Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
JUDE GRAVES
The deep, even rhythm of her breathing is the only sound in the room besides the distant ocean.
We fell asleep tangled together, but she’s moved in the night, scooting her perfect ass back into me.
The soft cotton of her sleep shirt is no barrier.
The press of her curves against my front, against my already-hardening cock, is a special kind of torture.
Fuck.
I am so addicted to this. To her. My mind is hazy with sleep, but my body is wide awake, screaming for her. It’s an ache, a relentless need that lives deep in my bones. It always has. It always will.
I sigh and stare at the ceiling, thinking about the horrifying complexity of my life.
My dick is now so hard that it’s almost painful.
I can’t help myself. My hand skates down her side, my fingertips memorizing the delicious dip of her waist, the flare of her hip.
I press a soft kiss to the curve of her shoulder through the thin fabric.
She lets out a soft, muffled moan into her pillow and pushes back against me again, a sleepy, instinctive grind that makes my eyes roll back in my head. I’ve never wanted to be inside someone so much in my life. It was always her. It will always, only ever be her.
I can’t take it anymore. My fingers tease at the elastic waistband of her thong, dipping beneath it to skim the top of her ass.
She lets out a small, breathy sound and then, bless her, she rolls onto her back.
Her eyes are still closed, her face smooth and peaceful in the faint moonlight.
And her thighs...her thighs fall open in a silent, beautiful invitation.
I lean over her, kissing along her collarbone, breathing her in. She smells like sleep and vanilla and us. She lets out a breathy giggle, a little smile gracing her lips.
“Jude,” she mumbles, her voice thick and drowsy. “Again?”
I chuckle and nuzzle her neck. “Em, I can’t get enough of you. Plus,” I add, nipping gently at her earlobe, “you keep pressing your ass into my dick.”
She laughs, her eyes finally fluttering open. She looks up at me, her brown eyes warm and full of love. She stretches like a cat, arching her back, deliberately opening her thighs for me even wider. A wicked grin on her cute, full lips.
I raise my brows. “Ya wanna?”
She snorts. “How romantic, Jude. God.”
A genuine laugh bursts from me, and I lean down to capture her mouth with mine in a soft, lingering kiss.
“When it comes to you,” she murmurs against my lips, “I never not wanna.” She kisses me back, her hands coming up to slide into my hair.
That’s all the consent I need. I shift, moving on top of her, my body caging hers.
I gather the hem of her sleep shirt and slowly push it up, revealing inch after inch of smooth, warm skin.
The swells of her breasts, her flat stomach, the sweet curve of her hips.
I hook my fingers in her thong and pull it down her legs, tossing it aside.
I kiss my way back up her body, worshipping her with my mouth.
I take my time, savoring her. I suck a nipple into my mouth, swirling my tongue until she’s gasping and arching off the bed.
At the same time, I sink two fingers inside her.
She’s already so wet, so ready for me again.
She moans, a deep, throaty sound that goes straight to my cock, and her hips roll, fucking herself on my hand.
God, I love every fucking sound she makes.
I am so impatient, a live wire of pure need. I want to drive into her, over and over, until neither of us can think. I want to fill her again and again. I want to get her fucking pregnant. The thought hits me like a freight train.
No, Jude, stop that.
But I can’t help it. We’d make amazing parents...if I could just get my shit together. If I could be the man she deserves.
I replace my fingers with the head of my cock, sinking into her. Her eyes meet mine, widening until I’m as deep as I can go.
Oh, god, baby.
My eyes practically roll back into my skull.
She’s so tight, so warm, so fucking perfect.
She feels like home. She is home. I don’t wait.
I can’t. I set a rhythm immediately, a deep, steady pace that has her gasping my name.
I brace my arms on either side of her, and her smooth thighs wrap around my waist, her hips meeting every one of my thrusts.
I watch her body move beneath mine, her breasts bouncing, her lips parted.
The sight of her, lost in the feeling of us, is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
A sudden, primal urge surges through me—a need to mark her, to claim her in some small way.
I lean down, my mouth finding the smooth skin of her shoulder, and I bite. It’s hard enough to make my point.
She yelps, and her nails dig into my biceps.
