Judas Bane

by Hera August

  There is no going back.

  How can her world ever go back to being normal?

  “I can’t...” Her cry comes against his mouth, her lips quivering and dipping in between the slit of his mouth that opens in await for hers. “I can’t, even if I tried,” she gasps.

  She goes to finish what he’s trying to torment her with by inching her head and mouth up at once, but when her lips make contact with his, Judas takes charge, leaning the full weight of his desire in his kiss. She thinks he will be brutal, seducing her with hard unforgiving strokes of his tongue, demanding her to open herself up to him and take ample advantage of her innocence.

  She will like that.

  She doesn’t know why exactly, but his forcefulness is so intoxicating—mind-numbing—she is helpless but to follow his lead willingly. His patience, his burning need for her, is evident in every whispering tremble of his touch—and that is enough.

  But she isn’t ready for this.

  Judas is gentle. His mouth against hers is so gentle, she barely feels the sweet capturing lead of his lips between hers. His mouth comes and falls away like a beckoning call to her insides, pressing her senses against the surface of her in a throb that pulses low and quick. Her hands come up, clutching his hair as they beg through his dark silky strands.

  Butterfly-soft, he kisses her once, one way, skims her nose as he slants the other way to start the kiss all over again. His face seems to circle hers as he dips and teases her into the hypnotizing steps of his captivation. Then she comes closer, opening her mouth, catching his lips, and he immediately deepens the kiss to a severity that stuns her into submission as both their mouths remain open and their tongues dominate their actions.

  Judas’ one hand is steady, cupping her teetering head while the other compresses different parts of her body; squeezing the soft side of her back, traveling down and grabbing at her hips so greedily into his palm, it’s like he wants to take it with him. Her hands are no less busy, working off pure compulsion as she curls her fingers in his thick luscious hair, grabbing at the sides of his head and then going to the back to bring him so close, she can feel the imprint of his face on hers.

  Both their breaths pick up. The sweater-vest she’s wearing feels like a dissolvable fabric against the heated skin of his chest. Like he is fire and she is snow, melting into him, becoming consumed by him to the point where she doesn’t know where she begins or ends, without his touch on her.

  The rough friction of his tongue slows, finding a new speed, one that is generous as he strokes her again and again, the same way, repeatedly, in a design to make her faint. And just when she thinks she will, Judas switches, relieving pressure, then moves slightly another way, and the magnetic pull starts all over again.

  Not willing to break any sort of physical connection, Judas leans his forehead against hers in a silent message that has her following the lead of his utopian body to the rug beneath them. Eyes shut, Belle falls blindly against the pillows behind her, their mouths fused together like they’re melded that way by their kiss.

  With his one hand, Judas grabs at the back of his shirt from his neck and pulls it over his head, allowing only the small moment of absence from her mouth because of necessity. She takes the small second to gulp for air, but it isn’t long enough to even draw a full breath. Judas is everywhere; over her, so near she can’t breathe without grazing him. His solid body barricades hers, the hardness of his chest burning a hole through the paper-thin wall of her clothing. He kisses her cheek tenderly, washing away the ache there, then the cut on her lip before skittering farther toward her ear.

  She holds her moan in, knowing it will break the glassware if she ever allows herself to relish in the pleasures he is inflicting on her. The heated moisture of his mouth encloses around the dangling flesh of her ear, suckling just loud enough for her to hear.

  Her stomach caves in, an avalanche of need robbing her senses blind of anything else but him. His weight presses into her so deeply, she can hear his heart beat against her chest, feel the tremble of his knees as she pushes out her pelvis in an unmistaken message.

  He hears it.

  Using his knee, he parts her legs and she welcomes his body by wrapping her limbs around his middle in a tight, heady embrace.

  “Belle...” he groans her name against the side of her face, his body pulsing like a tightly coiled spring that is about to burst from the pressure.

  All she can do is breathe against his satiny tan shoulder and squeeze her eyes shut. She feels the subtle gesture of his hips move against her center, rub slowly up, and press her right where she is throbbing with sensitivity, and withdraw back only to come a second time. Harder. Stronger.

