Fool For You (Made for Love Book 4)

by R. C. Martin

  “Right back at you, babe.” I accept his gesture, holding onto him as I lift myself on my tiptoes to reach for the corner of his mouth with my lips. “If you don’t mind sharing, you could be my date all night.”

  “Ha!” he barks. “Have you met your boyfriend?”

  I nod, instantly understanding his point.

  “On second thought, maybe there’ll be a hot, single, gay artist there. We like artists,” I say, offering him my best grin.

  “Yes, baby girl, we do. Shall we be off?”

  “Yeah. I think we better make sure Andy still has his head on straight.”

  “Christ,” he mutters as we exit my apartment. “If only you were joking.”

  “One more night,” I remind him, giving his arm a squeeze. “And a fun one, at that.”

  When I walk into the gallery, it’s filled with people milling about, drinking champagne, picking at hors-d’oeuvres and, of course, admiring the pieces set up for the exhibition. For a second, I imagine that the threesome that keeps MTA going must be quite proud of tonight’s turnout. It appears to be a success, if I were to appraise such a thing simply on attendance alone. As I shift my focus away from the crowd and narrow my search to just one, I tell myself to make it a point to catch up with Andrew tonight to inquire about his level of satisfaction in regards to how it’s all going.

  I don’t spot Teddy as soon as I would like, and I make my way further into the room to find her. She told me earlier that her dress is black, but it’s her dark red hair that I seek. When I finally see her, I cannot fight the urge to stop and stare at the exquisite creature that I know as mine.

  She’s standing with a small group of men and women, all of them gathered around someone who holds their attention as he speaks. The black dress she has on is elegant, making her look ravishing, and my chest swells just admiring her. Her hair falls in big curls down her chest and back, and I want to bury my fingers in the thick, soft strands and tug—I know the gasp that would come from her precious mouth with the act, and thinking about it makes my dick stir.

  When she laughs, her whole face glows. The sight causes a slight smile to pull at my own lips, and I cannot feign surprise at the way she makes me feel. She sips at the champagne she holds in her hand, and I watch her throat as she swallows. It’s a simple, natural act, and yet it makes me anxious for when we can quit this place to be alone. She thinks me insatiable, and I am. For her, I most certainly am.

  I’m so fucking fucked.

  When I notice that I’m not the only one blatantly staring at my shy girl, I’m pulled from my trance. I fist and flex my fingers as I make my way toward her across the room, feeling irritated that anyone would so much as think that a woman as fine as mine would be here alone and available to admire. She’s not—and I am determined to make that fact perfectly clear right now.

  As if she can sense my presence, she turns her attention away from the man speaking and looks over at me. When our eyes meet, she smiles sweetly, and my irritation is tamped down—replaced by a sense of calm. Her gaze is like a whisper, coaxing me to relax. I extend my arm toward her as soon as I’m within reaching distance, placing my hand on the small of her back as I tuck her against my side.

  “Hi,” she whispers, looking up at me.

  “Hello,” I reply before leaning down to kiss her lips.

  As I begin to pull away, she reaches up to hold my cheek. “One more,” she pleads softly.

  I chuckle quietly before granting her wish, lingering just a second longer this time.

  “You look stunning.”

  “Thank you,” she replies, pressing herself further into my side. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “Good! I think quite a few pieces have sold already. Remember why I told you Andy decided on photography?”

  I nod before I say, “It’s not the gallery’s niche.”

  “Right. Andy thought that a photography exhibition would draw some new interest, and he was right. He’s come across some really talented artists putting this together, and the turn out is better than I think he was hoping for. This has been a marvelous networking opportunity. I’ve met so many people in the last hour. I even managed to talk to this guy—oh, my gosh, I’m going to have to show you his piece. He’s got such brilliant artistic vision. He talked to me for a little bit about technique, and it was amazing. He even gave me a few tips to try out the next time I play with my camera.”

