by J. L. Beck
“Oh… okay.”
“It’s surprising that you wonder about her when you were the one lying in bed, half-dead to the world all day.”
“All my thoughts feel jumbled. What’s wrong with me?”
Julian looks at me, his gaze hardening. “Don’t know yet, but you seem to be doing better, that is, after IV fluids and some meds. The doc is going to call and let me know when your blood test results come back. Though we’re fairly sure someone tried to poison you.”
“Poison! Why would someone want to poison me?” I never hurt a fly in my life. I can’t possibly wrap my head around that.
“That’s what I’m going to figure out. My cook, who has been with the family for years, was also poisoned. We found her body in the kitchen yesterday morning. She had been eating the leftover breakfast. Specifically, your leftover breakfast.”
Horror strikes me like a lightning bolt. Someone tried to kill me… and it obviously wasn’t the cook since she’s dead too. This new information is unsettling and leaves me feeling thankful for skipping out on breakfast that morning. If I had eaten more, I’d probably be dead.
I’m not sure how to feel about that.
Staring at Julian, my thoughts shift… I can’t help but see how different he is today than he was the other night. Has me being poisoned changed something in him? Made him more human or maybe made him see how easily I could’ve been taken from him? I think back to my delirious state, the tossing and turning, and vomiting, the cramps in my stomach. He was there. I remember seeing him, and I’m certain he held me in his arms and told me everything was going to be okay, but maybe he didn’t. Maybe I completely made up his kindness. It’s not that far-fetched, seeking out comfort when you feel like you’re dying.
Still, I have to know if it was real.
“I might’ve hallucinated it, but I swear you took care of me when I was sick. You held me in your arms… did you?”
Julian turns toward me, his face void of any emotion, and still, something slowly brews in his icy glare. “I hold you in my arms every night when we go to sleep.”
“Yeah, but this was different…” More intimate somehow. I’m usually turned away from him, and he has an arm slung around my waist, holding me to him like he is scared I’m gonna run away in my sleep. Yesterday, his hold was gentle, like he was just holding me for comfort instead of keeping me prisoner.
“You’re going to be my wife. It doesn’t matter how you got here, but me taking care of you is part of the deal. Just like you pleasing me is part of it.”
Of course, it is.
Needing space, I toss the covers back. Looking down at my body, I realize I’m in a pair of pajamas I don’t remember putting on.
“I dressed you. I didn’t want the staff to see you naked.” An image of Julian dressing me while I was passed out, pops into my head, but I shake it away quickly. It’s too creepy to think about. I can feel Julian watching me, and all I want is to get away from him. He’s already proven his point. I’m nothing, an object never meant to be heard and barely seen.
My body has other plans, though, because as soon as I put my feet on the ground and push off the bed to stand, a serious wave of nausea and dizziness slams into me. Knees buckling, I grab onto the nightstand, my nails sink into the wood as I attempt to steady myself, but it’s not enough. My legs are weak, and a flash of hitting the floor appears in my mind.
I gasp in shock when Julian’s strong arm circles my waist, and he clutches me to his warm chest. My muscles tense, but a part of me feels protected in his embrace.
“You’re so stubborn,” he whispers into the shell of my ear.
“I don’t need your help,” I grit out, trying to fight against his hold, but my muscles are like jelly, and my head is spinning like I’m on a tilt-a-whirl.
“If you say so.” He releases me, and I start to fall to the floor again.
Chuckling, his hands circle my waist once again, holding me tightly to his chest, and heat creeps through me, slowly trickling into my core.
My cheeks are burning, but I doubt he can see them. It’s just the illness, I don’t actually like his hands on me. “Looks like you do need my help,” he teases.
I roll my eyes, wanting to deny it, but I know the second he lets me go again, I’m gonna be on the floor, no doubt about it.
“I don’t want to take a shower with you again. Last time ended horrible.”
