11. Lucienne
Friday, October 20th
Hocus Pocusis now my favorite Halloween movie. Ever.
It’s playing in my living room for the third time today as I work. My breakfast consisted of Swedish Fish from the bag I stowed away before getting out of Jude’s car.
When I got home, I didn’t change my clothes before collapsing into bed. Jude was sewn into every thread, and I wanted him wrapped around me all night.
His praise—all his attention was on me, he responded to my every plea, my every move. He was laser-focused on my pleasure, and I so badly wanted to reciprocate, but he didn’t let me.
In other relationships, I’d feel rejected. It’s happened before and I’ve wanted to do nothing else but run away and bury my head in the dirt like an ostrich.
That isn’t how I felt last night.
His gentle commands and tender praise told me I was allowed to be selfish. Feeling guilty over someone wanting to make me come undone doesn’t seem normal. Reciprocation or mutual pleasure was always an expectation, until Jude Carr.
He wanted to earn my pleasure and watch my inhibitions dissolve before his eyes, on his tongue.
You don’t need to beg, beautiful. I’d get down on my knees for you any day.
Don’t beg. A woman like you doesn’t beg. I need to earn it.
The cold fall air couldn’t rival Jude’s hot burning touch, anywhere and everywhere all at once. I was stripped practically naked, outside on a chilly October night in Vermont, and it was like I had been set ablaze.
He knew where to touch me and when, how to find a pace that left me gasping for air in a way I never have before.
I’m safe with him and that’s so fucking empowering. He has forced me to see parts of myself that I thought I’d locked away for no one else to see.
And he wants to see them. He likes them.
Having to work today after such a perfect evening hasn’t been nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I’m still riding the high from my time with Jude under the stars and the web page prototypes are shaping up beautifully. Prototypes are usually simplified, “functioning” sites or web pages.
Each button is responsive, every hyperlink is animated, and every page is connected to one another. So long as testing is smooth, we’ll be one step closer to finishing this site, and a working prototype makes it that much easier.
However, since we’re using templates, all of this functionality is inherent to the template itself. Making a separate prototype as a form of exemplar for stakeholders and the client still feels like a massive waste of time to me.
The process feels backward now and that familiar frustration creeps in as I prepare the final prototypes for our web development testers.
It’s nearing lunchtime, so I close my laptop and lie on the couch just as Max Dennison idiotically lights The Black Flame Candle. Honestly, if you want to show off to Allison, find another way, Max. You are cooking up a whole evening of trouble.
I woke up to texts from Jude hoping I slept well and seeing how I was feeling this morning. It’s been a few hours, so I take out my phone to text him.
Lucienne:Don’t ever light a 300-year-old candle to impress me. Just a word of advice.
Jude:Even if it means we get to party with the Sanderson Sisters? I’ll make note of that. Lunch for you?
Lucienne:Yes. I refuse to work through lunch.
Jude:Good girl. What’s on the menu?
Good girl—I can almost feel my orgasm from last night rip through me.
Lucienne:Half a granola bar, Swedish Fish, and some of the guineas’ fruit.
Jude:Oh, that won’t do.
I roll my eyes because something tells me he is going to be at my door in the next half hour.
This man.
He wants to care for me and after last night, I want to let him do just that.
I walk down the hall to my bedroom and change into a pair of gray boy shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to tease him a bit. I start to fantasize about him pushing me against my door, my legs wrapped around him, and his big hands rubbing up and down my thighs. I never want to let these thoughts go.
I want Jude etched in my mind, every part of him.
Some parts, I’ve yet to claim, but I will.
Like clockwork, Jude knocks on my door about thirty minutes later. When I open my door, he’s leaning against the doorframe and his crooked smile makes his dimple pop. He’s wearing gray joggers, because of course he is, and a dark blue hoodie. His hair is free, falling over his shoulders.
“I didn’t mention it last night, but you’re letting your beard grow out, hm?”
He rubs a hand against his jaw and laughs, drawing an arm around my waist. A familiar, affectionate greeting between just the two of us. He leans down, his mouth brushing my ear. When he speaks, it sends a shiver down my spine.
“Was it too rough for you?” he whispers.
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Good.”
He kisses my temple, his fingers splayed around my waist. He hums and nuzzles his nose into my loose curls.
This is easy.
I didn’t know something like this could be so easy.
He walks past me and places a plastic container on my kitchen counter as he retrieves a plate from the cabinet. I watch him explore my space, wondering how those back muscles under his hoodie look.
