by Carian Cole
I murmur a small moan and bow my head down to his, combing my hands through his long hair, gently tugging it in sync with the strokes of his tongue.
“Seeing you wet is so fucking sexy,” he breathes, gliding his finger slowly over the damp silk clinging to my parted lips. Tugging the fabric aside, he drags his lips down tantalizingly slow. His tongue finds me wet, open and waiting, and he plunges it inside, eliciting a cry of pleasure from my throat.
Without leaving the haven of my thighs, he reaches behind him and turns off the flowing water. I let out a sharp gasp when he moves his lips away and palms my hips, pulling me down until I’m flush against the hard bulge of him beneath his jeans with my breasts pressed against the stubble of his face.
There’s no doubt in my mind he’s finally feeling better.
I grip his wide shoulders for balance and grind myself over his hard cock, notching his length between the channel of my wetness. His fingers bite into my ass, coaxing me.
“God, you feel good,” I murmur, closing my eyes and slowly riding him, embracing the inhibition he awakens in me.
“Get your sweet ass in that tub.”
I lift my head to face him. “Are you coming with me?”
Mischief sparks in his eyes. “Fuck, yeah.”
I swing my leg over him and push my panties down to the floor, then pause, captivated by the flex of his thick biceps and the ridges of his abs as he undresses. The sight of his pipe-hard cock extending from the apex of his muscular thighs quickens my pulse.
He’s so sinfully beautiful. I could crumble and weep right here on the tile, knowing I will never touch him this way again, never feel his breath on my lips, never feel his body melt into mine.
Swallowing hard, I wet my lips. I can’t think of what will never be. All I have is now, and I want to savor it.
I avert my eyes to the steam rising from the tub and dip my hand into the water. “It’s still warm.”
“It’ll stay warm. The tub is heated.”
I smile with surprise, not knowing such a thing existed. “Very cool,” I say. “Do you have bubbles?”
He smirks. “Do I look like I have bubbles?”
I grab a bottle of shampoo from his shower. He watches with amusement as I turn the faucet back on and pour the shampoo into the water flow. Within seconds, bubbles cover the surface.
“You get in first,” I say, and when he carefully lowers his powerhouse of a body into the water, my heart swoons and flutters all over again. The man looks simply delicious—all muscle and ink surrounded by glistening bubbles.
I kneel next to the tub and lean over the edge, feeling like a curious kitten.
He licks his lips, and a slow, devious smirk spreads across his face. It’s obvious he loves the effect he has on me.
“I wish I could take your picture like this,” I say. “You look so. Fucking. Hot.”
“No pictures,” he says. “You want to see me like this? Take my clothes off.”
Laughing, I climb into the large tub, and the hot water sloshes as I settle between his legs. He snakes his arm around me, pulling me flush against his chest. I like that wants me close—keeping his arm around me, pressed against my bare breasts, with his hand cupping my shoulder. The water is warm, just shy of being too hot, but is incredibly soothing. I tip my head up to watch the snow falling on the skylight, feeling a bit of sorrow as each perfect little snowflake melts the very moment it lands on the heated glass.
How sad to fall so far, only to disappear as soon as the destination is reached.
“This is so beautiful and relaxing,” I say softly, almost afraid to break such perfect quiet. “I would be in here every night.”
He nuzzles his face into the side of my neck, beneath my ear. “You can come in here any time you want,” he whispers in a deep, seductive tone that makes my entire body quiver.
I lean into his soft touch. “I don’t think I’ll be doing that.”
Resting my hands on his thighs under the soapy water, I close my eyes and breathe in the steam wafting up around us. Behind me, Jude leans his cheek against the top of my head, and everything just feels right.
Calm.
Safe.
Content.
These are feelings I’ve been chasing for what seems like my entire young life. I thought the only way to feel those things was to be alone, but I was wrong.
