Chapter 25 Julia

My lips stay locked on Gus's while I wiggle against the pressure of his finger. My heart is pounding, racing—doing everything short of somersaulting out of my chest.

"Keep going," I urge between kisses. "If you take that finger out of my ass, I'm never speaking to you again."

Gus chuckles against my mouth. "You're such a freak, Ridgeway."

Honestly? I am. I really am.

I press my tongue between his lips, taking more of his kiss. Deeper. Claiming him, even though I just made it abundantly clear to more than one spectator that Gus is the only man I want.

He moves towards the bedroom, briefly pulling his face away from mine in the process. He tugs on my hand, offering an affectionate squeeze, and I finally take a moment to note the bright expression on his face. It's a rare show of excitement, a flash of liveliness that makes Gus look young. I've never desired a younger version of him. In fact, his smattering of gray hair and the budding creases around his eyes make me weak. But his unbridled, youthful need for me in this moment fills me with glee.

This feels different. This feels wonderful.

Frantically, I pull at his shirt. I want it off. Gone. I don't want there to be anything between us anymore.

He strips to nothing and leaves his expensive clothes on the floor. His body is magnificent and he knows it. Proudly, he stands in front of me with his erection in his hand. Lackadaisical strokes bring him to full mast, his heavy and thick length aimed in my direction with the promise of a brutal encounter. My mouth waters, and I reach out to touch him.

"Sit," he interjects before I can reach him. "Tonight is about you first."

I do sit, tempted to tell him that a meaningful part of my own pleasure comes from touching his cock, but I'm certainly not one to object to being spoiled.

Moments later, he returns to the bed with the vibrator, studying it with an amused expression on his face. He flicks it on and off once. "I remember this."

"Good memories?"

"The best." He tosses it to me.

I catch it before Gus crests over me, pinning me to the bed. He takes each of my wrists in his hands and holds them above my head before he kisses my lips.

"Julia," he murmurs, speaking with his mouth against mine.

"Yes."

"Tell me I can do anything to you."

I pull my eyebrows together. "Of course you can."

"Say it," he implores, desire thick in his voice.

"Why?"

"Say it. I want to hear it. I want to memorize the sound of every syllable passing over your lips and I want to think about it every damn minute we're apart—if we ever have to be apart again. Tell me I can do anything to you."

His gaze is intense and focused entirely on me. I bask in it, eager to let him see me—all of me. Every inch of my naked body and every facet of my soul.

"You can do anything to me, August," I tell him before I raise my head to lick his lower lip. "Anything you want. Play with my body. Use it. Fuck it. I want everything you can give me."

Satisfied, Gus presses his lips against mine before he says, "You're brave, Ridgeway."

"I am."

He kisses my collarbone. "I'm going to ruin you for all other men," he promises softly, the words hot as they skitter across my chest. "I'm going to make tonight so good for you, you'll never suffer the indignity of fucking a man who isn't me again."

He's so caught up, he doesn't recognize the finality of his words, but I do. Deep down, he wants it to be him and me, serving only each other, for a long time. The thought fills me with warmth, but I don't say a word. There's time later. We have plenty of time. After all, neither of us is going anywhere.

Still focused on the task at hand, Gus presses the head of his lubed cock against my asshole and works through the ring of muscle. I groan through the initial pain of the intrusion, but breathe out.

It feels incredible.

He continues to work into me, careful to read my cues before he enters me more deeply. The stretch and sting have me clawing for handfuls of the sheets, but I inhale and exhale deeply, grateful for the occasional kiss Gus leaves on my forehead.

I've never done anal face to face, and there's a rawness to it I can't ignore. For every touch of pain or discomfort I feel, there's a look of pleasure on Gus's face. Not at my discomfort—never. It comes from the indescribable sensation of our bodies coming together in intimacy, in taboo, and desire.

And I suppose that's our story, right from the start: intimacy, taboo, and desire. Coming together like this, I wouldn't have it any other way.

He groans out when he seats himself inside me. I'm so full. When I look into his eyes, I find him searching for pain and regret. He'll find none, but I let him look anyway. It's how I'll guarantee he'll see the satisfaction painted on my face.

