Chapter Thirteen #2
I could say I don’t know what he’s talking about, try to turn it around and make him the embarrassed one.
But I don’t. I only say goodnight. I walk inside and let the door close behind me.
I ride the elevator up five floors, feeling stupid the whole way, wondering if I’m delusional, if this is about Jude or Lettercat, and if I can even tell the difference between them at this point.
I walk into my apartment and hear my doorbell ringing insistently. I see on the camera that it’s Jude pressing the button. I answer on the intercom.
“It’s me,” he says, nothing more. I buzz him in and stand in my open door, my heart thumping as I wait for the elevator to open down the hall. Instead I hear the stairwell door behind me close. I turn and see Jude, out of breath, striding toward me.
“There’s an elevator,” I tell him.
“I’ve waited too long already,” he says, reaching his hand behind my neck and pulling me to him.
We stumble into my apartment. I push the door closed and he drops his jacket and helmet to the floor.
I’d be more concerned about the noise disturbing my crabby downstairs neighbor if Jude didn’t have me pressed against the wall, his mouth on mine, his hands grabbing the backs of my thighs—fine, they’re on my ass—pulling me up to him.
I kick my evil shoes to the floor with a clatter and wrap a leg around him.
I have one hand in the hair at the nape of his neck, the other reaching inside his shirt, feeling the muscles of his back, the heat of his skin.
His lips are on my neck, my ear. His stubble scratches against my chin, his tongue pushes into my mouth, his hands grip me tighter.
“Is this okay?” he whispers, breaking away to look at me. He’s breathing just as hard as I am, and the way he’s looking at me makes me feel like I’m burning inside.
I think about saying yes, but I kiss him instead, and wrap my other leg around his waist. His hips push against me. There might be some moaning, it’s hard to say whose.
He’s impossibly close now but still too far away.
“Too many shirts,” I tell him softly. He lowers me to the ground gently and slides my top up over my head.
I start at the top of his buttons, and he unbuttons from the bottom.
We meet in the middle and he pulls off his shirt.
He’s lean and strong; my god, he’s beautiful.
I run a hand down his chest and hook my fingers on the top of his pants and tug him back to me.
As he steps closer, he traces the line of my bra strap with his thumb, following its plunge down.
Way down. Purely coincidental that I’m wearing this very sexy bra. And the matching thong.
“I like this,” he says, bending to kisses my neck, my collarbone, my chest. His breath heats the cup of my bra.
He bites me gently through the lace and I gasp a little.
A lot. His finger pulls the lace aside and his lips, his teeth, his tongue are on me.
My nails dig into his shoulder, maybe a little too hard.
He looks up at me and I pull him back to my mouth, pressing my chest against his to feel his skin on mine, the muscles of his back under my hands.
He swallows hard, pushing me against the wall again.
“I just want you so much,” he says in my ear.
He’s still Jude, after all. There’s no room for subtlety with him. I reach behind me and unzip my skirt. It hits the floor with a thwack.
“Then take me,” I tell him.
He watches his hand as he slides it from my neck to my chest, as it traces my curves, as he spreads his palm across my stomach.
Then his eyes find mine. Starting at my hip, he runs a finger along the bottom edge of my underwear, then inside it.
I inhale sharply when he finds the right spot, and his fingers stay there.
I close my eyes. My breath is hot as he kisses me hard, pressed tight against me, all the while his fingers pushing me until my back arches and my hands clutch at him, until I cry out.
He releases me, and I see the desire all over his face. His whole body is taut with it. I’d be more smug—I knew you wanted me, Jude Mulholland—if I wasn’t so very turned on.
I lead him to my bed, walking backwards as I unbutton and unzip his pants. He’s stepping out of his shoes, unhooking my bra, pushing down my underwear. I pull him down on top of me, my toes tugging at his boxer briefs while I rustle around in my bedside table.
His eyes check in with me again.
“Please,” I say, a little more urgently than I mean to.
But he’s happy to accommodate. When he does, my breath shakes, and a low syllable escapes from his open mouth.
He pauses above me. I reach up and move away the hair that’s fallen into his face so I can see his eyes, heavy-lidded and serious, thinking too much.
I push my hips to his and he makes that sound again as he gives up, sinking into me again and again, until we’re covered in sweat, tangled in sheets, I’m biting his shoulder, he’s calling my name.
We collapse together, hearts pounding, arms and legs and lips still intertwined.
“This seems like a thing we should talk about,” he murmurs before he kisses me.
“We do a lot of talking,” I say, kissing him back, my fingers skimming his face, his neck, his chest while they still have the opportunity.
Because maybe this was just something we needed to get out of our systems, and now Jude will say he better get going and tomorrow will be a little awkward but hey, that’s just another day for us.
Instead, he laces his fingers in mine and is looking at me like I’m some sort of miracle, which would freak me out more if I wasn’t looking at him the same way.