  Belle encourages him, lifting her bottom from the ground and following his movements eagerly. With one hand she finds the trail of his spine, and using the pad of her fingers she presses her body deeper into his, wanting more of his strokes.

  Hungry for him, she widens her legs and immediately feels the steel hot thickness of his erection. The length and width of him seems to bury itself, even with his jeans on, inside her; grazing the delicate nub of hers at a tempo that is draining her of restraint.

  She cranes her neck back as his lips explore the distance between her ear and the flesh of her throat. He’s making that sucking noise again and the feasting sound carries such an enjoying timbre, it makes the wetness of her private heat up. She is going to come right there.

  His lips sink lower, the top hairs of his head an erotic tickle against her chin. There is a small scoop at the lining of her top in front, and he pulls it down, trying to nudge the cloth away, but the impatient tug sends a tearing noise ripping through the room. His lusty gaze—half-lidded and drunk on her—lifts, and she shoves the sweater-vest farther down, along with her flimsy undershirt, until the white globe of one breast pops out for him.

  God, she is so desperate for Judas, she isn’t even acting in character. Where is the meek, shy girl who barely shows her shins to the world, forget about her breasts? The tiny miniscule thought makes her a little stiff, her body clenching under him. He feels it, reads her mind, but doesn’t stop as he rasps, kissing the spot between her breasts, “Don't.” He shakes his head, opening his mouth to kiss her again. “Whatever you're thinking—don't." It isn’t a request. He’s demanding her to obey to his will.

  And whatever she’s thinking, thaws into a shadow of nothing when her whole body goes limp in his strong, muscled arms. With his chin, he pushes the white cotton of her bra away, exposing a sharp rosy nipple. It stands up, aroused, begging for his mouth, his tongue, and he doesn’t hesitate to oblige her silent urges.

  His tongue licks the protruding flesh first, skimming it lightly, making her back arch for deeper access into his mouth. She moans, squeezes her mouth shut, dying for the hard penetration of his slick wetness—but he ignores her, circling her red bud sluggishly in a taunting manner that makes her want to rip her hair from its root. It actually hurts, the pleasure is so immense.

  Just when she is about to scream, Judas traps the jutting flesh between his lips. And he sucks on her. He sucks so hard and so long, her mind goes blank, blackening out. His tongue alone is lapping her up, making her mouth go dry. He corners the tiny nub, pinching her senseless. The momentous, endless sensations, ripples up and down her arms, liquefying her boneless, saturating her underwear until his long thick cock embeds into her to the point where she can feel the straining pulse of him burning through all barriers.

  It isn’t until he begins to move against her again that she realizes all this feeling is building to something. His hips buck against her recklessly, and his mouth comes back to hers, kissing her with an erotic hungriness that slaughters whatever sense of reserve she has left. The fingers of his one hand enfold to the shape of her bottom, cupping and lifting her from the floor to meet and reply to the urgency of need his body demands of hers.

  Belle doesn’t falter as she finds and meets his possessed pace, gripping the skin of his
back and hearing his grunts split the air around them. His other hand plucks at her uncovered breast, his thumb and finger toying mercilessly with the reddened mound.

  “Oh, Judas…” The sensations pile upon her, sending her forward, swaying her like she’s crashing in an ocean in the middle of a great storm. Instinctively, her hand comes up to shield her cries, but Judas is faster, grabbing her wrist and pinning it to the floor.

  “No,” he whispers, in a hoarse moan, his hot breath puffing against her mouth as his eyes burn for her to try and defy him. “No. I wanna hear you come, Belle."

  Those words spur something to life inside her. The heat in her stomach blooms and spreads, and a burst of streaming electricity rivers through her, plummeting her from every angle of her body. Her veins dilate and swell in her as her whole body unfurls and tidal waves. Her soul feels like it’s floating away from her body.

  “Oh, Judas!” Her blind cry rips through both of them.

  The buzz of liquid intensity courses in between the curves of her body, hard and persistent, shooting up her blood flow and growing dormant for a moment, only to crescendo out of nowhere. Judas grinds into her like a man crazed.