"You good?" he asks, giving a singular thrust, testing how much I can take.

Life. Changing. Shit. Right. There.

I nod, urging him to give me more.

And he does. Oh, he fucking does. He wields his length so skillfully, I'm convinced he could have dicked his way to billions if he hadn't been born a genius. My body thrums with pleasure while he thrusts deeply, his thumb pressed against my clit in a devastating complement to his motions. It's amazing, nearly overwhelming, and it piques an urgency in me.

I want to give every part of myself to him, like he did when he opened up to me. I want him to see me vulnerable, the way he was vulnerable with me.

"Please," I beg, succumbing to my mindless, wanton side—prolific since Gus entered my life. "August, please. I need something in my pussy."

Let me show you how much I want you, need you.

"Say it."

"I want the vibrator," I request, trying to ignore a satisfied tear forming at the corner of my eye. "Please, please please—"

His hand relaxes on my cheek and he wipes the tear away with his thumb. His expression drips with admiration. "Look at you, sobbing for it already. You want it so bad, honey." He places the head of the silicone toy against my entrance. "Beg more. For me."

"I'll do anything. I'll be good, August, I swear. Fill me up. Please."

The begging feels natural but rogue. Gus is right; I've never begged for anything before. But there's something about being with a man who, for once, isn't utterly blown away by my wealth or my last name. It makes me feel freer, like I can let my guard down.

"God, you're lovely. I'll give you anything when you ask like that." He pushes the toy between my pussy lips, careful to coat it in my wetness before he slides it into me. Inch by inch, he fills me with it. Deeper. Tighter. More.

He seats every inch of it inside me. Just like that, Gus fills up both of my holes.

When I look down, the sight is vulgar and amazing. Gus's big cock is fully inside my ass, and the end of the vibrator pokes out of my pussy. Stuffed. I can barely believe this is my body I'm seeing.

Immediately, my first thought is that I want more of this again. Soon. As soon as humanly possible. My body feels stretched and used in a way that makes my stomach flutter—and I'm so relieved to have Gus's big body in and around mine.

"I can't get enough of you. You love this shit," he mutters, eyes trailing over me with reverence. "Everyone sees a perfect, prim heiress who travels the world in her designer clothes, not a hair out of place. I get to see the real you. Filthy. Insatiable. A hot little slut who wants men to use her body."

His hand works up over my breast, stopping briefly to pinch at my pebbled nipple before he rests it on my neck. Yes. He begins to pump into me again, and his cock creates delicious pressure inside of me, working in the tight space.

"So good," I mutter.

Gus tightens his hold on my throat and pushes even harder, like he knows I can take it all. And apparently I can—apparently all I needed to have the time of my life was a billionaire's cock in my ass.

We're starting to move faster, working up a rhythm where I groan every beat until Gus loops his arm around my back and hoists me up. When he repositions me, I'm in his lap, staring right at him.

Confused, I tighten my hands on his shoulders. Was it not enough for him before?

"I want to see you," he explains breathlessly, letting his eyes travel over my face. "I want to look in your eyes, and I want you to look in mine. Is that okay?"

His expression is uncharacteristically earnest, but reassuring.

"That's okay."

Gus brushes my hair away from my face before he kisses my lips. Then his cock is thrusting into my asshole once again.

I'm his.

We've fucked eight times before tonight. I've memorized each encounter. They replay in my dreams when I go to sleep at night, wishing he were with me. All eight of those times were intense and beyond my wildest dreams. Rough, and no-holds-barred. Carnal. Passionate.

This is different. The intensity I've grown to love—to need—is here in spades, but the depth of our connection has never run so deep before. I'm staring into his eyes and he's staring into mine. When I breathe out, my skin grazes his. Space doesn't exist between us.

I love him.

And it occurs to me that the way I distilled my desires—seeking a simplistic opportunity for connection and passion—was a fool's errand. There was no way I would find a man with both of those criteria. What I wanted all along was a man whose connection was passion, who could intrinsically link the two for me.

Gus is that man. Gus is everything.

