Well, not anymore.
I turned away from the look in my father’s eyes. I heard him sigh, and then he kissed the top of my head. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Mac wrapped me in a hug and held me silently for a few minutes before he followed my father out the door.
“Get some rest, sweetheart. Tomorrow is going to be hard.”
I said goodnight to my mother and locked the door behind her. I turned and leaned against it, sliding down until my butt hit the floor.
Why did he leave?
Why did he come back?
Why was I still pining for a man who’d made it clear he didn’t really want me?
My eyes snapped open when the bed dipped behind me. I closed them tightly when I felt his warm body slide in against mine. I failed to keep my breathing even.
“I just want to hold you, baby, one more time. I know you hate me, but please let me stay,” he whispered against my ear.
I didn’t protest when he slid his arm around my waist and pulled me back against his hard chest. I didn’t object when I felt his lips brush my neck. I didn’t tell him to stop when his hand cupped my breast.
Because the truth was, I didn’t hate him.
I loved him.
I’d loved him since the day we met. And I would love him for the rest of my life.
A moan slipped out when his lips touched my shoulder. I whimpered when he pressed his dick against my ass. Desire surged when his hand left my breast and trailed down between my legs.
I was helpless to refuse him, because I wanted everything he was doing. I wanted him in my bed again. I wanted him to touch me as if no time had passed.
His fingers rubbed over my panties, and I opened my legs further, encouraging him to touch me more. He moved my panties to the side and slid a finger between my lips.
“You’re soaked, baby.” I heard the arrogance in his words. The celebration that I hadn’t tossed him out of my house, out of my bed.
He rubbed my clit in slow, agonizing circles, and I moved my hips, desperate for more.
“You want me, baby. Your heart might hate me, but your body loves me. Loves what I can make it do, what I can make it feel.”
He dipped his finger inside me, and I bit my lip, trying to hold back a moan. His lips sucked at the space where my neck met my shoulder, and I knew there would be a mark there in the morning.
A brand.
He added a second finger inside me and slowly pumped them. Enough to push me higher, but he kept me on the precipice.
“Jude,” I begged.
“Say it, baby. Tell me what you want.”
I clamped my lips shut, refusing to give him what he asked for. Refusing to let him hear me beg him to fuck me. It was what I wanted, and he knew that, but I wouldn’t ask.
Asking implied I was willing. Implied I was desperate for him, and I was, but I wouldn’t use words to confirm what my body was saying.
He picked up the pace with his fingers, enough to make me crave more but not enough to give me what I wanted. What I needed that only he could give me.
I rolled my hips, letting my body beg for what it wanted, but holding my heart hostage. His thumb rolled over my clit as his fingers rubbed that spot inside, the one he knew so well.
“I want to bury my cock inside your pussy, baby. You gonna let me fuck you one last time?”
