Chapter 4: The Taste of Surrender

Maya's lips crashed against Julian's with all the fury and frustration that had been building between them all day. It wasn't gentle, wasn't romantic—it was pure, desperate need wrapped in anger and want.

Julian responded immediately, his hands tangling in her hair, destroying the messy bun she'd worn all day. Dark strands fell around her shoulders as he angled her head, deepening the kiss with a hunger that matched her own.

"Fuck," Maya gasped against his mouth, her hands fisting in his perfect vest. "I hate you."

"I hate you too," Julian growled, but his words were contradicted by the way he was kissing her neck, teeth scraping against her pulse point.

Maya's back hit the edge of his bar station, and she felt bottles of expensive bitters shift behind her. The cold metal pressed through her thin black shirt, a sharp contrast to the heat of Julian's body pressed against her front.

"This is insane," she breathed, but her hands were already working at the buttons of his vest, desperate to get her hands on his skin.

"Completely fucking insane," Julian agreed, his mouth moving to her collarbone. He bit down gently, and Maya arched against him with a soft moan that echoed in the empty space.

Her fingers found the buttons of his crisp white shirt, and she made quick work of them, revealing the lean muscle underneath. His tattoos were even more beautiful up close—intricate geometric patterns that flowed across his chest and down his arms like a work of art.

"These are actually incredible," Maya admitted, tracing a particularly complex mandala over his heart.

Julian's hands stilled on her waist. "Don't sound so surprised."

"I'm full of surprises tonight," Maya replied, then proved her point by biting down on his lower lip hard enough to make him hiss.

The sound seemed to snap something in Julian's control. His hands gripped her hips, lifting her easily onto the bar surface. Bottles clinked and shifted around them—expensive bitters, artisanal syrups, all the precious ingredients Julian had arranged so carefully hours earlier.

"Your station," Maya protested weakly as a bottle of twenty-dollar vanilla extract rolled toward the edge.

"Fuck the station," Julian said, stepping between her legs and pulling her to the edge of the bar. "Fuck all of it."

His mouth found hers again, and this time there was nothing careful about it. This was raw need, months or years of frustration poured into desperate touches and harsh breathing. Maya wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, reveling in the way he groaned against her lips.

Julian's hands moved to the hem of her shirt, and Maya lifted her arms without hesitation. The black fabric hit the floor, followed quickly by her simple black bra. The cold air of the competition space raised goosebumps on her skin, but Julian's hands were warm as they mapped the curves of her body.

"You're beautiful," he said, and there was wonder in his voice that made something clench in Maya's chest.

"Shut up," she replied, but there was no bite to it. She couldn't handle tenderness right now, couldn't handle the way he was looking at her like she mattered.

Julian seemed to understand. His mouth descended to her breast, and the gentle reverence was replaced by something more urgent. Maya's head fell back as he worked her nipple with his tongue, her hands gripping his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

The bar surface was cold against her back as Julian pushed her down, his mouth traveling lower. Maya's breath hitched as he kissed his way down her stomach, pausing to bite gently at her hip bone.

"Julian," she gasped, and was surprised by how wrecked her voice sounded already.

"Say it again," he demanded, his hands working at the button of her jeans.

"Julian," Maya repeated, and was rewarded by the way his breath hitched.

He made quick work of her jeans and underwear, leaving her bare on his pristine bar station. The irony wasn't lost on her—spread out among his carefully arranged tools like some kind of offering to the gods of pretentious cocktail culture.

Julian's hands gripped her thighs, spreading them wider, and Maya felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked. The way he was looking at her—like she was something precious and profane at the same time—made her feel dizzy.

"Tell me you want this," Julian said, his voice rough with need.

"I want this," Maya replied without hesitation. "I want you."

Julian's mouth on her was like a revelation. Maya's back arched off the cold metal surface, her hands scrambling for purchase among the bottles and tools scattered around her. One hand knocked over a jigger; the other gripped the edge of the bar so hard her knuckles went white.

He worked her with the same focused intensity he'd brought to his cocktails, learning what made her gasp, what made her moan, what made her thighs shake around his head. The sounds echoing in the empty space were obscene—her harsh breathing, the wet sounds of his mouth on her, the occasional clink of glass as her movements shifted bottles on the bar.

