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Yes, please.
His finger keeps sliding in and out of me, and with each stroke, I can feel how insanely wet I am. But just when I think he’s finally going to put his mouth on me, he pauses and looks up again through heated eyes.
“One question.”
“Huh?”
“You think you can get out of work obligations for a few days this week?”
“Work?” I blink three times. “What?”
“I want to take you somewhere.”
“Take me somewhere?” I ask, and my face scrunches up in outright confusion. “Are you seriously asking me this? Right now?”
“It’s important.”
“More important than making sure I don’t explode from pent-up sexual frustration? I mean, seriously, Jude, I always thought guys were full of shit about the whole blue balls thing, but I’m starting to believe it’s real.”
He laughs. “Well, considering it would lead to a hell of a lot more orgasms, nearly two days straight of orgasms, then I’d say yes, in this case, it is of the utmost importance.”
I shake my head to try to understand what in the hell he’s even asking. “W-when is this?”
“We’d leave late Wednesday night. Come back Saturday afternoon.”
“W-where?”
“Somewhere that isn’t New York.”
“Uh…” I shift my hips, and my head falls back at the building sensation that his fingers are currently providing. “I…uh… Maybe… I don’t know…”
“How about you get back to me on that one?” A warm, husky laugh leaves his throat and brushes against my skin. “And I get back to making you come.”
“Yes.” A relieved sigh escapes my lungs. “Brilliant plan.”
Another soft chuckle leaves his lips, but it’s quickly quieted down when he quite literally buries his face against me and eats at my pussy with the kind of fervor that has me screaming out the craziest, most incomprehensible shit that I swear everyone inside this hotel can probably hear.
But it’s hard to care when a man like Jude is giving you one of the best orgasms of your life.
And it’s really hard to care when he ups the ante, procures a condom from his pocket, slides his cock inside you, and makes you come so hard you forget you’re in a public bathroom in the middle of an upscale hotel.
Have mercy. Now, I’m really starting to understand why Dr. Winters said it was a good thing for me to just let go and enjoy myself.
Because if this is living in the moment and having fun? Before now, I haven’t been living at all.
Wednesday, March 21st
Jude
The Winslow gang is all here.
My brothers Remy, Flynn, and Ty. Winnie, her husband Wes, and my niece Lexi. And, of course, since we’re currently sitting inside her kitchen, my awesome mom is in attendance, too.
There’s also a random woman named Shirley or something that Ty brought with him, but that’s to be expected.
For the last five or so years, Wendy Winslow has made a point to bring all her kids together for Wednesday dinner. With everyone’s schedules and my siblings’ tendencies to schedule shit on the weekends when I’m working, it’s not something we manage every Wednesday, but we generally achieve it once a month.
And considering what happened two weeks ago when I had everyone show up at Winnie’s place unannounced, I have a feeling my sister made damn sure this family dinner worked out.
Tonight, an Italian-style feast of spaghetti and meatballs, lasagna, garlic bread, antipasti, and various other side dishes are on the menu. And with the way my niece Lexi is grinning from ear to ear, I have a feeling she had a say in this tasty setup.
My mom and Winnie finish setting big platters of food in the center of us, and I look across the table to meet my niece’s eyes. “Did you tell Grandma what to make tonight?”
She nods and flashes a full-toothed smile in my direction.
“Fantastic choice, Lexi Lou.”
Lex giggles as my sister begins to dish out a healthy helping of spaghetti onto her plate, and I start to reach forward to do the same for myself, but my phone buzzing in my pocket pulls my attention.
My chest expands as I tap on the screen to check my notifications, but when I see Bianca, the expansion turns to deflation. No offense, Bianca, but you’re not the person I’m wanting a message from.
I haven’t given in to any of Bianca’s hookup requests—or anyone else’s, for that matter—for nearly two months now, and I don’t have an explanation for it. But something tells me it’s because I’ve been having so much fun with sweet Sophie Sage that I haven’t needed to find it anywhere else.
It’s been nearly two days since I asked her if she could get out of work obligations so I can surprise her with a trip to the real city that doesn’t sleep, but she still hasn’t given me her official response.
The last message she sent was as vague as a jilted mom on social media trying to air out her dirty laundry without losing little Timmy’s spot on the T-ball team. Sophie’s, apparently, trying to “figure it out.”
