by R. C. Martin
Judah did all the real work. He looked really good doing it, too.
We enjoyed our meal at his dining room table, just in time for the sunset. We ate slowly and talked freely. When we were finished, he poured each of us another glass of wine and we kept talking. As soon as my glass was empty again, Judah offered me more, but I stopped him.
“Let me do the dishes first.”
“You’re not doing the dishes,” he insisted as he stood to grab another bottle.
“Why not? I hardly helped make dinner.” Ignoring him, I gathered our plates and headed to the sink.
I managed to rinse our utensils before he was at my back. He reached around me and turned off the faucet, then pressed his lips against my temple. “Leave them,” he mumbled. “Marta will take care of them on Monday.”
“Who’s Marta?” I asked, tilting my head enough to see his face.
“The woman who cleans my house.”
I shook my head and reached for the faucet once more. “Why am I not surprised?”
Judah circled one of his arms around my waist and queried, “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” I laughed. “This big, gorgeous house? I don’t know why I thought you cleaned it.”
“I’m a busy man.”
“Not judging. I swear—but I’m not leaving this for Marta.”
He tightened his hold around me and muttered, “Stay with me tonight.”
I froze, my eyes staring at the plate in my hands. I hadn’t expected him to say that.
“What?” I squeaked.
“I’ll let you do the dishes if you stay with me tonight.”
I shook my head, but the act wasn’t my answer. In all honesty, I could hardly wrap my head around his request. Since I was speechless, Judah misinterpreted the action.
“No sex. I know. I’m painfully aware. Stay anyway. I’ll even let you in my bed with any two items of clothing you want.”
A frown tugged at my brow, my thoughts shifting in another direction. I calculated what two items of clothing would leave me with. Turning so I could see his face again, I blurted, “Three.”
“Fine.”
It wasn’t until he agreed that I realized what I agreed to. I blinked, in a failed attempt to clear my head. “Wait…” He smirked at me, and the sight made me weak at the knees. “What about our bet?”
He rolled his eyes and replied, “I know the rules, and I’ve won nothing. Yet.”
I hesitated.
“Just want you in my bed, Teddy. Stay.”
I couldn’t say no. He hadn’t asked. Not really, but I couldn’t say no. There was something about him wrapping words around what he wanted—me, in his bed—that seemed more vulnerable and honest than anything he’d ever said to me.
“Okay,” I whispered.
He kissed my lips. Only, rather than pull away, he coaxed my mouth open with his tongue. I didn’t realize he turned the water off until I felt him pull the plate out of my hands. I broke away from his kiss, glanced into the sink, and then looked up at him.
Touching his nose to mine, he murmured, “I changed my mind. I’m not letting you do the dishes.”
I didn’t have a chance to argue before his mouth was sealed with mine. He kissed me long enough for me to surrender to his will, then he whisked me out of the kitchen. Grabbing our wine glasses, he headed for the spiral staircase that led to the loft space above his dining room. I’d never been up there before, but I was pretty sure the only thing it housed was a pool table. Of course, knowing Judah, I should have expected more.
The loft was built right beneath the peak of his roof. There was plenty of ceiling above us—but it was the round window that overlooked his backyard and the neighborhood beyond that was the real focal point of the space. It was dark, so I couldn’t see much, but I was sure it was a brilliant view. Judah had installed bench seating just below the window, the cushion upholstered in a chocolate-brown suede leather. In the far corner, where the cues were hung, he had a round, high-top table with a couple stools. This is where he set our drinks.
“Are you any good?” I asked as I walked around his pool table.
The table itself was situated on an area rug. It wasn’t a traditional table, either—the wooden legs weren’t four posts on each side, but rather crisscrossed underneath to provide support. The felt that covered the top was a weathered gray color; and, much like everything else Judah owned, it was unique and beautiful.
“Hitting a ball with a long object is something I do often. My aim and hand-eye coordination aren’t bad.”
