Chapter 13 #2
When he crossed the threshold, the contrast to the rest of the building was striking.
Outside was neglected—dim lights, worn carpet, walls in need of paint.
Julia’s apartment was clean, bright, and orderly.
Feminine, too. A soft throw over the couch.
Books stacked neatly on the coffee table.
The faint scent of vanilla or cookies, maybe.
It wasn’t lavish; it was homey and cared for.
She didn’t offer him a seat. Didn’t move farther into the room, either. Only watched him, an interruption she hadn’t decided how to handle yet.
He’d really dug a hole for himself.
“I was heading to bed,” she said, rather pointedly.
She had reasons, several of them, but there was only so much a man could take.
“We need to talk,” he said, nodding toward the sitting area.
Julia didn’t move.
“Sit.” It came out low but firm, leaving no room for refusal.
She hesitated, like she might push back. Her jaw tightened, shoulders bracing. She crossed to the living room and sat, arms folded, expression closed off. But she was in the chair. He’d take it.
“You can’t keep going to The Underground.”
That broke through. Surprise and embarrassment flashed and vanished. Her spine stiffened like steel instead of bone as she lifted her chin enough to meet his gaze.
“How do you know I went there?”
“That’s not important.”
“It is to me.”
“That place isn’t safe.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“You might think you can.”
Her eyes narrowed, and the mulish expression returned.
He exhaled, already feeling the conversation veering off course. “I want you to come back to the Pointe.”
Leland saw more than heard the catch in her breathing, and for a moment, her features softened. He should have quit while he was ahead, but he kept talking.
“I’ll stay out of your way,” he said. “Let you find the dominant you’re looking for.”
The softness vanished, and she looked away.
“It’s safer—” he continued or tried to.
She pushed to her feet. “You can’t just show up here, tell me where I should and shouldn’t be and brush it off as if none of it matters.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“That isn’t your job.” Her voice sharpened. “You’re not my father, and you had your shot at being my dom—but declined.”
“Julia—”
She headed for the door. “You need to leave.”
He stared at her. Was she actually throwing him out?
“I care about you—”
“Oh, no,” she cut in, whirling to face him. “You don’t get to set the terms, pretending things you don’t actually feel.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “This is my life. I deserve better.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then, what is it?”
He didn’t have an answer he hadn’t already given.
Her gaze held his, searching. Then she stomped to the door, angrier than he’d ever seen her, and yanked it open. “Good night.”
He followed, but he didn’t go. He shut the door, shy of a slam. “There’s a stalker at The Underground targeting submissives. One is dead. Three others are missing.”
Her face drained of color. “Oh my God,” she whispered, swaying a little.
His hands closed around her upper arms, steadying her. “I didn’t plan on blurting that out.”
“Which Underground?”
“We have to assume all of them.” His voice hardened. “We’ve confirmed that some of the women moved between locations. That’s why you’re not safe at any of them. Not to mention the lax security, no monitors, or any kind of supervision. What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t.” She looked up at him. “I was trying to get away from you.”
There it was. The truth he’d been avoiding, wrapped in eight simple words.
It hit like a slap. Not unwarranted. Still, it hurt.
He closed his eyes and exhaled.
“Leland…”
There was the softness. He looked down at her—luminous blue eyes, tempting pink lips—and knew exactly how much of a mistake he was about to make.
He didn’t stop, though. He moved closer.
His fingers tightened, and he pulled her in before he could stop himself. When he lowered his head to hers, she didn’t pull away. That was the end of his restraint.
The kiss wasn’t a seduction. It was a collision—weeks of distance and suppressed longing crashing over them all at once.
Her hands fisted in his shirt. His grip tightened on her waist, and he backed her toward the wall without deciding to. His body had already moved beyond his control.
She returned the kiss just as hard.
That was what broke him. Not her softness—her hunger. The way she came up on her toes to get closer, the small, desperate sound she made into his mouth.
He groaned in response, pressing her into the wall with his full weight. Leland lifted her without thinking. Her legs locked around his waist, arms twining around his neck.
“Julia.” Her name came out ragged, unsure of what he was asking.
She answered anyway, shifting against him; her need was unmistakable. Too much and not enough all at once.
Leland shoved her robe up with one hand, pulled her panties aside, and heard her gasp when his fingers found how ready she was. Somehow, he got his fly open and rolled on protection.
He pressed in slowly, jaw clenched, trying to hold on to the last fraying edge of his self-control. When her wet heat surrounded him, he stopped trying.
Julia’s soft moan skated over every nerve ending and down his spine. He mirrored it, only louder, as he set a rhythm that was far from his usual patience or control.
She matched him stroke for stroke, her hips surging to meet his, her nails finding his shoulders through his shirt. He made sounds he didn’t recognize as his own—a low, broken growl against her throat, utterly devoid of composure.