CRACKS IN THE ICE #2
"I am made of iron and ice, Elara," Julian swore, leaning down until his forehead rested heavily against hers.
"I am not fragile. You are not a liability to me; you are my goddamn pulse. You think three missed games and a fine mean a damn thing to me? If they told me tomorrow that I could either have the Stanley Cup or I could have you, I would take you. Every single time. Without hesitation."
Elara let out a shattered sob, her hands flying up to grip the thick cotton of his shirt. "Julian, please. Don't say that."
"I will say it every day until you believe it," Julian rasped, his eyes burning into hers. "You aren't ruining my life. You are the only thing that makes it worth living."
He didn't wait for her to argue. Julian’s mouth crashed down onto hers in a kiss that was so desperate, so entirely consuming, it knocked the breath completely from her lungs.
It wasn't a sweet, reverent kiss. It was a physical argument. He was kissing her to prove a point, to completely obliterate the fear and the doubt that had poisoned her mind. His mouth was hot, demanding, his tongue sweeping past her parted lips to taste the salt of her tears.
Elara moaned, her defensive walls shattering into a million irreparable pieces. She surrendered completely, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck, holding onto him like he was the only solid thing in a collapsing universe.
Julian groaned, his massive hands dropping from her face to grip the back of her thighs. He lifted her effortlessly, backing her up until her spine hit the cool marble of the kitchen counter. He stepped between her legs, pressing his heavy, solid frame flush against hers, anchoring her completely.
"You are mine," Julian breathed against her mouth, his hands sliding under the hem of her tank top, his rough palms burning against the bare skin of her waist. "You don't get to run from me, Elara. I won't let you."
"I don't want to run," she sobbed softly, tilting her head back, completely offering herself to him. "Make me forget, Julian. Please. Make me forget it all."
The plea tore through the last shred of Julian’s restraint.
He didn't carry her to the bedroom. He couldn't wait that long.
Julian grabbed the hem of her tank top, pulling it swiftly over her head.
His mouth blazed a scorching trail down her neck, his teeth scraping lightly against her collarbone, sending a violent shockwave of pure electricity straight to her core.
Elara’s hands scrambled desperately at the buttons of his dress shirt, pulling the fabric apart to press her bare chest against the hard, heavy muscle of his. The physical contact was an absolute necessity, a desperate friction designed to burn away the anxiety of the day.
Julian’s hands were everywhere, frantic and possessive.
He pulled her sweatpants down, letting them pool on the floor.
When she was completely bare, sitting on the edge of the dark marble counter, Julian stepped back just long enough to shed his own clothes, his eyes entirely dark, dilated with a profound, earth-shattering hunger.
He stepped back between her legs, his large hands gripping her hips with a bruising, desperate force.
"Look at me," Julian commanded, his voice shaking with the monumental effort of holding back.
Elara opened her eyes, meeting his turbulent, stormy gaze.
"I am not Declan. I am not the media," Julian vowed, his chest heaving. "I am your foundation. When the ice cracks, I hold the ground. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Elara gasped, her hands digging into his broad shoulders. "Yes, Julian."
He pushed into her, a single, deep, agonizingly slow motion that entirely filled her. Elara cried out, her back arching off the counter, her eyes rolling back as the sheer, overwhelming sensation short-circuited her brain.
Julian groaned, a harsh, guttural sound that vibrated straight through his chest, burying his face in her dark hair. He began to move.
It was a punishing, relentless rhythm. He wasn't making gentle love to her; he was claiming her, marking her soul, driving the fear out of her body with every thrust.
Elara writhed against the marble, entirely untethered, lost in a haze of pure, blinding ecstasy.
She dragged her nails down the heavy muscles of his back, her husky voice broken into soft, desperate whimpers that drove Julian completely over the edge.
He worshipped her with a violent devotion. He learned the exact cadence that made her breath hitch, driving deeper, his large hands holding her steady against the relentless rhythm of his body.
"Julian," she sobbed his name, the pleasure building into a sharp, blinding crescendo.
"I've got you," Julian gritted out, the pace turning frantic, desperate. "I'm right here. Let go."
The dual friction shattered her entirely. A beautiful, broken cry tore from her throat as a wave of intense, blinding pleasure ripped through her body, leaving her completely boneless against him.
Julian felt her walls clench around him, the exquisite sensation shattering the last remnants of his iron-clad control. He let out a harsh roar, driving into her one final, impossibly deep time before his own body bowed rigidly, entirely overcome by his release.
He collapsed against her, his massive frame shaking, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He held her impossibly tight, his arms locked around her waist like a vice, as if letting go would mean losing her to the void.
The kitchen was entirely silent, save for the sound of the rain against the glass and their heavy, synchronized breathing.
After a long time, Julian slowly pulled back. He didn't let her go. He rested his forehead against hers, his thumbs gently stroking her flushed cheeks.
"No more running," Julian whispered into the quiet room.
Elara closed her eyes, leaning into the warmth of his hands. The cracks in the ice hadn't shattered them; they had just forced them to realize how deep the water truly was.
"No more running," Elara promised.
Julian pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, sealing the vow. The media could scream, the league could suspend him, and the entire world could burn to the ground. As long as she was in his arms, Julian Thorne knew he had already won the only game that mattered.