“I take it my intended lunch wasn’t sufficient from your perspective,” I tease.
“I’m a lot of talk,” he laughs, “but I did bring you something if you’re interested. It’s—uh—something I make for myself when I’m feeling stressed. I guess it’s a comfort food. I know work has been stressful for you, so I thought it would help. And don’t let looks deceive you; this isn’t your average grilled cheese, Lucienne. You can’t make fun of me, but my sister and I call it the Mega Cheese.”
“The Mega Cheese?”
“Did I stutter?” he laughs.
“You did not,” I say. “You have a sister?”
“I do. She’s older than me and lives on the West Coast. She calls it ‘love between two pieces of bread.’ I always think of her when I make it.” He smiles.
“That’s sweet.”
I wrap my arms around him from behind, looping them through his hoodie pocket and pressing my face into his back. I can hear his breathing, calm and paced. I could fall asleep like this, but the smell of onion and brown sugar fills my nose and I untangle myself from him.
“Why does that smell so good?”
“I told you it’s not your average grilled cheese. It’s yours,” he offers.
I take the plate over to the couch, crossing my legs as I settle in. The first bite is heaven. The crunch of the bread followed by gooey cheese and caramelized onion makes my eyes roll to the back of my head. Jude watches me, his tongue poking the corner of his mouth, smiling.
“Oh, Jude. This is—holy crap, this is amazing.”
“I’m happy you like it.” He smiles.
“And”—I tap the space on the couch next to me—“thank you for sharing something with me that you hold near and dear to your heart. A family recipe; that’s so special.”
He crosses the room and sits beside me, pulling me into his lap. I rest my head against his shoulder, my nose rubbing against his jaw.
I really do love that he’s growing out his beard.
“I want to share more of me with you, Lucienne. Sometimes I don’t know how to, but I’m trying. You’ve given me so much of yourself and you deserve some pieces of me as well—for safe keeping, of course,” he whispers. He rubs my back tenderly, his other palm burning against my thigh.
“Of course. For safekeeping.” I smile, chewing happily. “Also, something about me is that food is definitely my love language.”
He laughs. The rumble in his chest reverberates throughout my body, which is still tucked up against him. “Is that one of the official love languages? Is that where Greta gets it from?”
“If not, it is now. And oh my God, I never even thought of that. How perceptive of you,” I giggle.
“I don’t know if I’ve given much thought as to what my love language is. What do you think?” he asks.
I take another bite and hum to myself. “For giving, acts of service; hands down. For receiving? Maybe physical touch or quality time.”
“I do enjoy quality time. I intend to spend more of it with you,” he whispers.
I huddle into him. “You won’t hear any complaints from me.”
We sit like this as I polish off my Mega Cheese, completely and utterly satisfied. I want to know everything. I want to hear about his sister, his childhood, and his parents. To learn about the people who have made Jude who he is. I want to thank them, profusely, for sharing him with me. My world has become a brighter, happier place, thanks to him.
“Are you alright after last night?” he asks.
“Alright? I’ve never been better.”
He laughs, squeezing me closer to him. I cling to him tighter, running my thumb over his jaw and pressing my nose into that spot right behind his ear.
“Never been better, huh? Were you watching Hocus Pocus again?”
“And what if I was?”
“I’d take that as an indicator that our date was at least pleasant.” He shrugs.
I sit up and stare at him, my face contorted in confusion. At least pleasant? Is he sick? Did he hit his head? Is he joking? I put my plate aside and straddle him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He runs his hands up and down my thighs, his grip tightening every now and then.
“At least pleasant? Jude Carr, respectfully, you’re delusional if you think it was at least pleasant.”
“Then tell me how it was, Lucienne Amato.”
“Do you need the ego boost?” I tease.
His expression shifts and his motions stop. Did I make him angry? My insecurities give way to panic. I didn’t mean to insult him; I was just teasing—
“Stop. I’m not angry at you,” he says.
“I didn’t think—”
“Lucienne, I know you’re lying. Yes, you did. And I’m not angry at all. I just—it’s important to me that you know last night had nothing to do with my ego. I don’t need to prove anything to you. I saw you. I felt you try to reciprocate, but sometimes it’s only about you, beautiful. You don’t owe me anything. You never do.”
I want him. All of him. Right now.
“But what if I want to reciprocate?” I whisper.
