Page 91 of Love & Notes

“What’s wrong?”

He sits up instantly, his hand reaching out to hover over me, all the playfulness vanishing from his face.

“It’s nothing, Julian. Don’t worry about it.”

He narrows his eyes, “Ellise?”

“My shoulder,” I admit with a quiet exhale, resting my forehead against his chest. “And my wrists, and hips. My whole body, really. After a whole night of… well, my joints are totally rebelling against me .”

“Ah fuck.” He pauses, rubbing a heavy hand over the back of his neck. “Ellise. I’m sorry. I didn’t even think—”

“Please don’t apologise for last night, Julian.”

“I’m not apologising for last night,” he corrects, his thumb gently smoothing over my thigh. “I’m apologising for what it’s done to you.”

“I need heat,” I tell him, leaning into his touch. “I don’t have my meds with me, so I need twenty minutes under a very hot shower.”

He throws back the heavy duvet without a second thought and swings his legs out of bed, running both hands through his messy hair as he lets out a deep breath.

The bright morning light outlines every line of him—the ink winding up his arm, the broad span of his shoulders, and the particular, powerful way he moves through the room—completely naked.

He catches me shamelessly tracking him in the mirror but doesn’t bother hiding the fact that he is incredibly pleased about it. As he turns around, fully exposing himself to me, I catch my breath.

My eyes drop directly to what stands proudly to greet me. The sheer, unapologetic sight and size of him makes my pulse hammer all over again.

How is this my life right now?

“Come on then,” he says, holding out his hand to me and offering me a sharp, wicked wink. “You need heat, and we need to clean up. Let's go, Bow-Peep.”

The shower water is scalding, and it is precisely what my stiff, aching joints need after an entire evening of frantic sex. The water pressure in his ensuite is extraordinary, because this is the Thorne estate, and nothing here operates at a normal human level. It’s a far cry from the pathetic trickle of water I am used to in my Belrose room, and honestly, it’s something I could get used to very quickly.

How the other half lives.

I tilt my head back, letting the heavy steam of the water cascade over my face and drench my hair. A moment later, the glass door glides open, and Julian steps behind me.

His hands instantly find my stomach, flat and grounding against my wet skin, as his chest flushes against my back. We stand there in silence, the steam rising around us in thick clouds as the hot water pours over us.

“Is this helping?” he murmurs, his lips brushing the wet curve of my shoulder blade.

“Mm,” is the only coherent sound I can drag from my throat. My eyes flutter shut as the heat and the weight of his body send a wave of pure relief through my muscles.

“You’re quiet.” He nuzzles the side of my neck, his damp stubble scraping gently against my skin, sending a subtle shiver straight down my spine. His hands begin to wander, exploring every curve he claimed multiple times last night, but his touch is entirely different now. It’s slow, deliberate and gentle.

“I’m enjoying this shower. I think it’s the best one of my entire life.”

The honest answer is that I am wondering what the hell actually happened between us, and how we went from hating each other’s guts to standing in a shower together. Most of all though, I am terrified of what happens when we drive back through those gates today and return to Belrose. I’m terrified about how we’re supposed to go back to being the exact same people we were before last night.

I don’t know how to do that. I don’t think I want to either.

Julian’s hands move with a deliberate intent, turning me around in his arms until I’m forced to look at him. Water streams down his face, his wet fringe sticking to his forehead, only intensifying the dark, unyielding stare locked onto mine.

He is unbelievably gentle with me. He takes his time, his fingers mapping my skin as if he’s trying to memorise every detail in the daylight. He pulls me closer, his wet thigh sliding between mine, creating a subtle friction that makes my breath hitch.

When his hand slides down between us, his fingers part me under the rushing water, finding my swollen core. He begins to circle me with a torturously slow, controlled pressure. It’s nothing like the frantic energy of last night—the piano bench or the bed. His eyes never leave mine, and I couldn’t look away from him if I tried.

It’s terrifyingly intimate.

I reach out, my wet hands gripping the back of his neck, pulling his head down to press my lips to his.