The Retired CEO's Guide To Being Spoiled

Chapter 371: The Anchor to Reality (R18)

Seeing the usually clear eyes now soaking wet, hazy, and completely veiled by a misty layer of tears caused Ethan Caldwell’s heart to tremble even more profoundly. It was a complex mixture of the lingering afterglow of pleasure and the absolute, ultimate mental exhaustion following that terrifying mental resonance from earlier. Julian simply lay there beneath Ethan’s body, panting softly, looking at the older man with an intense and unwavering focus.

That gaze held absolutely no evasion, nor did it carry the usual seductive teasing. Instead, it bore a concentration so deep it was heartbreaking. It was as if Julian was utilizing every last ounce of his remaining strength, using those eyes to fiercely memorize every single contour of the face of the man before him, desperately trying to carve Ethan deep into a mind that was on the verge of shattering.

That realization drove Ethan entirely to the brink of madness.

Ethan let out a low, guttural growl deep in his throat, his firm arm wrapped around Julian’s back, tightly locking the youth’s slender waist and pressing Julian flush against his own broad chest. His voice was utterly hoarse and broken, completely tainted with an extreme, radical possessiveness: "You must remember clearly."

"Who exactly is the one holding you right now."

In response to that urgent, frantic intensity, Julian did not retreat in the slightest. He lifted his hips slightly, obediently wrapping his long, slender legs around Ethan’s waist, pulling the distance between the two of them so tightly together that not even a sliver of air could pass through. The corners of his eyes flushed a deep red, and a single, scalding physiological tear slid down his temple, disappearing entirely into the soft fabric of the pillow.

His voice was softly hoarse, fractured and breathless, yet it carried an unwavering determination: "It is you..."

"Only you."

"Husband..."

That answer acted exactly like a lit match thrown directly into a barrel of gunpowder, utterly and completely incinerating every last shred of Ethan’s initial restraint.

The temperature within the bedroom abruptly skyrocketed, becoming suffocatingly thick and blisteringly hot. Ethan swooped down, aggressively biting and sucking upon Julian’s flushed red lips, restlessly forcing the kiss far deeper. This kiss was not meant to caress, nor was it playful; instead, it carried the immense, crushing weight of reality and existence. The tip of his tongue relentlessly ravaged Julian’s mouth, capturing the timid tongue and grinding against it, forcefully compelling Julian to entirely drown in his breath, which was heavily steeped in masculine musk.

He eventually trailed his lips downward, his sharp teeth lightly biting onto Julian’s thin shoulder and pristine white collarbone, leaving behind glaringly obvious, dark red marks in their wake. The man’s breathing was incredibly heavy, blowing hot and turbulent against the fragile, delicate skin beneath him.

Yet, directly amidst that frantic intensity and overwhelming oppression, one could still discern a terrifying level of underlying tenderness.

The primal, carnal lust of a man was forcefully ruthlessly suppressed by Ethan. What he desired at this specific moment was to use the raw friction of their bodies, the fierce beating of his own heart, and the scorching temperature of his blood and flesh to forcefully drag Julian back to reality. The man wanted to anchor the youth’s consciousness right here, pinning him securely to the real world, dictating that Julian was only permitted to remember Ethan and nothing else.

Julian was kissed so thoroughly that his chest heaved violently, the sheer depletion of oxygen causing his mind to spin dizzily. Within that haze of delirium and oxygen deprivation, the terrifying sensation of his soul drifting away crashed into him once more, causing him to subconsciously let out a weak, fragile call: "Ethan..."

Instantly, the man’s movements paused for half a beat, he pulled away from Julian’s lips, pressing their foreheads together, as his deep, unwavering, and resolute voice echoed without a second of delay: "I am right here."

A little while later, when unexpectedly ambushed by a wave of pleasure that caused his body to involuntarily convulse, Julian once again panicked, flailing his hands to firmly grasp Ethan’s broad shoulders, sobbing softly: "Ethan..."

"I am here."

This exact sequence repeated itself over and over like a sacred ritual of salvation. It was of the utmost importance. Because Ethan was the only one who truly understood just how terrified Julian actually was. He was deeply afraid of losing himself within the pitch-black frequency of B-00, terrified that upon opening his eyes, he would never see the older man again. And every single time he called out, regardless of whether it was during the peak of climax or a gentle lull, Ethan responded instantaneously, never delaying for even a single second.

It was exactly as if he were continuously weaving a massive safety net entirely out of his own voice, constantly confirming his own existence to envelop and protect Julian’s bleeding soul.