  “Judas,” she gasps as a new, stronger, fiercer rush floods her. The walls of her private heat juices and shakes, rocketing her immobile. Like a puppet, she jerks under him, an innocent bystander to his relentless mastering power.

  When the riotous tingles finally subside, Belle lies spent under Judas, sweaty and shaky, coughing on the anew soreness of her throat, and blushes instantly when she realizes why it’s there.

  He’s kissing the side of her neck, small soft kisses, meant to soothe and highlight what they’ve both just experienced together. His mouth works its way up her throat, kissing the indents of her half-open mouth. “Not enough,” he rasps against the swollen flesh of her lip, nipping her sweetly as he demands, “I want to taste you as you come for me.” Her mouth stretches into a languid smile, her mind adrift to her actions. Her fingers stroke the swell of his cheek, urging him to keep going.

  “Judas... What about you?” She trembles beneath him, thrilled and shocked by the amount of stamina in him as he advances on her, deepening the kiss in one thorough push of his tongue. She doesn’t fight him, doesn’t want to. He feels so good, so warm and big above her. She never wants it to end. “Judas...” Her eyes close as his teeth skim her bottom lip, suckling on the soft flesh. “Make love to me,” she whispers against his mouth.

  Instead of the eager willingness she expects, Judas turns to stone. Removing himself from her, he sits up for the first time, brushing his fingers through his mussed hair, panting and breathless. She follows him, sitting up as well, climbing to her knees and reaching out to him, even though all her soreness seems to re-enter her at that moment.

  "I… What's wrong?” she asks meekly, watching the silent war brewing in his eyes. “Judas?"

  Head hung, he exhales a breath, licking his lips before covering them with his hand, as if he’s trying to hold on to the feel of their kisses. He runs his fingers through his head again, his eyes burning with a mysterious quandary as he fixes a look at the fireplace. And not at her.

  The flames of the fire behind her, mirror in his eyes. Shadows of his desire for her, kindle, but holds at bay. “I can't,” he replies in a ragged breath, as if it’s against his will. “You need to know who I am.” His eyes sweep her again, torturing her with the sight of his rippling aroused body. “You need to know the whole truth.”

  HE NEEDS TO SIFT THE BASTARDS OUT.

  Cut them off by the knees. Make an example of them. And have them suffer for their treachery.

  There’s more than one betrayer in Vladimir’s midst, and he’s going to use any means necessary to make that happen.

  He presses speed-dial Three. It’s finally time for action, and Vladimir’s blood is boiling to the highest degree under his silk blue shirt.

  “Roman."

  “The fuck you doin’?" Vladimir spits.

  “Yeah, I was just about to call you, Boss. On my way back.”

  “Find anything?"

  “Judas is here."

  “Yeah?"

  “But he ain’t alone, Boss."

  Vladimir pauses, all motion inside him stops like freeze-frame. “Who’s with him?"

  “A girl… Boss, she fucking matches the description you gave me...” There’s a short bout of silence before Roman continues his report. “Got quite close to her and uh, Boss... got a real good look at her—fucking hot! Seriously, you should see the ass—"

  "Roman! Fuck’s sakes."

  "Sorry, Boss, sorry."

  "What happened? What else you see?"

  "Uh… She nearly caught me..."

  Vladimir feels his veins pop. "You'd better. Not fucking tell me. You let her see you," he says though clenched teeth.

  “She… didn’t see me, sir?”

  “Is that the truth?” Vladimir sighs hotly.

  "I, uh, dunno, sir. She started running like a bitch and she, uh, fell and hit a rock."

  "And?"

  "And... I was gonna kill her in case she saw me but then Judas fucking came… Boss, this girl and Judas... they’re… they seem like they’re real fucking close."

  “Close?” Vladimir says the word like a curse.

  “Judas carried her back to the house like some fucking superhero and I followed. Kept watch all night and, uh, they started doing nasty shit to each other like—”

  “Roman! Don't need to hear how you got off tonight. Get the fuck back here and bring that piece-of-shit Luis to me."

  “Tate?"

