Page 37 of His Holy Chaos

There. That's what I wanted. Not the submission of his body. I've had that since he draped himself across my lap. I wanted the submission of him. That last, stubborn wall coming down, the one he builds out of sarcasm and defiance and relentless, exhausting wit. And here it is, dissolving under my hands like sugar in rain.

"You are good," I tell him, and I mean it with every fiber of my being. I wrap my hand around his cock, slick with his own arousal, and stroke him firmly as I pick up the pace again, driving into him with purpose now, with intent. "You're so good, Jude. Come for me. Let go."

He shatters.

It's not a quiet thing. His orgasm tears through him like a storm, his back bowing off the mattress, his legs trembling violently around my waist, his voice cracking open. He spills over my fist and across his stomach in hot, pulsing waves, his body clenching around me so tight that my vision whites out at the edges.

I follow him over seconds later. I bury myself deep and let it take me, my forehead pressed against his shoulder, my breath ragged and broken against his skin. The release is total, emptying me out in a way that goes beyond the physical. Like something I've been carrying for months, maybe years, has finally been set down.

For a long moment, neither of us moves. We just breathe, tangled, still. I can feel his pulse against my lips, rapid, gradually slowing, finding its way back to something like a resting rhythm. I pull out carefully, and he winces. I tie off the condom and drop it in the small trash can by his nightstand, then reach for the t-shirt he discarded earlier to clean him up. He watches me through half-lidded eyes as I wipe the mess from his stomach, his expression soft.

"You don't have to do that," he murmurs, but he doesn't stop me.

"I know I don't have to," I say. "I want to."

"I was going to say you're wasting it. You should lick it clean," he teases.

"Oh, you little brat. I'm going to make you lick my boots clean to teach you a lesson."

"Only if you or I cum on them first," he fires back without missing a beat, those mischievous eyes shining.

"You naughty little thing," I say. I toss the shirt aside and settle onto the bed beside him, pulling him against me. He comes willingly, curling into my side with his head on my chest and his leg thrown over mine, and I feel the raw heat of his bottom against my thigh. He's still trembling in tiny waves.

I pull the throw blanket from the foot of the bed over us both. It's thin and worn soft from washing, patterned with some anime character I don't recognize, and it smells like him.

"Hey," I say quietly, pressing my lips to the top of his head. His hair is damp and smells like shampoo. "How are you feeling?"

He's quiet for a beat. Then two. Long enough that I almost ask again, that familiar concern stirring. Did I push too far, was it too much, should I have…

"I feel like I just got hit by a really hot truck," he says, and his voice is so small and raw and earnest that the joke lands differently than he probably intends it to. It lands tenderly. "In the best possible way. Like. I don't know how to explain it. I feel like my bones are made of jelly and my brain is made of cotton candy, and I never want to move again."

I chuckle. "Jelly and cotton candy can't be bad. Don't move, then."

"Okay." He nuzzles deeper into my chest, breathes me in, and I feel his eyelashes brush against my skin when he blinks.

A brat. The last thing I needed in my life.

And maybe, God help me, exactly the thing I've been missing.

Chapter 19. Jude

I wake up to the sound of my own breathing and someone else's heartbeat under my ear, and for a disoriented moment I don't know where I am. Then the soreness hits and I cuss under my breath. Everything comes flooding back in a rush. Damn.

Ford.

Ford is here, in my bed, by my fucking side, solid and warm and real, his arm still wrapped around me like he forgot to let go while we slept. The light in the room has shifted to the colors of sunset. We slept for a while, then. His chest rises and falls beneath my cheek. He smells so masculine, so good.

I tilt my head up carefully and find him waking up too, probably sensing me move.

"Hi," I say. My voice is wrecked.

"You snore," he says, and breaks into a smile. And he claims I'm the brat.

"I do not."

"Like a chainsaw. A small, adorable chainsaw."

"I'm going to choose to hear only the word 'adorable' in that sentence. And I'm not that small."