Chasing Serenity

by Ashley, Kristen

  And we talked again Tuesday evening while I packed to go back up, Judge teasing me throughout that I had a quota of only one bag he’d carry up the stairs for a two-night stay.

  I decided to get ready at his house for work on Friday, just to push my overnighter beyond capacity so I’d be forced to bring two.

  And as my getting-ready game was extreme, in the end, I was definitely at two.

  I received the same wakeup call Wednesday.

  I did it knowing, that night, I’d see him again.

  I was way beyond playing it cool.

  I couldn’t wait.

  And I didn’t consider the possibility of putting the effort into caring that I couldn’t.

  I did not hide it from Judge (who didn’t hide it either).

  And honestly?

  That was the most romantic of all.

  I selected an outfit for our date from my own store, it took no time to do so, I knew precisely what it should be.

  The perfect date outfit for Judge Oakley.

  A man who might not care about wisteria.

  But that didn’t matter in the slightest.

  Because he cared about me.

  Chapter 21

  The Petals

  Chloe

  The second time I woke in Judge’s bed, I did it for the same reason as the first.

  The bed had moved.

  My eyes fluttered open even as I reached, coming up empty, then watched, in shadow, as Judge got up, and he in his pajama bottoms silently made his way to the bathroom.

  He didn’t turn on the light until he’d closed the door.

  I snagged his pillow, claiming it, curling full body around it, letting the smell of him hit my senses, and I stared through the dark at the bathroom door.

  My date outfit was a bust.

  Not because Judge didn’t think it was cute, he did.

  No, because last night, when I arrived, he was standing in the doorway to the garage as his garage door opened after I hit the remote.

  I pulled in, shut down my Evoque, got out, and he didn’t move from his spot.

  “Hello,” I called, shifting to the backseat door to grab my things.

  “Touch your bags, I’ll spank your ass.”

  I stopped dead.

  “Come here,” he ordered.

  “I see someone had an early cocktail of bossy,” I remarked.

  However, I did this moving his way considering (and this likely came as no surprise) I was not a female who turned down a man carrying her bag for her.

  When I cleared my car, his gaze gave me a top to toe, though he lingered on the toe part.

  “Nice outfit,” he said offhandedly.

  I stopped in front of him, not surprised he was in jeans and an attractive, hunter-green button-down. Thus, I was right in expecting our date wouldn’t be formal because that just wasn’t Judge.

  “Please tell me this date involves food, because I’m starved.”

  “Sorry, doll,” he whispered, “I get to eat first.”

  This confused me.

  A lot of things were confusing me, since he was lounged in the doorjamb, arms and ankles crossed and unmoving.

  That unmoving part including not touching me or, say, kissing me hello.

  “Is Zeke here, one, and are you frozen in place, two?” I asked.

  At these words, he unfroze, his hand darting my way, catching mine.

  This wasn’t a sweet holding of hands.

  This was a capture and tug.

  As in, his fingers were tight around mine and I was being hauled into the house and up the stairs.

  More confusion.

  A good deal more.

  “Judge!” I snapped.

  We hit the landing by the kitchen, didn’t hesitate, and he dragged me through that floor to the main stairs.

  And we started up them.

  My confusion cleared.

  “Judge,” I whispered.

  As with the first, the second time I said his name, he didn’t respond.

  He didn’t say anything until we were in his room.

  He had a great bedroom. Large with a fireplace across from the foot of the bed that was made of an interesting mix of gray and brown bricks that went all the way up to the vaulted ceilings. Ceilings that were covered in tongue-and-groove.

  There were also these incredibly interesting low, wide, six-drawer dressers tucked in on either side of the fireplace that were made of distressed wood, and their handles looked like the old-fashioned leather grips from suitcases.

  Further, there was a chair and ottoman tucked in the corner on what, on our first night sleeping together, had been Judge’s side of the bed.

  An iron and wood chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling.

  And it was clear he simply bought the mushroom comforter, tan sheets and mushroom edged in navy and tan euro pillow shams (as well as all the accoutrement, including shammed standard pillows and a downy cream throw folded at the end) from a display in some department store (I would have done some mixing and matching, but it very much worked).

  He had a wall of windows and small balcony off my side of the bed, a TV hanging over the fireplace, a large complementary rug covering the wood floor, and on the wall, a magnificent, slightly impressionistic painting of a white horse bounded on the canvas in bold, primary colors that represented a forest.

  And now, there was a fire burning in the fireplace.

  But more…

  The wood mantel above it, the dressers, the bedstands were all covered in various size cream candles. All of them lit. The ottoman had a brass tray on it, on which there was an ice bucket filled with champagne and two flutes.

  Last, on my nightstand, there was an extraordinary bouquet of the palest pink roses I’d ever seen, and profuse petals of the same were scattered all over the bed.

  Profuse as in, they almost covered it.

  Champagne.

  Roses.

  And petals.

  It was clichéd.

  It was sappy.

  It was everything.

