrooms with a glance. His voice caught on the last word, thick with emotion that made my chest ache.
I paused, balancing above him, and couldn't help the smile that curved my lips. "Clearly, reports of your demise were greatly exaggerated," I quipped, though the lightness in my tone did nothing to disguise the hunger in my eyes.
Julian let out a sound that was half laugh, half groan. "Trust you to quote Mark Twain at a moment like this."
"What can I say? I'm an educated man," I teased, then lowered myself slowly, taking him inside me with deliberate care.
The sensation was exquisite—a delicious stretch and fullness that drew a gasp from my throat. Julian's eyes widened, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to leave marks. The slight edge of pain only heightened the pleasure.
"God," he breathed, his head falling back against the pillows as I took him completely. "Connor..."
My name on his lips sounded like a benediction. I stayed motionless for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of him inside me, savoring the connection that seemed to defy both medical science and common sense.
We'd known each other for barely two days, yet here we were, joined in the most intimate way possible—not just physically, but with a transparency that left nowhere to hide.
I began to move, setting a slow rhythm that had Julian's breath coming in short gasps. His hands roamed my body, tracing the lines of my ribs, my chest, my shoulders with reverent fingers.
Each touch felt like being claimed, marked as his in ways far more meaningful than the legal document we'd signed or the ring I wore.
"You feel incredible," Julian murmured, his dark eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my skin flush hot. "The way you move..."
I rolled my hips in response, drawing another moan from him. The sound vibrated through me, urging me to move faster, to chase the pleasure building between us like electricity before a storm.
Julian matched my rhythm from below, his hips rising to meet mine with surprising strength. For a man who couldn't walk, his core muscles were impressively powerful, evidence of the strict exercise regimen I'd glimpsed in the corner of his bedroom.
"Yes," I encouraged, bracing my hands on his chest for leverage. "Just like that."
His skin was hot beneath my palms, slick with sweat that made our bodies slide together in the most delicious way. I could feel his heart racing beneath my fingers, a rapid drumbeat that matched my own thundering pulse.
The intensity between us built steadily, waves of pleasure crashing higher with each movement.
Julian's eyes never left mine, holding me captive in his gaze as surely as his hands held my body.
There was something almost reverential in the way he looked at me, like I was a miracle he couldn't quite believe was real.
This is what it feels like to be wanted for myself, I thought, seeing the unguarded emotion in his expression. Not for what I can do or what I can provide, but just for being me.
The realization hit me with unexpected force. Julian didn't need my money—he had more than enough of his own. He didn't need my connections or my skills or anything practical I could offer. Yet here he was, looking at me like I was the most precious thing he'd ever seen.
"Julian," I gasped as a particularly deep thrust sent sparks of pleasure up my spine. "I'm close."
His hands slid up my back, one tangling in my hair while the other wrapped around my neglected arousal. The dual sensation nearly undid me on the spot.
"Let me see you," he urged, his voice rough with desire. "Let go for me, Connor."
His touch was expert, knowing exactly how to push me toward the edge. My movements became more erratic, the rhythm faltering as pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak.
When release finally came, it crashed over me with staggering force. I cried out Julian's name, my body arching as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed through me. Julian followed almost immediately, his face transforming with wonder as his own climax overtook him.
In that moment of complete vulnerability, Julian pulled me down for a kiss that felt dangerously close to something more than physical. His lips moved against mine with tender urgency, communicating things we weren't ready to say aloud.
We stayed connected as our breathing gradually slowed, neither of us willing to break the intimacy just yet. Julian's hands traced lazy patterns on my back, his touch gentle now where it had been demanding moments before.
Eventually, I shifted to lie beside him, our bodies still tangled together on sheets that were thoroughly rumpled. Julian's arm curved around me, holding me against his side as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The silence between us was comfortable, filled with the soft sounds of our breathing and the distant hum of the city beyond the windows. I traced my fingers along the scars on Julian's chest, following their paths across his skin.
"These are beautiful," I murmured, my touch gentle as it skimmed the largest scar.
Julian scoffed, though he didn't pull away from my exploring fingers. "They're reminders of failure."
I propped myself up on one elbow to look at him properly. "Failure? How do you figure that?"
His jaw tightened. "I failed to see the drunk driver. Failed to avoid the crash. Failed to walk away intact."
"That's bullshit," I said flatly.
Julian's eyebrows shot up at my bluntness. "Excuse me?"
I continued tracing the scar, my touch deliberate and firm. "These aren't marks of failure, Julian. They're proof you survived."
His eyes met mine directly, and I saw something shift in their dark depths—a vulnerability he rarely allowed anyone to see.
"Survival isn't always victory," he said quietly.
"It is when the alternative is death," I countered. "You're here. You're whole, wheelchair or not." I placed my palm flat against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my hand. "This works. This matters."
Julian had no clever retort, no quick comeback. Instead, his expression was open, almost defenseless, in a way I suspected few people ever saw. He covered my hand with his, pressing it more firmly against his chest as if to anchor himself through the contact.
Something ached in my chest as I looked at him—this powerful, vulnerable man who had crashed into my life less than forty-eight hours ago and somehow already carved out a space for himself.
Oh no. This was supposed to be just sex. Don't you dare fall for him, Matthews.
But even as I thought it, I knew it might already be too late. There was something about Julian Montgomery that called to me on a level I hadn't experienced before—something beyond his wealth or his power or even the undeniable chemistry between us.
I laid my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and tried to convince myself that what I was feeling was just gratitude, or maybe the natural intimacy that comes after good sex.
Definitely not the beginning of something deeper and far more dangerous.
"Stay," Julian murmured, his voice already heavy with approaching sleep, his fingers tangling gently in my hair.
I closed my eyes, melting against him. "I'm not going anywhere."
And the scary part was, I meant it.