Please Come Back, My Love Chapter 13

Elena: POV

"No!" The word burst out before I could stop it. "Julian, it's not what you think—"

"Then what is it?" His hand tightened on my wrist, fingers digging into my skin. "Explain to me why another man was touching you."

"He's just my old mentor from Parsons!" I interrupted, desperation making my voice crack. "Ethan was my advisor when I was in school. We ran into each other at the café, and he offered me a ride. That's it."

Julian's jaw clenched. "And the touching?"

"He said I had something in my hair. He was just trying to help—"

"Help." The word dripped with sarcasm. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

My frustration finally boiled over. "I'm telling you the truth! He didn't kiss me. Nothing happened."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"Yes! Because it's the fucking truth, Julian. But even if you don't believe me, what gives you the right to—"

"What gives me the right?" His laugh was harsh, dangerous. "You're my wife, Elena. Mine. That gives me every goddamn right."

A bitter smile twisted my lips. "Your wife? Really? Because the only people who know that are your grandfather, your mother, and a handful of others. To the rest of the world, you're still single. So don't act like I'm the one crossing lines here."

His eyes darkened. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you have Victoria," I shot back, my voice shaking. "Your precious white moonlight who you fly to Paris to see. Who you're planning to marry the second our contract is up. You have her in your heart, but you want to control who I talk to?"

"This isn't about Victoria—"

"Isn't it?" The words tasted like ash. "You keep her on speed dial, drop everything when she calls, but I can't have a conversation with an old friend? That's bullshit, Julian."

His hand shot out, gripping my chin roughly. "You want to run that smart mouth of yours? Fine. But let me make something very clear."

Then his lips crashed against mine.

This kiss was different—deeper, more punishing, designed to dominate and claim. His tongue invaded my mouth, swallowing my protest, his other hand tangling in my hair to hold me in place.

I pushed at his chest, but he was immovable. Heat flooded my body despite everything—despite the anger, despite the hurt. My traitorous body responded the way it always did, melting into him.

When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. His forehead pressed against mine for a heartbeat, his eyes searching my face with an intensity that made my chest ache.

For a split second, I thought I saw something soften in his expression—doubt, maybe, or regret.

But then his jaw tightened again, and whatever I'd glimpsed disappeared behind that cold mask he wore so well.

"Your body is mine," he said, his voice rough and low. "Every inch of it. No one else gets to touch you. Do you understand?"

"Julian—"

"Say it." His hand slid down my throat, thumb pressing against my pulse. "Tell me you understand that you belong to me."

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "That's not fair."

His mouth found my neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. "Then I'm going to make sure you don't forget."

Before I could protest, he yanked me forward, practically dragging me through the front door. It slammed shut behind us, the lock clicking with finality.

He pushed me back against the closed door, his hands already working at my coat, shoving it off my shoulders.

"Julian, wait—"

"No more waiting." His hands found the hem of my sweater, yanking it up and over my head. "No more excuses. No more other men."

He unhooked my bra with practiced ease, and then his mouth was on my breast, tongue circling my nipple before sucking it into his mouth. I couldn't stop the moan that escaped, my back arching against the door.

His hand slid down my stomach, fingers working at the button of my jeans. "Tell me, Elena. Did you think about him touching you like this?"

"No," I gasped as his hand slid inside my panties, fingers finding my clit. "Julian, please—"

"Please what?" He bit down on my nipple, making me cry out. "Please stop? Or please don't stop?"

"Don't stop," I whispered, shame flooding through me even as pleasure built.

"Good girl." His fingers began to move, circling my clit in slow, deliberate strokes. "You're so fucking wet for me. Your body knows who it belongs to."

He added another finger, sliding inside me, and I gasped, clutching at his shoulders. "You feel that? That's me. Only me."

"Julian—" My voice broke as he curled his fingers, hitting that spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyes.

"Say my name again," he demanded, his thumb pressing hard against my clit.

"Julian," I moaned, my hips rocking against his hand. "Oh God, Julian—"

"That's right." His mouth moved to my other breast. "Come for me, baby. Show me who you belong to."

The orgasm hit me like a freight train, pleasure crashing through me in waves. I cried out, my nails digging into his shoulders, my whole body shaking.

Before I could catch my breath, he was dropping to his knees, yanking my jeans and panties down. "Step out," he commanded, and I obeyed, too dizzy to protest.

Then his mouth was on me, tongue sliding through my folds, and I nearly collapsed. My hands flew to his hair as he devoured me.

"Oh God—Julian—I can't—"

"Yes, you can." His voice was muffled. "You're going to come on my tongue, Elena."

His tongue found my clit, circling it in tight, fast strokes while his fingers slid back inside me. The dual sensation was overwhelming.

"Has anyone ever eaten your pussy like this?" he growled.

"No," I gasped, my hips grinding against his face. "Never—only you—"

"Damn right." He sucked my clit into his mouth, his fingers curling inside me, and I shattered again, crying out his name.

He didn't stop, just kept working me through the orgasm and beyond, until I was sobbing with pleasure, my legs shaking.

Finally, he pulled back, his face glistening. He stood, gathering me into his arms as my knees gave out.

"You're mine," he whispered against my hair. "Don't you ever forget that."

---

Julian scooped me up and carried me toward the grand staircase. My discarded clothes lay forgotten on the foyer floor as he climbed, taking the stairs with measured steps.

We reached the master suite on the third floor. He shouldered the bedroom door open and laid me on the bed, his arms still around me.

For a moment, we just lay there, breathing hard, the air heavy with sex and something I couldn't name.

My hand came up to cup his face, fingers trembling. This was the moment. If I was ever going to reach him, it had to be now.

"Julian," I whispered, searching his eyes. "If I'm really yours... if my body belongs to you... then can you let her go? Can you stop worrying about Victoria?"

His entire body went rigid.

"I mean it," I continued, desperation creeping into my voice. "You say I'm yours. So why can't you be mine too? Why can't you choose me?"

For a long moment, he just stared at me, something flickering in his eyes—doubt, maybe, or hesitation.

Then his expression hardened.

"Victoria has severe depression because of us," he said, his voice flat. "She found out about our marriage, and she... she almost didn't survive it. Do you understand that?"

The words hit me like a slap.

"And let's not forget," he continued, pulling away, "you're the one who started all of this. You drugged me on that yacht. You trapped me into this marriage. Victoria is suffering because of you."

"No—" I reached for him, desperate. "Julian, that's not what happened. I didn't—"

But he was already standing, already pulling away. "I don't want to hear it, Elena."

"Please," I begged, sitting up, pulling the sheet around my naked body. "Please just listen. I didn't drug you. I would never—"

"Enough." His voice was ice. "I have to go."

"Julian—"

But he was already walking toward the door, buttoning his shirt with sharp, angry movements.

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

I sat there in the sudden silence, naked except for the sheet clutched to my chest, my body still humming from his touch. Slowly, I collapsed back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

*"You're mine,"* he'd said.

But it wasn't love. It was just possession. Just his need to control, to dominate, to own.

He didn't want me. Not really. He just wanted my body.