  I had a long moment to take it in before Judge’s hand in mine manipulated me to standing in front of him, then he walked forward, forcing me to move back.

  “I got a spread downstairs all laid out,” he said quietly, eyes to my mouth. “I’ll bring it up later.”

  “Okay,” I whispered.

  The backs of my legs hit the bed and we stopped.

  “Wracked my brain to come up with something special enough for you for our first date,” he murmured, still talking to my lips.

  Oh God.

  “Judge.”

  I’d never heard my voice that way, it was quivering with emotion.

  He lifted his gaze to mine.

  “There was nothing,” he declared. “And this is hokey as fuck, but I didn’t want some restaurant doing all the work. For you, I wanted the effort to be all mine.”

  Oh God.

  My God.

  There was no way to fight this time.

  My eyes filled with tears.

  His hands spanned my waist. “Now, I know I should feed you. But I can’t wa—”

  “If you don’t kiss me immediately, I’m going to expire.”

  I was going for authoritarian, but my voice was still quaky.

  His mouth quirked. “Can’t have that.”

  “Judge,” I snapped.

  He made me wait no longer.

  He kissed me, taking me down to the bed.

  I landed in the scent of Judge and roses and honestly, it was God’s perfect bouquet.

  His kiss was soft and languid and deep and wet.

  His body was warm and hard and weighty.

  And this, all of it, was exquisite.

  When I pulled his shirt out of his jeans to get my hands on his skin, he broke the kiss.

  “You wore the boots,” he murmured.

  I absolutely fashioned my entire outfit around the Jennifer Chamandi booties I’d worn when we first met.

 
; And it absolutely meant the world that he remembered them.

  “Mm,” I hummed.

  “So my baby can be corny too,” he whispered, the words meant to be a tease, but his expression, his tone were anything but.

  “I’m bronzing these boots,” I informed him haughtily to hide how deeply all this was affecting me.

  Because I knew how special he was. I knew how special he could be to me.

  But I didn’t plan for him to get even more special.

  “Thank fuck,” he replied.

  My brows inched together. “Thank fuck I’m bronzing these boots?”

  “Thank fuck every woman I was ever with blew it, so I’d end up right here, right now, with you.” He touched his mouth to mine. “The best,” he touched our lips again, “for last.”

  For last.

  No wonder he didn’t panic at the wisteria discussion.

  “You haven’t even had me yet, chéri,” I pointed out.

  “Are you the best?”

  “Of course,” I replied.

  “Yeah,” was all he said.

  Yes.

  That was all he said.

  And then he kissed me again.

  And he meant what he’d said.

  All he’d said.

  He intended our first time to be making love.

  And as often as the heat he was building in me, the need, made me try to tip things to go faster (much faster), Judge kept it slow.

  He kept us at tasting. Caressing. Uncovering. Stroking. Revealing. Exploring. Listening. Whispering.

  The fire crackled, and with each move, the crush of petals would send up an aroma of roses.

  This wasn’t making love.

  He’d already created it.

  We were just basking in it.

  So, obviously, that made the heat increase, the need build.

  And then the other thing he’d promised, that he would eat first, happened too.

  I was so in the zone, warm naked skin against warm naked skin, the taste of him in my mouth, the feel of him on my fingers, the scent of him, and roses in my nose, it was almost a surprise when his lips slipped across my belly as his hand pressed my legs wide.

  And he shifted down.

  Other things about what we were doing shifted then too.

  Enormously.

  His mouth wasn’t tentative, and it wasn’t about discovery.

  It was a bottom to top lash with his tongue dipping deep in between, and I stilled in response to the wonder of it.

  It wasn’t just that it felt amazing.

  It was a claim.

  It was a brand.

  The sultry feeling of my limbs slid away.

  Judge tossed my legs over his shoulders in preparation, a move in and of itself that had me bracing.

  And then he ate.

  Now that was just amazing.

  In but moments, I had an arm over my head, elbow bent, hand in the comforter, pushing me down on him, but Judge also had both his arms wrapped around my ass, pulling me down as he sucked and he licked and he nipped and his tongue thrusted.

  God, Judge Oakley made love with his hands.

  But he fucked with his mouth.

  “Honey,” I whimpered.

  He took one arm from around me, tucking his hand behind my knee, pushing it up and to the side, spreading me wide.

  Oh God.

  He then drew so hard on my clit, my entire body convulsed. I was pre-orgasm instantly.

  And I couldn’t wait.

  He lifted his head, but so I wouldn’t feel his loss, he slid a finger inside me, slowly stroking.

  Oh yes.

  “You don’t come without me inside you, Chloe, and I don’t mean my finger,” he growled from between my legs. “Can you take more?”

  No.

  “Yes,” I gasped.

  It was hot and amused when he asked, “Are you lying?”

  “No,” I said.

  Yes.

  He kept his finger inside me as he rolled my other leg off his shoulder and surged up over me.

  The instant he caught my eyes, I pouted.

  He grinned.

  After an outward stroke, the inward one was two fingers.

  My eyes went hooded.

  “I want us to come together, baby,” he said.

