13. Julian
CHAPTER 13
JULIAN
T he early morning light casts a golden glow over the city as I drive away from home, Aria's cheerful goodbye still ringing in my ears.
I'm not scheduled to be at the Langford for a few more hours, but I decide to head over early. I'm curious to see the progress on projects other than my own—particularly the Grand Hall that had Natalie up in arms the other day.
I still have no idea what fresco means.
Entering the building, I make my way to the Hall, my steps slow, almost reverent as I push open the door.
The sight that greets me is nothing short of breathtaking. The room is enveloped in an endless cascade of Renaissance art, the ceiling and each wall adorned with glossy, vibrant murals that depict scenes straight out of a ballroom. The colors are vivid, the details so finely rendered that the room feels alive, each painted figure poised to step right out of its two-dimensional existence. It’s like stepping into a room made of fine china, delicate and magnificent.
These must be the frescoes.
I’ve never considered myself an art aficionado—my life has always been about tangible, practical things, like wood, nails, and concrete. Standing here, I feel a pull, an unexpected appreciation for the beauty and craftsmanship surrounding me. It’s a new feeling, this stirring of artistic appreciation, and I find myself wanting to understand more, to see the room through Natalie’s eyes.
Lost in my thoughts, I hardly notice the sound of footsteps until Natalie’s voice rings in the empty hall, almost like a disembodied spirit in an ancient manor.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, voice edged with surprise.
I turn, slightly startled, to find her watching me with an inquisitive look.
“I work here,” I respond, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fiery Nat that lies just beneath her professional persona. Hopefully, there’s still potential to reach some sort of comfortable comradery despite the circumstances.
Natalie squints back at me. “I understand that. I meant, what are you doing here ?”
I smile, satisfied. “Just figured I should know about the delicate, high-level project you've got going on here. You know, I wouldn't want to screw anything up for you with my barbaric, simpleminded work.”
Her expression falters for a moment, flickers of annoyance and embarrassment wrestling in her features. Eventually, she notices my grin, and the professional wall comes down again. Natalie takes a step toward me, cool and collected, and totally ignoring all of my goading.
“So? What do you think, then?” Natalie asks, eyes on the art rather than me.
A little disappointed by her indifference, I give up on trying to get a rise out of her for the time being, instead mirroring her own professionalism.
“To be honest,” I begin, feeling a bit out of my element but genuine in my growing interest, “I’ve never really cared much for fine art, but seeing this room—what you and your team are working on—it’s pretty incredible."
Natalie turns the slightest bit toward me, a small smile tugging at her lips. "It is, isn’t it?" she agrees, her hands slipping into her back pockets as she gazes up at the ceiling. "Each piece tells a story, you know. This art has survived over a century, and now we get to restore it, preserve it for future generations."
Her passion is evident, her sky blue eyes lighting up as she speaks about the work. It’s a side of Natalie I’ve come to admire quietly, her dedication and love for her craft.
For a moment, we stand side by side in silence, sharing in the awe of the artistry that surrounds us. It’s a brief, peaceful interlude from the chaos we’ve been battling.
As we stand together in the quiet grandeur of the Grand Hall, the initial silence gradually shifts into an awkward pause. I realize I've been staring at the art for too long, lost in the swirling colors and the stories they tell, and now I'm probably intruding on Natalie's time.
I draw my eyes back to Nat, ready to apologize for my uninvited presence, but the words won’t come. They stick in my throat as all air flees my lungs, once again caught under Natalie's otherworldly spell.
Her appearance today strikes me afresh, as if seeing her for the first time again. The soft morning light streaming through the nearby window catches in her glossy blonde hair, illuminating it like the halos in the frescoes that adorn the room. Her skin, tanned and glowing, contrasts beautifully against the rich colors of the wall behind her.
She’s dressed practically for her work day, but her paint-splattered overalls don't diminish the elegance she naturally exudes. Rather they hug her figure in just the right way, accentuating the feminine curves I can still feel pressed against me, as if the kiss we shared a few weeks ago never ended. My hands burn, longing to feel her softness under my fingers again.
