Chapter 201

[ 1,018 words ]

Julian’s POV

“Not once,” I said. “In the entire time Delia has been in this house, I have not touched her. I am not her husband. I have never been her husband. And she has been sleeping with Victor Hale, so whatever moral position she thinks she holds in this house, she surrendered a long time ago.” I looked at Grandma. “The only woman I will touch, the only woman who will be in my bed, is Katia. That is not going to change p>

Grandma looked at me for a long moment.

Then she turned and walked away without another word.

I went back into the dining room.

Delia was still there. Standing near the window with her arms crossed and her expression doing the complicated thing it did when she was managing several things at once.

“Everyone has left,” she said. “Why is Katia still here p>

I looked at her.

“This is my house,” I said. “Not yours. I decide who comes and who goes.” I paused. “Victor Hale is probably horny and available tonight. You look good. You might as well go to him and let him handle whatever it is you need handled. Because I am never touching you, Delia. Not in this life. Not in the next one p>

I turned and went back upstairs.

I heard the shower before I opened the door.

The room was dark except for the light from the bathroom—a thin line of it under the door, warm and steady. I stood in the doorway for a moment.

Then I walked to the bathroom and opened the door.

Steam. The sound of water. Katia was in the shower with her back to me, her hair down, completely unaware I had come back upstairs.

I stripped.

I opened the shower door and stepped in.

She turned.

She looked at me—at the fact that I had just stepped into her shower without asking—and the expression on her face was the one she wore when she was deciding between saying something and letting it go.

She let it go.

I reached past her for the shampoo, and she moved slightly to give me room, and we stood in the shower together in the quiet of it—the water running, the steam, the sound of the house below us where both our families had just eaten dinner and gone home, knowing and not knowing all the different things they knew and did not know.

“Julian,” she said after a moment.

“Yes,” I said.

“What did you mean?” She said. “When we were having sex. What you said to me p>

I looked at her. “We were making love, not having sex; there is a difference p>

She held my gaze. She had been turning it over since I said it—I knew that. She had been lying on my bed turning over four words and had not yet arrived at an answer.

You know exactly who you are to me.

“I meant exactly what I said,” I said.

She looked at me for a long moment. The water ran. The steam settled around us.

“That is not an answer,” she said.

“It is the only one I have right now,” I said.

She looked at me for another moment.

Then she turned back to the water.

I stood in the shower beside my wife and thought about a conversation that was coming and could not be much further away than tonight and felt something that was not quite peace but was the closest thing to it I had felt.

The water was hitting her back, running down the curve of her spine and over her ass. I stood behind her, watching the way the light from the bathroom hit the wet skin of her cheeks. I had just told her that she knew exactly who she was to me—not that she knew, but Katia was going to learn the hard way that no one forgets me.

I looked at her ass. It was perfect—round, wet, and slick under the spray. My dick responded instantly. It got hard again, a thick, aching pressure that pushed against the front of my thighs. I didn’t try to hide it. I didn’t want to hide it. I wanted her to feel exactly what she did to me every time she stood in my space.

I stepped closer until my chest was flat against her wet back. I reached around her, my hands flat against the glass of the shower wall, pinning her between the heavy weight of my body and the cold surface of the enclosure.

“Julian,” she breathed, her head dropping forward.

I didn’t answer. I dropped to my knees in the bottom of the shower. The water was splashing against my shoulders, but I didn’t care. I grabbed her hips, my fingers digging into her skin, and pulled her ass back toward my face. I leaned in and started lapping at her pussy from behind.

She was already wet, but I wanted more. I used my tongue, licking her long and slow, from her clit all the way back. I tasted the soap and the salt and the heat of her. Katia let out a low moan, her hands slapping against the glass for balance. I didn’t stop. I used my fingers to open her up, exposing the pink, swollen flesh to my mouth. I sucked on her, my breath hot against her inner thighs, until she was shaking.

I stood up, the water sluicing down my front. I grabbed her by the waist and turned her slightly. I raised my hand and spanked her ass—hard. The sound of the slap echoed over the noise of the running water. The skin turned a bright, angry red under the spray. She gasped, her back arching, and I did it again.

“You like that?” I growled.

“Yes,” she choked out.

I didn’t wait. I reached down, grabbed my cock, and positioned it at her entrance. I was thick and rigid, pulsing with the need to be back inside her. I slid my hard, long cock into her pussy in one steady motion.

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