“So—yes,” I said on a laugh. “Well, you should know I’m bad sober. Once I drink that wine, I’ll really suck,” I teased, pointing at my filled glass.
“Then I’ll just have to help you.”
We played one game, and I showed Judah exactly how far from an exaggeration my comment was. Then we played again—only every shot I took, he took with me, until he beat himself. When our bottle of wine ran dry, he took my hand and escorted me to his bedroom, shutting out lights along the way.
I’d been in his room before. More than that, I’d slept in his bed with him—but this felt different. Less happenstance. More intentional. It almost felt like a statement—him inviting me, my acceptance—but I tried not to think too hard about it. Our histories were not the same. He didn’t know what it meant for me to want to stay. Furthermore, I knew how little it meant for me to stay when I was still withholding my body from him. I knew it was better for me to just be in the moment, so I made the effort as I trailed after him into his closet.
I still really loved his closet.
Judah let go of my hand, but I hardly noticed as I reacquainted myself with the space. It hadn’t changed, but there was something almost cathartic about seeing how organized he kept his belongings. I wondered if his mind was made up in a similar fashion. It was when I heard him chuckle that I became wholly aware of my actions. I had reached up and traced the tips of my fingers along the sleeves of his dress shirts.
“They’re just clothes, Teddy.”
A slight blush colored my cheeks, but I didn’t hesitate to shake my head as I told him, “It’s the most remarkable closet I’ve ever been in. I bet the President has a closet like this.”
“I imagine it’s quite a bit bigger. He has to share with the First Lady.”
I nodded, conceding to his point, and took one last glance around the expansive space. For the first time, I noticed something missing. When Judah approached me, I ignored the clothing he held in his hand and gave him a once over. He was in a pair of dark, tan khakis and a dusty blue, crew neck sweater.
My gaze found his as I inquired, “Do you own any jeans?”
“No,” he replied simply.
Surprise manifested itself on my face as I pressed, “Not a single pair?” He shook his head, and I giggled. “You are a very peculiar man, Judah St. Michaels.”
“When I want to be.” He handed me a t-shirt, and I could see right away it was a Chicago Cubs shirt—worn and soft from age. “I’m assuming you’ll want this.”
“Yes, thank you,” I replied, accepting his offer.
I turned to leave, but he stopped me as he asked, “Where are you going?”
“To the bathroom.” Loose as the wine made me, there was no way I was stripping down to my underwear with him as my audience. When he said nothing else, I slipped out of his closet and hurried to the bathroom.
I was quick to shed my jeans and top in exchange for Judah’s t-shirt. As the soft fabric grazed my nose, I breathed in the scent of him. Glancing down at myself, the grip I had on my thoughts loosened. Suddenly, I was nervous, excited, and more than a little intimidated. I folded my clothes and set them on the counter beside his sink, chancing a glance at my reflection.
Sex wasn’t something I was ready for. Not with Judah—not with anyone. Four years prior, I wasn’t sure if sex was ever going to be something I wanted. One night, one man had robbed me of what I understood to be my sexual f
reedoms. With it, he took my self-worth and the desire to want to offer anyone the vulnerability that came with true physical intimacy. I fought like hell to get it all back. Sometimes, it felt like I was in the fight all alone; but along the way, I found God, and realized I wasn’t doing life by myself.
Comforting and necessary as that realization was, I was alone for so long, resisting any opportunity to get close with a man. One night with Judah made me anxious. On the surface, it seemed silly. He was a gentleman. I could trust him. He had proven this to be true, in spite of any doubts I harbored in the beginning. Only, it wasn’t Judah I was afraid of, but the way he made me feel. I was nervous about what I was capable of—of the desires that stirred within me I hadn’t experienced in so long, if ever.
Sex wasn’t something I was ready for—and yet, I wanted Judah. I wanted a night in his bed. I wanted the intimacy of me, in his t-shirt and my underwear and nothing else. I wanted it so badly, even the longing itself was overwhelming.
