Page 101 of Requiem
His jaw flexes like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t pull away. So I close the distance instead, just enough that our knees brush.
“If you need something,” I say quietly, “you can tell me.”
His gaze drops for a split second, catching on my mouth before flicking away again, like the instinct surprises him. “I don’t know what I need,” he admits.
“That’s okay.”
Another pause settles between us, but this one feels different. His hand moves, sliding up my wrist before stopping there, hesitating like he’s waiting for me to pull away. I don’t.
“I just don’t want to feel like this anymore,” he whispers. “Part of me hated myself when I didn’t pull the trigger.”
My heart cracks at the honesty. I know I’ll likely be fighting for his life for years to come after this.
His eyes lift back to mine, and there’s a vulnerability that threatens to break me completely. My hand rises, brushing gently against his cheek. Hestills under the touch, almost as if the kindness of it is something he’s no longer used to. I hate that so much.
My breath catches as his gaze flicks back to my mouth, lingering this time. There’s hesitation there, but it doesn’t stop him.
“Emma…” he murmurs, like he’s not sure what he’s asking for.
I can’t help but lean in first, my heart nearly bursting from my chest. I move slowly, giving him every chance to retreat. But he doesn’t. He stays perfectly still, his hazel eyes locked on my mouth, a storm of conflict swirling in them.
The second my lips brush against his, somethingsnaps.
His hand, which had been resting on my arm, suddenly tightens, his fingers digging into my skin with an urgency that sends a jolt straight through me. Then his palm slides up, cupping my cheek before moving to the side of my neck. His thumb presses possessively against my pulse point as the kiss deepens. His lips move over mine with the familiarity of a thousand kisses from before. It’s the same dance, even if the dancer is different.
He might be scarred and different, but hisloveis the same. When his tongue swirls over mine, heat ignites in my core. I moan, the sound swallowed by his mouth.
His breath becomes ragged, quickening as he shifts his weight. He leans over me, and I feel the intention in his muscles. He’s preparing to lay me back. So I fall into it, surrendering completely, letting my body sink into the soft mattress as he covers me, his lean frame settling between my legs. When he presses down, the hard ridge of his erection grinding against my clit through our clothes, I gasp into his mouth, my hips arching instinctively.
Making out with Jude, fully clothed, both of us wild for each other, feels like the first time we ever did this. The frantic, breathless discovery of sex and of wanting so much you can’t eventhink. We never lost that. Even now, after everything, it’s here, burning brighter than ever.
My fingers tangle in his hair, the dark strands sliding like silk between my knuckles. He makes a sound against my mouth, one that sounds almost like he’s in pain. I whimper.
His response is a roll of his hips, pressing against right where I’m already aching, and my head falls back against the pillow. A sharp sigh breaks from my chest.
I need you. I need you forever.
The thought burns through me like a fever.
His teeth catch my bottom lip. He bites down just hard enough to make me shudder, a sharp possessive claim that sends electricity arcing down my spine. My hands slide to his jaw, palms flat against the stubble-rough skin, fingertips tracing the sharp blade of his cheekbone. I feel every motion of his mouth, and the slide of his tongue.
I’m so lost in him that I don’t register his hand moving until his palm is already sliding beneath the waistband of my shorts.
Two fingers sink inside me without hesitation.
We both moan. The sound tangles between our mouths, his breath hot and ragged against my tongue. His fingers curl inward in a way that strokes a spot so deep I feel it at my very core. My hips buck up against his hand, chasing the pressure, and he gives it to me. It's a slow, relentless rhythm, his thumb circling my clit softly.
“Jude.” His name fractures on my tongue.
He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, his kisses become more desperate, more demanding, his mouth working against mine as his fingers work inside me. And then he pulls back, just far enough to watch my face. His gaze is intense, hazel eyes locked right on mine in a way that wasn't even possible days ago. His fingers pump into me, and he watches every reaction. He’s making me come without a single word, just the mastery of his touch and the fire in his stare.
It builds fast. A tightness gathers at the base of my spine, spreading outward. My thighs tighten around his hand. My back arches off the bed, my body curving toward his. I’m panting, whimpering, my fingers clutching at his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. He knows how wild he’s making me, and he doesn’t stop.
He watches me unravel in his grasp.
The orgasm crashes over me in a wave of sharp, bright, consuming pleasure. I cry out, a sound I barely recognize as my own, and my body clenches around his fingers as the release washes through me. He watchesme through all of it, his eyes dark and satisfied, his thumb still circling, drawing every last pulse from me until I’m trembling and oversensitive beneath him.
Then his hands are at the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head. My shorts follow, and right after, his shirt. Then his jeans, the button popping open with a flick of his thumb. The lamplight catches the planes of his chest, the ridges of muscle, ink, and the subtle trail of dark hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his boxers.
