The Sanctuary
By the time they reached the Beverly Hills penthouse suite they had booked for the weekend, the media firestorm had evolved into a thermonuclear blast.
Marcus had texted Elara thirty times. Sarah had left fourteen frantic voicemails on Julian’s phone. The entire PR apparatus was in full meltdown mode.
Julian didn't look at his phone. He tossed it onto the entryway console the moment he locked the heavy mahogany door behind them. He took Elara’s phone from her clutch and powered it off completely, placing it next to his.
"No screens," Julian commanded softly, turning to look at her. "No outside world. Not tonight."
Elara stood in the center of the lavish living area, the red silk dress feeling incredibly heavy against her skin.
She felt entirely hollowed out, drained by the emotional whiplash of the night.
From the absolute euphoria on the balcony to the terrifying ambush in the hallway, her nervous system was entirely frayed.
Julian didn't ask if she was okay. He could see she was hanging by a thread.
He walked up to her, his movements slow and deliberately gentle, entirely stripping away the aggressive warlord persona he had worn in front of the cameras. He was just Julian now. Her anchor.
"Turn around, sweetheart," he murmured.
Elara obeyed, her bare back facing him.
Julian’s large, warm hands found the invisible zipper at the base of the plunging red silk. He pulled it down with agonizing slowness. He didn't rush. He peeled the heavy fabric off her shoulders, letting it slide down her body and pool like a pool of blood at her feet.
She was left wearing only a pair of delicate black lace panties and her stilettos.
Julian didn't leer. He didn't push for sex. He knelt on the plush carpet, his massive hands gently gripping her ankles as he unbuckled the intricate silver straps of her heels, sliding them off her aching feet.
When he stood back up, he reached out and scooped her entirely into his arms.
"Julian," she breathed, resting her head against his broad shoulder as he carried her toward the master bathroom.
"I've got you," he promised.
He set her down on the cool marble vanity. The bathroom was massive, featuring a huge, freestanding soaking tub. Julian reached over and turned the faucet on, adjusting the temperature until steam began to billow into the room.
He turned back to her, stepping between her parted knees.
Elara looked at him, her whiskey eyes wide and vulnerable. "Why aren't you angry?" she whispered. "Declan humiliated you tonight."
"Declan humiliated himself," Julian corrected smoothly. He reached down, his fingers lightly tracing the line of her jaw. "The only thing I feel right now is relief."
Elara blinked, completely thrown off balance. "Relief?"
"Yes," Julian said, his stormy eyes entirely clear.
He stepped closer, the rough fabric of his dress shirt brushing against her bare knees.
"For three months, I have had to pretend that there was a boundary between us. I had to pretend that I was just fulfilling a contractual obligation. Now, the contract is dead. There are no more rules, Elara. I don't have to hide how completely obsessed I am with you anymore."
The absolute sincerity in his voice shattered the last remaining wall around her heart.
Julian leaned down, his mouth covering hers in a slow, devastatingly tender kiss. It was a kiss meant to heal, to wash away the toxic poison Declan had injected into their night. His lips were soft, his tongue gently coaxing hers into a slow, rhythmic dance.
Elara’s hands slid up his chest, her fingers trembling as she worked the small pearl buttons of his dress shirt free. She pushed the heavy fabric off his shoulders, dropping it onto the floor.
The heat radiating from his massive, scarred chest enveloped her. She pressed her palms flat against his pectoral muscles, feeling the heavy, frantic thud of his heart.
Julian’s hands slid down to her hips, his thumbs hooking into the delicate lace of her panties. He pulled them down slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, until she was completely bare.
He lifted her off the vanity and stepped into the steaming water of the massive tub, settling her securely into his lap.
The hot water enveloped them, relaxing Elara’s aching muscles instantly. She sat straddling his thighs, her chest pressed flush against his, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
Julian reached for a bar of soap, working it into a rich lather in his massive hands.
He began to wash her. It was an act of profound, startling intimacy.
His large, rough hands moved over her shoulders, down her back, and across her stomach with agonizing, worshipful care.
He was systematically washing away the stress, the fear, and the lingering taint of the paparazzi’s flashbulbs.
"You are so perfect," Julian murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that echoed in the tiled room. He pressed a kiss to her wet shoulder, his lips lingering on her skin.
