TWO SUGARS, NO EXPECTATIONS #3
They reached the coffee shop—a trendy, overpriced spot with massive glass windows. Julian opened the door, guiding her inside. The paparazzi swarmed the glass outside, pressing their cameras against the pane like a horde of zombies.
"Two black coffees," Julian told the terrified-looking barista, completely ignoring the flashbulbs erupting behind him.
They stood near the pickup counter, trapped in the fishbowl.
"They're worse today," Elara murmured, keeping her back to the window, leaning her weight against Julian’s side. The physical contact was supposed to be for the cameras, but right now, she genuinely needed his support to stay upright.
"They’re desperate," Julian corrected, his hand sliding up her back to cup her shoulder, his thumb stroking a soothing rhythm against her collarbone.
"Declan’s team leaked a story to Page Six this morning saying our relationship is a desperate PR stunt. The photographers are looking for a crack in the armor. They want to catch us looking miserable or distant."
Elara’s head snapped up. "He leaked that?"
"He’s losing the narrative, Elara," Julian said, his jaw clenching. "He thought he could destroy you and walk away playing the victim. But you showed up on the arm of a man who makes him look like a pathetic, insecure boy. He’s lashing out."
A sudden, fierce surge of adrenaline spiked in Elara’s chest. The fear vanished, entirely replaced by a cold, burning anger. She was tired of running. She was tired of hiding behind Julian’s broad shoulders and letting Declan dictate her emotional state.
"They want a show?" Elara whispered, a dark, dangerous spark lighting up her whiskey eyes.
Julian looked down at her, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Elara?"
She didn't answer. She turned her body, facing the massive glass window where at least thirty cameras were pointed directly at them.
Elara reached up, grabbing the collar of Julian’s gray Henley in her fists. She pulled him down.
Julian’s breath hitched violently. His hands instinctively dropped to her waist, gripping her hips with a bruising, desperate force. For a split second, he thought she was going to kiss him. He thought she was going to break the one rule she had fought so hard to establish.
She didn't kiss his lips.
Elara tilted her head and pressed her mouth aggressively against the heavy pulse point on his neck, just below his jawline.
The entire world stopped spinning.
Julian let out a ragged, guttural groan that vibrated straight through his chest into hers.
His eyes slid shut behind his sunglasses, his massive hands tightening on her hips, pulling her entirely flush against his rigid body.
The heat of her mouth against his skin, the soft, intoxicating scent of her perfume—it was a total, absolute sensory overload.
Outside the window, the paparazzi went absolutely ballistic. The flashes were so intense the sidewalk looked like it was caught in a strobe light.
Elara lingered there, her lips brushing the coarse stubble on his jaw, breathing in the scent of him. It was a calculated PR move to destroy Declan’s narrative. But as she felt the heavy, frantic thumping of Julian’s heart against her chest, the calculation vanished.
She wanted to touch him. She wanted the world to know he was hers, just as fiercely as he had claimed her this morning.
She slowly pulled back, her eyes heavy and dark as she looked up at him.
Julian’s chest was heaving. He stared down at her, the mask of the cool, collected captain entirely shattered. He looked feral, starved, and completely consumed by the woman standing in his arms.
"Don't do that again," Julian rasped, his voice dropping to a terrifying, gravelly octave. "Not unless you want me to throw that contract in the trash and take you right back to my house."
Elara’s breath caught, a violent shiver of pure lust ripping through her veins.
"Order up for Julian!" the barista squeaked, breaking the unbearable tension.
Julian didn't look away from Elara. He kept one hand firmly planted on the small of her back, reached blindly for the tray of coffees, and turned toward the door.
"Let's go," Julian commanded.
The walk back to the SUV was a blur of adrenaline and flashing lights. Elara felt like she was floating. The dynamic had shifted. She wasn't a victim being shielded by a hired guard anymore. She was an active participant in a deeply dangerous, thrilling game of emotional roulette.
Julian practically threw her into the back of the SUV, climbing in after her and slamming the heavy door shut.
"Drive, Leo. Fast," Julian ordered.
The car tore away from the curb, leaving the screaming photographers behind.
In the hushed silence of the back seat, the tension from the coffee shop exploded.
Julian didn't sit on the opposite side of the bench. He reached out, grabbing Elara by the waist, and effortlessly pulled her across the leather seat until she was practically sitting in his lap.
Elara gasped, her hands flying up to brace against his massive chest.
"Julian—"
"You play a dangerous game, Elara," Julian interrupted, his voice a dark, rough purr.
He wrapped both arms around her, caging her completely.
His face was inches from hers, his stormy eyes entirely stripped of restraint.
"You set the boundary. You said no kissing. I have respected that. But if you touch me like that in public again, I am not going to be responsible for the consequences."
Elara stared into his eyes, her pulse hammering in her throat. She wasn't afraid. She was entirely, utterly thrilled.
"It was for the cameras," she whispered, her voice husky, betraying the lie.
"Liar," Julian breathed, his gaze dropping to her parted lips. "You wanted to touch me. You wanted to show them that I’m yours. Admit it."
Elara’s walls finally, spectacularly, crumbled. The exhaustion of fighting him, the exhaustion of denying the profound, undeniable chemistry between them, vanished.
"Yes," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper in the quiet car. "I wanted to touch you."
Julian let out a heavy, shuddering breath, resting his forehead against hers.
He didn't kiss her. He held the line, because he was a man who respected her boundaries more than he respected his own desires.
But he held her impossibly tight, burying his face in her dark hair, his massive body trembling with the effort of holding back.
"Six months is going to kill me, Elara," Julian murmured into her skin.
Elara wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder, the scent of cedarwood and dark coffee washing over her.
"We'll survive, Thorne," she whispered, a soft, genuine smile finally touching her lips.
As the matte black SUV sped down the highway, carrying them away from the chaos of the city, Elara realized that the PR team was right. The narrative had completely changed.
She wasn't faking it anymore. She was falling, rapidly and irreversibly, in love with the captain of the Portland Pioneers. And as Julian held her against his chest, completely unwilling to let her go, she knew that when the six months were finally up, there would be absolutely no expectations.
Because they were going to have everything.