Violet
S neaking back to join the party, it feels like there’s a neon sign flashing above my head that says, “JUST HOOKED UP!” My hair is wind-ruffled, my cheeks are permanently hot, and I’m so swollen and slick between my legs, I feel like I’m walking funny.
Made Jude check the front and back of my dress for damp patches before we came back over here, shining his phone light on the silk. That was a new low.
But shockingly, he didn’t mock me for that request. Didn’t make me feel like a screw-up or even joke about the size of my ass. No: Jude Jenkins let me ride his thigh and then was a perfect gentleman in the aftermath, and it does not compute.
Who is he?
Who am I?
Gah. I need a drink.
“What would you like?” my rival asks now, nodding at the nearest pop up bar. It’s twined with string lights, and a young guy in a white shirt and braces stands behind the bar, shaking a cocktail to the band’s beat. “Fair warning: if you say cyanide, you will hurt my feelings.”
Pressing my lips together, I turn my face into the breeze. Sparks keep zipping under my skin, my nerves fizzing with excitement at what just happened between us. All around, our coworkers laugh and drink and joke and dance, like my whole world didn’t just turn upside down at this party.
Did Jude like what we did?
Would he want to do it again?
“?” He ducks down now, frowning at me with those indigo eyes. His dark hair is so thick and tuggable, and his lips are slightly red from our kiss. He looks debauched, and almost as wired as I feel. Like he poked an electrical socket and got shocked awake.
I love him.
Holy shit, I love this man.
This is terrible news!
“I’m getting you a water,” Jude says, taking my elbow and steering me toward the bar. “You look like you might vomit, sweetheart, and I’m trying really hard not to be offended by that.”
It’s true. My insides are churning; my head is light. A clammy sweat has broken over my skin, and I can’t feel my face. Since when am I in love ?
A crush? Sure. Inconvenient sexual longings? Absolutely.
But love ?
“There, there.” Jude rubs steady circles on my back, fussing over me with zero care for the stares we’re attracting. It must be strange for these people too—they’re all so used to watching us spat like alley cats. This truce must be confusing. “Would you like to go home? There’s a car service, apparently.”
“Yes.” My spine straightens, and I’m still in a trance, but that’s it. That’s what I want right now. Need to get away from these stares and whispers and out of these stupid heels that are crushing my toes; need to go somewhere I can think straight. “Take me home. To your home.”
Jude’s eyes flare with heat, and he draws in a long inhale. When he nods, his jaw is tight.
“I won’t expect anything.” He pulls out his phone, tapping at the screen.
“Always such low expectations of me.”
“No, I—”
When he glances up, I wink.
And as that smile bursts over his face, crinkling his eyes… my heart trembles like a leaf. Oh, boy.
* * *
Turns out Jude Jenkins does not live on a trash heap out at the city limits. My bad. Instead, he lives in a small but tasteful one-bedroom apartment not far from work, with a leafy park view, bare brick walls, and metal beams on the ceiling.
There’s barely any mess. Only a normal amount of clutter. I feel misled.
“Welcome to Casa Jenkins,” Jude says, strolling across his living room floor. It’s all open plan, airy and calm, and there’s an abstract painting of aspen trees on one wall. “Can I get you that water? Or would you like something stronger?”
Sinking down onto the arm of the sofa, I kick off my heels and stretch out my aching feet. “You know, if you wanted to date me, you shouldn’t have pretended to be a hopeless hoarder.”
“Didn’t put you off, though, did it?” Jude twinkles with amusement, then crosses to his refrigerator to rummage inside. Jars clink together, and his voice bounces around the small space as he calls, “Not my fault if you have low standards, Moore.”
It’s different, scoffing at him now.
Warmer. Fond.
Or—maybe it was always fond, but I was kidding myself. Pretending we were enemies when all along, we were building… this.
My toes scrunch against his black and white rug. The big windows are dark, with the city lights glittering out there, and our faint reflections shift in the glass.
I look small. Nervous, perched on the sofa arm.
My dress looks awesome though, rippling down my body like a waterfall. Thrift stores forever!
“You look ready to flee,” Jude observes, walking over to press a bottle of ginger ale into my hand. “There. That should help with your stomach.”