“I didn’t come here for that—”
“Jude, I know you didn’t. But I want you, just as much as you want me—”
“No. That’s not possible.”
And people call me stubborn? He has no idea how badly I want him. I want him inside of me, filling me up, feeling sparks on my skin. I want him to take me in any way he’d like. I want his dreams, his fears, his desires. I want the parts of him that he thinks are inconsequential.
“It’s—it’s kind of a foreign concept to me,” I admit.
He looks perplexed, tilting his head. “What is, beautiful?”
“The lack of expectation to reciprocate. You—you were so selfless. No one’s ever just focused on me like that before.” I’ve never told anyone that and I feel pried open, but it’s Jude and I know I can be vulnerable. Even so, my heart starts rattling in my chest.
“Lucienne, seeing you take what you want without hesitation was—it’s all I needed, beautiful. I couldn’t stop watching you.”
This man can’t be real. Is he some kind of simulation? The more he puts me first, the more I want to reciprocate. The more I want him. I reach between us and grip his length through his joggers. He’s already hard and my grasp makes him force a puff of air through his teeth.
“But I do want to show you how badly I want you,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry to say, beautiful, our lunch break is almost over and I don’t want to get fired today. As painful as it is, I need to get back home.”
His hand cups my nape, his teeth grazing my jaw. The warmth swirling in my core roars and I swallow down a moan. The look in his eyes changes from tender to hungry as he rubs his thumb down my throat.
“Are we going out again soon, Jude?” I whisper, holding his gaze.
“Whenever you want,” he pants.
“There’s a haunted house in Williston on Sunday. Let’s get spooky, baby.”
I’ve never called him that—I’ve never called anyone that—but it slipped out. That’s when his lips crash against mine, unmercifully. His hands grab my ass, grinding my core against him. My head lolls backward, a small moan catching in my throat.
“Did you call me baby?” he asks breathlessly. His hands are hot on my skin, holding on to me just below my breasts under my shirt.
“I did.”
“Do it again, please.”
“Are you begging, Jude?”
He growls and rests his forehead against my stomach, rubbing his hands up and down my sides. If he reaches just an inch higher, he could catch my nipples between his fingers.
“Yes, I am.”
“Since you asked so nicely, baby,” I whisper in his ear, flicking his earlobe with my tongue.
“Fucking hell.”
One second, I’m straddling him and the next I’m on my back, Jude hovering over me. The weight of his body on top of me is pure ecstasy. His hands are under my shirt and he palms my breast. My back arches.
“Are you going to keep touching me, baby?” I pant.
He pulls up my shirt and wraps his lips around one of my nipples. I’m grateful I’m not wearing a bra today. The sensation is electrifying, my body rolling against his. I’m already so close to coming undone, I can’t collect myself long enough to stop it.
As quickly as things began, they stop. Jude is holding my head in his hands, kissing my nose, my eyelashes, my chin. I’m pulling at the hem of his hoodie, and I feel his stomach against the palms of my hands.
Hard, relaxing and flexing against me, with a tuft of hair that dips below his boxers.
Gently, he removes my hands and lifts himself off me, leaving me feeling cold.
“Get on up, beautiful. Let me say goodbye for now.”
He’s running a hand through his hair, offering me his free hand, which I take reluctantly. He pulls me to my feet, his fingers tangling in my mess of curls as he holds my head to his chest.
“I’m so sorry, Lucienne. I need to get back to work. And thinking about our calendar; we’ve got a meeting soon, don’t we?” He’s smirking, leaving small kisses on the top of my head.
If we can behave ourselves, maybe the idea I’m about to propose will work out.
“Okay, how about this—why don’t you run and get your things and come back and work the rest of the afternoon here? That way we can make faces at the ridiculous things that are inevitably going to pop up during our stakeholder meeting instead of texting about it on the side? I—I promise we’ll work. That’s it. I can behave.”
“I’m so happy for you that you’re able to make that promise. I don’t know if I can,” he laughs.
I start to frown, the wind taken out of my sails.
“But I love that idea and I think I can muster up enough self-control to last a few hours.”
I stand on my tiptoes and kiss that damn dimple near the corner of his mouth. There are a lot of things I admire about Jude Carr, but I think I love that dimple.
“Mmm, good. Then there’s no obligation to stay after work or anything. We don’t want to spoil our date on Sunday.”
“Like having dessert before dinner, yeah?”
“We can’t have that, baby.”