Page 48 of Dirty Like Jude
When his mouth broke away from mine again, I was pantingsoftly.
“You want that dick?” he murmured against mylips.
I did. I did so want thatdick.
But I was dimly aware that I still had a boyfriend. Which meant I was still trying, reallytryingnot to participate inthis.
But I did not stop him when he fisted my hair, pulling me tighter against him, and squeezed my hand around hisshaft.
“You want that dick, deep in your mouth,V?”
Oh, God.He lapped his tongue deep into my mouth, hot and slow, foreffect.
Then he left my hand in his lap and drifted his hand up, skimming his fingers over my nipple through my shirt. “I want you in my mouth.” He drifted his mouth over to my ear. “I want you to sit on my face… feed me that beautiful pussy.” He brushed his mouth over mine. “I remember…” he told me between kisses, “I remember how fuckin’beautiful…”
After that, we didn’t make it to the nextbar.
* * *
We were kissingas we stumbled through my front door. If you could call it kissing. We were feasting on each other, Jude’s mouth totally dominating mine and mine trying to dominate his… andfuck… I’d missed hiskisses.
I’d been dreaming about Jude’s kisses since I was sixteen years old, and unfortunately not much had changed since then. He still kissed me like I was his wholeworld.
I still knew that Iwasn’t.
In the moment, I just didn’t care. Not enough to stopthis.
My purse landed with a thud on the hallway floor as he pushed me up against the wall. He smashed his lips against mine as our tongues fought for dominance. Our bodies fused together, my hands in his hair, his hands in mine, his hips slamming against me. His thigh pressed between my legs, my tight skirt preventing him from getting where I wantedhim.
I wanted him to throw me right down on the floor and fuck me. I didn’t care that it was hardwood. I didn’t care about what came after this… ordidn’t.
I didn’t care aboutTaze.
I just wanted Jude Grayson to lose his shit over me, right now, and fuck me on thefloor.
When we’d left the restaurant and climbed into that first taxi, it had started to feel like a game of chicken. Both of us gunning it at each other, holding strong—waiting to see who ditched out of the way at the lastminute.
Except no oneditched.
So now it was more like a car crash. Like a head-on collision—see who came out alive on the otherside…
Me.
It definitely had to beme.
I wasn’t going down in flames overthis.
As soon as we’d clawed our jackets off, I tore his shirt off over hishead.
He gripped my shirt and ripped it down over my shoulders, tearing it right down the middle, exposing my breasts. “This fuckin’ shirt…” hesaid.
Okay, so he won thatone.
I went for his jeans next, popping the button and flipping up the tab on the zipper so I could rip them rightopen.
He pushed up my skirt and pulled me right down to the floor—and onto hisface.
Jesus.He was so winning thisbattle…
