Chapter 22 Vivienne
Vivienne
I woke slowly Wednesday morning, my body registering several things at once: the unfamiliar luxury of Julian's soft and surely expensive sheets, the soreness in my thighs from yesterday's motorcycle ride, and a deeper, more intimate ache that reminded me of exactly how we'd spent our evening after the Thai food had been forgotten.
Sunlight just started to peek through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting Julian's massive, minimalist bedroom in golden hues that made it look less sterile and more like something from an art magazine.
I could hear the distant sounds of the city far below, but up here in Julian's penthouse, the world felt remote and manageable.
Julian was still asleep beside me, his dark hair mussed against the white pillowcase, his face relaxed in a way I never saw when he was awake.
Even in sleep, he was beautiful—all sharp cheekbones and defined jaw wrapped in bronzed skin.
The kind of masculine elegance that belonged on magazine covers.
I shifted slightly, trying to ease the pleasant soreness between my legs, and Julian's arm tightened around my waist automatically, pulling me closer even in his sleep. The possessive gesture sent warmth spiraling through my chest.
"Good morning," Julian's voice was rough with sleep, his eyes still closed but his mouth curving into a small smile.
"Good morning," I replied, studying his face in the morning light. "How did you know I was awake?"
"Your breathing changed," Julian said, finally opening his steel-gray eyes to look at me. "Plus, you're trying very hard not to move. Sore?"
Heat rose in my cheeks. "A little. The riding, and then..." I trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the evidence of our evening activities.
Julian's smile widened, becoming decidedly wicked. "I could kiss it better."
"As tempting as that sounds," I said, laughing despite my embarrassment, "I should probably get home at some point today and start packing. It's still the plan to leave tomorrow morning, right?"
Julian's expression grew more serious. "Right. Which means we need to get you back to your car so you can pack, and I need to make some arrangements."
We shared a lazy shower—Julian's bathroom was like the most luxurious hotel, all marble and expensive fixtures—before I dressed again in Julian’s white button-down.
He seemed to find something deeply satisfying about seeing me in his white button-down shirt again if the way he looked me up and down was any indicator.
When he caught me staring he said, “I like seeing you in my clothes."
The possessive undertone in his voice sent a shiver of awareness through me, but there was no time to explore that particular dynamic. We had a day to get through and a trip to prepare for.
The ride to Julian's studio was slower than yesterday, both of us more aware of my inexperience and the soreness that made every bump in the road a reminder of our evening together.
But I was already more comfortable on the bike, more trusting of Julian's skill and more confident in my own ability to move with him.
At the studio, Roy greeted us with professional courtesy and what looked like barely concealed curiosity about our relationship status. I supposed it was obvious—we were both wearing yesterday's clothes, Julian looked thoroughly satisfied, and I was wearing his shirt.
"Good morning, Mr. Thorne, Ms. Ellis," Roy said smoothly. "Your car is still in the lot, Ms. Ellis. Shall I have someone move it to a more convenient spot?"
"That's alright, thank you," I said, grateful for his discretion.
Julian disappeared into his office for a few minutes, presumably to handle whatever business couldn't wait, while I studied the sketches and fabric samples scattered around the main workspace. Even in daylight, the creative energy of the place was palpable.
"Ready?" Julian asked, reappearing with his helmet and jacket.
"Actually," I said, "Would you mind if we took one more ride before I get my car? Yesterday was so perfect, and I feel like I'm just starting to get the hang of it."
Julian's smile was brilliant. "I was hoping you'd ask."
This time, Julian took us on a longer route that wound through the hills outside the city, past scenic overlooks and through tree-lined curves that made me understand why he found riding meditative.
The rhythm of it, the way the bike responded to subtle shifts in weight and pressure, the complete focus required—it was like a moving meditation.
We'd been riding for about an hour when the sky, which had been threatening rain all morning, finally made good on its promise. The first drops were large and warm, splashing against our helmets and leather jackets with increasing frequency.
"There," Julian called over the engine noise, pointing toward an overpass ahead. "We can wait it out."
We pulled off onto the shoulder under the concrete bridge just as the sky opened up in earnest, rain drumming against the roadway above us and creating a curtain of water at both ends of our makeshift shelter.
