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It wasn’t slow.
I thought it was stars behind my eyes, but it wasn’t. Whole galaxies were spinning in my mind as Jude drove home, taking us to a place I never wanted to come back from.
Pleasure swirled around me like the ocean, hitching itself to the first orgasm he gave me and leaving me breathless all over again. This wasn’t polished or perfect; it was raw. Both of us letting out years of pent-up desire, taking what we needed without apology.
Jude kissed me, hard enough to bruise, and I wrapped my arms around his neck to make sure he stayed there. I was only aware of his lips on mine and the movement of his hips, friction dragging me back into bliss every time he thrust deep.
Locking his hands on my hips, Jude rolled us, never pulling back. Now I was looking down at him. Miles of man laid out all for me, pure hunger in his gaze.
He was holding something back. I felt the restrained power in his fingers gripping my skin, lifting me and bringing me back down onto him without having to do a thing.
I wanted to tell him I wasn’t breakable. That I could take all the heat lurking behind his eyes and the power he was containing. But my voice was nowhere to be found. Every stroke hit me exactly where I needed it to, and I was shaking.
The orgasm crashed over me like a wave, collapsing over my body in a silvery, shining flood. I matched Jude thrust for thrust, riding out my orgasm like the cowgirl the position was named for.
My voice came back, and I heard myself saying yes, the words shaking along with my body before I collapsed on Jude’s chest. I kissed him, desperate for more of this—of anything.
He was there with me, still driving up into me and causing aftershocks. Lightning bolts of pleasure that kept me moaning as he came. Thrusting once. Twice. And again before he groaned, holding himself so deep I never wanted us to come apart.
Breaking away from his lips, I laid my head on his chest, letting myself enjoy the feel of his breathing. The rise and fall of it was calming, bringing me back from oblivion with pleasure.
I just had sex with Jude. With Jude. A part of me still didn’t quite believe it after all this time.
He stroked his hands down my spine, spreading warmth. “Are you all right?”
I laughed once. “A little better than all right.”
Slowly, he rolled us again, cradling me so we didn’t come apart. He was so big in every way, it made me smile. He could lie on top of me and I would disappear completely.
“Now for the rest of it,” he said softly.
“There’s more?”
He was braced on his elbows so he could look down at me, and he lifted one hand, tucking a strand of my wild hair off my forehead. “I owe you an apology. More than one. And I plan on making it up to you. I’m sorry, Lena.”
I blinked away the sudden emotion fast enough to see a glimpse of the pain on his face before he kissed me. This was a gentle kiss. Soothing and apologetic. When he pulled back, I reached for him, slipping my hands around his shoulders, big as they were. “You’re not going anywhere?”
“No.” The promise in the single word was clear. It rang through me like a bell. So much that I squeezed him where he was still inside me, and he smirked down at me. “No, I’m not going anywhere.”
He pulled back only long enough to separate our bodies and dispose of the condom before he settled again, this time beside me where he could tuck me into his chest and still look down at me.
“I—” Swallowing, I pressed my forehead to his chest. “I don’t know what I’d like to know first. What made you decide to walk away, or what made you change your mind?”
Jude dragged a hand up my side, weaving a hand into my hair before he tugged me back far enough to see him. “I wanted to protect you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “From incredible sex?”
“No, from…” He sighed and closed his eyes. “From me.”
“What? How?”
He reached down and took one of my hands, moving it to his skin. A scar ran under my fingers. Of course he had scars—all the Resting Warrior men did. The ones across his back and chest, I’d already seen. This one was lower on his hip and thick. “I don’t understand.”
“I have nightmares,” he said gently. “More often than not, I wake up fighting my memories. I rip the sheets in half and punch the wall before I wake up. And I never want it to be you.”
My heart fluttered in my chest. Of all the reasons I’d considered and made myself sick thinking about, that wasn’t one of them. “I’d decided I was crazy,” I admitted. “That I’d been imagining us the whole time and making something up. Or that you’d simply changed your mind and just didn’t want me anymore.”
“Never.” The word was low and fervent. “Not for one second.”