I stared at my reflection until I thought I saw a glimpse of what Judah did when he looked at me. I stared until I felt bold enough to unhook my bra and extract it from underneath the t-shirt. I tossed it on top of my pile of clothes and then hurried from the bathroom before I could change my mind. My stomach constricted and my whole body heated up instantly as I rounded his partition wall and found Judah seated on the side of his bed.
He was in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, and he was gorgeous. So much so, my heart raced at the sight of him. One could have argued it was his muscles that made him so beautiful—the sculpted nature of his shoulders, the contours of his abdomen, the strength in his thighs—but I admired his finer details. The smattering of dark hair between his pectorals, and the trail of hair that started at his belly button and disappeared into his underwear.
I don’t know how long I stood starting before he moved. My eyes found his as he set aside his phone; then I watched as he took me in from head to toe.
“Come ‘ere,” he muttered, his voice low, rumbly, and undeniable.
I closed the distance between us, until I was positioned in the space between his legs. He wrapped one of his arms around me, pulling me against him, and my breath caught in my throat as excitement shot through me. With his eyes still trained on mine, he took his other hand and cupped it around one of my breasts. I yanked my bottom lip between my teeth and my face burned, his touch alerting me to the state of my hardened nipples.
“Two,” he mumbled as he squeezed me.
I kissed him then. I felt too shy. I couldn’t tell him how I’d changed my mind. I couldn’t tell him how I felt, what that night meant to me, or the ways in which he was stealing my heart in the most seductive way imaginable. I couldn’t bear to explain to him how he made my body feel alive with just a glance; how he made me feel beautiful and desired and somehow worthy. Instead, I leaned into him. I bent my knees and straddled his lap. I circled my arms around his neck and eased my tongue into his mouth. I sucked in his exhale as he held me tighter, and I kissed him until my lips were swollen and raw and I could barely breathe.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I sat bolt upright and tried to suck in a breath. I needed a big gulp of air, but all I could manage was a shallow, wheezy inhale. I clutched the collar of the shirt on my back and yanked the fabric away from my chest. It didn’t help. I still felt like I was suffocating. I still felt like there was an unbearable weight pressing down on me. I still felt terrified. Then I noticed a sleeping figure in the space next to me, and I jumped.
Blowing out a sigh, I closed my eyes and reminded myself who that man was. Only, the darkness behind my closed lids was too much. I opened my eyes again, but I couldn’t shake my fear. My body felt like it was on fire with it. I wanted to scream, but history had taught me that would do me no good. I needed light. I needed to know where I was. I needed space to breathe.
I practically fell out of bed and stumbled my way out of the room. When I made it to Judah’s metal staircase, I tripped. I caught myself with my hands—the cool metal against my skin a welcomed sensation. I crawled my way to the landing and then frantically searched for a light switch. Each one I found, I clicked on, until his entire second level was bathed in light. In his kitchen, my back pressed against a wall, I tried for a deep breath.
My eyes were everywhere. I needed to remember where I was. I needed to remember when I was. I needed to remember who I was.
I buried my fingers in my hair and pulled it off my neck. I was trembling, and I could feel the urge to cry as if my tears were pooling in my lungs, preventing me from breathing deeply, but I didn’t want to cry.
“I’m okay,” I whispered to myself. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been yanked from my sleep by a nightmare. Still, every sensation I felt was like slipping into a pair of old, uncomfortable, yet familiar shoes. I didn’t know what triggered it. Not that night, or any other. All I knew for sure was when they started.
In the beginning, I would wake up every single night, screaming. It took months for me to find my way out of that darkness. It took an army to help bring me into the light. Harper. God. A counselor. And Trevor—who gave me the ink therapy I carried with me everywhere.
I let my right hand fall to my side and traced my fingertips along my tattoo as I tried to relax. It took a few minutes, but my heartrate eventually evened out. Yet, while I felt calmer, my body still felt like I was burning from the inside out. My eyes drifted toward Judah’s fridge, and I pushed myself away from the wall headed straight for it.
