“Yes. But also… more. Perhaps keeping it casual, but still exploring what this could be. For all three of us.”
“And Sunday at the gym? Was that for all three of us?” I ask, the question slipping out before I can think it through.
His gaze hardens on mine, and my stomach twists when it morphs into something uninhibited.
“No,” he says firmly, his voice a low growl. “Sunday was for me. Just me.”
The scent of whiskey washes over me, and I have the sudden urge to kiss him, to taste it for myself. I’m suddenly reminded of that night seventeen years ago—the sweet, buttery scent of his breath, and the scent of him that always smells slightly of bergamot. It triggers that kiss to flash through my mind violently, and I can’t help but hold back a groan.
My apartment suddenly feels too small, and the air feels explosive.
“And what about this?” I ask, my eyes dipping to his lips. His tongue darts out, wetting them, and I unconsciously step closer so that he can feel how hard I am.
“I think we both know there’s something more here than either of us wants to admit.”
I’m not sure who moves first, him or me, but when his lips press against mine, it’s not tentative. It’s steady, the kind of kiss that doesn’t ask.
It only takes.
Groaning, I move my hand from his wrist to his hip, pulling him into me. I’m suddenly pulled back right back to that moment seventeen years ago again, when we found ourselves in this same exact scenario. This kiss is…justas good as it was almost two decades ago, if not better. He moans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me like a thunderclap. A thousand white-hot bolts of electricity shoot through me as his tongue parts my lips, the taste of whiskey smoky and sharp. Without thinking, I rut against him, desperate and mindless, but it’s like hitting a wall of steel.
It feels like temptation incarnate—the kind of surrender I used to preach against.
But there’s no altar here, no pews to kneel at. Just Julian, and the way his gaze strips me down to the marrow.
He breaks the kiss suddenly, but his hands on my shoulders keep me steady and hold me in place. His chest is heaving, but his eyes are razor-sharp, cutting through my haze of arousal.
“No,” he says, his voice steady but laced with heat. “You don’t get to take over. Not tonight.”
His voice grounds me, but the connotation makes me feel dizzy with something I don’t recognize. He shifts his body,pressing me back until my shoulders hit the opposite wall of my living room. The cool surface shocks my overheated skin.
I should push back. I should shove him away, remind him who’s stronger, who’s always in charge. But my body doesn’t listen. It melts into the wall behind me, as if I’ve been waiting for this… for him. That thought alone should terrify me, but it doesn’t. It feels like breathing, like some part of me has been holding its breath for seventeen fucking years.
“You want this?” he murmurs, his voice a velvet purr. His knee slides between my thighs, pinning me in place, andfuckif I don’t love the way it feels to give in to his dominance. I nod, unsure if I’m capable of speaking, and he cracks a dangerous smile. “Then show me.”
He presses against me, and the weight of him against my body is unyielding. He places both hands on either side of my head, and I realize that he’s caging me in, trapping me here beneath him.
Just like in the locker room.
For the first time in my life, I let myself feel it.
The raw, undeniable thrill of surrender.
I could stop this—I trust him to step back if I needed him to. I’m not sure if I want to know what it feels like to let him win… or if I’m scared I’ll never want him to stop.
My body loosens, and as his eyes bore into mine, I let my eyes dip to the space between us.
“You’re used to being in control, aren’t you?” Julian’s voice is a knife’s edge, cutting through the tension. “But not with me.”
I can’t answer him—can’t seem to find my voice. My breath is caught somewhere in my throat, and as his lips brush my jaw, my eyes flutter closed.
“Not with me,” he repeats, whispering the words down to the pulse thrumming at the base of my neck.
I shudder as he grazes my skin with his teeth, and a sound that is half whimper, half plea escapes me.
I’m certain I’ve never made that fucking noise before.
“Admit it,” he demands, his knee pressing up and into my cock. It takes everything not to thrust against his warm thigh.
