Chapter 224

[ 1,141 words ]

Julian’s POV

I reached down, grabbed her thighs, and hauled them up. I parted her legs wide, wrapping them around my hips. The coldness of the wall against her back and the heat of my chest against her front made her gasp. I didn’t wait. I guided my cock to her wet slit and drove deep into her.

She screamed again, her head hitting the wall behind her. The angle was sharp, forcing me even deeper into her tight, aching core than when she was on the bed.

Tears trailed down her eyes, hot and fast, but she didn’t push me away. Her fingers dug into my shoulders, her nails drawing thin lines of heat across my back. I fucked her hard against the wall, my movements fast, heavy, and completely devoid of mercy. The friction of my thick shaft sliding through her soaking wetness was creating a burning heat that she couldn’t escape.

She was coming. I could feel it—the sudden, violent clenching of her internal muscles as her climax hit her despite the pain. She came once, then twice, her body shaking uncontrollably against mine, her wetness spilling over my balls and down her thighs.

I didn’t stop. I kept the pace brutal, my hips slamming against hers until I felt the hot, heavy throb of my own release building at the base of my spine. I let out a low, guttural growl and gave three more massive, deep thrusts, burying myself as deep as I could possibly go against the wall.

I spilled my seed deep inside her. The heat of my release was thick and abundant, filling her core until she let out one last, broken moan and went completely limp in my arms.

I stayed inside her for a long moment, our chest-to-chest breathing the only sound in the dark room.

Katia was a total mess. Her thighs were shaking, her skin was slick with sweat and fluid, and she couldn’t even keep her feet on the floor. I slowly pulled out of her, the slick sound of it echoing, and watched the heavy drip of my semen slide down her inner thigh.

I picked her up, her body completely heavy and exhausted, and carried her back to the bed. I laid her down on the sheets and pulled the duvet over her shivering body.

I leaned down, my lips brushing the sensitive skin of her ear, and whispered:

“Never ever in your fucking life disrespect me because I will destroy that little cunt of yours p>

I didn’t wait for her to answer. I lay down beside her, pulled her back against my chest, and closed my eyes. The rage was gone, replaced by a cold, heavy satisfaction. She was mine, and she knew it.

I arrived at the mansion at eight fourteen.

I knew about the meeting before I walked through the door. The team had flagged the activity the previous evening—the calls between Martha and my grandmother, the arrangements, and the time agreed upon. I had read it on my phone at six in the morning while Katia was still asleep against my chest and had decided two things simultaneously: I was not leaving early, and I was not going to let the meeting happen without me present.

I had left at seven thirty.

I had taken my time driving.

I walked through the front door still in yesterday’s clothes—the jacket, the shirt, and the trousers that had sat on a chair in a Brooklyn bedroom for the better part of the night. I was aware of what I looked like. I did not particularly care.

I could smell coffee.

I went to the kitchen first.

I poured a cup. I stood at the counter and drank half of it, looking out the window at the garden. The morning was grey. The oak tree at the far end was doing what it did in the early morning, which was exist with the particular patience of something that had been standing in the same place for a very long time and had no intention of moving.

I finished the coffee.

I rinsed the cup.

I walked to the sitting room.

They were all there.

Martha and David on the left—Martha with the composed, upright posture of a woman who had arrived early and had been sitting in position long enough to have thought through every version of this conversation. David was beside her with the expression he wore in all difficult situations, which was the expression of a man who was present and wished he was not.

Grandma in her chair at the far end. Gail beside her. And on Grandma’s lap—with a notepad and what appeared to be a problem he was working through in pencil—was Aiden.

Delia was standing near the window.

I read the room in four seconds.

I sat down.

I did not apologize for the hour. I did not explain my clothes or my absence or anything that had brought us to this particular morning in this particular room. I looked at Martha.

“You called this meeting,” I said.

Martha straightened. She had prepared for this. I could see it in the particular way she had organized herself—the slight lift of the chin, the hands folded in her lap, the breath she took before she began.

“Julian,” she said. “We are here because we are concerned. About the marriage. About appearances.” She paused. “You did not come home last night. And this morning you walk in wearing the same clothes you wore to dinner.” She held my gaze. “We think it is important that both families are aligned on p>

“My marriage,” I said, “is not a committee decision p>

The sitting room was very quiet.

Martha blinked.

“I understand the concern,” I said. My voice was even. Entirely even. The voice I used in boardrooms when something had been decided and the meeting had not caught up to the decision yet. “But the Windsor marriage is not managed by a sitting of both families in my grandmother’s house. It is managed by me p>

“Julian—” Delia started.

I looked at her.

She stopped.

I looked back at Martha.

“If there is a concern about optics,” I said, “I will tell you the same thing I tell my communications team. Optics are a result of actions. Manage the actions and the optics follow. I am managing the actions p>

“But you weren’t home,” Martha said. She had found her footing again. “A husband should be home. Especially when p>

“Mrs. Kensington,” I set my coffee down. “I was twenty-two years in this city before your family became relevant to mine. I have managed my affairs for my entire adult life without a morning meeting to discuss my whereabouts. That is not going to change p>

David Kensington looked at his hands.

Gail looked at the ceiling.

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