My Accidental Billionaire Husband (Katia and Julian) novel Chapter 123

+25 BONUS

Orgasm after a long time

Delia

I’ve always been the “good” daughter. The one who wore the right dresses, smiled at the right donors, and never made a scene unless it was choreographed for maximum impact. But sitting in the plush, overly silent library of the Windsor estate, I felt like a background character in my own life.

Julian was never home. And when he was, he looked through me like I was a piece of expensive furniture he’d inherited but didn’t know where to place. I was a Kensington, raised to be the crown jewel of the family, yet here I was, playing house in a mausoleum while my sister, Katia, seemed to occupy every corner of Julian’s mind, It wasn’t just the lack of attention; it was the erasure. I was his wife on paper, a secret contract meant to solidify the Kensington–Windsor alliance, but I was strictly forbidden from uttering a word of it to the public. To the world, I was just another socialite; to Julian, I was a ghost he’d paid to stay quiet.

By Friday, the silence of the estate became deafening. I needed to be seen. I needed to remind myself that I was still the woman men tripped over themselves to breathe the same air as, even if I couldn’t claim the Windsor name out loud. I dressed in a vintage Versace slip dress that hugged every curve like a second skin, draped a faux fur over my shoulders, and headed into the heart of the city.

Le Bernardin is the kind of place where you don’t just eat; you perform. The lighting is designed to make diamonds look like stars and skin look like silk. I sat at my corner table, sipping a glass of Krug, letting the ambient noise of New York’s elite wash over me. I was alone, a deliberate choice to look like a woman who was waiting for something better than what she had.

“The vintage is excellent this year, though I’ve always found the 2008 to be more… aggressive.”

The voice was like velvet dipped in bourbon. I didn’t look up immediately. I took a slow sip of my champagne, letting the bubbles tickle my throat before I turned my head. A man was standing there, his suit so perfectly tailored it looked painted on. He didn’t wait for an invitation; he simply slid into the chair opposite me, his movements fluid and dangerously confident.

“Mr. Hale,” I said, my voice cool. I knew him, of course. Everyone in Julian’s circle knew Victor Hale. He was the shadow to Julian’s light, the man who made his fortune by taking what others were too slow to protect. “I didn’t realise you were a fan of French seafood.”

“I’m a fan of many things, Delia,” he said, his dark eyes tracing the line of my collarbone. “Especially things that look out of place. You look bored. And a woman like you should never be bored. It’s a waste of potential.”

I arched a perfectly manicured brow. “And what do you know about my potential, Victor?”

“I know you were at the Dubai 24–hour race last week,” he said, leaning in. The scent of his cologne–leather and expensive tobacco–invaded my space, warmer and more inviting than the cold air of the Windsor library. “I saw you in the VIP lounge. You looked like you were searching for something. Or someone. Julian Windsor was too busy with the telemetry to notice a beautiful woman like you was fading into the upholstery. He treats everyone like a business detail to be filed away. You deserve more than being a background player in a Windsor tech show.”

The mention of Dubai made my heart skip. I had been there, a ghost in the back of the pit garage, watching Katia and Julian whisper in corners while I was handed bottled water by assistants who didn’t even know my name. To Victor, I was just a Kensington girl Julian was ignoring–he had no idea I was the woman Julian had secretly married.

“You’re very observant,” I whispered, my voice losing its sharp edge.

“I have to be. In my world, missing a detail means losing everything. And you, Delia, are a detail the world is overlooking. Why are you sitting here alone while the Kensingtons and Windsors play their power games? A woman like you should be the headline, not a guest on a list.”

The conversation sharpened, the air between us turning electric with a tension that had nothing to do with business. He challenged me and mocked the ‘perfect Kensington‘ persona I’d spent twenty years building, and for the first time in months, I felt awake. He spoke to me like I was a person, not a contract.

utter dong time

+25 BONUS

When he suggested we leave, I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t care about the rules Julian had set. I didn’t care about the “discretion” I was supposed to maintain. I just wanted to feel something that wasn’t a cold shoulder.

His penthouse at the top of the Aman New York was a temple of glass and steel, overlooking a city that looked small from this height. The moment the elevator doors hissed shut, the pretence dropped. Victor didn’task; he took. He pulled me against him, his mouth crashing onto mine with a hunger that was almost violent. I moaned, the sound loud and unrefined in the quiet of the foyer. It had been so long since a man had touched me.

He led me toward the kitchen, his hands roaming over my body as if he were trying to memorise my skin through the silk of my dress. He lifted me onto the marble kitchen counter, the cold stone a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his body.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” he grunted against my neck, his teeth grazing my skin.

“Yes,” I gasped, my fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer.

He didn’t waste time with fumbling buttons. He moved the fabric aside, his eyes never leaving mine as he entered me in one smooth, powerful thrust. The sensation was so overwhelming that it made me cum right away after months of physical starvation and emotional neglect. My body arched, a scream of pure, unfiltered release tearing from my throat.

Victor didn’t stop. He leaned in, capturing one of my nipples in his mouth, his tongue swirling against the sensitive peak while he continued to drive into me. I was a mess of tangled silk and raw sound, my heels drumming against the dark cabinets as he worked me over. The sass and the Kensington poise were gone, replaced by a desperate, clawing need to be claimed.

“Look at me, Delia,” he commanded, his voice deep and gravelly.

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