Mayfly

19. CHAPTER NINETEEN

I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that logic and reason are fighting it out with his heart and dick over what he should say next.

“I’m serious, Jude. I’m never gonna let you out of my sight. I might even get you an ankle monitor. Have Property of Curren Campbell engraved on it and everything.”

“Are you gonna wear one too?”

“Will there really be a need for that?”

Now he looks confused, sprinkled with lashings of sin. But that’s us. Always has been, and always will be.

“Cut the tape off my legs,” he says like I didn’t just feel his dick harden beneath me.

“Nope.”

“Do it.” Dominion is back in his tone. The same one he used when we left the pub. When he first spoke to me like the object I’d never wanted to be.

“Not gonna happen.”

“You need to get out of here.”

“You can get fucked if you think I’m gonna walk away from you again.”

“Cut the fucking tape, Curren.”

“If you expect me to do as I’m told, using that voice isn’t gonna work.”

Jude sucks in a harsh, frustrated breath, but I grind against him before he can say anything.

“Curren!”

He’s trying so hard to be strong.

“I’m… Not… Going… Anywhere…” I reiterate, circling my hips with each new word.

Jude's head falls to my chest. “This isn’t the time or place.”

“I beg to differ. I think this might just be the hottest fuck I’m ever gonna have.”

Jude wraps one arm around my waist and reaches for my leg, but I grab his wrist, twist his arm behind his back, and grip his jaw with my other hand.

“You've never been quicker than me a day in your life.” I bend, take out my blood covered knife, and place it just out of his reach. “We’re gonna do what I want, and then I’ll cut you out.

But until that point, you’re gonna sit there and take it. ”

Jude fights against the tape.

I pay him no mind, and run my hands down the front of his stained shirt where Marius’s blood is kept warm against his body.

His inflamed flesh from where I beat him yesterday, every crinkle in the fabric as it clings to his torso, the stickiness that used to give a person life—I feel them all. Directly, with no barrier protecting my fingers. Every disgusting, dirty, perfect thing.

I watch Jude’s chest slowly expand and retract, and reach for his belt. But the second I apply pressure on the buckle, he stands, and reflex has me clinging to his shoulders.

“Get down, Curren.”

I wrap my legs around him. “You’ll tire long before I do.”

“For fuck’s sake, Curren! This is beyond a joke. You just killed a federal agent and his blood is dripping down to god knows where. This can’t be cleaned up—fuck, I don’t even know if I actually can talk my way around this. You’re acting like a goddamn child!”

My legs drop to the ground. “What the fuck did you say to me?”

“This is reckless and you know it.”

I stare at Jude so deeply I swear I can see the wall on the other side of him. “I just killed my only other friend for you.”

“And I’m trying to prevent you from ending up the same way.”

“What happened to trusting me?”

“What happened to self preservation?”

“What happened to starting a new life?”

“Do you have a death wish?!”

My left eye twitches.

He knows me too well.

It’s been one hell of a twenty-four hours, and I’ve always had horrible impulse control. But can he really blame me for taking advantage of those fleeting moments in my life when I wasn’t running scared?

Taking umbrage with the past ten minutes, I grip his belt, but only get it unlatched before he pushes me away. As though nothing happened, I walk back and attempt to unbutton his pants, but within seconds I’m stumbling again.

“Enough!” I scream, squaring up and punching him in the exact place I had just minutes ago. Dazed, Jude blinks as I unzip his fly and tug his trousers and underwear down to his knees.

“Curren.” He tries to pull them back up, and I slap him. “What the fuck?” I wind up to slap him again, but he pushes me back even harder than before. “Did I hit you?”

No, but you can.

“I asked you a question. Did. I. Hit. You?”

“No,” I whisper as I stand, then eye the tape still binding his legs to the chair. “But I dare you to get away from me.”

“I dare you to think this through.”

I shake my head and slowly unbutton my shirt.

Leaving my shirt on, I remove my stained trousers.

I grip the back of his neck, digging my fingernails into his skin as I force him forward until his eyes are level with mine.

Like a fucking maniac, he just stares. No movement. Not even a blink.

Why can't he see that we need this?

Why can't he just take his place?

He’s a statue of his own corruption who will never stop reminding me that he is just as stubborn as I am. So I claw my other hand into the front of his neck. “How long do you think you can last like this?”

He snarls, and wraps his hands around my neck in retaliation.

His thumbs curl into my windpipe.

We’ve reached another standoff.