Her pussy clenches around my cock in a sudden, shocking tightness that makes me see stars.
Fuck. I have to hold myself still for a second, buried deep, just feeling her pulse around me.
Being inside her is where I always want to be.
She takes me so perfectly, like we were made for each other.
I can feel how needy she is, her body writhing beneath mine, her breath coming in ragged pants. She’s begging to come without saying a word. So I adjust my angle, just slightly, and hit that sweet, deep spot inside her that has her crying out, her back bowing off the bed.
“Jude, oh, god.”
That’s it. That’s my undoing. The feeling of her tightening around me, the raw need in her voice.
..my hands fist the sheets and my rhythm falls apart completely.
Her orgasm is ripping mine right from me, tearing it from my goddamn soul.
My muscles clench, every nerve ending firing at once.
I slam into her body, three, four hard, frantic, deep thrusts, burying myself to the hilt as I pump my release into her again.
I collapse onto her, my forehead resting on her chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart. I never want to leave this warmth. This bliss. I’d love to just freeze time and stay right here.
A part of me honestly hates myself for allowing her into my life again, because there’s a good fucking chance that I’ll have to leave her.
The second I wake, I know my body’s pissed at me.
My eyes crack open, vision blurry, and Emma is curled beside me, buried in the comforter.
Her brown hair spills across the pillow, her lips parted slightly, breathing soft and steady.
My chest tightens the way it always does when I see her like this—peaceful, untouched by the bullshit waiting for me the moment I step out of this bed.
I lose my head around her. Every damn time. I know what’s safer for her, what I should do. But instead, I’m here...making love to her, whispering all the stupid hopes I keep locked inside, promising her a future I have no business promising.
Because the truth is, she has no idea how deep in the fire I really am.
She knows Nolan and Adriana keep me on a drug-soaked leash.
But she doesn’t know about Alexei. She doesn’t know I’m playing attack dog.
She doesn’t know the extent of the blood already on my hands.
..or the blood I’ll add to them. What’s left of my soul is paper-thin, and every day, it shreds a little more.
I’m not supposed to be scared. I’ve always been the strong one. But this new reality?
It terrifies the living shit out of me.
I ease myself out of bed, moving slowly so I don’t wake her.
I throw on a pair of sweats and drift into the living room.
The space smells faintly like sugar from last night.
Heather and Micah must’ve crashed in the guest room.
The couches are a pile of blankets and pillows, and the kitchen island is still littered with forks and the remains of chocolate cake.
It hits me harder than it should—this casual, domestic mess.
Something normal. Something I could’ve had in another life.
I try not to think about what happens when the forced “mental health break” ends and Nolan and Adriana drag me back into the grinder. Honestly, if the tour hadn’t paused, if I’d kept spiraling the way I was...I’d probably already be dead.
I bend down and retrieve the black case from the coffee table. My fingers shake as soon as they touch it. If I just use a little, the withdrawals will quiet down, and I can coast the rest of the day on coke if I have to. But I can’t inject around Emma. I don’t want her see that again.
I step out back and settle beside the fire pit.
The morning air bites my skin, smelling of ocean and seaweed.
My hands move on autopilot—opening the kit, preparing the dose, tapping the syringe.
The shame burns, but the need burns hotter, unfortunately.
It pisses me off whenever someone tries to glorify or romanticize drug use.
It’s fucking awful. It’s brutal. And I wish so desperately that I could go back.
I tighten the band around my arm. My eyes flick toward the sliding glass door, making sure she’s still asleep.
Then I slide the needle in.
Warmth floods me instantly, searing through my veins, softening everything that hurts. My eyes roll back as I sink into the chair, breath easing. The world loosens its grip.
And then I see her in my mind, curled against me, my mouth running with stupid dreams I shouldn’t have spoken aloud. A house. Kids. A life that promises a happy ending. Fuck me. Fuck me for giving her hope when I’m chained to hell.
But the worse truth is...I meant every word. I really, truly did. I just pray she’ll forgive me if I never get the chance to make any of it real.
The high settles in my blood just enough to make the shaking stop. By the time I slip back inside, the house is still dark except for a thin strip of gray morning light sneaking through the curtains.
