Chapter 47
NADIA
Jude settles between my thighs like he belongs there - like he’s spent a lifetime learning the map of my body by memory. His shoulders press against the insides of my knees, his breath hot and ragged against my skin before his mouth finds me.
The first stroke of his tongue drags a sound out of me I don’t even recognize.
He licks slow, deliberate, then faster, as if he’s been dying of thirst and I’m the only thing that can save him.
Every movement is greedy, obscene. The wet sounds filling the room are pure sin - slick, desperate, beautiful.
He groans into me, low and rough, the vibration making my whole body tense and arch toward him. My hands twist in the sheets, hips lifting of their own accord, and still he doesn’t stop.
His name slips past my lips before I can stop it, half-plea, half-warning. The sound seems to undo him. Jude lifts his head just enough for our eyes to meet, his mouth shining with my cum. There’s a wildness there, something close to worship, and it steals the air from my lungs.
He dips his head again, lapping and sucking until he extracts my orgasm - an explosion of stars and tremors that wrack my whole body. His mouth stays latched to my pussy, even as I gush with the evidence of my desire, and he swallows, lapping at every last drop of liquid he wrings out of me.
Jude moves off the bed with slow, deliberate ease - like he’s giving me time to breathe again, though I’m not sure I remember how. My body’s still trembling, every nerve humming with what he’s just done to me.
He stands at the foot of the bed and strips his shirt over his head. The motion is unhurried, confident, and when his gaze meets mine again, the air shifts. There’s nothing casual about it - his eyes hold me, pin me in place.
“Do you know what you do to me?” he asks quietly, his voice roughened by restraint.
I shake my head, but it’s a lie. I can see it in every slow roll of muscle, every breath he drags in like he’s trying to maintain his rapidly fraying control.
He steps closer, undoing his belt with a metallic scrape that echoes in the stillness. “You’ve got no idea, Nadia.”
I can’t answer. My throat’s dry, my heartbeat too loud.
The room feels smaller now, the shadows thicker. When he finally reaches the side of the bed, his fingers trail along my ankle, a simple touch that sends a tremor all the way up my spine.
“I don’t want to rush this,” he murmurs.
He pauses above me, bare skin catching the soft glow of the lamp. Shadows slide over him like ink, tracing the lines of muscle, the rise and fall of his chest. His eyes never leave mine - not once. Feeling me, claiming me.
“Jude,” I whisper, and it’s not a plea so much as a surrender.
He leans down, bracing a hand beside my head. The mattress dips under his weight, the air between us thick enough to drown in. His scent wraps around me - soap, smoke, something distinctly him. I breathe it in like oxygen.
He tilts his head, mouth barely brushing mine. “Say my name again,” he murmurs, voice low, almost a growl.
“Jude.”
This time, his eyes flutter shut like the sound is something sacred. He drags his thumb along my jaw, tracing the path of his gaze as if trying to memorize me in case he never gets another chance.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you look right now?” he says quietly, his breath feathering my lips.
The words hit somewhere deep, leaving me open and trembling. My fingers curl against his shoulders, searching for something solid to hold onto.
A sharp breath leaves him - half groan, half laugh, and his body shudders when my fingers glance across his skin.
“Careful,” he warns, though the warning’s already broken in his throat. “Or I might come before I even fuck you.”
I meet his eyes, daring him. “Maybe I don’t want careful.”
For a heartbeat, the world goes silent. Then his hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me into him.
The kiss starts slow, almost reverent, but it doesn’t stay that way.
It deepens, darkens, until everything else dissolves and there’s only heat and hunger and the sound of our breathing colliding in the dark.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, thumb still resting beneath my chin. “Tell me to stop,” he says.
I shake my head, voice barely a whisper. “Now, why would I do that?”
And in that moment, right before the world tips again, it feels like gravity itself gives up trying to pull us apart.
His restraint snaps. He strips off his jeans in one fluid motion, sending them flying across the room. The sound of the belt hitting the floor is low, final. He’s left standing there, the wet patch on his boxers proof of his heat and hunger.
The air between us thickens, and my pulse races so hard it hurts. He looks down at me as though I’m both the sin and the salvation he’s been waiting for. He removes the last piece of fabric between us and finally moves toward the bed.
I can’t look away. He’s all heat and fire and and longing, and there’s something achingly familiar about him, yet something new, bold, extraordinary.
He leans over the bed and catches my mouth in his. The world narrows to the space between us, to the heat of his skin and the sound of our breathing tangling in the dark. It’s a collision, a confession, and a promise all at once.
I lose my breath as he moves in with effortless grace, climbing onto the bed before falling back and dragging me with him.
In one seamless motion, I’m straddling his hips, my palms splayed across the solid wall of his chest. His hand fists in my hair, the strands caught tight in his grip as he tugs just enough to make me gasp.
His mouth finds mine again. He’s hungry, consuming, the kind of kiss that steals sense and gives back nothing but heat.
Beneath me, every muscle in him is drawn tight, his restraint a living thing.
And in that tension, I recognize what he’s done.
He’s given me control. He’s pulled me on top of him not out of dominance, but surrender - offering me the pace, the choice, the power to take what I want.
I move against his skin. Our bodies chafe.
There’s nothing but the small of sex surrounding us as I glide against his body, grinding into his thigh.
And when he lifts me, holds me firmly by the hips and effortlessly lowers me onto his throbbing dick, I do everything I possibly can not to detonate then and there.
He stretches me, his long thick length pulling at the delicate, sensitive skin of my pussy, accommodating me like a perfect fit. Hands still on my waist, he lifts me and lowers me until I’ve perfected a steady rhythm of grinding up and down on his dick.
Jude exhales a ragged sigh that melts into a low, throaty moan.
His eyes roll back, his body arching slightly beneath mine as a shudder ripples through him - pure, unfiltered euphoria.
It’s beautiful, the way he comes undone, the way pleasure drags him under.
But what hits me isn’t just pleasure - it’s something deeper, rawer.
It’s that dizzy, heart-stopping rush that feels like gravity realigning, like finding the one place your body was always meant to return to.
It’s not just desire. It’s recognition. It’s home.