Apparently, there’s nothing like the suggestion of getting naked with someone new to turn my voice into a dog whistle. “Right,” I squeak. “Okay.”
Jude looks at me sharply. “Not okay?”
“No, no, definitely okay. Great, even,” I insist, yanking my voice down to a reasonable octave. “It’s just…” I bite my lip and look away. “No one’s seen me naked in like, three years,” I admit in a rush, cheeks heating.
For a moment he’s silent. Like I’ve said something unbelievable. Then, “You have no idea, do you? What you do to me.”
I chance a glance at him, and the longing in his eyes almost makes me forget to be nervous. It nearly makes me forget what planet we’re on. Vaguely, I shake my head, unable to speak.
“Come here,” he instructs, taking my hands in his. “I’ll show you.”
Walking backward, he leads me toward the couch that divides the sitting area near the fireplace from the rest of the bedroom. When he sits, he’s still tall enough to reach my chest with his mouth. I know this because he’s kissing my Peter Pan collar like it’s the hottest lingerie he’s ever seen in his life. He looks up at me, eyes like maple syrup in the sun, and somehow, they calm me and make my blood race all at once.
“If it’s okay with you, I’m going to undo this button,” he says, lifting one of his hands to circle it with the tip of his middle finger. I feelthe touch like it’s happened between my legs, and suddenly I’m nodding, heart thumping.
“And then what?” I ask, on my way to breathless.
He tilts his head, considering. “Then, I’m going to do the next one, and the next. And when I’m done, I’m going to take this prim little shirt off of you, and those tiny fucking shorts, too, and you’re going to prove me completely wrong.”
“Wrong?” I repeat, my breath picking up speed as he deftly releases the top button.
His fingers slip into my shirt and stroke lightly down my bare chest to the next button. With a flick of his fingers, it comes undone, and he lets out a difficult breath. His eyes find mine again.
“Wrong that I couldn’t possibly think you’re more beautiful than I already do.”
I bite my lip as unexpected emotion wells in me. Soon, he’s undoing the last button and slipping my shirt from my shoulders. It falls behind me with a soft rustle of fabric, and his gaze is everywhere at once, drinking in the sight of my bare skin in the golden light.
“Fuck me,” he whispers to himself, eyes roving over my simple black bra.
“That is the intention,” I say in a nervous attempt at a joke.
“It’ll be the other way around tonight,” he informs me, tugging my hips closer.
Heart vibrating, I watch his hands pull the drawstring bow of my shorts. The waist goes loose, but instead of pulling them down, his hands just fist in the fabric. His eyes close, and his breathing is labored, like he’s been hit with vertigo.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he says. “Tell me I’m not passed out with Taco standing over my lifeless body.”
A breathless laugh escapes me. “If you are, then don’t wake up and ruin it,” I order, hands traveling to his messy hair.
He looks up at me, eyes hopeful. “Maybe she’ll administer a medically induced coma.”
I smile. “That definitely seems well within her skillset. Could you ask if she’ll make it a double?” I say, sliding my greedy hands downhis arms. I trace a linework milk carton pint. A paper airplane. I want to absorb their secrets through touch.
“I thought you hated it when I ordered for you,” he teases. There’s a tug, and then a push of fabric down my hips, and every frozen, neglected part of me starts to melt like it’s been thrust under a broiler.
I close my eyes as his hands slide over my panties, working my shorts down over the curve of my backside. “Maybe you were just ordering from the wrong menu,” I say breathlessly.
“Or maybe I’ve had a hard time believing our cravings were mutual,” he counters.
My stomach flips, and even through the haze of need fogging my mind, it’s not lost on me that Jude still somehow can’t fathom why I want him. I’m about to recite a list with approximately 280 bullet points, but then my shorts fall to my feet. I’m stepping out of them and toeing off my flats when his hand drops between his widespread legs.
“Fuck,” he whispers, eyes on my pale pink panties as he adjusts himself through his gray sweats. Heat spills through me, knowing he can see how wet I am. I can feel it, slick between the press of my thighs.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” he says, voice threadbare as he touches the little bow on my waistband. “Even before we met, I think.” He leans forward to press his nose to my skin. Inhales. “You were always out there, just waiting to wreck me, weren’t you? My what-if.”
My chest constricts, but it’s too dangerous to consider the possibility that Jude might want more than what I came for. Admitting it would mean facing the part of me that still secretly aches for it, too.
“I’m pretty sure you just described a natural disaster,” I say, wishing my voice weren’t so unsteady.