“My version of horrible and yours are vastly different.” He grins, guiding us into the bathroom. Gently, he turns me in his arms and helps me to sit down on the toilet. Then he opens the shower door and turns the water on. I don’t bother hiding my body from him and start taking my clothes off without question.
I do my best to avert my gaze as he strips, but it’s so hard, literally and figuratively. A man as cruel as him shouldn’t be allowed to look so good. Rippling muscle, tone, and tan. He looks like a model.
He’s completely naked now while I still have my Pajama pants on. I stare down at my feet and take his hand when he offers it to me, doing everything I can to not look at that mammoth organ between his thighs.
Helping me out of my clothes, he picks me back up, and we step into the shower together, one of his hands remaining on my hip to steady me. His junk presses against my thigh, and I hiss at the touch.
“It won’t bite you, Elena.”
“Says the owner of the beast.” I swallow down the lump in my throat and start washing my body. My movements are sluggish, and it takes me forever to actually wash. The whole time Julian remains beside me, steadying me and doing nothing but making sure I don’t fall.
“Here, sit.” He guides me to the bench in the corner of the shower, and I sit down, pressing my back against the cool tile.
“Why is there a bench in here anyway? Isn’t that for old people?”
A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, a rare sound I could get used to. “The shower doubles as a steam room.”
“Oh…”
“I’ll wash your hair as soon as I’m done washing myself,” he says. I want to object, and I should because I’ve learned that his kindness always comes with a price, but I’m desperate for someone to care for me, desperate for the man that’s going to marry me to actually want me.
My nipples harden painfully as I watch the water cascade down his back. He’s absolute perfection, and I’m jealous of the washrag that he uses over his sculpted body.
You don’t want him. He doesn’t even care about you. I remind myself.
Shivering, I bite my lip, it’s at that time, he turns to face me. In that instant, he’s both monster and man, his eyes trail over my body, leaving a path of warmth in their wake.
I must be delirious because there is no way this is happening again.
“You’re looking at me like you want me to fuck you,” he says, swiping a hand down his face. I feel sweat bead against my forehead, and I’m not sure if I should tell him that I want him to touch me or not. I’m not supposed to want him, it’s wrong, but I’m so damn lonely, and so tired of fighting.
“I want you… to touch me,” I murmur.
Julian grins, and separates the space between us in one step, “You want me to touch you, but not fuck you?”
I nod my head. “Just touch.”
“Do you want to touch me too?” he whispers, taking my chin between two fingers. I shiver at the intense need in his eyes and the feel of his fingers on my skin.
“I’m… I don’t know,” I admit, and Julian looks at me for a long second, and I’m almost sure he’s going to tell me to get out, but instead, he releases my chin and takes a step back.
“Spread your legs,” he orders, and I obey just like he wants me to. I glance down between my thighs to see what he sees right now. “Eyes on me at all times. I want to see you when you come, and I want you to watch me own your body the way only I can.”
A knot of fear tightens in my belly, but I nod my head anyway, wanting to go through with this.
“Touch you
rself,” he orders while wrapping a hand around his length. Just like the time I watched him in the shower, I’m mesmerized by him. The way his hand wraps around his large penis... the way he strokes himself.
My own hand travels down my stomach and to my folds. I’ve touched myself before but of course never in front of someone. It feels wrong, too intimate, but also it feels right like I’m sharing something special with him.
“Now, rub your clit for me.” His gruff voice vibrates through me as I bring my fingers to my clit and start to draw small circles around it. Pleasure blooms deep in my belly as I watch him stroke himself while watching me in return.
“Mmmh,” I moan softly while picking up speed, rubbing my clit more furiously. The pleasure is there, but it’s not enough to drive me over the edge. Dropping my hand, I lift my eyes from Julian’s crotch to look him in the eyes.
“I don’t think I can do this. I want you to touch me,” I admit, knowing already that this is a terrible idea.
