Chapter Thirty-Two
Miles
The morning light slipped in gently and slowly, warming the quiet bedroom. I blinked awake, head still foggy, until the warmth beside me made everything settle.
Julian.
Still curled on his side, tucked into my hoodie, his hair mussed and face soft with sleep. Mine. Officially mine now. My boyfriend.
God, the word made my chest ache—in the best way.
Careful not to wake him, I slid out from under the covers. Even Sunny barely opened an eye, sighing and stretching before flopping onto my side of the bed like she owned the place.
“Traitor,” I muttered fondly and padded down the hall, phone in hand.
I needed to call my mom anyway. And... maybe let her in on some of what was going on. Not all of it. Not the worst parts. But enough.
Her voice answered before the second ring.
“Look who remembered his poor mother this morning.”
I smiled, rubbing the back of my neck. “Morning, Ma.”
“I saw that video, Miles. You and America’s Sweetheart.” Her tone turned teasing. “Julian Vale practically throwing hands to defend you. The entire internet lost its mind. Should I be worried you’ve broken him already?”
I chuckled. “He’s... something else, huh?”
“You could’ve told me you made him your boyfriend, mister. Instead I find out from Twitter.”
I grinned to myself, heart stupidly full. “I was gonna tell you. Just... things have been a lot lately. But yeah. He’s mine. Officially. And I’m his.”
“And he’s beautiful, Miles. But I see more than that in the pictures. He looks safe with you. Happy. You’ve done something right, kid.”
My throat tightened a little. I leaned on the counter, glancing toward the hallway where Julian was still fast asleep. “He’s been through... a lot, Ma.” My voice dropped. “More than you’d think. Things on set... with his photographer. It’s bad. Real bad.”
Silence hummed in my ear.
“I won’t give details—he told me in confidence—but... he’s not okay. Not yet. He’s scared. Trapped. And I hate it. I hate knowing I can’t just fix it for him.”
“But you’re there.” Her voice softened. “That’s what matters. You’re not running. You’re holding him steady. He needs that more than anything.”
“Yeah...” I sighed. “I’m trying. I am. It’s slow. But he trusts me. And I—” My chest squeezed. “I really care about him, Mom. Like... a lot.”
“I can tell. You sound... lighter. Happier. Like the boy I raised.”
I smiled quietly. “I am. When he’s around, everything feels... right.”
A pause, then her voice turned teasing again.
“Oh, and by the way... that picture going around? The one where you two look five seconds from kissing? Frame it. It’s adorable. And your face, Miles Bennett—you’re smitten.”
I chuckled. “Maybe I’ll make it my Lock Screen. Show Julian how obvious I am.”
“Do it. And tell him your mother wants to meet him properly. Not just through viral videos.”
“I will.”
“Good. I like him already. And honey... don’t let him go. Not when you’ve got something real.”
“I don’t plan to,” I murmured, glancing again toward the bedroom, where he lay safely wrapped in my sheets.
A yawn sounded from down the hall. Julian appeared in the doorway, hair a mess, blinking blearily like a sleepy cat. Still in my hoodie. Mine.
“Talking to your mom this early?” he rasped, voice rough with sleep.
“Busted.” I grinned, ending the call. “She says hi. And that you’re unfairly gorgeous and I should be thanking my lucky stars.”
A soft laugh escaped him, barely awake but smiling. “She’s not wrong.”
I chuckled, walking over to press a kiss to his temple. “C’mon, pretty boy. I made coffee. And Mom wants to meet you soon, by the way. Says you’ve got the internet wrapped around your finger now.”
“Great,” Julian muttered, running a hand through his wild hair. “Can’t wait.”
I chuckled, heart stupidly full. This... this was the life I wanted. Quiet mornings. Soft teasing. The man I cared about was safe and warm in my space.
For the first time in forever... I wasn’t scared of what was coming next.
I’d be right here. With him.
Always.
He just grinned and dropped onto my lap, back pressing against my chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he belonged there.
Maybe he did.
I wrapped my arms around his waist automatically, pulling him in tighter until his warmth melted against me. The scent of him—coffee, mint, and something purely Julian—curled into my lungs like a drug.