I head into the kitchen and start pulling shit from the fridge.
Eggs, bacon, pancake mix, whatever I can find that Micah bought.
I’m moving quietly, keeping my breath even, forcing myself not to glance toward the hallway every two seconds.
The more normal I act, the less anyone will notice anything’s wrong. I’m high as fuck, but it’s manageable.
The first sizzle of bacon fills the room, and butter hits the pan, popping.
For a minute, the kitchen smells like when my mom used to cook on Saturday mornings.
The weekends that Emma stayed with us, my mom, Vanessa, and her would babble and joke and cook together while I sat there like an exhausted lump.
I flip the bacon, trying not to think about any of it.
Heather appears first, bleary-eyed, blonde hair in a chaotic bun, drowning in a blanket she probably stole from the guest room. She stops, squints at me, then groans, “Why the fuck are you awake? It’s barely light out.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I say, plating the bacon.
She trudges into the kitchen, grabs a piece right off the plate, yelps at the heat, and almost drops it, eats it anyway. “God, I love you.”
“You love pork fat,” I correct.
“Same thing,” she mumbles.
I roll my eyes at her tired insult.
Micah wanders in next, rubbing at his brow. “You cooked? Is this because I order DoorDash on your account too much?”
“You bought the shit and haven’t cooked it, so I figured I’d make it,” I tell him.
Heather snorts.
Micah pours himself coffee, leans against the counter, watching me like he’s trying to take stock of something.
I keep my focus on the pan. If he notices I’m a little too calm, a little too loose, he doesn’t mention it.
In fact, my eyes slide to his, and I can immediately tell.
He must have slipped out a little earlier than I did.
When you’re a heroin user, you do what you have to do.
And then I hear the sound of soft footsteps down the hall and a sleepy inhale.
Emma steps into the kitchen wearing my hoodie, sleeves swallowing her hands, her hair pushed to one side like she’s been rolling around in the sheets.
Her black athletic sleep shorts show off her perfect, shapely legs.
I stare like a fucking creep for a moment before averting my gaze.
Her eyes are still heavy with sleep, and when they land on me, something in my chest tightens.
“Morning,” she murmurs, voice raspy.
Heather lets out a smug little hum. Micah clears his throat like they’re both pretending not to notice the way I stared at her.
“Breakfast is almost done,” I say, trying to sound like a normal functioning human.
“You cooked?” she says, smiling softly. “That’s...new. You never cooked before.”
“That’s what I said,” Micah jokes.
I shrug. “I can cook, you idiots.”
She crosses the kitchen and wraps her arms around my waist from behind, pressing her cheek between my shoulder blades. Her warmth soothes me, but the guilt hits harder. I cover her hands with mine anyway, weaving my fingers through hers.
If I could freeze this moment, I would.
We sit around the kitchen island once it’s all done—bacon, pancakes, eggs, fruit cut into neat chunks by Heather because I suck at that.
Micah pokes at his plate. “Damn. This is actually fire.”
“Don’t act surprised,” I tell him.
“I’m always surprised when you succeed at domestic things, rockstar,” he says.
Heather elbows him, and Emma giggles. She sits close enough that her bare knee brushes mine every time she shifts. She keeps stealing pieces of bacon off my plate, pretending she’s not. She looks at me between bites like she still can’t believe last night was real.
I check my phone under the counter. No missed messages. No orders. No demands. It looks like no one owns me today. At least yet.
“So,” Heather says through a mouthful of pancakes. “Do you guys want to go to the beach tomorrow? I am actually off. And, we need one last sunburn before October officially murders us.” She shows us her phone screen to reveal the forecast. “The weather is supposed to be really good.”
“Agreed,” Micah says. “Jude needs vitamin D. He’s been looking extra emo lately.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
Emma rests her chin in her hand, studying me. “You free tomorrow?”
I look at her hopeful smile, at the tiny smear of syrup near her mouth she hasn’t noticed yet, at the life I want so fucking badly that it hurts.
“Yeah,” I say. “Looks like I might be.”
Her smile widens. “Yay. A little beach outing will feel like we’re officially together again.” She leans forward to pour herself more water, and Micah’s gaze darts to mine for the briefest moment. But I just offer a small smile.