Chapter Fourteen #2
I paused at the foot of the bed, drinking in the sight of him. In sleep, his face relaxed back into the younger man he was, free from the weight of betrayal and struggle that had marked him when we met.
Something tightened in my chest—this fierce, protective feeling that had blindsided me from the moment he'd crashed into my life.
The shift of my weight caused a floorboard to creak, and Connor's eyes flew open instantly. He sat up in bed, moonlight streaming through the windows, ready with what I was sure would be a sarcastic retort about my late night "meeting."
But the words died on his lips when he saw me standing there. His eyes widened, mouth opening and closing without sound as his brain tried to process what he was seeing.
"Julian?" he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're... standing."
I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face—part triumph, part vulnerability. I'd faced down boardrooms full of hostile executives with less nervousness than I felt in this moment.
"Project Phoenix," I explained, my voice husky with emotion I didn't bother to hide. "It worked."
Connor's eyes never left mine as I continued, the words tumbling out after weeks of secrecy.
"I've been under treatment for the last six weeks.
I didn't want to tell you in case it didn't work, in case it was just another false hope.
" I took another careful step toward the bed.
"But tonight was the final treatment and as you can see.
.." I spread my arms wide, offering myself for inspection. "It worked."
Connor moved to the edge of the bed, his movements slow and careful, as if afraid a sudden motion might shatter this miracle. His eyes traveled from my face down to my legs and back up, wonder and disbelief warring in his expression.
"How?" he breathed. "The doctors said the damage was permanent."
"That was before my research team completed their work," I explained, taking another step closer.
"The data we recovered from Brad—it contained the final pieces we needed.
A new neural pathway integration protocol combined with targeted stem cell therapy.
" I was babbling now, technical details spilling out as a defense against the overwhelming emotion of the moment.
Connor stood, closing the distance between us until we were face to face, no wheelchair between us for the first time. His hands hovered near my sides, not quite touching, as if afraid I might be an illusion that would dissipate at his touch.
"May I?" he whispered.
I nodded, and his hands settled on my waist, solid and warm through the fabric of my shirt. A shudder ran through me at the contact. This—standing here, feeling his touch while supporting my own weight—was something I'd feared would never happen.
"I can't believe it," he murmured, his eyes suspiciously bright in the moonlight. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I couldn't bear to see hope in your eyes if it failed," I admitted. The weeks of secret treatments, the pain, the setbacks—I'd carried it all alone rather than risk disappointing him. “The hardest part was that business trip I took.”
“That ten day business trip a month ago?”
I nodded. “It wasn’t a business trip. That’s when Dr. Teller actually had to do surgery on my spine. The rest was all injections and physical therapy.” I lightly slapped my thigh. “I still have a little way to go, but I’m on my feet at least.”
Connor just stared at me with wide eyes.
"But there's more."
With a careful motion that I'd practiced for hours under Dr. Teller's watchful eye, I lowered myself to one knee beside the bed. The movement wasn't as smooth as it once would have been, but I managed it without falling, which felt like its own miracle.
From my pocket, I produced a small velvet box, holding it up toward Connor whose eyes had grown impossibly wider. I flipped the lid open to reveal a platinum band studded with diamonds that caught the moonlight and fractured it into tiny rainbows between us.
"Connor Matthews Montgomery," I said, my voice steadier than I'd expected given the thunder of my heart, "you deserve more than a hasty civil ceremony."
His hand covered his mouth, but not before I saw his lips twitch with humor despite the tears gathering in his eyes. "We're already married," he pointed out, voice cracking with emotion despite his attempt at nonchalance.
"Yes," I acknowledged with a smile. "But now I want to give you everything—the ceremony, the honeymoon, the world at your feet."
The words hung between us, weighted with promise. I remained kneeling, the position growing more uncomfortable by the second, but unwilling to rise until I had his answer.
After everything we'd been through—a drugged meeting, a marriage of convenience, attacks and betrayals and healing—this moment felt like the true beginning.
Connor looked down at me, moonlight silvering the tears on his cheeks, and I held my breath, waiting.
Before Connor could respond, I rose smoothly to my feet in a motion that still felt miraculous. The look of wonder on his face as I stood at my full height without assistance sent a surge of power through me unlike anything I'd felt in the boardroom.
I stepped forward and pushed him back against the mattress, our bodies pressing together with delicious friction that made my newly awakened nerves sing with pleasure.
"Starting with this..." I whispered against his neck, my lips tracing the pulse point that fluttered wildly beneath his skin.
Connor's hands came up to grip my shoulders, his fingers digging into muscle as if to confirm I was really standing, really holding him with nothing but my own strength. The wonder in his eyes quickly darkened to heat as I pressed my advantage.
I used my newly healed body to worship his, my hands sliding beneath his shirt to feel the warm skin beneath. With deliberate slowness, I unbuttoned his shirt, revealing inch by tantalizing inch of his chest.
My fingers traced the contours I'd memorized by touch but never seen from this angle, standing above him, fully in control of my movements.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," I murmured, bending to press my lips to his collarbone, then lower to his chest.
His breath hitched as I continued my exploration, stripping away his shirt completely before moving to his belt. The buckle yielded easily to my fingers, and I tugged it free with a satisfying metallic hiss.
Connor lifted his hips to help as I slid his pants down, leaving him in nothing but his boxer briefs that did little to hide his arousal.
"My turn," he insisted, reaching for my shirt buttons with fingers that trembled slightly. I let him undress me, standing still as he revealed my chest, then my stomach, then pushed the shirt from my shoulders entirely.
