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Weeks.
A handful of days I’ve actually seen her face.
I lock my eyes on where we’re joined when she sinks down, biting my lip to keep from groaning, or worse yet, begging. I feel it in my chest, all the things I want to say.
Don’t you feel it, too?
Can’t you see how good we are together?
How is this not enough?
How am I not enough?
“Jude.” Her hands clamp on my cheeks, but I refuse to look up.
I can’t see her eyes. I can’t look into the face of a woman who wants less of me than I want of her. I don’t love her. That’s not what this is, but shit, does her heart not skip a beat when she sees me? Does she not feel the connection?
“Faster,” I prompt, a rough hand on her hip to urge her along.
God, I’m going to come so fucking hard, but it’s like my brain hasn’t gotten on board to let that happen. It knows this is the very last time, and it’s going to drag it out as long as possible.
“That’s it. Make me come.”
“Jude?” Her hips keep working, her hands on my chest.
I know what she wants, and I can’t give it to her. She already has too much of me.
I lick my thumb and press it to her clit.
Her frustrated groan makes her hips work harder, her bounce a little heavier.
“Yes,” I pant. “Fuck, that’s perfect, Parker. You need to come.”
She slows, her hips circling as if she too is trying to drag this out. She’s skating that fine line between getting off faster than she wants and not coming at all.
“Parker,” I growl, my legs tightening. “Now.”
“Wait,” she whispers. “Just wait. Just wait. Just—oh God.”
She breaks, her pussy pulsing down my length, and I grip her waist, holding her up while I flex my hips and fuck up into her like a crazed person, my nuts seizing a second later.
She must be able to feel the throb of my orgasm when I plant myself deep and hold her there because the sexiest moan of relief bubbles out of her throat.
I want just a second to bask in this, the feeling of bliss that follows an orgasm, but she leans forward and presses her lips to my jaw, and I can’t take it.
I lift her off, making sure to be gentle with her as I place her on the sofa beside me, and I don’t look at her as I stand.
“See you around, Parker. Thanks.”
Chapter 22
Parker
I sit in stunned silence exactly where he placed me on his couch. I hear the shower start. I hear it stop, God only knows how many minutes later, and by the time Jude walks back out in jeans and a t-shirt with his hair still wet, I’m shivering.
I blame the chill in the air and my naked skin for the reaction as I stand to dress.
He doesn’t look in my direction as he heads into the kitchen, but I’d be a fool to think he doesn’t know that I’m still here.
Maybe he meant it. Maybe that was the last time.
Maybe I should count my blessings and just walk away, grateful that I dodged a bullet. No matter that I teased him for being jealous, I thought I hated the trait in men. Knowing I’m not a possession. I never knew I would need a man to cling to me, to fight over me to feel wanted. I can see it in their eyes when they look at me, lust-clouded and needy.
Jude denied me his eyes. First when he walked out of the bar last night and again while he fucked me.
Unfamiliar pain fills my chest as I grab my jeans from the floor and pull them on. I nearly fall over trying to slide my feet into my discarded heels while also trying to put my uniform top back on in a rush to get out of here quicker.
I don’t do pain. I haven’t felt it since my mother died, and even then, it was tainted with relief that she was no longer hurting.
“Jude,” I say as I lace up my top.
I can’t let him have the final word. I can’t walk out of here and leave the power with him, but I also don’t want to fight. I won’t be that woman leaving because I feel like I’ve been tossed over. I have no right to those emotions, to that hurt and anger.
“You’re still here.” His tone is flat, emotionless. The smile that usually crinkles his eyes in the corners is nowhere to be found. “I didn’t expect you to show up.”
“I just wanted to—”
“Fuck. I know.” His eyes dart away a second before he turns toward the coffee pot. “I just figured after what happened to Hayden yesterday that you’d—”
“What? What happened?” My mind races, wondering if Hayden dropped the pretense with Quinten and went after Jude like I’d teased her about. I haven’t spoken to my best friend since I left her house on Saturday evening, and then I got distracted with Jude.