My heart slams frantically against my ribs. Natalie’s always been attractive, but in this moment, surrounded by the beauty of the art we're both here to protect and restore, her allure is magnified, almost ethereal; a siren, moments from luring me from my ship and down through the waters to my ultimate demise.
I have to get out of here.
"I should probably get to work," I croak, the words sounding false even to my own ears.
Natalie looks up at me, her eyes holding mine, and there's a spark there that seems to ignite the air between us. "Yeah, me too," she responds, her voice equally hoarse, but neither of us makes a move to leave.
This is ridiculous. Never in my whole life—including my military career—have I felt so utterly helpless. It's as if Natalie holds a genuine power over me, dissolving all trepidation and bending my will to hers. I can already feel my resolve slipping away, vanishing into the magnetic draw that neither of us seem capable of resisting.
The few steps between us feel charged, each inch throbbing with the unparalleled attraction that we've been tiptoeing around. Time seems to slow, the painted angels on the walls the only witnesses to the growing desire that fills the room.
Then, drawn by a force neither of us can see but both can feel, Natalie comes to me, so fluidly she seems to float across the floor as she reaches up towards me. Her lips meet mine in an impulsive, searing kiss that nearly topples me.
At first, I'm too stunned to react, rendered utterly senseless by the suddenness of her kiss and the torrent of feelings it unleashes within me.
Then, instinct takes over.
My body responds to hers before my brain can catch up. My hands, finding their way to her waist, crush her against me. I want to feel all of her, every soft dip and curve of her shape molded to mine. My tongue trails over her lips, seeking entry, and she readily opens to me. Deepening the kiss, a hot and unbridled desire scorches along my body, burning through any lingering hesitation I might have felt before this moment.
Somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind, I know I'm the one who put space between us, and for what seemed like a good reason at the time. Yet here I am, not pulling away. I couldn't even if I wanted to.
The past few weeks of pent-up tension between us—hell, the past ten years of not being able to touch each other—has all at once become too much. Neither of us can bare it any longer. And being here at work, giving in despite our better judgements, colors the whole sensation with a forbidden thrill.
Natalie's lips are soft yet demanding, her movements insistent as clutches my shirt, my hair, my neck—any part of me she can get her hands on. This kiss is everything. Everything we've never said, everything we've always needed. And still, greedily, I want more.
As we finally break apart, breathless and flushed, the moment lingers, our need far from satisfied.
Natalie's cheeks are tinged with color, her breath coming in quick gasps that match my own. The realization of what just happened—and what it implies—hangs heavily between us. But I don't care. All I can think about is how right it feels, how much I need this. Need her.
Just as I'm about to reach for her again, Natalie's apology cuts through the spell. "I'm sorry, Julian," she breathes out, her voice thick with emotion. "I know you asked for distance, for professionalism, but being around you every day... I just can't help it."
The raw honesty in her confession resonates within me, as if she's opened up my own mind and pulled the words right out. The tension still encircles us as we stand there, eyes locked, unmoving. It's as if all the air in the room has been replaced by a thick, pulsating current that fills my throat and sends electric jolts along my skin.
I want Natalie too; I've wanted her from the moment our paths crossed again under the intricate ceilings of the Langford Building. No—since I saw her at the diner that night in the rain, when she wasn't the put-together professional I see every day. When she was tired, sweaty, and exasperated; so akin to the girl I knew so many years ago.
"Natalie," I start, my voice rough and strained. I know there are so many reasons we're not supposed to be doing this. But for the life of me, I can't think of a single one.
Before I can formulate any kind of response, her lips crash against mine again. The kiss is forceful, desperate, her hands gripping my shirt as if she could anchor herself in the storm of emotions swirling between us. The last of my restraint crumbles and I respond with equal fervor, my hands fisting in her hair, our bodies pressed together tightly as if trying to merge into one.
In our next breath, I quickly scan the room for anything we can use to ease the difference in our heights. I spot it—a table laden with cans of paint and scattered paint brushes. It'll have to do.
Without another thought, I grasp Natalie by the legs and hoist her up to ride on my hips as I move us toward the table. She responds with an intoxicating little gasp and locks her ankles behind me, holding herself even tighter to me. I can feel myself growing harder in my jeans, and I quicken my pace to the table.