“Thanks.” The sip fizzes against my tongue, both fiery and sweet, but the truth is, I don’t feel queasy anymore. Every minute I spend with Jude in this new reality, this world where we make out and tease each other and nothing blows up, I feel more and more settled.
This is… right.
This is how things are meant to be.
Me and him. Jude and I. In each other’s apartments, sipping drinks, chatting idly; leaving parties together and sharing a ride home.
What took us so long? Am I really that blind? That stubborn?
“So does this truce mean that you’ll finally clean your desk?” My heart pitter-patters as Jude draws closer. He swigs from his own ginger ale, the pale column of his throat shifting as he swallows, and I can’t tear my eyes away from him. Can’t even blink.
He’s so freaking handsome. Tall and dark-haired and lean and broad-shouldered, with those inky blue eyes and that devilish smile. It’s a miracle that I resisted him for so long—a feat of extreme human endurance.
“Maybe.” He sets his bottle on the coffee table, then slides his hands into his pockets, watching me steadily. “Maybe I’ll find new ways to torture you.”
A shiver ripples down my spine.
And he sees it.
He sees everything .
But Jude smiles, slow and teasing. I lean over and place my own bottle down with a soft thump, nerves squirming in my belly.
This is it. I—I don’t know what it is, exactly, but we’ve definitely been building to something, and after how kind and thoughtful Jude was earlier… maybe I’m finally ready to do this. To trust him.
Maybe I can be brave too.
“Do you want to stop fighting all the time, ?” He watches me steadily.
I lift one shoulder, chewing on my bottom lip. The truth is, I’m not sure about that. I like fighting with Jude. It shocks me awake; makes me feel alive. Bantering back and forth with Jude Jenkins feels like bungee jumping. It’s a non-stop thrill.
But do I want it to get in the way of this ? Of us?
Nope, I do not.
My feet jiggle on the rug. “Depends on the context, I suppose.”
Jude grins. “Atta girl.”
And… what he said earlier was true. Maybe I like bickering at work, maybe I like tormenting each other during normal conversations, but there’s a deep, secret part of me that wants to surrender to this man sometimes. To stop fighting, stop resisting , stop constantly trying to prove something.
What would that be like? How would it feel?
My heart skitters at the thought.
“We can keep tussling if you like.” Jude tilts his head. “Or you can let me be in charge for once.”
The apartment is silent except for the muffled sounds of traffic outside. It’s comfortably warm in here, but goosebumps raise on my bare arms.
I wet my lips. “Okay.”
Jude’s eyebrows bounce up. “Okay? Really?”
“Yes.” Blowing out a harsh breath, I nod. “Okay.”
One tiny word, one giant leap of faith. But I can do this. I can . And a whole slideshow of emotions flicker across Jude’s face—triumph, joy, relief, nerves—but he schools his features and crooks a finger at me.
“Alright. Come here, sweetheart.”
I stand, heart in my throat. The rug is soft beneath my feet. And my habits are screaming at me to lash out, to slide back into our automatic battle, but a deeper instinct overrides them all.
My steps are quiet. Jude’s chest rises and falls as I reach him, the top two buttons of his navy shirt opened to bare his throat.
His breaths are shaky, too. That makes me feel a little better, because we’re both off-kilter. Both reeling from this, but pushing forward anyway.
“You are so fucking gorgeous.” Jude runs a fingertip up my wrist, my arm, all the way to my shoulder where he draws a little circle. “Like someone took all my favorite things, all my secret desires, and built you for me in a lab.”
My voice scrapes. “Narcissistic much?”
Jude chuckles and leans down, his breath tickling my throat.
And… heat.
That’s what I feel when he kisses me there. The gentle press of his mouth, the flick of his tongue, sends a molten wave of heat surging through my veins. Jude’s barely done anything yet, only kissed beneath my jaw, and already my nipples are two hard beads and I’m arching toward him, whimpering. Needy.
It’s so shameless. So vulnerable. And doubt spears through me, frazzling my brain, but Jude chases that doubt away as fast as it came, kissing along my jaw before claiming my mouth.
His arms wrap around me, sealing me to his chest.
