Chapter 30

Jules

I've reached my limit.

I've spent the last few days piecing together what I know about Madison Vaughn, and it's killing me. Her name keeps popping up—through contacts, old records, things I can't quite connect. There are no public photos of her online. No clear social media profiles to trace. It's maddening, like trying to hold onto smoke.

But somehow, I'm starting to see the threads. I know who she is, but as far as what she's planning, who's helping her, I'm no closer to figuring it out. The fear of what she could be capable of is gnawing at me, and it feels like I can barely breathe anymore.

The day at work has been a blur. The girl group I manage is doing well, but my mind keeps racing. Every detail at the back of my head feels like it's pushing me closer to a breakdown, and I can't keep it together. By mid-afternoon, I break. I need to get out. I can't do this anymore.

I leave the office early, grabbing a cab to take me home. The ride is silent, my mind a constant whirl of calculations and worries. I'm so close, but still, it feels like I'm in the dark.

When I step out of the cab, the weight of everything hits me all at once. The street is empty, the familiar city noise distant. My legs start to shake, and before I even realize what's happening, I'm on the pavement, kneeling, hands shaking as I try to breathe through the panic. The stress, the exhaustion, and the constant pressure all come crashing down on me. I feel trapped. Like there's no way out.

And then I hear it.

A car door closing.

Footsteps.

I look up, and my heart stops. There, in front of me, is Whip. He's dressed down—normal clothes, a cap pulled low over his face, sunglasses hiding his eyes—but I know it's him. I feel my throat tighten, a mix of anger and relief flooding my chest.

"Whip..." My voice cracks. I didn't expect him to be here. I didn't want him here. But of course, he's here. He's always in the right place at the wrong time.

I'm shaking now, and I can feel the tears threatening, but I can't let them fall. I won't. I won't let him see how broken I am. So I stood up.

"Why the hell are you here?" I snap, my voice coming out harsher than I mean it to. "You have no right to be here."

He steps closer, and I want to run. I want to scream at him to leave, but I can't. He reaches down, his hand brushing mine, and for a second, it feels like maybe I could collapse into him and everything would be okay.

But I know I can't. I lash out instead, hoping he would just go so he would be safe. "You think you know everything, don't you? Big shot Grammy award-winning artist like you should be at the parties, talking to other big-shot women, living the celebrity life you've worked for. But here you are, in the middle of all this—like you even belong here."

His face hardens, but I see the hurt in his eyes. It's like I've cut him with every word. He doesn't pull back, doesn't let my anger push him away. Instead, he moves in closer, grabbing my arms gently but firmly, like he's afraid I'll break if he lets go. I thrash in his hold, trying to push him away, but it's no use. He's too strong, too determined.

"Get out of here, Whip. You. Don't. Belong. Go on, toss me aside like you should. Don't worry about me anymore. I'm not worth your damn time."

I try to pull away again, my breath coming in short gasps, but instead of letting me go, he lifts me up, cradling me against him with surprising ease. I'm fighting him, kicking and thrashing, but he doesn't let me go. My heart is pounding, adrenaline surging through me, but even in the chaos, there's something familiar about the way he holds me.

"Tell me where we're going," he demands, his voice dark and low.

I glare at him, refusing to say anything. I won't let him in. I can't. But when I try to turn my head away, he's faster—his hand stops me, holding my face, pulling me back to him. And before I can even process it, his lips are on mine. It's not soft, not gentle. It's angry, desperate, like he's trying to erase everything that's been between us with one searing, relentless kiss.

I try to pull away, but it's no use. His lips are firm, commanding, as though he's demanding something from me that I can't give. The kiss is punishing, and yet it's like a fire I can't pull myself out of. Every ounce of control I've fought so hard to maintain slips away, falling apart as his kiss deepens, and my hands, traitorous, find their way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer to my mouth.

I feel the heat of his body through his clothes, the desperation radiating off of him, and it breaks something inside me—something I didn't even know was holding me together. His fingers curl into my hair, tilting my head just slightly, giving him more access, and I can't even fight it anymore. I hold on and melt into him. My body's betraying every word I've said, every reason I've had to push him away.

His kiss is like a storm—fierce, all-consuming, and it shakes me down to my bones. The weight of everything I've been holding back, the fear, the pain, the frustration—it crashes over me in a single wave, flooding me, drowning me. For a moment, it's just him and me, tangled together in this mess, and it's the only thing I can focus on. The only thing that matters.

I know what I'm doing, but I can't stop it. I don't want to.

