The heavy door of the Maybach shut with a soft, expensive thud, sealing them into a world of leather, shadows, and the scent of Julian's lethal intent.
The partition between the driver and the back seat slid up with a mechanical hum. They were alone.
Julian didn't wait for the car to pull away from the curb. He lunged across the seat, his large hand tangling in Elena's hair and tilting her head back until she was forced to meet his predatory gaze.
"You were shaking at that table," he rasped, his voice a low, guttural vibration that seemed to travel straight to her core. "Every time I touched you, you looked like you were going to shatter."
"You did that to me," Elena gasped, her breath hitching as his thumb traced the line of her throat. "You humilitated me."
"No," Julian corrected, his eyes darkening to obsidian. "I claimed you. There is a difference."
He moved with the sudden, violent grace of a storm. He didn't pull her to him; he moved over her, his heavy, muscular frame pinning her into the deep leather seat. The velvet of her dress felt like a thin, useless barrier against the scorching heat of his body.
"The board saw a devoted wife," he whispered, his lips ghosting over hers. "But I saw the truth. I saw how you clenched when I touched you. I felt how slick you were for me while you were pretending to drink your wine."
Elena's heart was pulsating so hard it was a physical pain in her chest. She wanted to push him away, to scream at his arrogance, but her hands were busy clutching his lapels, pulling him closer.
"I hate you," she whimpered.
"Then hate me," Julian said, his voice dropping to a husky growl. "But don't lie to me."
He reached down, his fingers finding the hem of her gown again. Because she wore nothing beneath it, the contact was immediate and electric. He didn't tease her this time. He moved with a firm, possessive authority, his palm cupping her heat, his fingers finding the center of her desire that was already weeping for him.
Elena let out a loud, broken cry, her head falling back against the headrest. The world outside the tinted windows—the city lights, the traffic, the people—vanished. There was only the rhythmic motion of the car and the shattering intensity of Julian's touch.
"You're so tight," he groaned, his forehead resting against hers as his fingers worked a rhythmic, pulsating magic. "So desperate for me, even while you curse my name."
He began to move against her, the hard ridge of his own arousal grinding against her hip. The friction was unbearable, a sweet, agonizing torture that made Elena's vision blur. She was unraveling, her body coiling tighter and tighter like a spring about to snap.
"Julian... please," she begged, not even knowing what she was asking for.
"Say my name again," he commanded, his thumb applying a ruthless pressure that sent a jolt of electricity through her entire frame.
"Julian!"
Just as she reached the precipice—just as the white light began to bloom behind her eyes—he stopped.
He withdrew his hand, leaving her cold and gasping, her body throbbing with an unfulfilled, desperate need.
Elena opened her eyes, her breath coming in ragged sobs. Julian was sitting back in his seat, adjusting his tie as if they had been discussing the weather. His face was a mask of cold, controlled stone, though his chest was still heaving.
"The penthouse is five minutes away," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Save the rest for the bed, Elena. I want you to remember every second of what I'm going to do to you when we get there."
The car turned a sharp corner, the streetlights flickering across his face like a warning. Elena sat there, shivering and aching, her soul trapped in the golden cage he had built.