He’s proving he’ll give more than he takes with every fleeting stroke of his lips, his tender restraint more powerful than any force of nature.
Urging me to trust him in perfectly measured beats, he tells me, loud and clear…
He’s mine.
Skimming my lips with his tongue, he slows the rhythm. As if asking permission.
Not just for now but for always.
My hands roam back to his hair, inviting him to deepen the kiss, our tongues exchanging a year’s worth of words we couldn’t find the courage to say. He sits up straight and pulls mefeverishly closer, giving him better access to explore my mouth and every last corner of my heart.
He’s been carrying the key for months.
Because it’s his.
He owns it.
I could shamelessly steal every ounce of serotonin from this man. My only complaint is that it’s dark and I’d like to explore all the artwork on his chest and shoulder. I want to study it in detail. I want a doctorate in all things Jude.
“I wasn’t prepared to have matching tattoos already.” I laugh at the irony, still self-conscious that my tattoo contains lyrics from the song that bears his name.
“The picture Sam sent stole my breath, Lu,” he says, tucking my freezing arms under his. “You’re always gorgeous, but he should’ve made sure I was sitting for that.”
Suddenly feeling shy, I debate whether it was sweet or an act of betrayal on Sam’s part. “Th-thanks. I didn’t know he took it.” I meet his gaze. “I should beat the Skittles out of him.”
Jude narrows his eyes at me. “Can’t believe he got to see it before me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“Lu, I’m kidding. I see I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, no more apologies. I want the full-time job—the privilegeof showing you how you should be treated.”
My eyes fill again. “You do too much for me already.”
“And you apologize too much. There’s a right and a wrong way to do everything. That includes loving you.”
How did I ever think I could settle for anyone but him?
“I’m so sorry, Jude. I didn’t think you wanted—”
“I do.” He dizzies me with another kiss, proving quite effective at correcting my behavior.
“If you do that every time,” I taunt, “I’ll probably say it more.”
“Challenge accepted. This is how it’s going to be. You’reallowedto need me. Iexpectyou to need me, because I need you.”
“So bossy.”
“You better believe it. I want you when you’re happy, pissed off, worked up, broken down, and always… always …without a doubt … when you’re sleepy. I want the cuddly jellyfish punk. I want it all.”
I stare at him in awe. “So, what I’m hearing is … you wantmeto wantyou?”
“You’re still a punk, you know that?” he says, squeezing my leg.
My tears and laughter compete for dominance, spilling out all at once. And we’re still soaking wet. He looks like a model who was sprayed to glisten for a photoshoot, and I look like Harley Quinn got hosed.