When he pulls back, his eyes are fierce. "Tell me where your place is."

I don't say anything at first, but the urgency in his voice cracks through me. "I—" My voice falters, but I give in. I tell him the directions, and we're off before I can change my mind.

When we get to my apartment, I barely have time to process anything before Whip is carrying me out of his car, walking me inside. He sets me down, his hands firm on my shoulders, guiding me back toward the wall. Then, without a word, he kisses me again, harder this time, and I kiss him back, matching his intensity.

Our lips open, ravaging each other's mouths, while his large palms roam down my sides. Down, down, down they go, stopping below my waist. My hands fly to his chest, and I relish how hard it felt, how warm, how perfectly solid and just for me.

My heart drums against the walls of my own chest, and a sound climbs up my throat when I feel Whip's heart do the same against my fingertips.

The noise only fuels Whip to press into me with his hips. To reward me with a wild sound of his own. His hands grip my waist, bringing me even closer to him, making me feel the heat of his hardness on my belly and punching another moan out of me.

Whip, Whip, Whip, my mind seems to chant as my body goes on sensory overload all while his tongue dances against mine. Another press of his hips against mine makes my body spin out of control and send more and more heat to pool between my thighs.

Without wasting a moment, his mouth lands on the soft spot between my jaw and neck. Looking up at the ceiling, I bared my throat for him. Another whimper leaves me

"Your sound," Whip breathes into my skin. "That sound is driving me goddamn insane."

He kisses a path up my throat, veering for my ear, leaving little nips that left my blood roaring. Thundering across my body.

"Hold on to me." In a swift move, Whip picks me up off the floor, my legs going around him and my arms wrapping tighter around his neck.

Every doubt flees my mind as he pushes against me once more. My back slams harder against the wall, and I could feel his length nestled between my legs.

Hot—he was so hot and hard.

"That's not enough. More," I implored. I wanted more, more, more. I'd shred my clothes to pieces if I had to.

As he rocks his hips in another firm motion that makes me see the stars, his lips find mine again, muffling another of my moans. My hold on his neck tightens, trying to bring him even closer.

"More."

"I know," he grits out, and with another motion of his hips, the heat of his hardness furiously seeping through the layers of clothing between us.

"More," I beg again. I'm not ashamed. I'd do it again. And again and again.

"So demanding," Whip rasps against my mouth, rocking against me and throbbing between my legs.

He grazes my lips with his, the touch barely enough to appease me. "Take me to your bedroom." His voice is husky, bathed in the need I feel washing over my body. "Please."

I speak the single word into his mouth: "Okay."

He carries me down the hall, maneuvering me easily through the doorway, toward the bed. I want to eat his soft little grunts, the bursting exhales he gives when I tug on his hair or lick at his lip or move my mouth to his jaw, his neck, his ear.

I pull him over me when he lowers me to the mattress, taking his shirt off before his chest even touches mine. All that smooth, warm tanned skin under my hands makes me crazed, like I'm feverish.

His mouth makes its way down my body; hands explore my breasts, my stomach, the delicate skin beside my hip bones, and lower. I want to take a picture of him like this: his soft hair brushing against my stomach as he makes his way down, his eyes closed in pleasure. He bares his teeth, biting the sensitive juncture of hip and thigh. It's disconcerting and erotic and I nearly jolt out of my skin when he slides one hand across my ribs.

Another hand is dispensing with my pants, smoothing down my legs. He's touching my ankle and gently pinching at the little curve of my waist. I've got hands sliding all over me.

"It's been too long," he says, his voice cracking as his lips hover over mine. "Too damn long, Jules. Do you even know what you've done to me? How it feels to want you like this and have you keep me at arm's length?" His words spill out, raw and uneven, each one cutting deeper. "I can't take it anymore. I can't keep pretending that I don't want you. Can't keep ignoring how good we would be together."

He demonstrates. Throat. Breast. Ribs. Hips. Then he shows me his mouth fits perfectly too. My skin heats with every kiss and press. He licks at the sheen of sweat beginning to mist across me, and I hear a faraway sound that I realize is me. Whimpering, begging noises. He takes no notice and shows no pity. He presses his perfect mouth on whatever section of skin he pleases. Inch by inch, he is charting me like a map, stripping me down bare. When he's partway through traversing the upper curve of my spine, my pleading whispers wear him down further.