His hold is strong, sure, possessive.
After all those fears, after staying tensed up for so long, it’s the easiest thing in the world to melt into his strength. To let him tilt my head back and kiss me hard, tongue sliding into my mouth; to switch my brain off for once in my goddamn life and surrender to the present moment.
I love this man.
I want him badly.
And I’m done hiding that. Done fighting the facts.
“So,” Jude says between kisses, “fucking—gorgeous.”
Golden warmth suffuses my limbs. And this is the world’s best spa treatment, the most relaxed I’ve ever been, so when Jude finally nudges me to kneel, I float down there on a happy little cloud.
Thump. The rug tickles my knees. I don’t mind, though—I could be kneeling on hot coals right now and I’d struggle to care. Not when Jude places my hands on his hips and leaves them there, working his belt open with a creak of black leather.
Yes. Finally.
This is what I want. This is what I’ve dreamed of.
Kneeling for him. Pleasing him.
But Jude flicks his top button open then pauses. “Are you sure about this?” Worry creeps into his low voice. “Because if you change your mind, we can stop at any time—”
“Duh.” My smile is dreamy; his shirt is soft beneath my fingertips. I scratch at his waist, marveling at the hard muscles hidden below the fabric. “I know that. Keep going.”
There’s a steadying huff, then the scratch of his zipper is loud in the quiet room. My heartbeat booms in my ears, and this close I can smell his laundry powder. Can feel his body heat against my front.
Jude draws out his cock and strokes it once. My eyes practically cross as I try to get a good look at it, because it’s long and thick and weirdly handsome, and I guess I wasn’t the only one built in a lab. Jude Jenkins is perfect all over, and he smells freaking amazing. Like soap and the faint scent of musk.
“Look at you.” His mouth curves up, and he strokes himself again. “Look at you squirming down there, . You’re needy, aren’t you, sweet girl? You want a taste.”
My head nods quickly, with zero input for my brain, and my mouth opens. My tongue pokes out, and this is so much , oh god, I’m a puppet on his strings, so embarrassing, but Jude doesn’t mock me for a second. A hiss escapes between his teeth, and his face is stark with hunger as he aims his shaft for my mouth.
As soon as the head rubs over my tongue, I close my lips around him with a moan. Tastes so good. Salty and perfect.
So right.
My head bobs for him, my spit slicking up his shaft. Those pained little grunts of pleasure Jude’s making—this is how things should be.
At last.
“Fuck,” he says, hands fisting in my hair. He’s not gentle, and that’s perfect too, because the slight twinge of pain keeps me rooted, keeps this real. “Oh, fuck, . That mouth. That hot little mouth.”
He’s thrusting steadily, frowning down with pure focus. Our ragged breaths fill the air. My cheeks hollow as I suck, and I’ve never been so wet and achy in my life. I’m so swollen between my legs, I can’t bear to sit back on my heels.
So. Good.
And I’d happily do this for hours, would happily suck and suck all night long, floating in this dream state, but Jude curses abruptly and pulls out with a pop, a string of spit glistening between his cock and my lower lip. I sway on my knees, gasping for breath.
“Alright.” Jude joins me on the rug, two angry slashes of red on his cheekbones, and he crowds me back until I tip onto my ass, giggling. “You’re going to do this, sweetheart. You’re going to beg for me. Come on, you can do it.”
And I know I was embarrassed before, so ashamed for wanting this; I know I thought I’d never be able to go through with it. Could never beg my rival for his cock.
But I didn’t account for the terrible ache between my legs.
Didn’t account for the giddy, floaty feeling that sucking him would give me.
Didn’t account for how warm and happy and free I’d feel at the mercy of Jude Jenkins, and the fierce pride he’d show in me at every step of the way. This is heaven.
So it’s easy to let him crowd me back, propping my weight on my hands behind me. It’s easy to gaze up at my arch enemy, and hook my legs around his hips, and urge him toward me with my heels, my silken dress pooling around us in a silvery puddle.
“Please,” I say, smiling as a shudder rolls through Jude’s whole body. He loves this too, you know. We’re perfectly matched in every way. “ Please , Jude. Please fuck me. I need it. I need it so, so badly.”