“You sure?” he taunts, and steps closer again. Leaning down, he pinches one of my nipples between his fingers. The action is painful, but a jolt of pleasure follows, making me chew on my lip to stifle the groan that wants to come out.
Breathlessly, I say, “Yes.”
He plucks at my nipple again, and I spread my legs a little wider, beckoning him right where I want him. Chuckling softly, he gets down on one knee, so we are eye to eye. He slips a hand between my thighs, grazing the bundle of nerves between my folds. Something sparks in my belly at his touch, and all I know is that I have to feel it again.
“Again.” I look up, pleading into his eyes.
Gritting his teeth as if he’s in pain, he swirls two fingers over that magic spot, and I let out a low whimper. Keeping my eyes on him, a slow heat starts to build in my belly, and the faster he moves his finger, the higher it rises. Pressing firmer against that spot, he moves faster and faster, and I build up, my muscles tense, my hips rising, seeking out more until I crest.
“I’m…” I shudder against the bench, every fiber of my body unraveling as pleasure rips through me, overtaking my senses.
“You’re coming. Come on my hand,” Julian grunts as the orgasm ripples through me.
Pulling away, he stands up. Taking the same hand that was between my thighs, he brings the two fingers to my mouth.
“Open and taste yourself while watching me beat off. All while knowing that only you do this to me. Only you, Elena.”
Opening my mouth, his fingers slip inside, and his pupils dilate, the blue becoming almost black. Mewling around his fingers, I taste my arousal on them, it isn’t a bad taste, if anything, it makes me hungry for more.
Dropping my gaze to his hand, which is fisting his penis, I suck greedily on his fingers, swirling my tongue around them, listening and watching as he loses himself in pleasure. He works himself hard and fast just as he said, so much so that his movements and grip look almost painful.
Gritting his teeth, the words come out in a rage. “Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside you, to blow my load in your virgin pussy. All mine. Every untouched inch of you is mine.”
“Mmmm,” I say around his fingers.
“Spread your legs. I’m going to mark you,” he tells me, and I oblige, wanting to see him unravel and fall apart. He’s seen me weak so many times. I want to see him when he gives in to the pleasure—when he’s at the mercy of his own will.
Spread as wide as I can, he strokes faster, his eyes darting between my face and my spread legs. Sucking harder, I relish in the hiss that slips past his lips and watch with amazement as he tips his head back, bares his teeth, and the cords in his neck and abs tighten. He looks utterly beautiful, and I want to see him like this again. I crave it, need it.
A moment later, his release comes and spurts of warm white liquid land against my mound in sticky ropes. I stare down at them, feeling not disgusted, but marked, just as he said he wanted to do. Seconds tick by, and he tugs his fingers from my mouth. His chest rises and falls rapidly, matching my own.
When he looks at me again, there is this sedated look on his face, and I smile because I helped put it there. For the first time since arriving here, I don’t feel completely useless.
“You were gentle,” I say, trying to stand, but my legs are more like jelly now than they were before.
“Stay seated so I can wash your hair and don’t assume it will always be that way, you’re ill, and I didn’t want to hurt you further,” he sneers the last part, and I can tell that it’s a lie as soon as the words pass his lips. If he wanted to hurt me, he would’ve. He held all the power in that instant, and all he did was bring me pleasure.
There is this peace that seems to sweep over us. Something has changed, but I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is.
The rest of the shower, we’re quiet, he washes my hair for me and rinses it. Then he dries himself and me before helping me into a nightgown and panties.
He pulls back the covers, helps me into bed, and I feel a little better after my shower. My head doesn’t feel like it’s going to explode, and my stomach is settled. Sinking back against the pillows, the sound of Julian’s phone ringing causes me to startle.
Julian curses under his breath and walks over to the nightstand, where his gun and phone sit. He looks at the screen and swipes a finger over it.
“I hope you have some information for me,” Julian says, suddenly becoming the dark mafia man he is.
