‘Maeve.’ Jude made a stifled noise at the back of his throat, almost a whine. Sweat dewed on his chest, his throat. The mark she’d left. ‘Maeve, you—’ he swallowed. ‘Please.Please.’
‘I know,’ she murmured, fighting for control as much as he was. He skated trembling palms up and down her flank, pushing his head back into the pillow. He was close, but not close enough. She wanted to see him unravel. Wholly and completely, and for her alone. She brought her lips to his ear. ‘You can do it. For me.’
His whole body tightened before he released a half-gasped noise next to her ear. She drew back just far enough to see his face. The flush on his cheeks, his tightly squeezed eyes. The way he caught his lip between his teeth.
Her heart swelled with a vibrant swell of emotion as she fell forward onto his chest, burying her face against the side of his neck. The sheer reality of him was enough to take her breath away. Enough to make her thankful, a hundred times over, for the gift of the man in her arms. A gift she would hold tight for as long as she had strength.
For a long moment, the only sound was their breathing, the soft rasp of skin. Then Jude laughed, exhilarated and shocked, before rolling them over and draping himself on top of her.
‘You’re heavy,’ Maeve mumbled, huffing a laugh as she playfully shoved at him. Jude pressed a final kiss to where her neck met her shoulder before shifting enough for her to curl into hisside. She turned to look at him. Both dimples were out on full display. He hugged her, pressing a kiss to her hair.
‘I knew you’d be the death of me,’ Jude murmured. ‘One way or the other.’
57
Jude
Jude awoke slowly. His thoughts unspooled in downy ribbons, knotting, untangling, and knotting again. He blinked lazily as warmth diffused down his limbs. Buttery-yellow light streaked across the worn quilt, lingering in the hollows between their bodies. Contentment stole through the gaps in the gauzy curtains on a sea breeze.
Maeve was tucked under his arm with her cheek pillowed against his bare chest. Dawn sunlight played greedily in her spun-gold hair. Last night’s delicate flush turned her skin luminescent, catching on the faint sheen still clinging to her cheekbones. Inside his chest, in the place reserved only for her, his heart gave a tremulous squeeze.
He never considered himself someone who needed another person, but he neededher.
Needed her laughter, her sighs. He needed her argumentative, and he needed her forgiving. Just like he didn’t know how much he needed her head against his chest until it was there, Jude hadn’t realized how much he’d desperately craved for someone to be his until she stood before him.
The memories of the night before came flooding in, sending a rush of heat down his body.
Maeve had been right – vulnerability was a beautiful thing. He’d stood bare before her with every ragged tattoo in plainview, every inch available for her steady gaze. And it had been freeing in ways he hadn’t known were possible.
He ran the backs of his fingers down the curve of her hip, soft enough that she wouldn’t wake. He wanted her again, fiercer now that he knew what he was asking for. What he’d give. He touched the mark her mouth had left on his chest, the subtle ache it left behind.
He’d needed that, too. A sign of love imprinted on his skin, freely asked for and freely given.
He had not been given the privilege of calling many things his own, but if the fierce longing to mould himself into Maeve’s skin and never leave told him anything, it was that the gift of loving her wouldn’t be one he’d let sift through his fingers.
He moved his mouth to her temple. ‘Maeve.’
She stirred, rolling until her back was against his chest. Their legs tangled together. Jude rested his forehead on the nape of her neck. Penitence, he thought. Of the truest kind.
‘Good morning,’ she whispered, voice husky with sleep.
She turned in his arms, hitching her leg over his hip. A flash of heat from the previous night had him rolling her onto her back and kissing a line down her neck. He licked her collarbone, pressing his mouth against her pulse. ‘Morning.’
‘What a way to wake up,’ she murmured, a smile in her voice.
He loved her like this, sleep-warmed and affectionate. She dug her hands into his hair, pulling his face to hers. Jude went gladly. Her mouth was warm and sweet. He could kiss her forever.
Sometime later, Maeve pulled back. ‘Last night…’ her flush deepened.
‘Good?’
She nodded.
He kissed the side of her smile, pressed his lips to her ear. ‘I’ll always be good to you.’
The morning quickly slipped away from them. Before long,the sunrise had brightened, filling the room with the clear light of day. With her head pillowed against his stomach, Maeve turned to look at him. Her fingers skated across his forearm, a delicate touch that meant more than he could put into words. Breathlessly, he studied her, the need to confess stronger than anything he’d ever known. The words lingered on the tip of his tongue, promising relief once he released them into the open air. Sunlight refracted in her dark eyes, painting them in the deepest shades of emerald and quartz.
Beloved, his mind supplied.
