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“Condom?” I ask because I’m torn between making the right decision, not a stupid one.
She points to her bedside table, and I hate that she even has rubbers in there. I don’t let my mind wander. I refuse to think about the men she’s possibly had in the bed since I was here last, and the men that came before me.
I’m here. Me. This is my night, not anyone else’s.
“Don’t,” I tell her when she lifts her hips to slide her panties down her thin thighs. Just like the last time we were together; I don’t want to see all of her if I can’t get all of her.
She doesn’t listen. Her eyes stay locked on mine as she sheds the lace, and I make quick work of the condom.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispers, as I cover her with my body.
I clench my eyes closed, hating that she has the ability to make me want to press my mouth to hers and spit fire at the same damn time.
“Are you wet?” I ask as I reach down to find out for myself.
I bite my lower lip to keep from groaning when I find her as slick as I always do.
I should engage in foreplay, make her come on my tongue before entering her, but I don’t. I can’t give that much of myself to her ever again. It hurts too much.
I line up and press forward, loving the feel of her fingers digging into my shoulders.
And like magic, I forget everything.
I forget that we’re not together.
I forget her telling me she just wants sex.
I forget the sound of my door closing the last time she left.
I forget to breathe.
All that exists is her and me and the perfect moment when I press all the way inside and she whimpers like I’m the only one who has ever been there.
“Jude,” she pants. “God.”
I grip her, hands under her back and clamped on her shoulders. It draws us close together, my pelvis scraping against her clit with every thrust, and it’s utter perfection, complete serenity. I’ll never have anything better.
The only sounds we make are grunts and groans, whimpers and moans. It’s utterly perfect. Better than I remember. Something I’ll never be able to forget.
I hold off, sliding into shear perfection over and over and over. My muscles tense when she starts to beg, but I continue to hold off, watching her face as her eyes widen, knowing that she’s so fucking close.
I resituate, cupping her jaw when she tries to look away, forcing her to look me in the eye, needing to see her crest and fall, but she’s the one with the winning hand, closing her eyes to block me out when she comes.
I said it before. I believed it when the words left my mouth, but it isn’t until this very moment, the second before my nuts tighten with impending orgasm that I know it for sure.
This is the last time.
I breathe her in once again, pressing my lips to her damp neck when my release washes over me, and somehow, it’s absolute perfection, the letting go.
Chapter 34
Parker
I’ve never felt a greater sense of loss than waking up this morning alone.
It leaves me acutely livid.
Not at Jude. The man could only be pushed so far before I finally broke him.
I’m mad at myself.
Angry I didn’t speak up last night. I chickened out, wanted to tell him with my body how I felt because words were just too hard. I don’t know if he read me wrong or just didn’t care, but the result is the same. I’m alone.
As I climb out of bed and step into the shower, that anger morphs into rage, and this time I’m not internalizing.
Why didn’t he stick around? Why didn’t he fight for me?
Am I so easy to walk away from?
Last night I told him to leave me alone when really, I just wanted him to grip the back of my neck and tell me there was no chance at getting rid of him. I wanted him to claim me and make me his, but he didn’t chase after me, didn’t spin around in front of everyone and press his mouth to mine. He stayed in the far corner chatting with friends until Deacon’s wife went into labor.
Even after Weston was dragged away in cuffs and he showed up, he didn’t go all alpha male and demand I stick to his side for the rest of his life. No, he fucked me and left before the sun came up.
I should feel used, but I can’t let that emotion sink in with all the rage flowing through my veins.
My shower is quick, the cold water feeling like it’s scorching my skin. I don’t even bother to blow-dry my hair, instead coiling it up on the top of my head in a mess.