  Her excitement is captivating, and my eyes roam her face as she speaks. I like hearing her talk about her passion. She’s convinced that photography is nothing more than her most beloved hobby, but I disagree. I can tell by the way she talks about it that what she feels is akin to how I feel about interior design—it’s our life’s work.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “No reason. Show me this photo you were talking about.”

  “Okay,” she beams, pulling away from me before reaching for my hand. She laces her fingers with mine and leads me around the group that I found her in, toward the gala’s grand display for the evening. “Oh,” she sighs, coming to a stop. “This wasn’t the one I was talking about, but look at it. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  She stops at least five times before we make it to the piece she originally wished to show me, but I don’t mind. Her enthusiasm is endearing, and I’m happy to indulge it.

  “This could be you,” I tell her, positioning myself at her back as I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her against me.

  “What?”

  “You could sell your photography. You’re good enough.”

  “You’re bias,” she says, resting one of her hands over mine.

  “I’m honest, and I’m right.”

  I think about the prints that I had framed for her. She insisted that I keep one, since I had paid for it in so many ways. I found a spot for it in my bedroom, hanging on the wall between the closet and the bathroom. I still find myself stopping to look at it.

  “I don’t know. Maybe,” she says with a noncommittal shrug. “Anyway—I’ve been hogging you since you got here. We should mingle and get you something to drink.”

  Her lack of confidence makes way for her excellent attempt at evasion, and I set her free. I don’t wish to make her feel uncomfortable—not here, not now. Alternatively, I press a kiss against her temple and then pull away from her before offering her my arm.

  “It’s your evening, sweetheart. Lead the way.”

  The exhibition was fantastic before Judah arrived—and then Judah arrived and it was phenomenal. He knew no stranger, and every time we were pulled into a conversation, he was the polished, exceptional man that I love—just as well spoken as he is handsome. It took a great deal of concentration to keep from drooling over him, and I had to remind myself to speak on more than one occasion.

  He didn’t let go of me all night, for which I was grateful. He drew more than a little attention from more than a few women in the room, and it put me at ease knowing that he wasn’t paying them any mind. My perfect gentleman. Now that we’re finally on our way to his place, I’m ready for him to be a little less charming and a lot more affectionate. The champagne that I sipped all night has gone to my head, and I’m feeling needier than usual.

  I need out of these shoes.

  I need out of this dress.

  I need his hands—his lips—his cock.

  I need all of him, everywhere.

  When he pulls his Land Rover into the garage, I slide my hand over onto his thigh. He kills the engine and looks over at me before I speak.

  “Thank you for coming tonight. It meant a lot to me to have you there.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I was hoping…” I hesitate for a second and then ease my hand to his inner thigh, feeling my way toward his groin.

  “You were hoping what, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice smooth and deep.

  I will myself to be bold, igno
ring my heavy, shallow breathing as I grip his cock. My stomach erupts with butterflies and my center pulses with excitement when I feel him grow hard at my touch.

  “I want you,” I whimper. “My entire body aches for you right now. I need you—just you,” I continue, bringing my face closer to his.

  “Just us,” he mutters, lining up our lips.

  “Just us,” I repeat before his mouth closes around mine.

  He kisses me deeply, reaching out to hold the back of my neck. I squeeze the bulge in his pants, starved for its attention. The grunt that sounds from the back of his throat turns me on even more, and I know my panties are well on their way to drenched.

  “Please, Judah,” I murmur through his lips.

  “What my woman wants, my woman gets. Come on.”

  He presses one more firm kiss against my mouth before he pulls away to climb out of the car. I follow after him, ready for the promise of all he has to offer. When we cross over the threshold into the house, he reaches his hand back. I grab hold of his fingers as I shut us in, letting him lead me to his room. He flips on the light and sets the house alarm, locking us in for the night, and my patience grows less and less with every move he makes. Then, he turns to face me, letting go of my hand before reaching up to bury his fingers in my hair.

