‘No clothes,’ Jude muttered. ‘Or fire materials.’
The line of his throat bobbed as he stood.
All thoughts of the books fled as, slowly, he undid the button of his trousers. Underneath, the black of his undershorts was jarring against the paleness of his lower stomach. He released the final two buttons, stepping out of his trousers and standing before her in shorts that reached mid-thigh. Candlelight gilded the skin newly revealed to her, the thick, uneven lines of his tattoos starkly black.
Like the first time she had beheld his icon, Maeve got a distinct feeling ofother. Like he was something perfect and holy and she a mere penitent, wishing for nothing but to kneel.
The thin shift she’d tucked into the waist unfurled as she let the trousers fall at her feet, covering from her neck to partly down her thighs. She hadn’t donned a new pair of stockings that morning, leaving her skin bare beneath the thin white silk. In the room’s darkness, the meagre candlelight had turned ittranslucent. She held her breath, waiting for him to look like he had in her bedroom, wanting to feel the weight of his eyes just as heavy on her body.
When he didn’t, she stepped forward. He held himself so still she wondered if he was breathing at all as she wrapped her hand around his wrist, bringing it to rest over her heart. He could surely feel it trying to flee her chest.
Finally,finally, his eyes met hers. The mixture of fear and raw, naked wanting in his gaze took her breath. ‘You’re beautiful,’ she murmured. ‘So beautiful. Every part.’
Jude’s lips parted slightly. He looked tormented, as though equal parts of himself were at war, and he wasn’t yet sure which side would win. The hand over her heart moved to the side of her throat, his thumb resting on the point of her chin. Reverence in his touch.
‘Jude—’ she began.
‘Shh,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t speak.’
Then, he kissed her.
The first thought, theonlythought, was how indescribably right it felt to have his lips on hers.Finally.How long she’d wanted it, how desperately she’d pined for this very moment. How it was both a clarifying baptism and an unmooring.
Nothing else existed except for the feeling of his skin on hers, his tongue in her mouth. Somehow, they’d moved towards the closed door, Jude pushed between it and her body. He cupped her face tightly with both hands. Whatever strung-out feelings she’d experienced earlier were nothing,nothingcompared to her current desperation.
She wanted him to touch more. To touch all of her.
‘Jude,’ she murmured, a prayer in his whispered name. She tipped her head back as he kissed down her neck, his mouth open, teeth against her pulse. The sounds he drew from her split the silence.
Maeve pulled him closer by the nape of his neck, whiningwhen his lips skated back up over her jaw to her mouth. Any last vestige of reason left her entirely as he shoved his thigh between her legs and pressed up. The exquisite pressure bordered on pain, and suddenly, she realized she could come like this. Shewantedto. Just from his leg between hers and his mouth alone. This was so much better than she had imagined it; it was him and her together, andJudewas kissing her, finally—
He released a quiet whimper into her mouth as Maeve slid one hand under his shirt, skating her nails across the warm skin of his stomach. The other went to the hollow of his hip, where she tucked her fingers into his undershorts and pulled downwards.
‘Please, Jude,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’
He wrenched back, sudden enough to send her stumbling forward. ‘Enough.’
Before she could reply, before she could even get a good look at his face, he strode towards the window. When he turned back, his eyes were wild.
‘What – what is it?’ Maeve breathed. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself as a cold wash of dread coasted across her skin, erasing every inch of the previous heat. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m sorry.’ Jude scrubbed his hands over his face. His undershorts hung unevenly on his hips, showing a line of tattooed tallies across his lower stomach. His lips were reddened, and a deep flush trailed down his neck. ‘I can’t.’
Before Maeve could respond, he was tugging his trousers and jumper back on, pulling his coat over his shoulders. He wouldn’t look at her as he moved. She was frozen, unable to do anything but watch as he stumbled back into his clothes.
His hand on the doorknob shocked her into motion. ‘Wait –please, tell me what’s the matter.’ She stepped closer, stopping when he flinched. Her voice caught in her throat. ‘Jude?’
He bowed his head, resting his forehead against the closed door. His fingers tightened around the door handle until the metal creaked. ‘It’s not you. I just… can’t.’
He was gone without another word, leaving her alone and half-dressed, her heart spilling into fractured pieces on the floor.
41
Jude
Jude ran.
Panic blurred his vision into pinpoints. He didn’t look to see if anyone in the tavern watched him crash through the chairs and tables and fling open the front door, a flurry of snow casting his world in white. The sting of the cold was inconsequential. Only the burn in his lungs remained.