His hands explored my body with reverent curiosity, tracing muscles that had been strengthened during my recovery. When his fingers found the scars on my lower back—evidence of the surgeries that had ultimately led to this miracle—he leaned forward to press his lips against them.
"Beautiful," he whispered against my skin, and I had to close my eyes against the sudden burn of emotion.
I stepped out of my own pants, letting them pool at my feet before kicking them aside. Standing naked before him, fully aroused and unashamed, I felt a surge of gratitude that threatened to overwhelm me.
Three years in that chair, believing I would never experience this again—the simple joy of standing naked with a lover, of having full sensation and control of my body.
Connor's eyes traveled down my body, lingering on the evidence of my desire for him. His lips curved into a smile that was equal parts tender and wicked.
"Well, that part definitely works," he teased, reaching for me.
I caught his wrist, using my newly regained strength to pull him up from the bed. In one fluid motion, I turned us so his back was against the wall, my body pinning him there. The gasp that escaped him was pure surprise and arousal.
"I've waited months to do this," I growled against his ear, my hands sliding down to cup his ass, lifting him slightly. "To take you like this, standing, supporting your weight entirely."
His legs wrapped around my waist instinctively, ankles crossing at the small of my back as he adjusted to this new position. The feeling of his hard cock pressed against my stomach, of his weight supported entirely by my recovered strength, was intoxicating.
I kissed him then—not the careful, controlled kisses we'd shared before, but something wild and claiming. My tongue invaded his mouth, exploring, tasting, possessing. His moan vibrated against my lips as he surrendered to the onslaught, his fingers tangling in my hair to pull me closer.
"Lube," he gasped when we finally broke for air. "In the—"
"I know where it is," I assured him, carrying him to the bedside table without releasing him from my arms.
The sensation of walking while carrying him, of feeling his weight shift against me with each step, was its own pleasure—a testament to my recovery that felt like a victory against everything that had tried to destroy us both.
I set him down long enough to retrieve the bottle from the drawer, then immediately pulled him back against me. His skin was hot against mine, slick with the beginnings of sweat, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths.
"Turn around," I instructed, my voice dropping to a register I barely recognized—rough with desire and command.
Connor complied immediately, bracing his hands against the wall, his back a perfect arch as he positioned himself for me. The moonlight silvered his skin, turning the curve of his spine and the roundness of his ass into a study in light and shadow that would have made a Renaissance sculptor weep.
I prepared him with careful fingers, watching as he pressed back against my hand, seeking more, his quiet moans driving me to the edge of my control.
When he was ready—when we were both beyond ready—I positioned myself behind him.
"Look at me," I demanded, waiting until he turned his head, his eyes finding mine over his shoulder. I wanted to see his face for this—needed to witness the pleasure I was about to give him with my fully recovered body.
I pushed into him slowly, both of us groaning at the sensation. The tight heat of him enveloped me as I began to move, my hands gripping his hips with fingers that would surely leave marks. The thought of him bearing my imprints only intensified my desire.
"Julian," he gasped, his voice breaking on my name. "God, you feel—"
"I know," I whispered, leaning forward to press my chest against his back, my lips finding his ear. "I feel it too."
Our bodies moved together in perfect rhythm, finding a synchronicity that seemed impossible given how new this position was for us. Yet it felt like coming home—like this was how we were always meant to be.
I slid one hand around to grasp him, stroking in time with my thrusts. His head fell back against my shoulder, throat exposed in primal surrender as sounds of pleasure escaped him without restraint.
"That's it," I encouraged, my lips tracing the curve of his neck. "Let me hear you."
Our bodies glistened with sweat in the moonlight as we moved from wall to bed to floor, exploring positions that had been impossible before my recovery.
I took him on his back, his legs over my shoulders, watching his face as pleasure overtook him.
I took him on his knees, my chest pressed to his back, one hand braced on the bed while the other stroked him to completion.
I took him straddling my lap as I sat on the edge of the bed, our bodies face to face, as close as two people could possibly be.
Throughout it all, I whispered to him—praise, promises, the words I'd held back for too long.
"I love you," I finally said against his lips as we reached our peak together, the admission torn from me in a moment of perfect vulnerability. "Every sarcastic, stubborn, perfect inch of you."
His blinding smile met mine as he responded breathlessly, "Took you long enough to admit it."
We collapsed onto the bed, limbs entangled, both of us panting and spent. Connor's head found its place on my chest, his ear pressed against my thundering heart.
My fingers traced lazy patterns on his back, savoring the weight of him against me, the cooling sweat on our skin, the lingering tremors of pleasure still occasionally rippling through us both.
As my breathing steadied, a profound realization settled over me. My greatest achievement wasn't regaining my ability to walk—miraculous as that was. It wasn't the billions I'd amassed, or the company I'd built, or even bringing down Harris and those who had betrayed us.
My greatest achievement was finding Connor. This stubborn, beautiful man who had crashed into my life and refused to leave, who had seen past my walls and my wheelchair to the person beneath. Who had chosen me as thoroughly as I had chosen him.
"Yes," he said suddenly, his voice soft but certain against my chest.
I blinked, momentarily confused. "Yes what?"
He lifted his head to meet my gaze, his eyes clear and sincere in the moonlight. "Yes to everything. The ceremony, the honeymoon, the world at my feet." His lips curved into a smile. "Though after that performance, I think I'm the one who should be worshiping at yours."
I laughed, pure joy bubbling up from somewhere deep inside me, and pulled him close for another kiss—the first of countless more to come in our new beginning.
~ The End ~