Elara leaned her head back, completely surrendering to his touch.
The gentle, rhythmic stroke of his hands over her body sent a heavy, liquid heat pooling in her lower stomach.
The emotional exhaustion was slowly morphing into a deep, desperate physical need.
She needed to feel him. She needed to know that this—the two of them, stripped bare and entirely honest—was the only reality that mattered.
"Julian," she whispered, shifting her hips slightly against him beneath the water.
Julian let out a sharp, ragged gasp, his hands instantly tightening on her waist. The water sloshed over the edge of the tub as his massive body went completely rigid.
"Elara," he gritted out, his stormy eyes darkening to absolute black. "Don't move. Give me a second."
"I don't want to wait a second," she breathed, her husky voice dropping into a smoky, demanding purr.
She leaned forward, capturing his lips in a bruising, desperate kiss. She tangled her fingers in his wet hair, pulling him closer, her tongue sweeping past his teeth to taste the hot, minty darkness of his mouth.
Julian groaned, a primal, guttural sound that tore straight from his chest. The gentle, worshipful caretaker vanished instantly, replaced by the starving, possessive lover.
His large hands slid down her back, gripping her hips firmly. He lifted her slightly in the water, aligning her completely with the heavy, pulsing length of him.
"Look at me," Julian commanded, his voice shaking with the monumental effort of his restraint.
Elara opened her eyes, meeting his turbulent, blazing gaze.
"I am yours. Only yours. Do you hear me?" Julian swore, his thumbs pressing into her hip bones.
"Show me," she pleaded.
He pulled her down.
The sensation of taking him completely, suspended in the hot water, was absolutely mind-altering. Elara cried out, her back arching sharply as the sheer size of him filled her entirely. The water displaced over the edges of the tub, pooling on the marble floor.
Julian squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw locked tight as he fought to let her body adjust. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his heavy, frantic breaths scalding her wet skin.
"God, you feel so good," he rasped, his voice breaking.
He began to move.
The buoyancy of the water made his movements incredibly fluid, but the power behind his thrusts was undeniable. He set a slow, punishingly deep rhythm, ensuring every single motion sent a violent shockwave of pleasure radiating through her body.
Elara clung to his broad shoulders, entirely untethered. The fear of the scandal, the terror of the contract leaking—it all burned away in the absolute inferno of his touch. She was completely anchored by him.
"Julian," she sobbed his name, a beautiful, broken sound that echoed in the steamy room.
He drove deeper, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts, his thumbs grazing her hardened peaks, sending her spiraling further out of control. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, her jaw, branding every inch of skin he could reach.
"I've got you," Julian grunted, his own control rapidly fracturing as he felt her internal muscles clench tightly around him. "Let go, Elara. I’m right here."
The climax hit her like a physical blow.
Elara threw her head back, a raw, piercing cry tearing from her throat as blinding, intense waves of pleasure ripped through her body.
She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingernails digging desperately into the heavy muscles of his back, holding on for dear life.
Julian felt her shatter, and it was the final trigger. He let out a harsh, guttural roar, driving into her one final, impossibly deep time before his entire massive frame shuddered violently, spilling his release into her.
He collapsed against her, his arms wrapping around her in a crushing, desperate grip, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe. But she didn't want him to let go.
They stayed there in the cooling water for a long time, the only sound in the room their heavy, synchronized breathing and the soft lapping of the water against the porcelain.
Eventually, Julian stirred. He kissed her temple gently, before lifting her out of the tub. He dried her off with a massive, fluffy towel with meticulous, tender care, before carrying her into the master bedroom.
He laid her down on the pristine white sheets, crawling in immediately beside her and pulling the heavy duvet over them both.
Julian pulled her flush against his chest, her back to his front, his arm wrapped securely around her waist, his large hand resting flat over her heart.
"It’s going to be a bloodbath tomorrow," Elara whispered into the quiet, dark room, the reality of the impending dawn finally creeping back in.
Julian pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the back of her neck.
"Let it bleed," Julian murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion but laced with absolute, terrifying certainty. "They wanted a showmance, Elara. Tomorrow, we’re going to give them a war."
And as she closed her eyes, surrounded by the immovable strength of the man who loved her, Elara realized she was finally ready to fight.