CHAPTER 17 — THE RECLAIMING
The fire in the library had burned low. Only red embers remained, casting a soft glow across the room. The air felt thick. Not loud. Not rushed. Just heavy with what had just happened.
Heavy.
Julian's hand was still wrapped at the back of my neck. His thumb traced slowly behind my ear, down the side of my throat, then back again. The touch wasn't hurried. It wasn't searching.
"The guest suite is cold," he murmured against my forehead.
His breath was warm. Slow. Controlled.
It wasn't about the room.
It was about what came next.
I slid my hands up his chest, fingers curling into the collar of his shirt. I pulled him down just enough for my lips to brush his.
"Then take me somewhere warm."
The shift in his eyes was immediate.
Not surprise.
Decision.
We didn't rush.
That was what made it unbearable.
The house felt different as we walked through it. The storm outside still roared against the cliffs, rain striking the glass in waves. But inside, everything felt quiet. Focused. Like the world had narrowed to the space between our bodies.
Julian's hand rested at the small of my back. Firm. Present. His thumb moved slightly as we walked, just enough to remind me he was there.
Just enough to make my skin burn.
When we reached his bedroom, he paused only long enough to shut the door behind us.
A soft click.
Final.
The room was dark except for the gray light of the storm filtering through the windows. The ocean beyond was violent. Here, the air felt tight. Electric.
Julian removed his jacket slowly. His eyes never left mine.
Then he stepped closer.
"Last chance," he said quietly. "Once we do this, there's no pretending it's just strategy."
I swallowed.
"I don't want strategy."
I stepped into him, pressing my body fully against his. I could feel the strength of him. The heat. The tension he was holding back.
"I want you."
That was all it took.
His mouth came down on mine hard enough to steal my breath.
Not rough.
But certain.
I opened for him instantly, fingers sliding into his hair as his hands moved down my back. When they reached the hem of my sweater, he paused — just long enough to look at me.
I nodded.
Slowly.
The sweater came off in one smooth motion, leaving my skin exposed to the cool air. My breath hitched.
Julian's gaze darkened.
He didn't speak.
His hands came back to me, slower this time. One palm slid up my side, over my ribs, thumb brushing the underside of my breast. The touch was light.
Too light.
It made me arch toward him without thinking.
"Impatient," he murmured against my mouth.
"You're moving too slow."
A low sound escaped him — almost a laugh, almost a warning.
His mouth left mine and trailed down my throat. Over my collarbone. Lower.
Every kiss lingered.
Every inch of skin he touched felt awake.
When he reached the curve of my breast, he didn't rush. His lips brushed softly at first. Testing.
My fingers tightened in his hair.
"Julian."
He answered by taking me fully into his mouth.
The sensation tore a sound from me I didn't recognize as my own.
His hands slid to my hips, holding me steady as he alternated between slow, deep pulls and teasing flicks of his tongue. My knees weakened.
He felt it.
He lifted me without warning and carried me to the bed.
He laid me down carefully — almost gently — but the look in his eyes was anything but gentle.
He removed his shirt, and my breath caught at the sight of him. Strong. Controlled. Beautiful in a way that made my body ache.
I reached for him.
He caught my wrists.
Not harsh.
Firm.
"Let me look at you," he said softly.
There was hunger in his voice.
But also reverence.
He stripped the rest of my clothes slowly, eyes tracking every reaction. The way my chest rose faster. The way my thighs shifted.
He spread my legs with deliberate calm.
The first touch of his hand between them made my back arch off the mattress.
I was already wet.
Already ready.
His fingers moved through me slowly, gathering, teasing, spreading the heat until I was trembling beneath him.
"Look at me," he whispered.
I forced my eyes open.
He watched every flicker of pleasure across my face as he slid one finger inside me.
Then another.
Slow.
Stretching.
My breath broke apart.
He bent down and kissed me again, swallowing every sound as his hand worked between my thighs. Building. Pausing. Building again.
When he finally moved lower, dragging his mouth down my body, I could barely breathe.
His tongue replaced his fingers.
And I shattered.
Hard.
My hips lifted helplessly. My hands tangled in his hair. My entire body shook as he kept going — not stopping when I gasped, not stopping when I begged.
Only easing when I collapsed back against the sheets, breathless and weak.
He rose above me, eyes dark.
"You still want simple?" he asked.
I shook my head.
He positioned himself at my entrance slowly.
I felt the heat of him. The size. The promise.
"Say it," he murmured.
"I want you."
He pushed inside me in one deep, steady thrust.
The stretch burned.
Then melted.
I clung to him as he filled me completely.
He didn't move at first.
He just stayed there.
Letting me adjust. Letting me feel him.
Then he began.
Slow.
Deep.
Every movement dragged against every sensitive place inside me. My nails traced down his back. My legs wrapped tighter around his waist.
He set a rhythm that stole the air from my lungs.
Harder.
Deeper.
But never careless.
His mouth found mine again as he thrust into me, the sound of skin against skin filling the room.
I could feel him everywhere.
Inside me.
Against me.
Around me.
"Mine," he breathed against my ear.
The word sent another wave through me.
"Yes," I gasped.
The pace quickened.
The bed shifted beneath us.
The storm outside seemed distant compared to the storm building between us.
When the second climax hit, it tore through me violently. My body clenched around him, pulling him deeper, tighter.
Julian groaned — low and raw — and followed moments later, burying himself fully as his body shuddered against mine.
We stayed like that.
Connected.
Breathing hard.
Foreheads pressed together.
The rain softened to a quiet rhythm against the windows.
Julian rolled us to our sides, pulling me against his chest. His hand slid lazily over my hip, down my thigh, then back up again.
Not demanding.
Just touching.
I rested my head over his heart. It was still racing.
"So this is warm," I murmured.
A faint smile curved his mouth.
"This is just the beginning."
I felt different.
Not claimed in a cage.
Claimed in choice.
His fingers tilted my chin upward.
"You're not broken," he said quietly. "You never were."
Something in my chest eased at that.
Sleep came slowly, heavy and satisfied.
JULIAN'S POV
She's asleep now.
Hair tangled.
Skin flushed.
Lips slightly parted.
I've never wanted anything the way I want her.
Not control.
Not power.
Her.
The way she trusted me. The way she looked at me when she came undone.
Marcus has no idea what he started.
He thinks this is business.
He's wrong.
This is about her.
This is personal now.
And I protect what's mine.
I brush my hand down her back, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my palm.
And I don't lose when it comes to what's mine.
The house monitors glowed softly on the nightstand.
The grounds are clear.
The doors are locked.
The storm is almost gone.
She shifts closer in her sleep.
And I let myself close my eyes too.
Tomorrow, I go to war.
Tonight, I hold my world.
And I don't let go.