In one sweeping motion, I knock the paintbrushes to the floor, clearing a space for Natalie to rest. Now that she's better supported, my hands are free to roam; down the arch of her back, around her waist, and back up to her breasts. They're perfect—even more amazing than I had fantasized about as a teenager—round and soft and full. Experimentally, I brush my thumb over her nipple, and her answering moan is all the encouragement I need to continue.
I can't believe this is happening. Natalie and me. After all these years, thrown together again in this magnificent room that bridges the gap between reality and fantasy.
My hand moves south, reaching for the button of her jeans, but finds nothing. There doesn't even seem to be a zipper or a waistband or anything to work with. The flood of hormones in my system is fogging my brain, making it impossible to think, and I fumble around clumsily for a moment before Nat rescues me.
“Oh shit, Julian, it’s up here,” she rasps, her throat dry from desperate gulps of air. I watch in dazed confusion as she unfastens the straps of her overalls, the fabric falling around her hips in a pile of denim.
I don't have time to contemplate the intricacies of female fashion. My hands are already back on her clothes, yanking her overalls down to her ankles as she lifts her hips.
God, what a sight. Natalie, breathless and disheveled, down to her t-shirt and underwear is more beautiful than the masterpieces on the walls behind her. I've never seen her like this before. Part of me wants to take my time and relish the vision, but a stronger, more primal part of me cannot be interrupted right now.
My lips land on her neck, tasting and nipping my way down to her collarbone. Natalie arches against me as her breathing stops, her breasts crushing against my chest. Finding her knees, I slowly and gently trail my fingers up her bare thighs, grinning as gooseflesh erupts along her skin, and stopping only when my fingers touch cotton.
It's almost impossible to tear my lips away from Nat, but I have to do this right. “Is this okay? If it's not, tell me now, because?—”
“Yes, God, yes,” Natalie interrupts. With a confidence I wasn't expecting, she grabs my hand with her own and pulls my fingers over the damp fabric of her underwear. “Touch me.”
Her eagerness, this fervent need she expresses so openly, sends waves of desire cascading through my body, heightening every sensation. Her slight gasps and the way her body arches towards mine encourage me further, emboldening my actions. Her need, mirrored by my own, strips away any remaining veneer of restraint.
“Yes, ma'am,” I answer, tracing over the folds of her center beneath my fingers.
Natalie throws her head back with a moan, her hands finding their way to my hair once again. I rub her slowly at first, learning my way around her shape, discovering her hidden places and the stunning reactions they each elicit. When I finally slide the fabric to the side, the wetness I find sends a surge of hot desire through me, and I have to grit my teeth to keep my composure.
My cock is already pressing hard against the inside of my pants, and the sight of her so unraveled and needy nearly sends me over the edge. But I don't want to screw this up. This is our first time, and I want it to be good for her. Not to mention that I don't know how long I'll be able to last once we really get going.
Guiding my face back to hers, Natalie kisses me again, long and deep. She wriggles beneath me on the table, her hips rolling in a desperate search for more contact. Just one finger at first, I slowly slide inside of her, relishing the tight warmth of her core. Natalie gasps, stealing my own breath, and I dip my tongue into her open mouth, needing to explore every inch of her.
I add a second finger, enjoying the sensation of her stretching around me. My cock throbs painfully as I imagine how good it would feel to be buried inside her. Natalie’s shallow panting spurs me on, and I begin to find a rhythm that her body responds to, curling my fingers and bringing my thumb to press against her clit.
Nat's body shudders, and she releases my hair, bracing herself against the table instead.
“Sorry,” I murmur against her lips. “Too much?”
“No,” she gasps, “please, don't stop.”
The look on her face when I move my fingers again is nothing short of stunning. Long lashes flutter and her head tips back, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Feeling confident, I pick up the pace, continuing the pattern that keeps Nat's breaths coming faster and faster with every thrust of my fingers. She's so consumed by my touch that she can't even kiss me anymore, her lips brushing chaotically against mine as she's lost to the sensation.
All at once, Natalie's eyes squeeze shut and her mouth falls open in a silent cry, her whole body rocking with the intensity of her orgasm. And I realize that I was wrong before—this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Her expression, overcome and fully unguarded, is an image that I will forever remember.