"Good timing," I said, pulling off my helmet and shaking out my hair.
"The bike doesn't like heavy rain," Julian explained, dismounting and helping me off. "Better to be safe."
We leaned against the concrete barrier, watching the rain create rivers in the road, the city visible in the distance through the gray curtain of weather. There was something intimate about being trapped together in this small dry space, cut off from the world by the storm.
"I love this," I said, gesturing at the scene around us. "The rain, the quiet, being hidden away from everything."
"Even when we're stuck under a highway overpass?" Julian asked, amused.
"Especially then," I said. "It's like we're in our own little world."
I moved closer to Julian, drawn by the warmth radiating from his body and the way he was looking at me—like I was something precious he couldn't quite believe he'd found.
When I reached up to brush a drop of rain from his cheek, Julian caught my hand, bringing it to his lips to press a soft kiss to my palm.
The simple gesture sent heat spiraling through my body, and I found myself stepping even closer, until we were barely inches apart. Julian's eyes darkened as he read my intention, his free hand finding my waist.
"Vivienne," his voice carried a warning.
Instead of heeding it, I let my hand slide down from his face to his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath my palm. When I moved lower, tracing the line of his ribs through his jacket, Julian's breathing became labored.
"We can't," he said, even as his body responded to my touch. "Not here."
But I was feeling bold, emboldened by the privacy of our shelter and the intimacy of the moment. I let my hand drift lower, finding the growing evidence of his arousal through his jeans.
Julian's sharp intake of breath was audible even over the sound of rain. "Vivienne."
"No one can see us," I said softly, my fingers tracing the length of him through the denim. "We're completely hidden."
Julian's control held for about ten seconds before his hand shot out to capture my wrist, stopping my exploration with gentle but firm pressure.
"Stop," he said, his voice rough with desire and command. "Not here, not like this."
The authority in his tone, the way he took control even while clearly wanting what I was offering, sent a different kind of heat through my body.
I'd never been particularly attracted to dominant men, but something about Julian's careful control, his ability to say no even when he wanted to say yes, was incredibly appealing.
"Sorry," I said, though I wasn't really sorry at all. "I got carried away."
"Don't apologize," Julian said, releasing my wrist but keeping his eyes fixed on my face. "Just... when we do this, I want to do it properly. Somewhere I can take my time with you."
The promise in his voice made my knees weak. "Is that a guarantee?"
"That's a promise," Julian said, his smile becoming predatory. "But right now, we're going to stand here and talk about completely unsexy things until this rain stops and I can think clearly again."
I laughed, charmed by his honesty and his self-control. "What kind of unsexy things?"
"Tell me about your hometown," Julian said, clearly grasping for a safe topic. "What's it like where you grew up?"
So I did, describing the small Kentucky town where everyone knew everyone, where Friday night high school football was the biggest entertainment, where my parents still lived in the same house they'd bought as newlyweds.
I told him about summer fireflies and winter snow days, about church potlucks and county fairs, about the community that wrapped around you like a warm blanket but could also feel suffocating if you wanted something different.
"It sounds wonderful," Julian said, and he seemed to mean it. "Peaceful."
"It is," I agreed. "But it's also very small. Everyone knows your business, everyone has opinions about your choices. When I moved to the city for college, it felt like I could finally breathe."
"Do you miss it?"
I considered the question. "I miss the people. I miss the simplicity. But I don't miss feeling like I had to fit into a predetermined mold." I glanced at Julian. "You're going to be quite the shock to their systems."
"Because I'm from the city?"
"Because you're you," I said simply. "Sophisticated, successful, clearly wealthy. They're going to think I've either won the lottery or gotten myself into trouble with someone out of my league."
Julian was quiet for a moment, and I worried I'd said too much, revealed too much about my own insecurities.
"Are you having second thoughts about bringing me?" he asked finally.
"Absolutely not," I said immediately. "I want them to meet you. I want them to see how happy you make me. I just... I want you to be prepared for some culture shock."
"I can handle culture shock," Julian said with confidence. "The question is whether they can handle me."