His hand runs down the length of my front, starting with my neck and over one of my breasts. He lingers there, his hand cupping and massaging it.

"You're a privilege, Julia. I can touch this body. Fill up your cunt. Suckle these nipples all damn day if I want. I'd pay fifty billion dollars over and over again for the privilege," he whispers.

"I'd do it for free." I press my forehead to his, speaking honestly. I don't want Gus for his money or his legacy or even his unfettered interest in me. I want him because he's objectively wonderful: intelligent, thoughtful, and passionate. What woman wouldn't want him?

But I'm the only woman who can have him—and the thought is overwhelming and heady all at once.

His thrusts are powerful and yet careful. There are still a thousand things I wish he would share about his life, and every tilt of his hips is a promise. I'll know more. He'll give me more. We may have to work at this, but what relationship is devoid of effort?

We've come so far.

I'm getting closer, pleasure taking over. The vibrator is still inside of me, but turning it on would be too much. I crave the fullness, but I don't need much more than Gus working me with his skillful hands and cock. His lips are at my ear, sucking on the lobe and whispering filth into it.

So tight. So fucking tight for me. Look at you taking it all. I can't believe you can take it all. I'm so proud of you. You always impress me, Julia.

I claw at his bare back, barely in control of the moans of pleasure escaping my lips. I'm falling apart—shattering so fast—and it should terrify me, but instead I'm content and safe in Gus's arms.

"Finish inside me," I beg. "I want it. Please come inside me."

He doesn't stop his relentless motions, but he does inhale sharply. "You mean it?"

"Yes," I grit out. "I'm so close. Please, August."

"I'm going to come in you, Julia."

The promise puts me over the edge. I buck when my climax strikes, overwhelming and powerful. My entire body lights up and surges with pleasure. I'm tingling and pulsating and holding on for dear life as he pushes into me again and again, never stopping.

This is a state of bliss I didn't know existed. This is everything. This is love.

He comes with a groan, emptying into my asshole, filling me up for the first time. The slide of his release is exquisite, entirely unlike what I imagined it would be. I can feel the slick heat tingling against my nerve endings. His lips press against my neck, kissing me and murmuring praise. He pumps wave after wave inside of me. We're a mess: sweat, saliva, tangled hair, scratch marks, and now cum. Neither of us cares.

When I finally slump against him, boneless, he pulls out of me. Gently, he guides me to my side and positions a pillow under my head before he briefly slips away. He returns with a damp towel, and once he removes the vibrator from me, he cleans me.

But when he reaches my asshole, he doesn't use the towel. Instead, he kisses my shoulder while he shoves his fingers into me, like he's trying to plug his cum up inside of me.

It's erotic, filthy, and inexplicably affectionate.

Content that I'm good and filled, Gus relaxes. He strokes my bare back with his knuckles, tracing the line of my spine. We lay together, cuddling in silence for a few minutes.

Reluctantly, I shift from his grasp to head to the bathroom. He intercepts me halfway and carries me there, refusing to even put me down while he readies the shower. He stands there, holding me up with one arm as he tests the water.

When we get in together, he lathers soap over my body, taking care to clean every inch of me. I do the same to him.

After the shower, he towels me off. He grabs my robe, and I slide my arm into it.

"Thank you. It was perfect."

"Don't thank me," he replies, frowning. "I just had the best night of my life. You're not thanking me, no way."

I kiss him. "I do have to thank you for being game to give Jay a revenge to remember."

Gus chuckles. "You're the first woman to thank me for attempting to ass-fuck her in front of her manipulative frenemy."

"Frenemy? August, who taught you that word?"

"Read it in The Carraway," he answers simply before he motions for me to come into his embrace.

He carries me back to the bed and places me on my preferred side before he weaves around to the other. He pulls me closer. When I'm in his arms, he smooths my hair and plants a kiss on the top of my head. Then his lips draw to my ear, where he nips my earlobe and says, "You good?"

He says it every time we have sex. Usually, he says it as a quick check to make sure we're still on the same page. This time, it's not about sex though. And emotions are such a funny thing because when he asks me that—when this stoic, icy man who the world universally recognizes as cruel and unfeeling asks me that—I realize I'm not okay.