"You won't let me help you," he growls, the words hot and jagged. His hands slide down to grip me, pulling me closer, like he needs me closer, like he's afraid I'll slip away if he doesn't hold on tight enough. "You've been there for me, Jules—more times than I can count. You've held me up when I didn't deserve it. You've given me everything without asking for anything in return." His voice rises, cracking under the weight of his emotion. "And now, when you need someone, you shut me out. Why? Why won't you let me be the one to take care of you?"

He kisses my thighs in openmouthed reverence the hot breath punctuated with licks, bites, more kisses. I could never withstand the soft pressure of this mouth, and there's no doubting his intention. My legs fall open, and I stare into the dark at the ceiling.

I can feel my walls crumbling. But I can't speak, can't think, because his lips are on mine again, stealing my breath, leaving me no room to argue. He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes wild and desperate, his chest heaving as he struggles to keep himself together.

"You think I don't see it?" he demands, his voice a broken whisper now. "You think I don't notice how much you're hurting?" His hands tighten, his jaw clenching as he fights for control. "You're so goddamn selfless, Jules. You put everyone else first—always. But when will you fucking let someone do the same for you? When will you let me do the same for you?"

I'm shaking closer and closer to the blinding personal explosion I feel nearby on the horizon. I put a hand down and sink my fingers into his hair and tug.

"I can't handle it. Please. I need more. Way, way more." I slide away, clutching at him, pulling him up by the arm with the strength I have left. He sighs indulgently and kneels up, and I finally hear that foil-rip. I brace for another scolding, but when he speaks next, his voice has a shaky, breathless edge, completely undercutting his attempt at composure.

"I'm so tired of waiting," he says, his voice breaking now, the anger giving way to something even deeper. "I've waited so long for you to see me, to trust me."

The first press he makes is gentle and my body takes, and then takes some more. He's pressing his temple to mine, making desperate sounds, like he's in pain, like he's trying to live through this. I can see he's starting to lose himself a little. His eyes are lit in a bright haze. His gorgeous skin is glowing gold in the light peeking through the curtains. I involuntarily clench and he jerks forward, hard. My head nearly hits the headboard.

"Please," he whispers, his voice barely audible now. "Please, Jules. Let me in. Let me be the one to stand beside you, to hold you up when you can't stand on your own. I don't care how messy it is, how hard it gets—I just want you."

I can't keep my composure under his eyes. Passionate eyes. Intense, fierce, fearless eyes. He wants me to hand over everything. He won't take anything less from me.

He collapses into me then, his lips pressing against mine in a kiss so soft, so broken, it shatters something deep inside me. His desperation is there, and it pulls me under, dragging me into the depths of everything he's feeling. And for the first time, I stop fighting. I let him in.

It's a smooth, deep rolling thrust like any of the others, but I break.

It's not a sweet, tame thing sweeping over me. My teeth snap together, I grip on to him and wring myself out. The anguished sound I make probably wakes every single person in the hotel, but I can't hold it in. It's violent. I nearly kick him in the jaw but he grabs my foot and holds on to me. The pleasure boils over, my body twists, squeezes, shakes me out, and I'm out-of-my-mind crazy for Whip Dexter.

I'm falling, completely falling for him, and I look up as he falls for me too.

He leans down against my leg and I feel him shaking in release. He looks down at me, eyes suddenly shy, and I raise my hand to stroke his cheek.

He lowers me down carefully. I can't imagine letting him go again. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and press my mouth to his eyebrow. My chest is heaving from the intensity of it all.

Whip pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breathing ragged, his lips still brushing against mine. He's quieter now, rough and raw, the storm inside him finally settling. "You alright?" I whisper, my own voice trembling, barely audible. I don't even know why I'm asking—he looks wrecked. But it's all I can think to say in the face of everything that just happened.

His eyes meet mine, unguarded, every ounce of his exhaustion, his pain, his relief laid bare. And yet, somehow, there's peace in them too. His lips curve into the faintest, bittersweet smile as his hands gently slide down my face.

"Yes," he murmurs, his voice soft but firm. "Because I'm finally here with you."

The words hit me like a tidal wave, leaving me breathless, the weight of them sinking into my chest and anchoring me to this moment. He shifts then to dispose the condom in the bathroom wastebasket. When he returns, his body is heavy with exhaustion as he lowers himself beside me on the bed. His hand reaches for mine, lacing our fingers together like it's the most natural thing in the world.

He nestles my head under his neck, his eyes fluttering closed as his breathing slows, steady and deep, his presence warm and solid next to me. And as I lie there, the chaos of everything swirling in the background, I feel something I haven't felt in a long time.

Safe.