Still rock-hard inside me, he brings his mouth to my ear, breath hot on my skin.
“Mine,” he says again, just like that first night he pinned me in bed.
And this time, I say the word I wanted to say that night. The word I’ve known was true from the very first moment we laid eyes on each other in the park. “Yours.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
WESTLYN
When our ragged heartbeats finally return to normal, Jude releases my throat and slowly pulls out, a hot gush spilling out after him.
He meets my eyes again, all the earlier bloodlust and rage gone from his gaze, nothing but the clearest cobalt blue remaining. Through a soft smile, he says, “You all right, scarecrow?”
I nod and smile in return, not trusting my voice.
“Stay here,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”
I do as he asks, closing my eyes and leaning back against the wall for balance as his release continues to leak down my thighs, just like he warned me it would.
Just like he promised.
He’s back a moment later, kneeling before me and gently guiding my thighs apart. “Hands on my shoulders. I’ve got you.”
I lean on him as he slides a warm washcloth between my legs and wipes away the mess. After a few more gentle strokes, he stops and presses his lips to the apex of my thighs.
A low moan of appreciation rumbles through his chest and shoulders, straight in to my palms.
“Darling,” he practically growls. “Do you know how fucking sexy you are with my cum leaking out of you?”
I try to find the words to respond, but his mouth is so hot and silky and perfect, and then he’s moaning again, soft kisses turning feverish as he buries his face deeper between my thighs and…
Holy fuck, how am I already so primed up for more?
Without protest, I slide my hands into his hair and grab on to his horns, a move that has him moaning for me all over again. His long, devilish tongue swirls around my clit, his breath a teasing mist as he licks a hot path to my entrance, then slips inside, fucking me all over again as he laps up the remaining evidence.
I’m so turned on right now, I can’t see straight. My hands tighten around his horns, stroking them in time with his thrusts, every one of his delicious kisses soothing the burn of his earlier attack. His tail flicks against my backside, teasing the tight entrance as he continues his deep, erotic kiss. The twin sensations quickly whip me into another white-hot frenzy, and soon I’m gasping his name again, his tongue hitting that perfect spot inside me, and once again I’m gone.
A moment later, he gets to his feet, his eyes still dark with desire, his sexy smirk unleashing a flurry of sparks in my chest.
“Don’t move,” he says, grabbing the spent washcloth and disappearing again. It’s several long minutes before he returns, and this time he’s carrying a silver tea tray complete with a steaming teapot, two teacups, and a pile of cut fruit.
“What’s all this?” I ask.
“I find tea to be the perfect accompaniment to a thoroughly excellent dicking. I hope you like peppermint, and also, what the hell is so funny?”
“You look like a butler. Well, if a butler had horns and wings and a huge gargoyle dick just dangling in the breeze.”
“Gargoyles aren’t ashamed of nudity.” He sets the tray on a side table and gestures at the hoodie I’m still zipped up in. “You shouldn’t be, either.”
I cross my arms over my chest and back up against the wall. “I’m not.”
“Then we’re in agreement.” Jude stalks toward me again, one graceful step at a time. When he reaches me, he crowds in close, fingers brushing along my zipper. “Tea tastes even better when you’re naked—trust me.”
“No, I’m… I’m cold.”
“I’ll warm you.” He grabs the top of the zipper, and panic floods my gut in a hot rush.
Shorts are one thing, but this? No. This stays on. Always.
