Epilogue Jude #2
He watched her as her breathing slowly evened out, her body going lax. One leg was still around his shoulder. His eyes skated down to where she was still open for him. ‘I don’t think you’re quite done.’
She moved her arm to look down at him as he resumed sliding his thumb back and forth over her. Her head dropped back. She tried to close her legs, stopped by his shoulders. He kept his touch light, pace steady, as her face scrunched.
He’d meant what he said – he’d stop when she asked.
‘Another?’ Jude asked as her cheeks grew more and more flushed. She took a deep breath, holding it in. Her back arched. He didn’t vary his touch, content to watch her crumble.
And crumble, she did.
He was only half aware his mouth was on her again. He closed his eyes, reaching down to press on himself, staving off the end. Fuck. He could stay forever.
His head swam. Drunk, almost.
Finally, Maeve pushed him back. She looked utterly wrecked as he wiped his mouth on his wrist. ‘That’s,’ she paused, catching her breath, ‘enough.’
He smirked.
She rolled her eyes. ‘I would tease you about that smug look but… I suppose it’s deserved.’
He laid his head on her thigh to hide how his smile widened.
The afternoon seemed to pause, a hushed reverence falling over the room as Maeve ran her fingers through his hair, pulling gently. Perhaps it was time to let it grow longer again.
‘Let’s go upstairs,’ she said, breaking the comfortable silence. ‘I want to be in your bed.’
Jude pressed a final kiss to her thigh before he stood, leaning down to bring his lips close to her ear. ‘I thought about you there, Maeve. Many, many times.’
Maeve shoved to her feet, grabbing him by the hand.
Their laughter filled the house as they ran up the stairs, breathing life into the walls. Jude paused on the way to his bedroom to open the door to her studio. He smiled at the contents. ‘Maeve?’ He caught her hand, pulling her back. ‘Look.’
She curled into his side, grinning up at him until he directed her to look into the room with a jerk of his chin. She turned in his arms. It took her a moment to take in what filled the room. Then—
‘Oh. Jude!’ she squealed, leaving his arms to race towards the easel. ‘When did this arrive?’
Maeve crouched beside the solid oak easel arranged by the window to examine the tray of oil paints, the cup beside it full of silky brushes.
All new, handcrafted by an artisan in Oakmoor or sent from one of the larger towns nearby.
Jude had arranged it all through a letter to Bethan, sent while he and Maeve were at her family’s.
All for this very moment – the smile on her face better than he imagined.
‘Do you like it?’ he asked, approaching to sift his fingers through the fine hair at her temple. ‘I thought you might want something new to paint with.’
‘I love it,’ she said, standing to throw her arms around him. ‘So much. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He drew back, taking both her hands in his. ‘Bethan told me there’s a group in Oakmoor that meets every few weeks to paint together, if you’d like to join. Her mother goes.’
Her eyes lit up even further. ‘I’d love to.’ She turned, sweeping a hand across the room and the view beyond. ‘I want to paint this – our home. Our life. All of this.’
A lump formed in his throat. ‘I can’t wait to see.’
She squeezed his hands, dragging him bodily from the room and towards his bedroom. Jude laughed. ‘Eager, are we? I thought you learned your lesson about patience.’
Maeve shot him a look as she shoved open the door and unceremoniously pushed him onto the bed. Her eyes were bright as she gazed down at him sprawled against the sheets. ‘Is teasing me a good idea right now?’
‘But it worked out so well last time,’ he said, raising a brow suggestively.
Her lips pursed as she toyed with the button on his trousers. Her fingers brushed the bare skin of his lower stomach. He shivered. How such a small touch could affect him so drastically was unfathomable. She tilted her head, gazing at him from beneath her lashes. ‘Show me?’
‘Show you what?’
She undid the button. ‘You said you thought of me…’
He swallowed, nodding.
‘I want to see what you did when you pictured me here.’
Oh.
Her smile was sly, catlike. Jude’s heart pounded in his ears. Somehow, this was so much more vulnerable than anything that had come before. To touch himself and think of her, knowing she was watching… the thought nearly stunned him into inaction.
But he trusted her.
He would give her what she asked.
His fingers shook as he set them on the next button on his trousers.
At the same time, Maeve pulled her jumper over her head, leaving her in her chemise and skirt.
Before he could undo another button, she had the skirt off and on the ground.
Light poured through the thin material of the chemise, illuminating the curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist, just like it had all those days ago in her bedroom.
Those damn chemises. She knew exactly what she was doing.
Jude pushed down his trousers, keenly aware of her rapt attention.
Slowly, he wrapped his hand around himself.
Maeve hissed a shuddering breath as his own breathing grew rapid.