I look between our bodies to his impossibly flawless dick; straight, and thick, and a shade darker than the perfect caramel of the rest of him. It’s not completely soaked, but it shows the sheer amount of blood I drenched him in that it made its way through two layers of clothing.

“You’ve been holding your breath for a while now,” I remind him, but he tightens his fingers until his grip on me is far more dangerous than the one I have on him. “I’ll let go if you sit down… I promise.”

Jude moves slowly, his movements tentative because he knows there’s a good chance I’m full of shit.

As expected, he doesn’t release me even when his ass is back in the chair.

But I do keep my word; dropping my hands from around his neck.

And when I do, he eases his grip—though still refusing to let me go.

Far too proud of myself than I really should be, I straddle his lap and spit into my palm.

His head falls back.

The muscles of his chest and arms flex.

He looks so big, and I feel so small.

Why won't he take his place?

I work him up and down until my hand is lathered in bubbly pink.

Starting at the top of his head, I smear it through his buzzed hair. Then I pull him into a kiss, but it feels like he’s the one forcing me. His fingers grip tighter. He moves me, manipulating my head and my body until I feel myself slipping away.

I pull back as best I can and dig my fingers into his mouth until I feel his saliva thicken. Then when I try to retrieve them, he clamps down, but the damage to my knuckles is worth it.

I reach behind and rub his spit over my ass. It’s already too much—how desperately I need him; in me, on me, everywhere with me for the rest of eternity.

“Is your whore ass still gaping from yesterday?”

I groan, and it’s pathetic.

“Let me feel.”

I nod, and Jude lets go of my neck to suck on his own fingers. He guides my head to rest on his shoulder and holds me by the waist. His touch is soft at first, his fingertips circling my rim, but then with no warning, he digs god knows how many fingers inside me.

“Goddamn.” He squeezes my waist tighter. “You really are a whore for me, aren’t you?”

I nod, rubbing the side of my face against his, and panting in his ear like the slut I am.

“Look at me… Who does this hole belong to?”

“Y—you.”

“And are you gonna hold my cum inside you till we see each other again?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be checking, so you better not spill a drop.”

My mouth just flaps—incoherent grunts and moans flowing out.

Jude pulls out his fingers, fists my hair, and tugs me upright. With my neck craned back and my entire body drunk on him, he softly runs the back of his fingernails along the underside of my shaft, and tells me to, “Make it bounce, puppy.”

Spit is dripping from the corners of Jude’s mouth, making streaks in the drying blood. I hug his neck, and clean his chin with my tongue. Then I rise up until my dick is squashed between us and I can feel the buttons of his shirt press against me.

Grabbing my ass, Jude pulls me open and I reach for his cock. Hunching my back, I try to watch myself sink onto him, but when the rigid pull of being entered takes over, I throw my head back.

“Fuck, how are you still this tight?” He squeezes my ass harder. “We're perfect for each other, aren't we?”

I nod again, but this time it won’t suffice.

“Words, Curren.”

“Yes,” I whimper, wretched—like the bitch I am—as I slide further onto him.

“There’s my good puppy.”

I’ve almost taken all of him inside me. Then I jolt as a sharp pain stabs at my lower back.

“Shh,” he whispers, holding me tight as he rubs up and down my spine. “You’re almost there.”

Allowing me to rest and adjust to this new, overwhelming sensation, Jude does one last pass up my back, then drags his nails down until he’s rimming my stretched hole with one of his fingers—slowly applying more pressure until I feel it work its way in beside his dick.

And just when I feel like I can’t take it anymore, he pulls it out and starts massaging again.

This time with two fingers, one on each side, the tension building until he forces both inside me.

I shudder in his arms, the strain, the stretch. It’s so overwhelming. So good. So confronting.

This is exactly what I need from him.

For my boundaries to be pushed.

For him to allow me to be mad.

To be stubborn.

To protect me.

To allow me to be his equal, but also slap the sense back into me when I lose my goddamn mind.

“You’ve done it, pup… You've taken all of me.”

The tension dissipates, and he strokes my hair. So soothing. So calm. Just the two of us in our own little bubble, with no regard for the man who just professed his undying love for me in a dead heap beside us.

I sit up as best I can.

I bite my bottom lip and close my eyes.

I rock my hips forward, then back. Just a little. Just enough to know where he’ll hit.

“Keep moving.”

It sounds like a suggestion. Or maybe an order. But they were just empty words because Jude is manhandling me before I even get the chance.

Back and forth, he drags me over his lap.