My walls were coming down. But could I truly let Jude know the real me?
Chapter Fifteen
Jude
Inever felt like this.
Not with anyone.
Lust, sure. Companionship, yes. Even love, in quiet, flickering ways. But this—this sensation like a thread had been looped through the muscle of my heart and pulled taut, connecting me to another soul—this was new.
And terrifying.
Julian Reed was dangerous. Not just because of the podcast. Not because of the questions he asked or the lies he’d buried beneath his careful charm. He was dangerous because, despite all of that, I wanted him. Craved him. Not just his body, but him. The man beneath the skepticism. The boy who lost his mother to a life of lies.
There was a rawness in him tonight that made my ribs ache. A kind of bruised courage that he didn’t even realize he was showing me.
Poor, lost Julian.
So sure he was in control.
So unaware of how much of his heart had already shown itself.
The rational part of my brain told me to slow down. Take this in stages. Let the connection grow like tree roots, deep and steady in the soil. But…
I wasn’t feeling rational.
I was feeling him.
Without a word, I stood.
Held out my hand.
Julian looked at it like it was a question he wasn’t sure how to answer, but then he slipped his fingers into mine, and I pulled him up from the couch. Our bodies brushed—hip to hip, chest to chest—and I didn’t break eye contact as I turned and led him across the loft to my bedroom.
The space was as sparse as the rest of the loft. White sheets, soft blankets, a simple wooden bed frame. A few woven tapestries on the wall and a shelf of well-loved books. Nothing fancy. Nothing performative. Just warmth and stillness.
I lit a few candles, the flames flickering gently, casting gold and amber across the walls. Shadows danced on the ceiling. The silence stretched between us, but it didn’t feel heavy. It felt charged.
When I turned back to him, Julian was watching me.
Wide-eyed. Breath shallow. Vulnerable in a way that made my chest swell with want and protectiveness in equal measure.
I stepped close. Slid my arms around him. Pressed our bodies together until our heartbeats had no choice but to fall into rhythm.
“I want to make love to you,” I whispered, lips brushing his ear. “I don’t have the right words tonight. But my body… my body never lies.”
He exhaled—sharp, trembling.
And then we were kissing.
Hot and hungry and real.
There was no pretense now. No game. Just mouths meeting like they’d been waiting their whole lives to do so. Our hands roamed over still-damp clothes, grasping, tugging, craving skin. I pulled his shirt over his head and let my palms explore his bare chest—warm, lean, imperfect in all the ways that made me want him more.
Julian’s hands were more hesitant, but they found their way—gripping my waist, skimming up my spine. When he slid my shirt off, he paused, just for a second, like he was cataloging me. Seeing not just a body, but the man beneath it.
And then we fell onto the bed, breathless.