I didn’t plan this sensual, romantic interlude tonight. For the past week I’ve been keeping things platonic between us because I thought it was the right thing to do. I’ve stayed focused solely on taking care of him, work, and my therapy. I’ve had to force myself to not touch him unless it was to help him when he was sore. I’ve resisted thinking about him or sending him cute text messages.
I’ve mentally scolded myself at least twenty times a day when I’ve almost given in to the impulse to touch his hand or kiss his cheek.
I’ve held back from snuggling up to him on the couch with Cassie and Gus.
I’ve caught him doing it too—leaning in as if he’s going to kiss me, then suddenly backing away. I’ve felt his eyes on me as I’ve moved around the house.
We’ve forced a separation. But why?
Because of our age difference?
Because of our fears?
Because I felt intimidated by his past?
Because my father convinced me it’s wrong?
None of it seems to matter anymore.
Since we met, every touch, every kiss, every talk between us has come naturally. Effortless in every way. Without motive or expectation.
Isn’t that the way things are supposed to be?
Nothing has ever felt more unnatural and wrong than forcing myself to stay away from Jude.
At night, I lie in bed and ask myself what the hell I’m doing. What we’re doing. The answers used to be so clear.
I’m afraid of getting hurt. I have a deep-seated need to feel free—to have an easy escape. I don’t ever want to trust another person again who might let me down.
But distancing from Jude has unexpectedly fragmented my heart. The mere thought of not having him in my life terrifies me. Not because I’m afraid of being free—I’ve been free since I was eleven years old. But because being with Jude makes me feel complete and whole. Like I’m where I belong.
I believe what he said in the necklace message, and I think Jude is the one who will stay with me. I believe that in my soul and in my bones.
I no longer want to live on the verge of a quick escape plan. I want to go through the rough times with him, rather than running away.
And I especially want to go through the good times with him.
I want the wedding vows to be real. I want us to live them and honor them with our whole hearts, and see where life takes us together.
But I need him to want those things too. And I’m still not sure that he does.
“You okay?” he asks, stroking his damp thumb along my cheek.
I wonder how long I was lost in my thoughts.
“Yes… just enjoying being with you and watching the snow fall.”
He takes a breath so deep I feel his chest press against my back. “I miss you,” he says quietly.
I close my eyes, understanding his words. Being in the same place is not the same as being together.
“I’ve missed you, too.”
Pushing my damp hair to the side, he kisses the back of my neck, open-mouthed, hungry, and possessive. His hands move in the water to cup my breasts, squeezing and pushing them together, pinching my nipples between his fingers until they burn and tingle. I arch my back, pushing my tits into his palms and my ass against his cock. He groans wildly in my ear as his hot shaft slides easily against my flesh in the soapy water.
My head falls back against his shoulder and I turn to kiss his neck, nipping at him with my teeth. Water splashes as his hand dives between my thighs like a shark. Two thick fingers zero in on my G-spot, curving upward with precision and rubbing rhythmically. Whimpering, I grip the sides
of the tub to steady myself as I rock back and forth, thrusting up into his hand, then back against the ridge of his cock.
He grasps the side of my face and turns me to him. Our lips clash, breathless and needy. He crosses his legs over mine, pinning me down. My body is buzzing, my hips rolling up and down, back and forth. The tip of his thick cock pushes between my ass cheeks, nudging my pulsing entry. I suck his tongue into my mouth, crazy hungry to devour any part of him I can get. Inside me, his fingers swirl against my walls, his thumb perfectly positioned over my swollen clit, flicking and circling me into a trembling frenzy. I push my body harder against his hand and his cock, needing him to fill me and give me release from this sweet torture.
He pulls his mouth from mine. “You’re begging me to fuck that ass, aren’t you?” he growls.
Euphoria has taken over my mind and body like a drug. At this point he can climb into any hole he wants and live inside me forever. “I want you…” I murmur.
Clutching my hair in his fist, he pulls my head back to stare into my eyes. “I want you, too.” He slowly drags his nose down the length of mine. “Put your legs over the sides of the tub,” he whispers.