  “Did I fucking ask for Tate? No. Just bring Luis."

  “Is something happening?”

  “Yeah, something's going to happen,” Vladimir answers with a deceptive sliver in his voice. “Something big.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  CLUTCHING THE FABRIC of her sweater-vest and hauling the neckline up, Belle ignores the warm measured stare that Judas gives and strives to control some semblance.

  “The truth…? The truth about what, Judas?"

  His eyes are back on her mouth, aimed in sorrow and hunger, a combination that confuses her and makes her groan inside for him. For a tear-drop-of-a-second, she wonders if he’s going to kiss her again. His eyes hold the same yearning: darkly enigmatic, but unreachably dedicated to her. Only her.

  Instead, he stands up and walks out of the room in short confident strides. She watches, perplexed and dizzy with the acknowledgement of what’s just happened between them. On this very floor.

  The short absence allows Belle time to regain the little composure her frazzled nerves require, flattening her hair and lifting the scoop of her neckline. But the pillows scattered around her, the light tingling on her skin from where he had kissed her, and the wet ache between her legs, refuse to let her forget.

  Judas heads back with a cloth in his hand. Sitting in front of her, his bent knee touches hers, just like before, when all the insaneness had started. He hovers over her, lifting the damp cloth to her face. Caught-off-guard, Belle flinches, retreating a few inches from his paused hand in mid-air.

  “Your lip… I mean…” he says, and the raw uncertainty in his voice makes a thrill leap in her stomach to kiss him. “…The cut on your lip is bleeding."

  “Oh...” Feeling silly, she sighs, drawing her lips together. Judas cups the edge of her jaw lightly. His wipe against her is so soft, she wouldn’t have felt it if not for the fire his touch always carries. She can’t help but stare into his face as his concentration seems to be otherwise occupied.

  “Did I hurt you?” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to be so—"

  “No,” she cuts through, unable to stop from relishing in his bashfulness. He is adorably gorgeous when gentle, shy. She hasn’t seen this side to him before; like he’s revealing a secret part of himself. “No, Judas,” she whispers, her mouth curving up. Her smile brings his thumb closer to the entrance of her mouth. They both seem to notice at the
same time.

  “I didn’t mean for this... this…” he trails off, his brow deepening. Belle’s heart pounds in her chest. Her throat tightens. “This doesn't mean anything."

  “Oh...” Her face drops along with her heart. “Oh... I see—"

  “No,” he adds, shaking his head and lifting her chin in one swoop. "You don’t."

  Her chin begins to wobble in his hands, and she hates the sting that paralyzes her lungs as she warns with desperation, “Don't play games with me. Don't."

  “I'm not,” he says, in as much agony as she is in. He leans his head toward hers, but her eyes set down.

  She yanks her chin out of his hand and he lets her. “Then what do you want from me?” she rasps. “Just tell me.” She shakes her head faintly. “You’re tearing me apart, Judas."

  After a long, agonizing minute of harsh silence, he admits in a gruff voice, “You confuse me."

  A nervous laugh escapes her mouth. “You're no better, Judas. You want me, then you don't. You act like you care, and then you tell me it's just that—an act. Then when I think I'm nothing to you, nothing but some means-to-an-end, you… you do this. What am I suppose to think?"

  His chest rises higher than normal, but he doesn’t respond. Judas gazes unrelenting at her. He doesn’t appear to have heard her, caught up in something she can’t see.

  “I want to know,” she says with determination, despite her fear of the answer. “You asked me what I want. What about you, Judas. What do you want?"

  “I...” His eyes blaze into hers, seizing time and space, and then lets go. Ripping through his hair, in one sweep of his fingers, his answer comes robotically, “I want to make sure Vladimir doesn’t get to hurt you. Nothing's gonna happen to you while you're with me. I swear."

  “That's it? That's all?"

  “I can't…” When she goes to stand, his hand snakes around her wrist, pulling her back to the floor, almost onto his lap. “Belle,” he rasps. His eyes capture hers in a stern glare that keeps her in place. “This isn't easy. There's a lot you don't know."

  “Like?"