We sat there like that for a moment, quiet except for Sunny snoring in the corner.
Then Julian shifted, leaning forward to grab something off the coffee table—a little framed photo of me and my sister from years back. His fingers brushed the glass.
“Didn’t know you kept this old thing out,” he said softly, smiling. “You look like such a dork here.”
I huffed a laugh against his shoulder. “Thanks, baby. Great for the ego.”
He set the photo down gently and leaned back again—only this time he wiggled just enough to drag that sinful body right over my lap.
My grip on his hips tightened, a low sound slipping past my throat before I could stop it.
“Stop shifting, baby,” I murmured rough and close to his ear. “You’re causing a problem.”
He stilled. I felt the way he tensed... then the heat. His blush. But when he turned his head slightly to glance at me over his shoulder, his mouth curled.
“What if that’s what I wanted?” he said, soft but bold—like a spark under dry leaves.
My breath stalled. For a second, all I could do was stare at him.
Oh, Julian.
I grinned slowly and dangerously against his neck. “Careful, pretty boy,” I said, voice low and thick, my thumbs dragging slow circles into his hips. “You keep teasing like that... and I’m not going to let you get away with it.”
Julian shifted in my lap again, and this time there was no mistaking the slow drag of his hips, the deliberate arch of his back against my chest.
He glanced back, lips parted, eyes dark and daring. “Don’t let me,” he murmured, breath catching. “Don’t hold back with me, Miles. I know you did last time, but... please. Don’t hold back.”
Jesus Christ.
A low, rough groan broke from my chest before I could stop it. My fingers squeezed his hips hard enough to make him gasp.
“Careful, pretty boy,” I rasped, mouth close to his ear. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down. He leaned into me, trusting, wanting.
I licked my bottom lip, fighting for control as heat ran wild under my skin.
“You tell me to stop if it gets too much,” I muttered, standing with him locked in my grip—his wrists in my hands, held gently but firmly behind his back as I turned him toward the couch. “You remember that. You asked for this, Julian.”
He gulped but nodded, his breathing shallow.
Without letting go of his wrists, I guided him forward, bending him carefully over the arm of the couch. He fell into place like he’d done it a hundred times—his chest against the cushions, spine a perfect curve, ass tipped up for me, legs tense with need.
God. He is beautiful.
“Look at you,” I murmured low, dragging my palms down his sides, thumbs slipping under the hem of his boxers. “You’re so damn pretty like this. My perfect boy.”
A shiver ran down his back.
I leaned in close, lips brushing the nape of his neck. “You want me to ruin you, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” he breathed. Desperate. Unafraid. “Miles... please.”
I didn’t make him wait.
In one rough, sure motion, I ripped the soft fabric down—boxers tearing under my grip, his gasp sweet music to my ears as he squirmed in my hold. My hand smoothed over the curve of his bare hip, slow, possessive, watching him tense and shudder beneath me.
“You wanted this, pretty boy. Remember that,” I whispered, voice dark with promise.
His fingers curled into the couch cushion as I gripped his wrists tight behind his back with one hand, the other sliding slowly over the arch of his back, teasing him—claiming him.
“Stay still,” I warned. “Be good for me.”
He whimpered. A beautiful, helpless sound that shot straight through me.
I lined myself up behind him, slicking my cock with saliva, rocking forward just enough to tease, to make him gasp again—his back arching, pressing toward me, hungry for more.
“God, Miles... please—”
I cut him off with a sharp, low growl as I pushed into him slowly, savoring every tight inch, every broken breath that spilled from his lips. My grip on his wrists tightened—firm, possessive—as I bottomed out, the heat and pressure stealing the air from my lungs.
“Fuck... you feel incredible, baby,” I rasped against his ear, hips rolling into him with rough, claiming thrusts. “Taking me so well. So perfect.”
Julian moaned, body trembling, head falling forward.
“You’re mine, pretty boy,” I groaned, driving into him deeper, harder. The couch rocked beneath us with every fierce movement, my fingers biting into the curve of his hips as I moved faster, relentless and rough—just like he wanted.
“Say it,” I growled. “Tell me who you belong to.”
