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Outside, the cool evening air does little to temper the heat that radiates from us. He leads me to his car, and as we slide into the front seats, Julian's hand finds my thigh, his touch bold and insistent. The warmth of his palm through the fabric of my leggings sends a thrill straight to my core, and I cover his hand with mine, inching it closer to where I want him most. Julian growls as he starts the engine.
The drive to Julian's house is a blur of heightened senses; every shift of his hand on my thigh sends a new wave of anticipation through me. The streetlights flicker overhead, casting intermittent shadows across Julian's face, highlighting his statuesque bone structure, his features carved by a master artist.
When we pull up to his house, the soft glow of the porch light welcomes us. Julian leads me to the front door, throwing it open and not bothering to turn on any lights. He scoops me up into his arms with ease and carries me through the dark hallways of the house as he kisses me, only pausing to open the door to his bedroom.
There's a soft, ambient light emanating from a bedside lamp, bathing the room in gentle illumination. The bed, with its plush pillows and soft, inviting duvet, is just a few steps away, but the world slows down as we cross the threshold and enter the room.
Here, in Julian's most private space, we lock eyes. This feels bigger than the first time in his office, heavy with intention. The near-silver intensity in his eyes tells me all I need to know about his desires, that they match mine perfectly. We come together with a new urgency; our earlier restraint abandoned as he lowers me to the bed.
As Julian’s hands explore the contours of my body, sliding his hands under my shirt with a slow, deliberate motion that sparks a wildfire across my skin, I realize how much I've craved this closeness. I've kept myself at a distance since discovering I’m pregnant, and even now a doubt sounds in the back of my mind: If Julian knew that I was pregnant with his child, would he still want me this desperately?
I force the thought from my mind, focusing instead on Julian's touch. My stomach, my breasts, my neck, every caress sending waves of anticipation coursing through me. It's actually difficult to think about anything when he's touching me like this, his hands warm and insistent.
Swiftly and easily, Julian lifts my shirt over my head and tosses it aside. He finds the hook of my bra and removes it too, leaving me exposed under the soft light. His eyes roam over me, a mix of adoration and raw desire shining in their silvery gleam.
Leaning over me, Julian eliminates the last remnants of space between us. His hands explore the newly revealed skin, his touch both tender and charged with urgency. My breath catches in my throat as his fingertips slide along my sides, sending shivers through me that pool into a warm ache at the pit of my stomach.
I reach for him, my fingers just barely brushing his shoulder before he pulls away. He kisses my ribs on one side, just below my breast, feeding the hunger that's been steadily growing within me since I entered his home. His mouth moves in gentle, tantalizing patters across my abdomen, his tongue dipping into my navel as he makes his way lower and lower.
Julian’s fingernails scrape against my hips as he finds the waist of my leggings, and the realization of his intention sends hot, demanding jolts to my center. The air is cool on my skin as the fabric is stripped away, but Julian is warm, and his mouth is only inches from my weeping sex.
“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” he asks, nipping at my inner thigh.
My hips buck instinctively. “Not today,” I breathe.
Julian draws his gaze up to meet my eyes, fixing me in his stare. The tattoo that snakes along his neck is suddenly so fitting.
“You're beautiful, Natalie,” he states firmly, before dragging his tongue between my folds.
“Oh,” I cry, startled by the electric contact.
Julian's tongue is rough at first as he explores the most intimate parts of me, but he adjusts quickly, reading my reactions with surprising clarity. Not once do his eyes leave my face, watching my every reaction to his movement, and that somehow feels more intimate than having his mouth on my pussy.
After a moment, Julian finds a rhythm that sets the tension building. He swirls his tongue over my clit in glorious strokes before dipping it inside me, and my thighs begin to shake, desperate for release. My back arches as his nose presses right against my bud, his tongue still working miracles further below. Instinctively, my hands knot in his hair, holding Julian's face tighter to my sex as a tidal wave of pleasure crashes over me.
My whole body shudders as I call Julian's name, my walls clenching around his tongue that buoys me through the storm of my orgasm. Only when I finally settle does he stop his ministrations, pulling up to smirk at me with prideful satisfaction.
“You're right,” I whimper, still basking in the afterglow, “we should make up more often.”
Julian drags his thumb along his stubbled chin, capturing a remnant of my arousal, and then brings it to his lips.
“But we've barely even started,” he echoes my words from before, and my hips twitch.
As Julian removes his clothes, I use the moment to catch my breath. My whole body is a livewire; just the sensation of the duvet beneath my skin is enough to keep me squirming as I wait for Julian to return, fully enjoying the site of him laid completely bare before me.
Within seconds, he's on top of me again. Our lips crash together in a kiss that is anything but gentle. I can taste myself on his tongue—a new experience for me. It's an exhilarating reminder of where his mouth has just been, and a promise to return to many times over.
My sex throbs, aching to be stretched and filled by Julian, to become part of him. I spread my legs wider for him and his hips slide perfectly between them. The weight of him, solid and warm, is a delicious pressure that I welcome.
His cock rests against my center, long and hot, teasing me. My hands find his hair, tangling in the dark locks as I wrap my legs around him with an urgency that borders on desperation. His groan vibrates against my lips, a sound so laden with desire it mirrors the pounding of my own heart.
Julian takes his time, drawing out the moment for as long as possible. Just a little at first, and then more and more deeply he enters me. It's amazing how easily he fills me, relieving my aching walls with the contact alone. I relish in the fullness, thighs clenching as I moan.
Then his hands are everywhere at once, tracing the lines of my body with a possessiveness that leaves a trail of heat in its wake. I arch into his touch as he pounds more fiercely into me, craving more, my own hands roaming over the hard muscles of his back and shoulders, feeling the powerful strength of his form.
The room is filled with the sound of our ragged breathing and the soft rustle of fabric as he fucks me—really fucks me—in a way that feels both dominating and endearing, this man claiming me as his. The pleasure that swells inside of me is intense, each shift drawing a new gasp or moan that punctuates the quiet room. Julian’s mouth trails from my lips down my neck, finding the sensitive skin there, and I tilt my head back, giving him access, lost in the sensation of his teeth.
Our movements are frantic, driven by a mutual desperation to be as close as possible. I need him, arousal threatening to shatter me again even though it’s only been minutes since he made come. I cling to him, back arching, murmuring his name over and over.