I'm surprised when I start crying. Even as the tears rush out, I'm still in denial about what I'm doing. But the more I wipe my tears, the faster they come—and the tighter Gus holds me.

He doesn't ask questions. He doesn't try to unpack the layers of hurt that I don't even understand yet. He simply holds me, his cheek resting on the top of my head while I remain tucked against his chest. My hands search for and caress his bare skin, begging him to stay with me. Not just here, not just now, but always.

"You're so special to me," he murmurs, speaking softly.

Another tear rolls down my cheek, but when I reach up to wipe it away, his thumb is already there.

"You're so special to me," he says again, a bit louder this time. "You're also so goddamn smart, Julia. I love when you look around a room and clock all the details. I love listening to you ask a thousand questions and I love it when you learn something new and practically master it overnight."

My tears have stopped and my heart is in my throat.

"And I love that you fear nobody, especially not me." He breathes out. "And if you weren't fearless, I wouldn't have been able to share so much of myself for the first time."

I move away from his chest so I can look at him. I know I must look horrible. My makeup is undoubtedly ruined from all the sweating and crying and showering. My eyes must be red. But when he sees my face, a small smile appears and he raises his hand to brush my hair back.

He gets it. He gets me. He knows I need to hear this, even if I feel it in my bones and with every fiber of my being. He wants to say it, even if it hurts him to knock down these demons.

He loves me.

"Julia…" he murmurs.

"Say it," I whisper, knowing he needs my help.

Gus nods, but he remains silent.

"Say it," I repeat, nodding my head too. "You know you want to say it. I want you to say it. So say it, August. Don't be afraid."

He still hesitates. He still stares at me with trepidation that I don't resent because two decades ago, someone broke this man—this ridiculous, brilliant, (kind of an asshole, but still wonderful) man.

"I don't stop moving," I tell him, willing him to keep looking into my eyes. "I never have. Staying in one place makes my body tighten up. But when I'm with you, I don't feel stuck."

Gus continues to stare at me in silence.

"Part of it is wanderlust. But part of it was me running, wasn't it? I was convinced that if I stayed in one place, I would realize how lonely I was, how desperately I wanted someone who could satisfy me but also see me as more than a pretty face and a good body."

"A fucking unbelievable body," he corrects, speaking for the first time in a while.

"Thank you, baby," I say, putting a hand on his cheek. "We fucked and I ran because I was too afraid to stick around and get hurt. That first night in Montana, I realized you were different from the others. I wanted you because I knew this could be wonderful. It is wonderful. I don't want to run anymore. You know you're what I want, and I know you want me too. So say it."

"Julia, there are things in my past…"

"I know." I caress his cheek. "You had your heart broken. But if a woman hurting you motivated you to become a billionaire, imagine what you could do if you let a woman love you."

He swallows and looks away. "One day, you're going to leave me."

"I won't."

"You don't know."

"I do," I reply, again placing my hand on his cheek and forcing his eyes back on me. "I do know because if I say I'm going to do something, I do it."

We're so close.

"Say it," I whisper, pleading. "Say it, Gus."

The world slows. We hold each other's gazes, taking each other in. The air tingles and there's a palpable tension between us. It drips with want and desire, but also a sense of necessity. Somewhere along the way, amid the legalese and the NDAs and the flights and the jabs and the selfies and the thousands of texts we sent each other, Gus winter and I became part and parcel.

I need him. He needs me.

And in this moment, finally, we're both exactly where we want to be.

"I love you," he finally utters. "Julia, I love you."

When I hear those words, a sense of rightness settles over me. I've been to a thousand cities and have lived in dozens of places, but I'm home for the first time. I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him. I kiss him again and again, so hard and frantic that I don't even realize I haven't said it back until we're both lying in a tangle on the bed, wearing nothing but sweat and trying to catch our breath while we come down from the fastest orgasms we've ever given each other.

"I love you too," I finally say. And Gus smiles into the curve of my neck, holding me close.