This is what it feels like to be wanted for myself, I thought, seeing the unguarded emotion in his expression. Not for what I can do or what I can provide, but just for being me.
The realization hit me with unexpected force. Julian didn't need my money—he had more than enough of his own. He didn't need my connections or my skills or anything practical I could offer. Yet here he was, looking at me like I was the most precious thing he'd ever seen.
"Julian," I gasped as a particularly deep thrust sent sparks of pleasure up my spine. "I'm close."
His hands slid up my back, one tangling in my hair while the other wrapped around my neglected arousal. The dual sensation nearly undid me on the spot.
"Let me see you," he urged, his voice rough with desire. "Let go for me, Connor."
His touch was expert, knowing exactly how to push me toward the edge. My movements became more erratic, the rhythm faltering as pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak.
When release finally came, it crashed over me with staggering force. I cried out Julian's name, my body arching as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed through me. Julian followed almost immediately, his face transforming with wonder as his own climax overtook him.
In that moment of complete vulnerability, Julian pulled me down for a kiss that felt dangerously close to something more than physical. His lips moved against mine with tender urgency, communicating things we weren't ready to say aloud.
We stayed connected as our breathing gradually slowed, neither of us willing to break the intimacy just yet. Julian's hands traced lazy patterns on my back, his touch gentle now where it had been demanding moments before.
Eventually, I shifted to lie beside him, our bodies still tangled together on sheets that were thoroughly rumpled. Julian's arm curved around me, holding me against his side as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The silence between us was comfortable, filled with the soft sounds of our breathing and the distant hum of the city beyond the windows. I traced my fingers along the scars on Julian's chest, following their paths across his skin.
"These are beautiful," I murmured, my touch gentle as it skimmed the largest scar.
Julian scoffed, though he didn't pull away from my exploring fingers. "They're reminders of failure."
I propped myself up on one elbow to look at him properly. "Failure? How do you figure that?"
His jaw tightened. "I failed to see the drunk driver. Failed to avoid the crash. Failed to walk away intact."
"That's bullshit," I said flatly.
Julian's eyebrows shot up at my bluntness. "Excuse me?"
I continued tracing the scar, my touch deliberate and firm. "These aren't marks of failure, Julian. They're proof you survived."
His eyes met mine directly, and I saw something shift in their dark depths—a vulnerability he rarely allowed anyone to see.
"Survival isn't always victory," he said quietly.
"It is when the alternative is death," I countered. "You're here. You're whole, wheelchair or not." I placed my palm flat against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my hand. "This works. This matters."
Julian had no clever retort, no quick comeback. Instead, his expression was open, almost defenseless, in a way I suspected few people ever saw. He covered my hand with his, pressing it more firmly against his chest as if to anchor himself through the contact.
Something ached in my chest as I looked at him—this powerful, vulnerable man who had crashed into my life less than forty-eight hours ago and somehow already carved out a space for himself.
Oh no. This was supposed to be just sex. Don't you dare fall for him, Matthews.
But even as I thought it, I knew it might already be too late. There was something about Julian Montgomery that called to me on a level I hadn't experienced before—something beyond his wealth or his power or even the undeniable chemistry between us.
I laid my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and tried to convince myself that what I was feeling was just gratitude, or maybe the natural intimacy that comes after good sex.
Definitely not the beginning of something deeper and far more dangerous.
"Stay," Julian murmured, his voice already heavy with approaching sleep, his fingers tangling gently in my hair.
I closed my eyes, melting against him. "I'm not going anywhere."
And the scary part was, I meant it.
