Page 122 of Shadows of the Past
“I thought you hated me,” she murmurs, her cheeks flushing red. With her pink beanie and puffy white jacket, she looks so young, so fucking unprepared for everything life has thrown at her.
“I love your sister too much to ever hate you, Lupe. But that doesn’t mean I’ll forget. And honestly, I think the guilt you’re carrying is punishment enough. I hope you realize how lucky you are to have someone like Julia, someone who watched over you from a distance, who fought every instinct to run to you, just to keep you safe.”
She nods, just barely, and even though she has a long road ahead, I can see her strength. She has the same spark as her big sister. And unlike so many who get lost, Lupe has a family that will pull her back into the light when the shadows close in.
Back inside, Julia stands with her arms crossed, where she’d been watching us through the window. I take her hand, and without a word, we climb the stairs to the attic.
This place has become our sanctuary in the middle of all the chaos, and after weeks of fighting different battles, I ache for her. I miss the way her body fits perfectly against mine and how her smile changes when it’s just for me.
Her hands settle on my chest, and she looks up at me. “Do you think she’ll be okay?” she asks.
“In time, yeah. Right now, she needs to sit with the confusion and guilt to be ready for the next time. Because there will be a next time, Julia. And she needs to know how to spot danger when it comes.”
I see her nod, and even though she wishes she could shield her sisters from everything, she knows threats can come from anywhere. There are too many broken people in this world, too many monsters hiding behind respectable faces and no one knows that better than we do.
She slips into her thoughts, gaze distant, and I find myself wanting to pull her back to me.
“I was thinking about offering Amalia a place in the organization if you’re okay with it.”
For a moment, her eyes go wide, a storm of emotions flickering across her face, and I wonder if I’ve just made a huge mistake. She’s always tried to shield her sisters, not throw them into the heart of our world.
But then she smiles, that private smile I wish I could steal and keep just for myself. “I think it’s a great idea,” she says, and before I can respond, she rises up on her toes and kisses the corner of my mouth, then my lips—one after the other—her mouth trailing down to my neck.
“Juls…”
But of course, she doesn’t stop. Her lips keep moving, hot and insistent, until my shirt and jacket are in her way. My leather jacket hits the floor first, then my shirt. My hands are under her sweater, but when I look at her, eyes dark with want and love, I freeze, cupping her face.
“Te amo,” I murmur, staring at her, my heart pounding so hard it almost hurts.
Her eyes glisten, and with a soft laugh, she jumps into my arms. I catch her, hands under her thighs, carrying her to the bed because she forgets she’s barely a month out from surgery, but I don’t.
“I’ll lose my mind if you tear your stitches,” I warn, but her hands are already pushing my jeans down.
“My wound’s healed, so stop being so gentle with me, por favor, amor. It’s been weeks since you’ve touched me, weeks of you holding back, afraid you’ll hurt me…”
“Say that again,” I growl, my voice low and rough.
“Amor,” she whispers, lips brushing down my chest.
“Again,” I demand, threading my fingers through her hair. I’m obsessed with it, and I can’t seem to help myself. I want to play with it, grip it, feel it wrapped around my hand because it’s mine. Every part of her is mine.
When her tongue glides lower, my grip in her hair tightens instinctively.
“Juls, don’t—” My voice cracks, old panic flickering at the edge of my mind.
She pauses, searching my eyes, and for a heartbeat I think she’ll pull away. But then something fierce and possessiveflashes in her gaze. “Please. This is the last part of you that isn’t mine, and I want it, Max.”
I swallow hard as she pushes my boxers aside, her touch confident and sure. When her mouth closes over me, I freeze for a split second, my breath caught and body tense as I brace for old ghosts to claw their way up, for that familiar, suffocating dread to take hold.
But it doesn’t come. There’s no echo of his voice, no memory to paralyze me. There’s only Julia—her lips, her tongue, the soft, needy sounds she makes as she claims me, and the way her eyes never leave mine, grounding me in this moment.
A vein throbs along my length, hypersensitive to every stroke of her tongue. My head falls back into the pillow, a moan tearing from my throat.
“Fuck, Julia. Don’t stop.” The words tumble out, raw and desperate, and for the first time, this act isn’t about power or fear. It’s about surrendering to her, letting her rewrite every memory with pleasure so sharp it almost hurts.
Her mouth works me with a stubborn tenderness, and all I can do is hold on, letting the past dissolve with every touch, every breathless whimper she gives me.
One hand wraps around the base of my cock, her mouth working me slowly, driving me insane until I lose all restraint and push her head down. Her throat tightens, taking me deeper, and every word, every inhibition, disappears as her tongue teases every inch of me.