  He tilts my head back before leaning down to nip at my lips. I stick my tongue out, wishing to taste him, and he catches it, sucking it into his mouth. With a sigh, I press my palms against his chest and prop myself against him. He frees my tongue only to thrust his between my lips, his kiss now more urgent than it was before. I grip my fingers around the lapels of his jacket and then begin to push the garment off of him.

  He pulls his hands from my hair as he helps me to undress him. As soon as his jacket hits the floor, both of us work to unfasten the buttons of his shirt. He loosens his tie as my fingers reach for the last button at his collar, and then we’re one step closer to what I desperately want. While he shrugs his shirt off of his shoulders, I untuck his tank, pushing it up his chest. As soon as his sculpted abdomen is uncovered, my lips seek his hot skin. I kiss and taste my way up the center of his chest, savoring the taste and smell of him. Soon, I’m not just tipsy from champagne, but I’m completely intoxicated by the gorgeous man in front of me.

  When he’s shirtless, I anxiously reach for the belt of his pants, but he stops me. I look up at him and he claims my mouth without a word, kissing me as he reaches for the zipper at the back of my dress. I don’t object, wishing to be free of the satin fabric that prevents me from truly appreciating his touch. He works quickly, and my dress is on the floor in no time. I suck in a sharp breath and then giggle when he bends down and wraps his hands around the back of my thighs. I reach for his shoulders and he spreads my legs as he lifts me up and around him. While I cling to him, he secures an arm around my waist before reaching up to unfasten my strapless bra. He tosses it carelessly, and I press the hard nipples of my aching breasts against his chest.

  “So beautiful,” he whispers as he carries me around the foot of his bed. “So delicate. You are exceptional, Theodora.”

  I squeeze my arms and legs around him tighter, pressing my forehead against his. “Judah—I love you. I love you so much.” I speak the words softly, wishing he would repeat them back to me, knowing all along that he’s still not ready. I remind myself that he’s giving me all that he can—that his commitment and devotion to me are what truly matter. And I know that when he sinks his cock inside of me—just him—just us—that is more than he’s giving anyone else; more than he’s given anyone but me in such a very, very long time.

  “Tell me again tomorrow, sweetheart,” he replies as he lowers us down to the floor.

  When he’s on his knees, he eases me onto my back—onto the plush, faux fur rug that’s spread out between his bed and the wall-to-wall windows that look out into his back yard. We’ve never done it so close to the windows before. I feel a little self-conscious, wondering what the chances are that someone might actually be able to look in and see us. But as he pulls away and I peer out into the darkness, I see nothing but the shadows of the big, old trees that fill his backyard, and I push my worries aside.

  “Stay here,” he instructs, unlocking my ankles from behind him. “Don’t move—the heels stay on.”

  I pull my bottom lip between my teeth as I offer him a nod, and he stands and disappears into the bathroom. I wait for him, both anxious and curious as to what he’s up to. He comes back within seconds, a small bottle with a squirt pump in his hand. He sets it down beside me and then begins to finish undressing. Usually, I’d watch; but just now, I’m too distracted by the bottle. The front label is turned away from me, but it doesn’t take me long to interpret the text on the back.

  “Judah?” I ask warily.

  “Teddy?”

  “What’s that for?”

  Never before have we needed help creating lubricant, and I’m nervous about why he thinks we might need it now. But he doesn’t answer me. I look up at him just as he’s discarding his boxer briefs.

  “Jude?” I murmur.

  “Roll over, sweetheart. Chest on the rug. Ass in the air.”

  My eyes open wide at his mention of my ass, and my heart rate picks up speed. The night I met his parents, the night I used my safe word, he warned me this would happen—that he wanted in my ass. He hasn’t said a thing about it since. I’m not stupid. I didn’t think he forgot, but I don’t feel ready for this—I don’t know if I want it at all.

  “Judah…”

  “What have I always promised you, Teddy?” he asks, staring down at me intently.

