Chapter 267

[ 1,155 words ]

Julian’s POV

I held her against my chest, the slow, rhythmic crawl of her breathing the only movement in the quiet dark of the living room.

I hadn’t known she wanted me this badly. I hadn’t realized the desperation ran this deep under that icy corporate skin of hers. The way she had demanded to know where I was on the phone, the raw, biting panic in her voice—it was the sound of a woman terrified that I had walked away. Terrified that I had gone somewhere she couldn’t reach me.

I had taken my time getting to her penthouse today. I had done it deliberately. With Jude Wolfe’s broadcast still vibrating through the city’s media networks, I had wanted to see what she would do. I wanted to see if she would panic and run to the British motherfucker claiming to be her husband. I had waited, my hands tight on the steering wheel, testing the limits of her loyalty.

But she hadn’t run to him. She had called me. And the second she saw me standing in her foyer, she had stripped herself bare and fucked me right there on the leather cushions, taking what she needed with consuming hunger.

Katia was mine. Every single thing about her—the sweat on her skin, the fast, heavy beat of her heart, the wetness between her thighs—belonged to me.

My mind drifted back to the Grand Prix paddock. I had seen Jude Wolfe before the grid opened. We had stood less than fifty feet apart in the high-stakes crush of the VIP pavilion, forty thousand people shouting above us, sponsors and cameras everywhere. We didn’t acknowledge each other.

We didn’t talk. We didn’t exchange a single word. It had been a silent, freezing war of looks—two predators marking the same boundary, waiting for the first step across the line. Let him play his media games in London. Let him print whatever lies he wanted to the press. Jude Wolfe didn’t know the rules of the territory he had just stepped into.

I leaned down, sliding my arms under her knees and her back, and lifted her bridal style off the couch. Katia didn’t wake. She was completely exhausted, her body soft and heavy in my arms as I carried her down the dark hallway to her bedroom. I laid her down on the silk sheets, pulling the heavy duvet over her bare shoulders, and climbed in beside her.

She stirred in her sleep, her lashes fluttering, her eyes slowly opening in the heavy stillness of the room. I checked the digital clock on her bedside table.

Three AM.

I looked down at her face, my fingers tracing the sharp, elegant line of her jaw in the dark.

“Why didn’t you go to your husband today?” I asked, my voice a quiet, level rumble.

The reaction was instantaneous. Katia’s hand swung through the dark, the sharp, stinging slap of her palm connecting hard with my cheek. The sound of the impact cracked through the quiet room, leaving a burning, immediate heat on my skin.

She glared up at me, her eyes flashing with a raw, bleeding anger.

“Why didn’t you go to your wife?!” she fired back, her breathing turning instantly shallow.

I looked at her, and beneath the fury, I could see the deep, aching hurt in her eyes. It was the wound of Delia’s presence in my house, the weight of the secrets she thought I was keeping, and the sheer exhaustion of fighting a war on three different fronts. It cut through my own anger, softening the hard edges of my chest for a fraction of a second.

“Because I want to be here with you,” I said.

The honesty of it hit her like a physical blow. Katia stared at me, her lips parting slightly, and a single, silent tear escaped her eye, tracing a wet path down her cheek before disappearing into her hair. She swallowed hard, trying to rebuild the armor she had just dropped, her voice shaking as she tried to force the distance back between us.

“Julian, if you want to have a relationship with Delia, you can,” she whispered, looking away from me toward the window. “I mean… my husband is back p>

The mention of Wolfe’s name made the blood in my veins turn to pure ice. The brief moment of softness vanished, replaced by a cold, territorial rage that made my knuckles turn white against the sheets.

“Katia, if I want to have a relationship with Delia, I don’t think I need your permission to do that,” I said, my voice dropping to a low, warning register that left no room for negotiation.

I threw the covers back and got up.

It was around four AM. The city lights outside the window were a cold, indifferent blue, casting long, dark shadows across the hardwood floor. I stood at the foot of her bed, naked, my chest heaving with a slow, violent breath as I looked down at her small frame under the duvet. The alpha control I had spent the night maintaining was completely gone, burned away by the raw, primitive need to establish absolute, unyielding dominance over what was mine.

I reached down, my fingers wrapping tightly around my cock, which was already fully rigid and throbbing with a dark, heavy pressure. If she fucks me over, I will fuck her here until she fucking faints!

“Katia, don’t ever in your life believe you can fuck that man claiming to be your husband,” I said, my voice a low, terrifying growl that rattled in the quiet of the bedroom. “Only I can fuck you p>

Katia’s eyes widened, her body going completely still under the duvet as the sheer, vulgar intensity of the warning hit her.

“This is the only dick you will have every day,” I hissed, my grip tightening on my shaft, my eyes locking onto hers with a lethal, unblinking focus. “If you try to cross me, I will fuck you in front of your husband, and there is nothing he can do about it. Come to me smelling of his perfume, and you will see the demon in me. I will fuck that cunt until it bleeds. Do you fucking hear me p>

The threat was absolute. It wasn’t a corporate game, and it wasn’t a warning; it was a promise written in the raw, territorial language of a man who would burn the city to the ground before he let another beast touch his mate.

Katia sat up, the duvet falling to her waist, her bare breasts flushed in the dim light. The defiance in her was a stubborn, burning heat, her jaw clenching as she glared up at me.

“You don’t need permission to fuck your wife, but I can’t fuck my husband?” she demanded, her voice rising, thick with a desperate, angry pride. “Who the hell do you think you are p>

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