After I gotready for bed and finally slipped under the sheets, naked, I couldn’t quite sleep. I checked my phone to see if Jude had texted me, too manytimes.
Hedidn’t.
Then I ended up masturbating, thinking about him. I thought about last night, about the sex, obviously. And the build-up to thesex.
I thought about him kissing me, like I so oftendid.
I tried to draw it out, make it last… but Jude just got me there too quick. Even when he wasn’t in theroom.
Afterwards, I still couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about how he’d asked me—no, told me—to text Taze before he fucked me. How he wanted to break usup.
Like he wanted me forhimself.
For more than onenight?
It definitely didn’tfeellike a one-time fuck. It felt like a fuck that led to other fucks… and from there… probablynowhere.
Just like every other fuck we’dhad.
Every other amazingfuck.
And still… I would fuck him again. I knew thatmuch.
I was going to work my ass off on this event and I was going to fuck Jude any chance Igot.
If I got thechance.
Fineplan.
But what happened when he decided we were done, like he didbefore?
I did not like making myself vulnerable to him. I really didn’t need any more Jude-induced heartbreak in mylife.
I was perfectly fine withouthim.
But since when was “fine” goodenough?
I did not wantfine.
I wanted epic, frantic, desperate, intense, brutal, no-compromisealive. I wanted what I felt when I was withhim.
I wantedJude.
I wantedhim…
But I didn’t text him. I didn’tcall.
On the edge of sleep, I was still thinking about him kissing me in the cab last night. And I was thinking way back to when he kissed me eleven years ago, at thatparty.
The best first kiss I’d everhad.
The feel of his lips on mine for the first time; that surprising kiss. The foreign taste of him that quickly became familiar, the heat of him and the rhythm of hismouth…
That kiss that was mysecret.
So unexpected. Sobrutal.
Sosoft.