"Fuck, Julian, I—" Maya's words dissolved into incoherent sounds as he found the rhythm that made her vision blur at the edges.

She was close, so close, balanced on the knife's edge of release when Julian pulled back. Maya's eyes snapped open, ready to murder him for stopping, but then she saw the way he was looking at her—dark eyes wild with want, his perfect hair completely destroyed, his mouth wet from her.

"Come for me," he said, his voice like gravel, and then his mouth was on her again with renewed intensity.

Maya shattered. The orgasm tore through her like lightning, her body arching off the bar as waves of pleasure crashed over her. She might have screamed—she couldn't be sure over the roaring in her ears. Her vision went white, then black, then slowly cleared to show Julian watching her with something like awe on his face.

"Jesus Christ," Maya panted, her chest heaving as aftershocks rippled through her.

Julian's hands were gentle now, soothing, as they traced patterns on her thighs. "You okay?"

Maya laughed, the sound shaky and breathless. "I'm naked on a bar in an empty cocktail lounge after having what might have been the best orgasm of my life. I'm not sure 'okay' covers it."

Julian's smile was soft, genuine, completely different from the practiced expressions she'd seen from him all day. "Good different or bad different?"

"Good," Maya admitted, then sat up and reached for him. "Very good. But we're not done."

Julian's eyes darkened again as Maya's hands found his belt. "Maya—"

"My turn," she said simply, and slid off the bar to kneel on the floor in front of him.

The marble was cold against her knees, but Maya barely noticed. She was focused on the way Julian's breath caught as she worked his belt free, the way his hands clenched at his sides as she freed him from his pants.

"You don't have to—" Julian started, but Maya cut him off with a look.

"I know I don't have to," she said. "I want to."

And she did want to. Wanted to see this perfectly composed man fall apart the way she just had. Wanted to prove that she could affect him just as much as he'd affected her.

Julian's control lasted approximately thirty seconds after Maya's mouth closed around him. His hands found her hair, not directing but holding on like she was an anchor in a storm. The sounds he made—low groans and whispered curses—sent heat spiraling through Maya's body all over again.

She worked him with the same intensity he'd shown her, learning the rhythm that made his thighs shake, the pressure that made him gasp her name like a prayer. When he finally came, it was with a raw sound that seemed to tear from somewhere deep in his chest.

Maya sat back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and looked up at Julian. He was leaning heavily against his bar station, chest heaving, looking thoroughly destroyed. His perfect hair was a wreck, his shirt hung open, and there were red marks on his chest where her nails had dug in.

He was beautiful.

"Fuck," Julian breathed, running a shaky hand through his hair.

Maya stood slowly, suddenly aware of their surroundings again. They were still in the Driftwood Room, still surrounded by the detritus of the competition. Julian's bar station was a disaster—bottles knocked over, tools scattered, sticky spots where expensive syrups had spilled.

"We made a mess," Maya observed, reaching for her scattered clothes.

"Worth it," Julian replied without hesitation, then caught her hand before she could pull her shirt back on. "Maya."

She looked at him, saw something vulnerable in his expression that made her chest tight.

"This wasn't just..." he started, then seemed to struggle for words.

"Just what?" Maya asked, though she thought she knew what he was trying to say.

"Just angry sex. This wasn't just about the competition, or proving a point, or..." Julian's thumb traced across her knuckles. "This was something else."

Maya felt her walls trying to slam back into place, felt the familiar urge to deflect, to make a joke, to minimize what had just happened between them. Instead, she found herself nodding.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "It was something else."

Julian's smile was slow and warm and completely genuine. "Good. Because I'd like to do this again. Preferably somewhere with better lighting and softer surfaces."

Maya laughed, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Are you asking me out?"

"I'm asking if you want to get out of here and continue this conversation somewhere more private."

Maya looked around the empty competition space one more time, then back at Julian. He was still disheveled, still beautiful, still everything she usually avoided in men. But something had shifted between them, something that made her usual rules seem less important than the possibility of seeing where this could go.

"Yeah," she said, pulling her phone from her jeans pocket. "I'd like that."

As Julian quickly scribbled his number into her contacts, Maya realized this wasn't an ending at all. It was barely even a beginning. Whatever this thing was between them—complicated and messy and completely unexpected—it was just getting started.

And for the first time in years, Maya found herself looking forward to being completely, utterly wrong about someone.