  I don’t answer him with words, knowing it’s pointless to do so. We both know that he’s always promised me pleasure; that he’s always promised to never hurt me. We both know that I trust him wholeheartedly—and whether he knows it or not, I know that I long to please him. So I do as he says, rolling over onto my stomach, turning my cheek against the softness of the rug. Just as he’s instructed, I keep my chest down and I push the lower half of my body up onto my knees.

  I try to stay calm as he kneels behind me, peeling my panties over my hips and down my thighs. He lifts one of my knees and then the other, freeing one leg of the garment and spreading me wider before he drops his head just below my core. When I feel his tongue flick across my clit, I can think of nothing else. Nothing. Then he wraps his lips around my swollen bud and sucks. I hum a pleasant sigh, loving the way he feels.

  He lets go of my clit and licks his way through my slit and then up toward my backside. He then dips his fingers into my center before smearing my arousal around the entrance of my ass. I stiffen, still unsure about what to expect, but then his tongue is flicking my clit again. He curls his free hand around my thigh, rubbing gentle circles against my skin, and I relax once more. I barely notice as he begins to massage my back entrance, and I wonder if it won’t be so bad.

  Judah’s mouth grows greedy, and he hums as he sucks and licks me. It feels amazing. He uses his mouth like a man undignified, shameless in his efforts to taste every bit of me. It’s not long before I’m breathless, my orgasm on the brink of pulling me under. It’s everything about this moment that does me in—the way he uses his tongue, but also the sounds coming from both of us, and the way he’s touching me—it’s all so much. It’s all just enough. When my center constricts, the heat of my climax seeps through my veins and I call out the name of my lover.

  As I’m working to catch my breath, he shifts to move positions, kissing his way up and over my ass. He bites me once, making me yelp.

  “Miss Fitzpatrick, you are delicious,” he murmurs before easing his cock inside of me.

  I groan, my eyes fluttering closed as I arch my back a little, completely enraptured by the man. I’m truly in awe of the way he fits inside of me so perfectly, making me feel whole in a way I’m sure no other man ever could. He pumps in and out of me a couple times, and then I feel a cool liquid at the top of my crack. My eyes fly open as it tr
avels down my backside. The sensation feels oddly refreshing, and yet I can’t help but also feel a little anxious.

  “Relax, sweetheart,” Jude instructs, his finger tracing the same path as the lube, stopping at my tight entrance.

  “Jude…” I whimper, my fingers gripping at the rug beneath me. I’m not sure if I’m ready for this. It’s so new, so foreign, and it feels unbelievably forbidden. I mean—it’s my ass!

  “Take a deep breath, Teddy,” he speaks softly, gliding his cock gently as he applies a bit more pressure to my asshole.

  I do as he says, holding in the air as he slowly inserts his finger.

  “Breathe out, sweetheart—and press back against me.”

  Again, I follow his direction, still unsure what to make of the sensation. It doesn’t hurt, like I thought it might, but I worry about what I should be doing now—or if I’m doing what I’m supposed to at all.

  “Relax,” he whispers, rubbing his freehand up and down my back. “Shit, Teddy, you look gorgeous just like this—with me filling your cunt and your sweet, little ass. Look at you—turn your head, look at your reflection. Fucking perfect.”

  I turn the other cheek, catching our reflection in the window beside us. Only, instead of looking at me, I catch a glimpse of him looking at me, and it makes me burn even hotter. When the hand on my back slides around my side, up my stomach, and around my breast, I moan unabashedly. I love it when I feel him everywhere; and when he pinches my hard nipple, I grow even more aroused. Now, his finger in my ass is starting to feel like a welcome intrusion.

  He pushes into me harder, both his cock and his finger moving at the same speed. When I feel the urge to move with him, pressing back as he surges forward, he grunts, making my entire body break out in goose bumps. He squeezes my breast, pounding into me harder still, and the sound of his flesh smacking against mine coaxes even more of my desire. I know Jude must be soaked because I feel my arousal dripping down both my legs. I’m sure I’ve never been this wet in my life.

  “Goddamn, sweetheart,” he grits out. “Does my shy girl need more?”