Fool For You (Made for Love Book 4)

by R. C. Martin

  “And people are your usual subjects?” I ask, plating our food.

  “Yeah. I mean, if I’m out on a hike by myself, I’ll take some nature pics; but I like capturing a moment in someone’s life that they’ll never get back. That, in and of itself, is art. At least, I think so.” She shrugs as she takes her seat, and I study her a moment, intrigued by her answer. When she catches me staring, she blushes before she asks, “What?”

  I shake my head slowly and then head back toward the kitchen, setting aside the empty baking dish before heading to the pantry. “Wine? I have chardonnay.”

  “Yes, please.” She waits patiently at the table as I retrieve the bottle and open it up, grabbing two glasses before taking the seat opposite her. “Thank you,” she murmurs as I finish pouring her glass. “For dinner, I mean. It smells wonderful.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “So, you know my favorite hobby. What’s yours?”

  “Golf.”

  “Oh. Duh. I knew that. You play with your Aunt Eddalyn, right?”

  “And Benjamin, when we can.”

  “I’ve never been on a golf course,” she says, spearing a potato with her fork before popping it into her mouth.

  “Never?” I ask, my eyes glued to her lips as she slides her fork free.

  For a second, my mind wanders, and I imagine how breathtaking she would look with my cock in her mouth—her big eyes open wide, gazing up at me.

  “Judah?”

  “What?” I ask, my eyes snapping up to meet hers. I ignore the erection pressing against the seam of my pants and try concentrating on the food in my mouth.

  “I asked if I might be able to tag along sometime? If it’s not any trouble. I wouldn’t play, of course.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I say, clearing my throat. As I take another bite, I realize I’m not entirely sure what I just agreed to. What I do know is, I’m ready to be done with dinner. I can barely taste it, my mind set on the promise of tonight’s festivities. I’m ready to unleash her wild.

  After dinner, I help Judah clean up the kitchen. I’m feeling super chatty, and I can’t seem to shut up. I know it’s because I’m trying to combat my nerves, only it’s not working. When we’re finished, and I head for my camera bag and reach for my most prized possession, I finally start to relax.

  “So, how does this work?” he asks, as he joins me in his living room, setting down what’s left of our wine with our glasses from dinner.

  “Um, I don’t want you to think about it.”

  He lifts an eyebrow at me, his face clearly expressing his confusion.

  “You’re hanging out with me,” I say, slipping my feet from out of my Toms as I head for the couch. I curl my legs underneath me and point at the space in front of me. “Sit. Talk to me.”

  “And, what? Pretend you don’t have a camera in my face?”

  “Exactly!” I reply with a grin.

  He sighs but obediently sits down, extending one of his arms across the back of the couch. “And what would you like me to talk about?”

  “How about…Pride and Prejudice.”

  He flashes a sly smile my way and—click—I’m quick to capture the moment. I don’t bother looking at the digital image that appears on the display screen because he moves and I’m too busy looking for my next shot.

  “What is it about Darcy that you like so much?” he asks, propping his right ankle over his left knee.

  He’s wearing a pair of tan khakis, his wrist watch secured above his hand with a brown, leather band, and his feet are bare. In his polo shirt, his forearms are left uncovered. This is as causal as Jude gets, unless he’s sleeping, and if I sit up on my knees, and angle the camera above his crossed legs….

  Click.

  “Well, I like that he doesn’t know what to do with his feelings,” I begin, sitting back on my heels. “He wants Elizabeth long before he’s willing to admit it; and while he seems like this cold, rude guy on the outside, that’s not who he is at all. Except, very few people know that. And his asshole tendencies come from past pain. He loves hard and he protects who he loves. And…” My voice trails off into nothing at the sight of the contemplative look on Jude’s face.

  Click.

  “And what?” he asks.

  I let out a small laugh as I shrug. “And I could go on and on. It’s like I told you—I think he’s lovely. Classic, fictional, gentleman hero.”

  “I suppose he was all right. He’s no Tyler Durden.”