Throughout the entirety of that breathtakingly intimate connection, Julian gradually began to relax. The rigid tension within his muscle fibers slowly started to dissipate entirely. The lingering, bone-piercing chill left over from the mental resonance with that solitary confinement cell at the bottom of the abyss was finally driven away by the blazing inferno radiating from Ethan’s body, melting away into absolute nothingness.

However, simultaneous to experiencing that enveloping warmth, an incredibly terrifying realization was born deep within Julian’s heart. He discovered that he was relying on this man to an extent that was utterly incurable. He absolutely, fundamentally did not want to ever leave this embrace.

Julian’s mind abruptly awakened from amidst its confused daze.

There were no longer patches of thick, viscous darkness. There was no longer the horrifying, clinking sounds of iron chains colliding. There was no longer the sound of damp water dripping within a solitary iron cell. The only thing that remained was the thumping, powerful, and vibrantly alive heartbeat of Ethan.

Fully conscious of that absolute truth, Julian took the initiative to wrap both of his arms tightly around Ethan’s sweat-drenched back. He hugged the older man so intensely, all ten fingers digging into his flesh, his fragile body even trembling slightly from pure overwhelming emotion.

He buried his face deep into the hollow of Ethan’s neck, affectionately rubbing his own tear-streaked face against it, and uttered a phrase so soft and vulnerable it could crush anyone’s heart: "Please hold me a little bit longer..."

The man bracing himself above almost completely melted downward; every ounce of his arrogance and dominating oppression collapsed in the blink of an eye.

Ethan knew that someone as inherently proud as Julian very rarely, if ever, directly exposed his dependence, his weakness, and such a naked, desperate clinging.

Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed with immense difficulty. He bent his head low, pressing a kiss to Julian’s soaking wet eyes, tasting the bitter saltiness of the tears. A large hand soothingly caressed along the youth’s trembling spine as he spoke in a low voice, each individual word sounding exactly like a solemn, unbreakable vow: "I will hold you for my entire life."

Ethan slid one hand downward, capturing the hand Julian was using to tightly grip the bedsheets. He slotted his five rough fingers through Julian’s long, slender digits, intertwining their ten fingers tightly together right upon the soft pillow, pressing both of their palms entirely flush against each other without leaving a single gap.

"Look at me."

Every single time Julian’s eyes showed signs of glazing over, wanting to sink back into that hazy void, Ethan would lightly bite upon his lips, ruthlessly forcing those pitch-black pupils to refocus and reflect nothing else but his own silhouette. He absolutely refused to allow Julian to sink into any other world.

Throughout the entirety of that intoxicating process, he continuously repeated actions designed to soothe and reassure. He called out Julian’s names, switching continuously from "Jules" to "Baby." He kissed the smooth forehead, affectionately caressed the sweat-dampened silken hair, and patiently utilized an extreme, unyielding gentleness to meticulously patch Julian’s soul back together.

When everything finally came to an end, the atmosphere within the bedroom became so quiet it bordered on sacred.

There were no longer any shattered, broken moans, all that remained was the sound of heavy breathing gradually stabilizing, the steady rhythm of heartbeats, and the faint, incredibly ambiguous scent of masculine hormones lingering heavily amidst the tangled bedsheets.

Julian lay completely engulfed within the man’s embrace, his entire body gone as soft as a puddle of water, teetering on the edge of absolute, total exhaustion. This profound fatigue did not simply stem from their intense physical exertion on the bed. Rather, its true root cause was the horrifying depletion from the mental resonance earlier that evening, the sheer nervous tension that had been pushed to its absolute limits, and finally, the overwhelming sensation of entirely letting go of every burden the second he confirmed he was absolutely, unconditionally safe.

Ethan looked down at the little cotton ball whose eyes were tightly shut, breathing evenly against his chest; the older man’s gaze completely softened. He gently withdrew from the youth, using a thin blanket to neatly wrap Julian’s naked body up, before steadily and securely lifting him into his arms, taking long strides straight toward the bathroom.

The warm water in the bathtub was drawn to exactly the right level. Ethan personally took a soft towel, soaked it in the warm water, and meticulously wiped away the trails of sweat and sticky fluids coating Julian’s skin. His movements were exceptionally cautious, exactly as if he were cherishing an infinitely priceless, fragile treasure.

The moment the warm towel slid down onto Julian’s left wrist, Ethan’s movements abruptly halted.

Beneath the glaringly bright lights of the bathroom, what struck his eyes was a distinct, flushed red ring of marks, printed deeply into the youth’s pale, delicate skin. It was a brutal mark made by Julian himself. During his absolute panic following the mental resonance, he had unconsciously used his right hand to violently choke his own left wrist, exactly as if he were trying to desperately soothe the phantom sensation of cold iron chains slicing straight into his flesh.