He couldn’t look away from her face. There was something reverent in her dark eyes, almost disbelieving.
How many times had he pictured her here – maybe not like this, stroking himself while she watched – but here.
Wanting him. If she couldn’t quite believe what blossomed between them, then he was the same. Overwhelmed and utterly undone.
His stomach tensed, and Jude closed his eyes. ‘Fuck.’
‘What did you think about?’ Maeve’s voice was thick, raspy.
‘You. Here.’ His voice was hoarse, bitten-off.
Maeve laid her hand on his wrist, hastening his movement until it bordered on too much. ‘What else? Tell me.’
‘How you’d taste. How you’d sound. If you’d shut your eyes or keep them open,’ he choked as she urged his hand faster. He gazed desperately into her face. ‘Do you, do you want me to—’
Abruptly, she stilled his hand. ‘No. Not yet.’
A breathless laugh escaped him. ‘This is punishment, isn’t it? For earlier.’
Her smile grew sharper, more feline. ‘Now, why would you say that?’
‘Cruel,’ Jude replied.
‘Deserved.’
He laughed, levering up to kiss her. There was too much fabric between them. He voiced his concern, and soon, nothing remained but layers of anticipation. Maeve scratched her nails down his back, whispering in his ear. ‘I love this. I love you.’
Jude ran his thumb along her jaw, kissing the tops of her cheeks, her eyelids, the tip of her nose. He wondered if happiness had a limit and, if so, if his allotment was more than everyone else’s. It certainly felt that way.
He ghosted his lips over the shell of her ear, smiling when she shivered. She wrapped both legs around his waist. The feeling of her against him was enough to make his brain stall out.
She shifted her hips impatiently. ‘Get on with it, would you?’
‘You sure are demanding today,’ he remarked, giving her what she wanted. The heat, the pressure… it was almost too much. He wasn’t certain how long he’d last. Her lids fluttered shut. He lost track of every place they touched. Her lashes were dark on her pink cheeks.
‘Let’s stay like this always,’ she whispered.
He searched for a reply. ‘That… wouldn’t be practical.’
She drew her legs higher up his back, cupping the side of his neck to draw their foreheads together.
He revelled in each minute response, hoarding them like precious gems. The brush of her breath against his mouth, the tensing of her thighs around his waist. How his name sounded when gasped from her lips.
Nothing else mattered. He could spend decades learning her and still find something new to discover, which was exactly what he planned to do.
Jude awoke to Maeve curled against his chest, her breath slow with sleep.
Moonlight cut an ivory ribbon across his quilt.
The night was at its blackest, yet he was suddenly wide awake.
Something tugged at him, blanketing his vision with flecks of silver like dancing dust motes.
He blinked. A memory floated to the forefront.
New, but… not new. As fragile as a pearl and just as rare.
In the memory, he was sitting in the crack of a half-open window, one leg dangling over the steep drop to the sea below, the other curled close to his chest. Cold air buffeted his face.
When he licked his lips, he tasted salt.
Despite the wind creeping off the whitecaps below and the icy limestone bricks against his back, he was warm. His heart was full.
Behind him, the door to his bedroom creaked open, and there was Maeve. Young, maybe thirteen or fourteen.
You only have a year left.
Jude brushed the worry aside as she crept closer. Her face was full of youth, eyes just as bright as he knew them best. Her thick flannel nightgown swept the top of her socked feet. She had her hands cupped gingerly in front of her, like she was afraid of what she held between her palms.
‘What is it?’ he heard himself ask.
Maeve scrunched her nose as she extended her hands towards him. ‘Open the window wider.’
Pulling his hanging leg in, he slid from the windowsill and did as she asked. The iron was cold under his too-warm fingers. Maeve stepped past him to gaze at the night sky above. Stars winked against the inky blackness. He didn’t think he’d ever seen something so lovely.
Slowly, she opened her hands.
A small, brownish bird sat perched between her palms. Its silky feathers were dappled with fine black lines, tiny beak needle-sharp as it cocked its head to gaze at them. Jude held his breath, wondering if Maeve was doing the same.
‘A wren,’ she whispered. ‘I found him in the hall. He was surprisingly easy to catch.’
‘I think he likes you,’ he replied, his voice just as quiet. If Ezra caught her in his room, they’d both be in trouble, but for now, it was just them and the bird.
The wren’s wings snapped open. Almost too quick to follow, it rose into the air, disappearing into the night. Her shoulders brushed his with her exhale. She lifted a hand, waving to the wren’s barely visible silhouette. ‘You know what Felix likes to say about birds, don’t you?’
He shook his head.
Maeve smiled at him, squeezing his hand once before releasing. ‘One bird for courage.’