  “I want that too, Judge.”

  Eventually, perhaps the next round.

  “Come together and come together. You can come in my mouth later.”

  Oh my God.

  I was squirming, what with what his fingers were doing, what his mouth had done, the vision of the breadth of his muscled shoulders and that handsome face all I could see.

  Then there were the candles, rose petals, the awaiting champagne.

  I didn’t need him talking dirty.

  I used my hands on him, anywhere I could touch him, and ordered, “Then get on with it.”

  “I wanna eat you more.”

  “I want that too.”

  “You were about to go.”

  “I was not.”

  I so was.

  He started chuckling.

  “Judge!” I cried.

  He slid his fingers out but then used them to circle my clit.

  That was such delicious torture, I arced up into him.

  Not fair!

  “Fuck, didn’t think you could get more beautiful, but there it is,” he groaned.

  My hands were now moving on him desperately, trying to pull him to me.

  “Change my mind, gonna make you come and watch,” he said gruffly.

  I rubbed against his fingers, my own diving into his hair, and I used this hold to pull me closer to him.

  “Come inside,” I breathed.

  He added a thumb and gave me a gentle pinch.

  At the rocket of sensation that blasted through me, I mewed, and my hand fisted in his hair, my hips moving frantically.

  Judge turned his head to watch the work of his hand and murmured encouragingly, “Ride those, baby.”

  “Judge,” I gasped.

  His eyes came to mine.

  I felt my pussy contract at the heat in them.

  “You’re magnificent. Predictable and totally a surprise,” he growled.

  “Come inside.”

  “Keep riding.”

  At this point, I was not above begging.

  So I did.

  “Please, come inside.”

  He put more pressure on and my head fell back.

  “There we are,” he whispered, righted my head, kissed me deep, then he shifted.

  Using a knee to press my legs apart, he knelt between them, took his fingers from me, reached under a pillow and pulled out a condom.

  Yes.

  I sat up to get my hands on him, my mouth, but ran into a hand in my chest that pushed me back down.

  “Judge.”

  “Lie back.”

  “Judge.”

  He ripped the condom open with his teeth and then I was glad I was up on my elbows because I could watch him roll it on his lengthy, thick, hard cock.

  I hadn’t gotten a good look at that hefty dose of Judge’s beauty.

  I gave myself that as well as taking in his long torso, the veins popping in his biceps and forearms, the vee of muscles that acted as guideposts to treasure.

  That was where my eyes were resting when he fell forward into both hands on either side of me, did a push-up and kissed me in the middle of it with an added tongue sweep before his gaze locked to mine, and he whispered, “Guide me home, Chloe.”

  I didn’t make him ask twice.

  I found his cock, wrapped my hand around it, watching his jaw clench at my touch, his eyes darken, feeling a surge of power at his response, and I brought him home.

  I drew my hand away, and without hesitation, Judge slid all the way in on a single, slow, leisurely stroke.

  And then he was a part of me.

  He was mine.

  Lord, I might start crying again.

  When he’d filled m
e, taking him, having him, instinctively I wrapped my legs around his lower back.

  I did that tight.

  Like a vise.

  A claim.

  My brand.

  He stilled.

  I needed him to move.

  And I wanted us to stay just like this forever.

  “Taste good, honey, feel better,” he murmured.

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I was feeling too much.

  I just held on with my legs and lifted my hand to his face.

  I touched his cheek, his temple, his jaw, running a fingertip along the edge of his beautiful bottom lip.

  “Chloe.”

  I looked from his lips to his eyes.

  “Why is everything about you perfect?” I asked.

  He’d been holding steady, buried inside, connected to me.

  With that, it seemed he turned to stone.

  And then there was champagne in a bucket on the ottoman and rose petals under us, candles flickering, firelight dancing in the room.

  The perfect scene for Judge and me to learn each other intimately by making love.

  But we did not finish how we started.

  We finished fucking.

  He dropped his mouth to mine and took it in a shocking, bruising, savage, sensuous kiss that stole my breath away, this as he slammed inside with a velvety brutal pound that made me see stars.

  Oh yes.

  I panted against his tongue.

  He broke the kiss and ordered, “Unlock your legs.”

  “No,” I denied.

  “Unlock your fuckin’ legs, baby.”

  I didn’t.

  He slid completely out.

  I unlocked my legs.

  He then knifed up but only so he could flip me to my belly.

  Oh yes.

  This time he didn’t gently prod my legs apart, he kicked them apart with his knee.

  Then he lowered himself onto my back, and he was inside again, another long but far from languid stroke, he was thrusting deep.

  I whimpered against the bedclothes and tucked my ass in his groin.

  He took one of my hands, laced our fingers, and shoved them under my body, holding tight to me and giving himself leverage to fuck me harder.

  Something he did.

  His other hand he drove under me, going right for my clit.

  Heaven.

  “Judge,” I whispered.

  He bit my shoulder, my neck, my earlobe, each sting sharp and demanding, possessive and carnal.

  I shuddered underneath him.