Julian's eyebrow winged up with interest. "Is that so?"
"Mm-hmm," I hummed, letting my fingers trace patterns on his chest. "And I was thinking that when we get back to the hotel, maybe I could play nurse. Check you over for injuries, kiss any bruises I find..."
Julian's hand came up to cup my face, his thumb brushing across my lower lip. "I like the sound of that."
"Just like?" I challenged, pressing closer.
"Love," Julian corrected, his voice rough with desire. "I love the sound of that."
The drive to the hotel seemed to take forever, but finally we were checking in, making our way to the room with hurried footsteps. The moment the door closed behind us, Julian pulled me against him, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that was hungry and possessive.
"So," I murmured against his lips, "Where exactly does it hurt, Mr. Thorne?"
His smile was wicked. "I think I'll need a very thorough examination to be sure."
27
Julian
The hotel room door had barely closed behind us before Vivienne was pulling me toward the bed, her hands already working at the buttons of my shirt with focused determination.
"Let me take care of you," she said softly, pushing the fabric off my shoulders to reveal the tension I'd been carrying all day.
I started to protest—I was fine, barely hurt, nothing that warranted this kind of attention—but the look in her eyes stopped me. This wasn't about my actual injuries. This was about her need to touch me, to reassure herself that I was whole and hers.
So I let her.
Vivienne's lips found the slight bruising on my shoulder first, pressing soft kisses that had my heart hammering in my chest. She worked her way across my collarbone, down my chest, pausing at each mark the afternoon had left behind.
"Does this hurt?" she murmured, her mouth brushing over my ribs.
"No," I managed, though my breathing had become uneven for entirely different reasons.
She continued her exploration, her hands and mouth working in tandem until she was kneeling before me, looking up with eyes dark with desire and something deeper—love, trust, a connection that made everything else fade into insignificance.
When she freed me from my remaining clothes and took me into her mouth, I had to brace myself against the wall behind me, my hands fisting in her hair as pleasure rolled through me in waves. She worked me with skill and obvious enjoyment, the soft sounds she made around me nearly as arousing as the sensation itself.
"Vivienne," I warned when I felt my control beginning to slip, but she just hummed and took me deeper, making it clear she wanted exactly what I was about to give her.
My release hit me hard, leaving me boneless and sated, barely able to stand as the aftershocks rolled through my body. Vivienne rose gracefully, pressing a soft kiss to my lips that tasted of salt and satisfaction.
"Better?" she asked with a smile.
"Much," I managed, though my voice was rough. "But now it's my turn—"
"Julian," she interrupted gently, her hands framing my face. "We don’t have to keep score. I wanted to do that for you. That's all."
The simple statement hit me harder than it should have. In my previous relationships, everything had been transactional—pleasure given with the expectation of receiving, favors traded like currency. But Vivienne was teaching me that love didn't work that way, that sometimes giving was its own reward.
"Come shower with me," I said, pulling her close. "At least let me hold you."
We made our way to the bathroom, where the shower was large enough for two and the water pressure was exactly what my sore muscles needed. I washed Vivienne's hair with gentle fingers, my fingers massaging her scalp until she was practically purring against me.
"This is nice," she murmured, her back pressed against my chest as the hot water cascaded over both of us.
"It is," I agreed, wrapping my arms around her waist and just holding her, feeling the tension of the day finally drain away.
By the time we dried off and collapsed into the hotel's comfortable bed, exhaustion had caught up with both of us. Vivienne curled against my side, her head on my chest, one arm draped possessively across my stomach.