He untangles his legs from mine, grabs me beneath my knees, and bends each of my legs up over the edge of the tub, spreading me wide over him. I grasp the slippery sides of the porcelain as he lifts me by my hips, positions me over his cock, then lowers me down onto him.
“Holy shit,” I gasp as he spears my pussy hard and deep.
Cupping my ass with one hand, he guides me up and down his shaft while his other hand reaches between my thighs, circling and lightly slapping my clit.
I feel his lips on my wet back, kissing a trail up my spine to the curve of my neck. His breath is ragged, matching mine, as we move faster and harder, splashing hot water around us in waves as my body plunges deliciously down onto his.
When he whispers my name in a deep, erotic groan, it vaults me into a shuddering orgasm. He suddenly pulls himself out of me, and I fall back onto him with a cry as his cock throbs and releases in thick, hot spurts against my ass.
Lingering in post-orgasmic haze, I pull my sore legs into the tub and turn over to straddle him. He looks incredibly sexy and sated, leaning back against the tub—eyes hooded, long hair clinging to his forehead, misted with sweat and steam.
His grin is all drowsy and satisfied. “I think I’m dead.”
Still panting for breath, I cup his face in my hands and kiss him long and soft, not wanting the intimacy to end here.
“Are you okay?” I ask against his lips, worried that we’ve made his back worse.
He pushes my wet hair from my flushed face and kicks the tub stopper with his foot. “I’m fine. But bath time’s over,” he says. Taking the hint, I reluctantly start to climb out, but he pulls me back in for another kiss. “The night doesn’t have to be, though.”
I raise my eyebrow. “It doesn’t?”
He shakes his head back and forth, flinging droplets of water from the tips of his hair. “Stay with me tonight.”
My heart jumps. Since we live in the same house, that can only mean one thing. “Stay… in your bed? All night?”
“Yeah.” He inhales a steady breath and slowly exhales, locking his steely eyes on mine. “I don’t want you to leave.”
I take a moment to answer. The swirl of the water draining from the tub is the only sound between us. It gurgles and sputters, just like my brain right now.
It’s special—spending the night together. It’s an epic level of intimate trust, to fall asleep next to someone in the dark, in his bed. Breathing next to him, asleep and vulnerable. At least, to me it is. And I know tomorrow night when I’m down the hall in my own room again, I’m going to be thinking about him, aching for him, wishing we weren’t sleeping a hallway apart.
But despite that, I’d rather have our night together than never have it.
“Okay,” I finally say. “I don’t want me to leave, either.”
Jude winces as he climbs out of the tub and wraps a towel around his hips. I follow him to the bedroom, also in a warm, fuzzy towel. The hot water and the even hotter sex has made my limbs feel wobbly. I sit at the foot of his bed and watch him lose the towel and pull on a pair of boxers.
Something about me puts a smile on his face as he takes a white T-shirt from his dresser and hands it to me.
“What?” I ask. “You’re making a weird face.”
He laughs. “You just look adorable sitting there, like you’re not sure what to do with yourself.”
“Accurate.” I change into his shirt—which is thin and soft from years of wear, and I never want to give it back—and take our towels into the bathroom, so they’re not sitting around wet. When I come back, he’s lying in bed, propped against a bunch of pillows.
“Should I turn off the light?” I ask, wondering how it’s possible that I felt more comfortable spread-eagled in a bathtub riding his dick than I do getting into his bed with him.
His eyes narrow curiously at me. “Sure.”
I switch off the light and join him on the bed, copying his pillow formation. I’m surprised when he turns on the television and puts on a streaming music channel.
He puts the remote on the night table, then pulls me to him. I turn slightly and lay my palm flat on his chest.
“You can come closer,” he says, laughing a little as he pulls my hand so my arm is around his waist and my body is curved into his. He touches his bare foot to mine and rubs it slowly up and down the arch of my foot. “Why are you acting so nervous? Would you rather not be here?”