“You, Miles—God, you—I’m yours—” Julian gasped, voice wrecked and breathless beneath me.
“That’s right,” I muttered, leaning closer, chest against his back. “So good for me... my beautiful boy. My perfect boy.”
His body shook beneath me, pleasure tightening through him as his moans turned desperate. I gripped his wrists tighter, pounding into him hard and fast—chasing that edge, needing him to fall apart in my hands.
“Come for me, Julian,” I breathed harshly into his ear. “Let go. Now.”
With a choked cry, he broke—body shuddering violently, spilling over with a raw, helpless sound that made my vision blur. I groaned deep and rough as release tore through me, holding him tight as I emptied into him, claiming every inch.
His name fell from my lips like a prayer.
For a long, breathless moment, the only sound was our ragged breathing—the heat of our bodies tangled together.
I let his wrists go gently, brushing my hand down his spine, soothing him, grounding him.
“You okay, baby?” I murmured against his damp skin.
He nodded weakly, a little smile curling the corner of his lips.
“Perfect,” he whispered.
And God... so is he.
Julian was quiet in my arms, his breathing finally slowing, his body loose and heavy against me. I held him there for a moment longer—forehead resting against the nape of his neck, lips pressing a slow, reverent kiss to his damp skin.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” I whispered, brushing his hair away from his flushed cheek. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
His eyes fluttered open, heavy and content, and he nodded without a word. I carefully helped him upright, keeping my hands steady on his waist as I led him toward the bathroom. He leaned into me the whole way, like he couldn’t bear to lose the contact, and God... I didn’t want to let him go either.
The warm spray of the shower filled the room, steam curling around us as I stepped in behind him, pulling him gently under the water. Julian let out the softest sound—half-sigh, half-moan—as the heat soaked into his skin.
I wrapped my arms around him from behind, holding him close as the water ran over us both.
“You did so good, baby,” I murmured against the shell of his ear, lips brushing gently. “So damn good for me.”
He hummed softly, melting back against my chest.
I reached for the body wash, lathering it slowly in my palms before sliding them down his shoulders, his chest—gentle, soothing strokes. Julian tipped his head back against me, his breath warm and even.
“Don’t fall asleep standing up, pretty boy,” I teased, grinning as I pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’d hate to explain to Sunny why you fainted in the shower.”
A small laugh—real and soft—escaped him, and it filled my chest with warmth.
“I’m awake,” he mumbled, cracking a sleepy smile. “Barely.”
I chuckled quietly, washing him tenderly, taking my time, as if I could rinse away every bruise Victor had left—inside and out. He deserved this. All of this. Gentle hands. Soft words. Care that I expected nothing back.
When I finished, I turned him gently, cupping his face in my palms, brushing the water from his eyelashes.
“Beautiful,” I murmured, kissing the tip of his nose. “My beautiful boy.”
His cheeks pinked, and that familiar shy smile curved his lips.
We stood there for a while, holding each other in the warmth and quiet, until the water began to cool and I finally reached to turn it off. I grabbed a towel, wrapping him in it first, like he was something precious. He didn’t protest—just leaned into me, trusting.
Once he was dry and dressed in one of my soft, oversized sweaters, I sat beside him on the bed, running my fingers gently through his damp hair.
“Jules...” I started softly, heart tightening in my chest. “I’ve been thinking...”
His sleepy eyes lifted to mine.
“I want to bring Renee over. To talk about your contract. If that’s okay with you.
” I traced the curve of his cheek with my thumb.
“She might know a way to get you out of this without Victor burying you. Or hurting you again. I wouldn’t tell her everything—not unless you want me to—but enough to help. To protect you.”
I felt it immediately—the shift in him. The way his shoulders tensed under my hand, the faint line that creased his brow.
But after a breath... he nodded.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “If you think she can help... okay.”
“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” I promised, kissing his temple gently. “Always. You’re not doing this alone.”
His hand found mine, fingers lacing slowly with mine.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice soft, full of something fragile and real.
“For you, pretty boy?” I smiled, leaning in close. “Always.”
I squeezed his hand gently, holding him close.
For now, this moment—warm, quiet, safe—was enough.