  “Oh, my gosh,” I gush, bringing my camera to my lap. “Such good writing! I mean—I’ve seen the movie. I knew what was going on, but it still blew my mind.” He chuckles, a grin spreading across his face, and I gasp, quickly lifting my lens.

  Click.

  “Poor Marla, though. Talk about playing a girl hot and cold.”

  “Hmm,” he hums, looking right at me. “Speaking of being hot…”

  I sit frozen, my stomach suddenly full of a million little butterflies as he reaches behind his head and starts to pull off his shirt. I watch, a small voice in the back of my head begging me to capture this moment for posterity—but I can’t move. I wasn’t expecting our conversation to take this turn, and my nerves from before are back in full force.

  “Wh—what are you doing?” I manage.

  “I don’t really want to talk about Marla—about Tyler playing her hot and cold,” he begins to say, leaning toward me. “There’s another girl I’d like to play with, instead.”

  He takes my camera from my hand and reaches around me to set it on the end table behind me. To avoid the contact of his skin, I lean out of his way, easing my legs out from under me as I descend onto my back. The look he gives me when his gaze drops down on me is like a statement—I’m exactly where he wants me.

  He’s so close, I can feel the heat of his skin, and he smells so good. So. Good. My lungs shrink, in that way they do only around him, and then he’s kissing me. As his tongue twists with mine, he maneuvers himself between my legs. Suddenly, my dress seems non-existent, and I can’t tell if the warmth at my center is his or mine—either way, I know he’s the cause of it, and my heart is beating so fast in anticipation of what comes next.

  “Remember our deal, Teddy,” he mutters, dragging his lips down my neck. He places a hand at my knee, and as his fingers graze their way up my thigh, he kisses his way toward my ear. “Anywhere I want.”

  “I remember,” I say, my voice both shaky and soft.

  “I want to put my fingers inside of you. I want to feel you come around me, Teddy. I need to fuck you—do you hear me? I’ve played by your rules. I’ve waited too long.”

  “Wait,” I insist, pressing my trembling hands against his chest. He pulls away just enough for me to be able to see into his eyes—but that’s all I need. I only need to be able to look at him, to see him as I ask, “You’ll stop if I tell you to, right?”

  “You’re not going to tell me to stop, Teddy, I promise you that,” he replies, his fingers now tracing their way up the inside of my thigh.

  “But—but you will?” I stutter.

  He nods. “Now, can I touch you?”

  “Yes.” The word comes out barely above a whisper, but that’s all he needs.

  Before I can take my next breath, his hand is in my panties, and his fingers are trailing along the seam of my center. It isn’t until he touches me that I realize how wet I am, and a soft moan slips out of me as he caresses my clit.

  “Fucking hell, Teddy,” he groans before pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

  I wrap my arms around him, sinking my fingers into his hair before griping hold of him. My whole body feels like it’s on fire. He’s barely grazed the surface, and I’m already so turned on I feel like I might combust at any moment. Then, he slips a finger inside of me, and a long whimper sounds from my throat as I arch my back, needing to be closer to him.

  “Goddamn—you’re so tight!” He eases in another finger, and it’s all I can do to keep breathing. “You’re so wet—so
fucking wet, just for me,” he mutters before crashing his lips against mine.

  He kisses me long and hard, his fingers pumping in and out of me. As I cling to him, I’m aware of two things: he was right, and I was wrong. He was right when he told me that I wouldn’t tell him to stop. I don’t want him to stop—not ever. But I was wrong when I thought that his touch would feel amazing. It isn’t amazing. It’s more. It’s unreal. I can’t even think of any words to describe it. All I know is that I don’t want this feeling to ever end.

  When he grazes my clit with his thumb, it’s as if he’s lit a fuse. I gasp, pulling my mouth away from his as the tingling pressure in my lower belly intensifies. “Judah,” I moan, my eyes drooping closed.

  “Open your eyes, Teddy. Open your eyes and come—come for me.”

  I do as he says. I open my eyes, and the second my gaze locks with his—his grey eyes smoldering—I feel my insides tighten and flutter around him. I cry out, too lost in pleasure to feel embarrassed, and he groans, continuing to pump in and out of me until I’ve ridden out my climax.