Her core tightens around my fingers as she comes, her breath returning in frantic gasps. She feels amazing, and all I can think about is making her come again and again. Will her expression be different the next time? Will she still be so quiet when it's my cock inside her instead of my fingers?
I continue pulsing slowly as she rides out her orgasm, drawing it out for as long as possible. Finally, her body begins to relax, and I gently remove my fingers from her core. They're coated in her arousal, sweet and intoxicating. I want to bring it to my lips, to taste every part of her, but Nat locks me in another devastating kiss before I have the chance.
“Oh my God,” she breathes when we break apart. “How was that so good with just your hand?”
Pride surges through me from her question, and I can't help but chuckle. “I think I have something you'll enjoy even more,” I whisper in her ear before tugging at her earlobe with my teeth.
“Fuck,” she hisses, her knees clamping around my hips.
A sudden clanging echoes from down the hall, and in that split second, the mood shifts from desire to panic. It's the front door of the building—we both recognize it instantly. The others are arriving.
And just like that, reality comes crashing down around us. Nat swears again as we immediately separate. She hops down from the table and frantically tugs her overalls back into place while I smooth out my hair and try to think of anything that will help eliminate the rock hard bulge in my jeans.
Crippling guilt should do the trick. I start with the obvious: How could I let this happen? What was I thinking?
Well, that's just it: I wasn't thinking.
I turn back to Nat and find her gazing up at me from a few feet away, her eyes wide and reflective, a vulnerability there that I hadn't noticed in the minutes before. "I don't know what comes next," she confesses, her voice a soft whisper laden with uncertainty.
The bustling sounds of men arriving at the building continue, adding another layer of pressure to the situation. This discussion needs to be had, but when we can give it more attention. And preferably when our brains are back at full capacity.
"I’m sorry,” I confess, my heartbeat rapidly pounding in my ears. “For pushing you away before, for this…” There are so many things to say, and yet there are no words. “I’ve just… I don't want to fuck this up.”
Natalie is quiet for a moment, contemplative, before she crosses to me. Stretching up on her toes, she gently tucks a stray hair behind my ear. The action is so tender, so intimate, that I find myself blushing, despite the position we were in just moments ago.
“It's okay,” she soothes, her simple words feeling heavy and sinking deep. Her touch is grounding, and I wish I could live in this moment, keep the rest of the world at bay for just a few minutes more. “We'll figure this thing out. Right?”
I nod, even though I feel undeserving of her comfort. We can't keep doing this—pulling away only to crash back together. It's not sustainable. Eventually, one of us is going to break.
The only way this would work is if we really went for it. A true, committed relationship. But the very idea of that is laden with the weight of potential mistakes, potential heartbreak. I can't bring myself to do that, to promise something I'm not sure I can deliver without risking us both.
I've ruined every relationship I've ever had. And I wouldn't be able to bear it if I hurt Natalie again.
There's so much more to discuss, but when I open my mouth to respond, to offer something—anything—that might bridge the gap between my fears and her needs, another sound catches my attention, this time, a voice.
Jack rounds the corner, his arrival marking an abrupt end to our private moment. The suddenness of his appearance startles us both, and Natalie instinctively jumps away from me, her movement quick and a little panicked.
Jack's eyes flicker between us, a hint of suspicion in his gaze, but he doesn't comment. Instead, he greets us with a nod. "Morning," he says, an unspoken question lingering in the simplicity of his greeting.
"Morning, Jack," Natalie replies, her voice steady despite the adrenaline that I know must be coursing through her as much as it is through me. She adjusts her straps, smoothing down her overalls in a quick motion that speaks volumes of her attempt to regain composure.
I manage a nod in Jack's direction, my mind still reeling from the interruption and the unresolved tensions with Natalie. "Jack," I acknowledge briefly, my voice neutral.
Jack was the last person I expected to see here, and it feels like I'm playing catch-up as I scramble to put the pieces together. Natalie must have recruited his artistic prowess for help restoring the frescoes. I wish I had known.
Everything scrambles together into one tangled mess in my brain as I hurriedly make my exit. And then I'm gone, moving as quickly as I can without full on running away, but feeling a coward all the same.
What the hell am I going to do now?