I yanked open the freezer door and pulled in a deep breath as I let the cold air waft toward me. It felt good—so good I didn’t notice the contents of the freezer right away. When I did, what I saw was so surprising, I could hardly remember why I needed the blast of cool air in the first place.
There were more than a dozen pints of ice cream in front of my face. They were organized by brand and flavor. He had vanilla, espresso, coffee, chocolate peanut butter, butter pecan, and pistachio. He had chocolate chip cookie dough, red velvet, cookies and cream, java chip, oatmeal cookie, and mint with dark chocolate chips. And, to round out his collection, he had three different kinds of gelato—sea salt caramel, vanilla blueberry crunch, and coconut.
Nothing I knew about Judah could explain what was in front of me.
I was yanked from the peaceful state I managed to find when two hands gripped my waist. All at once, I was in the dark and blinded by the terror I’d barely escaped. I screamed as my legs seemed to give out. Rather than falling to the floor, I was swept from off my feet. I felt caged in an unyielding grip, and my sense of panic increased. When I tried to scream again, the sound came out garbled as a sob clogged my throat.
“Teddy! Theodora—it’s me. It’s just me.”
His voice didn’t penetrate through the armor that was my mental defense mechanism. It wasn’t until we were both on the floor, his arms and legs wrapped around me, and his lips against my ear that his whisper broke through the chaos.
“Theodora, breathe. It’s me. It’s just me. Judah. Take a breath. You’re okay.”
I’m okay, I thought. I’m okay. I’m okay.
As relief washed over me, I couldn’t stop myself from crying. It was too much. My nightmare. My panic. My relief. My embarrassment. It was all too much. As warm as Judah’s body was wrapped around mine, I couldn’t relax in his hold.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, shrinking into myself as much as I could.
He didn’t respond. Not right away, and not with his words. The next thing I knew, he was leaning over me. He scooped his arms beneath my knees and held me around my back as he lifted me from the floor and set me on the counter of his kitchen island. When he stood in front of me, I didn’t dare look at him. This he didn’t like.
In true Judah fashion, he took my chin between his thumb and finger and lifted my head until I had nowhere to look but at him. With a furrowed brow, he spoke softly as he inquired, “W
hat the fuck was that?”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated.
He shook his head, as if to tell me that wasn’t enough. “You were scared. What the fuck was that? Why are you out of bed?”
“I’m not—I’m not afraid of you,” I stammered.
I needed him to know that. If nothing else, I needed him to know that.
Except, as he wiped my cheeks dry, I knew that wasn’t what he wanted to hear me say.
“Teddy…”
“I had a nightmare. I didn’t want to be in the dark. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He glanced around the space behind me, and I knew I answered a question which had manifested in his mind. Then his eyes settled on me once more, and he studied me for a long moment. When he dropped his hand and slid his palm along my thigh, over my dreamcatcher, his gaze still didn’t leave mine. For reasons I couldn’t articulate, his act calmed me. It was like he was silently reminding me the ways in which he knew me—the ways in which he had explored me—the ways in which I had already let him in.
“I thought you said you used to have bad dreams.”
Reaching up to sweep my hair behind my ears, I murmured, “It’s been a long time since I last had one.”
“What happens? When you’re asleep, what do you see?”
I took his hand from my thigh and held it in both of mine. When he held onto me in return, I brought our hands to my chest, as if our connection would keep me grounded. Even still, I knew I didn’t want to go back there. I didn’t want to relive any of the darkness that was slipping away from me as I continued to calm down.
“I don’t—I don’t really want to talk about it. I’m okay. I’ll be okay.”
Eyeing me suspiciously, he asked, “Are you going to be able to go back to sleep? Or are we up for the rest of the night?”
A small smile crossed my face at his mention of the word we.
“Yes to more sleep. I just needed a few minutes.”
“And some ice cream?”
I brought our hands to my lap, and my eyes grew wide in wonder at the memory of all of his ice cream.