  My grip around him loosens as my whole body goes slack and he pulls out of me. He then traces his soaked fingers around my lips. Startled, I jerk at his touch, and he smirks at me before he licks my lips clean and plunges his tongue into my mouth.

  “Holy shit, you taste so fucking good,” he mutters against my lips. “I need more.” My heart skips a beat when I feel him hook his fingers over the waist of my lacey boy shorts, as if to pull them off.

  “Wait,” I sigh.

  “I need to taste you. Don’t make me wait, Teddy.”

  As he says the words, he begins pulling down my panties. Sheer panic overwhelms me. In an instant, I no longer feel good, or safe—rather I feel afraid and powerless.

  “Judah—Judah! Stop—oh, god, stop!” I shove my hands against his chest, not fully registering that he’s let me go until I’ve scrambled my way off of the couch and onto my feet. I’m upright for only a second, and then I’m on my knees—my legs like jello.

  “Hey,” he speaks, placing a hand on my back.

  “Don’t touch me!” I yell, my eyes welling with tears.

  I feel so out of control. My body is trembling. My mind is trapped between the past and the present. I can’t catch my breath. I can’t stop from crying. And in this moment, I feel like a tease—I feel like his tease. I hear the lie that Justin only took what I baited him with; except right now, in this very moment, it doesn’t feel like a lie. It feels like the truth. It feels like reality.

  And I can’t catch my breath.

  And I can’t stop from crying.

  “Teddy…” I hear his voice—but I don’t hear it. “Teddy?”

  Before I know what’s happening, I’m airborne, cradled against a bared wall of muscle. I start to push him away, but he only holds me tighter as he carries me down the stairs. My panic begins to resurface, but the strong arms that hold me pull me tighter still.

  “Theodora, look at me,” he demands, stopping on the middle of the staircase. “Look at me.”

  I do as he asks, his seemingly nonnegotiable tone easing me back into the present.

  “Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you. Are we clear?”

  The look in his eyes is filled with so much conviction, it causes something inside of me to break. I burst into a sob, feeling humiliated, angry, and sad. Then he presses his lips against my forehead as he continues his descent, and I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his neck.

  “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Just calm down.”

  When Benjamin was little, every time the door slammed, he would have a panic attack. Sometimes I was in the room with him when it happened, and I remember the way he would shut down. I couldn’t touch him or he would scream. I couldn’t talk to him because he wouldn’t hear me. For the first few months, I couldn’t really understand it. Then my mother sat down and explained it to me. She even taught me how to help her calm him down, in case she wasn’t around when it happened.

  I don’t panic when Teddy yells at me, her body telling me everything I need to know. Yet, even as I endeavor to remain level-headed, my heart races as I try and figure out how to comfort her. When I can’t get through to her, I pick her up, seeking to do the only thing I can think of—what my mother taught me to do with Benjamin all those years ago.

  It isn’t until she clings to me, burying her face in my neck as she cries, that I begin to relax. I carry her down the stairs, through my bedroom, and into the bathroom. When I set her down on the counter, she pulls away from me and covers her face with her hands. I watch her for a moment, replaying the last few minutes.

  She had been fine until, out of nowhere, she wasn’t. Then she was wild and frantic, desperate to get away from me. I remember that look of panic; I remember seeing the same fear in her eyes—last week, when I found her in my kitchen in the middle of the night. I wondered about the nature of her nightmares, and now I think I know.

  She’s been abused. After what just happened, I’d have to be an idiot not to see the signs that all point toward sexual assault. As realization clicks, the bitter taste of fury fills my mouth. Looking at my shy girl, trembling before me, all I want is to find the motherfucker who made her like this and beat the living shit out of him.

  I shake my head, forcing myself to snap out of my rage. Teddy is a mess as a result of my touch. That shit won’t fly, and I need to fix it right now. I walk away from her just long enough to grab a face cloth, and then I turn on the faucet, soaking it in hot water. I wring it out before gently lifting her hair from her neck, and then I run the cloth against her skin. I do this until she drops her hands and peers up at me from beneath her wet lashes. I let go of her hair and grip the back of her neck, holding her still as I run the warm cloth over her forehead and around the sides of her face. She draws in a shuddered breath as I wipe her tear streaked cheeks, and I can tell she’s finally starting to calm down.