Watching intently, his expression changes, becoming murderous as the person on the other line speaks.
“Okay, and yes, she’s doing better. It’s a good thing she ate hardly any of it.” His gaze finds mine, and I look away, the moment feeling too intense. They talk a little while longer, and then he ends the call. He sits on the edge of the bed with his phone in his hand, looking like he could break the thing into a million pieces.
It’s none of my business, but I want to know who called him and what they said since it obviously had something to do with me.
“Who was that?” I ask quietly.
“The doc, he confirmed our assumptions that it was poison.”
“But who would want to poison me, and why?”
Julian doesn’t answer me and crawls under the covers, tugging me into his side. I feel warm and protected, but deep down, there is a nagging fear. Someone wants me dead… and I have no idea why.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head. You’re mine, and I protect what is mine. Whoever did this to you will pay dearly. I can promise you that.” And I believe him, feel the justice in his words moving through me. Julian may be a bad man, but deep down, beneath it all, he is something else, and I’m going to keep digging till I find the person I know he can be.
16
Julian
By Thursday, Elena is back to feeling like herself, and I’ve been asking myself if I made a mistake when I touched her in the shower. Watching her come apart beneath my hand, it was the most exhilarating thing ever. It unleashed a hunger that has yet to be satiated.
Seeing my release on her little pink pussy, it gutted me, made me want to do anything to see it again, and that was a dangerous place to be. I couldn’t be developing feelings or growing attached, and yet every day, I feel like I am.
My heart was slowly coming back to life, beating with a newfound joy, and I hated it. I wanted to rip the thing out of my chest because there was no room for it in my life. Feeling was a downfall, and I realized that when my mother died. But when I thought she might be gone, that fear came back ten-fold.
“Are you going to wear that thing for Elena,” Markus taunts as he walks into my office, jerking his head toward the dress I had picked out for my soon to be wife.
“Say one more stupid thing, and I’m going to cut off one of your fucking fingers.” I grumpily say into my coffee, which I’ve poured a heavy dose of whiskey into.
I look at the dress hanging from the office door. It’s a scandalous scrap of material, and I hate more than anything that I’m goin
g to make her wear it, but it’s got to be this way. Her father will be there, and I can’t have him thinking his daughter is being treated as anything more than my slave. I want to hit him where it hurts, and unfortunately for Elena, she is his weakest link.
“Do you think she is going to wear that?”
“I guess we will find out, won’t we?” I shrug. “Not that I’m giving her an option. It’s the dress, or she can go naked.”
“As if you would let her do that,” Markus teases. Fed up with his bullshit, I get up and walk around the desk. Grabbing the dress from the door, I hold it up and just stare at it. It’s barely going to cover her ass.
Fuck. Everything about her lately has been making me possessive. I want her—all the time. In any way, I can have her. But she’s too damn soft and naive for my liking. I have the power to break her right in my hand.
“I’ll be back,” I say to Markus as I leave the office and walk down the hall to the bedroom. Retrieving the key, I unlock the door to find her sitting on the bed, the journal I got for her open, a pen in her hand.
Surprise fills her features, and she shuts the notebook, her cheeks turning crimson as if she’s been caught doing something that she shouldn’t.
Pride fills my chest. “Were you writing in the notebook I got you?”
She nods, and I can see her throat bob as she swallows. Since the night I touched her, the impulse to do so again has been tugging at me. Something changed between us that night, something that made her trust me more. Like I had anticipated, she is relying on me, trusting me to care for her. I just never expected to develop any type of emotions or feelings toward her. Elena was special, though, refusing to see only the bad in someone. The only problem with that was that she was looking for good in the wrong person.
“What’s that?” she asks, motioning to the dress in my hand. The dress I had forgotten all about until now.
“This is what you will wear on Saturday night.”
Scrunching up her nose, she says, “You can’t be serious. That won’t even cover my butt.”