I really don’t want to be anywhere else but here. Unfortunately, a case of insecurity has just suddenly taken over. Does being in bed with a man mean we’re here to have sex? Do we talk first? Do we just go to sleep? What happens in the morning? Is it like eating dinner, where you don’t leave the table until everyone is done eating?
Ugh.
Apparently, being eighteen with a thirty-four-year-old man actually does have its hiccups.
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do,” I admit awkwardly.
“Just be you. You’re not ever supposed to do—or be—anything else.” He tightens his arm around me. “Except happy. Always be happy.”
“I’m very happy.” For now, at least.
“I am, too.” His lips press against the pulse of my temple. “There aren’t any rules or expectations—especially with me. I only want to be close to you.”
I nod and move my fingertip over the tattoo on his rib cage.
“I just thought it’d be nice to sit and talk,” he says.
“Okay. I’m sorry I’m acting strange.”
“It’s all right,” he says.
Rolling onto his side, he pulls the blanket up over us, and leans his head on his arm to look down at me.
In the background Wildfire sung by Michael Martin Murphey is drifting from the TV. It reaches back into my memories and pulls out a mental snapshot of me as a little girl hearing this song while staying at my grandparents, feeling safe and loved.
I want that again.
Jude bows down and kisses my lips—soft, sweet, and long, taking his time, making love to my mouth in a dreamy way that completely steals my breath and sends my heart into flutters. Such a stark contrast to the hungry, demanding kisses we shared earlier in the tub.
I’m captivated by the hard and soft sides of him—rough in just the right moments, but so incredibly gentle in the perfect moments, too. Jude may not talk much, but his touch speaks a thousand words.
He pulls away a few inches and I look up at him with his hair falling down over his face, tickling my cheek.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” he says softly. “Especially when things were rocky between us.”
“None of that changes how much I care about you.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he says. “About you, and me, and everything.”
My heart shift gears and pounds with uncertainty and anxie
ty. He’s finally going to open up about his feelings.
“I wish things weren’t complicated, Skylar. I wish you hadn’t gotten hurt so much in all of this. I wish people didn’t look at me like I’m some kind of fucking predator. I wish you weren’t bullied into leaving school. I wish I could feel the way I do about you, and touch you, without feeling like I’m doing something wrong and I’m gonna rot in hell someday. I don’t blame you at all for wanting to leave and get away from all this.”
He traces the tip of his finger over the two-inch scar on my forehead—delicately, as if he’s afraid my head will split open—then softly presses his lips to it. Closing his eyes, he stays that way, inhaling and exhaling with slow deliberation. Finally, he pulls away. “I want you to have a life like a girl your age should, to have adventures, away from here. I don’t want to hold you back. Sometimes I wonder why I couldn’t have met you when you were older. It’s fucking shredding me, trying to win this feud of rights and wrongs with you.” The raw remorse and lost hope in his voice has a heartbreaking finality to it.
He hides his feelings so well that I was unaware how deeply everything has been affecting him. It’s not fair, because all he wanted to do was help me. Things never should’ve gone the way they have, and I’m partly to blame for it.
I reach up and push his hair out of his face. There’s so many things I want to say—and should say. But what can I possibly say that won’t make him feel worse?
If I tell him I want to be with him, he’ll feel even more guilty. And if I tell him I don’t want to be with him, that’ll hurt him, too.
The last thing I ever want to do is hurt him.
I force the brightest smile I can, and wrap my arms around his neck.
“Then I guess I’ll be coming back for you when I’m older,” I say, hoping to give us a doorway into the future.
“You better,” he says with a growl, then rolls me onto my side and pulls my back up against his hard chest, molding our bodies and entwining our legs together under the blanket.
“Good night, Sparkles,” he says, brushing his warm lips over my ear, then resting his cheek against the top of my head.