  I set aside the cloth, my left hand still wrapped around her neck as I ask, “Who was he?”

  She swallows once, her eyes never leaving mine as she finds her words. “His name is Justin. He was my boyfriend. We were both nineteen.”

  “What happened?” I ask, massaging her neck in an attempt to keep her comfortable while I dig for the details of her trauma.

  “Um…” She stops and sighs, but I don’t tear my eyes away from hers. I want answers, and I want them now. She must read my resolute intentions because she takes a deep breath and then continues. “We’d been together for nine months. We met at CSU’s freshman orientation. At the time, I was a virgin. I loved him—or at least I thought I did—but I wasn’t ready to have sex with him. He was ready, and he was never shy about letting me know, but I just—I don’t know—I guess I just wanted to be sure that it was right before we went there. Nineteen still felt young to me.

  “We would fool around, which I thought would be enough for a while, but I was wrong. Then, one night…he wouldn’t stop.” Her voice drops to a strained whisper as a single tear slides down her cheek. “He raped me and then he just…left me. He never spoke to me again. He just disappeared from my life—except for when he haunted me in my sleep.”

  Son of a bitch.

  My fury begins to rise again. I’m so angry, I can’t even look at her. The sound of her sniffle alerts me to the fact that she’s crying again, which only infuriates me more.

  “I told him no. I told him to stop. I want so badly to believe that it wasn’t my fault. Sometimes I do. But then other times—” She chokes on a sob and I have to ball my free hand into a fist at my side as a way to channel all of my frustration. Hearing the pain in her voice brings back memories best left in the past. “I’m a tease.”

  “No,” I state, tightening my grip around her neck as I look her square in the eye. “It wasn’t your fault. That’s bullshit. And you’re not a fucking tease. Say it.”

  “I’m not a tease,” she whispers.

  I nod once, my ga
ze drops down, and I catch a glimpse of her tatted thighs. Suddenly, a new understanding washing over me. Her dreamcatcher, meant to ward off her nightmares. Her garter, meant to remind her that she’s beautiful and not damaged.

  At the time, I was a virgin.

  My eyes shoot back up to meet hers, and I tug my eyebrows together in a frown as I study her. “You’ve never had consensual sex before?” She shakes her head and a sigh rushes out of me. I slide my right arm around her waist, pulling her closer before I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She sniffs, reaching up to dry her cheeks as she says, “It’s not exactly the easiest thing to explain.”

  I nod, acknowledging that she has a point.

  Then it hits me anew.

  She’s never had sex before.

  Admiring the woman in my arms, I know that my body will know hers. I know that I will unleash her wild. When I have her—when she begs for me to take her—and she will beg—I’ll be going where no man has been allowed to go before. But we’ll never get there if she’s afraid of me.

  “Teddy,” I begin to say, tightening my grip around her waist. “We can’t keep doing this if you don’t trust me.”

  “I know,” she whispers.

  “I would never take advantage of you. I’m a man, not some pussy-assed bastard who gets off stealing what isn’t offered to him. I’m a man, a man capable of bringing you pleasure the likes of which your body has never seen. Do you believe that?”

  She nods, and I lean down to trace my nose along hers.

  “You’re a gorgeous woman, Teddy. Your body deserves to be worshiped,” I say softly, my lips grazing hers. “I’ll never give you more than you can handle. I never meant to scare you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry I—”

  “Don’t apologize,” I insist, closing my mouth around hers.

  She kisses me back, her movements hesitant at first. I start slow, only wishing to remind her what my affection feels like. Then, as I run my tongue across her bottom lip, her whole body opens up for me. She spreads her legs and runs her hands up my chest and around my shoulders, granting me permission to come even closer. I pull her to the edge of the counter, my dick growing hard as it rubs up against her core. She whimpers, and I know my shy girl has returned to me. I bury my fingers in her hair and pull her head back before licking the length of her neck.