Page 118 of Jude

It wasn’t sadness; it was the terrifying, beautiful realization that my heart belonged to him.

Jude felt the dampness on his skin and shifted, his sinewed touch cradling me close to his bare chest.

He swept away the tears and stroked my hair with a slow, soothing rhythm.

His sinewed hand traced the length of my spine until my breathing hitched and finally leveled out.

‘So stunning, Sofia,’ he rasped with raw certainty. ‘You’re blowing my mind.’

I shifted my head on his shoulder, my hand resting over the steady beat of his heart.

Wrapped in his heat, listening to his heartbeat, I drifted off to sleep in his arms.

JUDE

Waking up to Sofia in the morning was heaven.

I pulled up on one elbow, staring at her asleep beside me.

My eyes traced her honey-gold skin, her gorgeous features, her glossy hair all over the pillow, and the swell of her tits under the covers.

She was so freakin’ beautiful, and my soul wrenched as emotion hit hard.

Our lovemaking last night, scorching the sheets several times, was still blowing my mind.

I couldn’t get her out of my psyche; she was like my favorite song, her name repeating in my head.

I just wanted to rock her again to ecstasy, so I’d sink my nose in her nape and breathe her in.

This was getting serious.

A few nights in my bed were never going to be enough.

She was a fever under my skin, and I sensed that very soon waking to her every morning would become my only instinct and my utter addiction.

I studied her tresses falling over one shoulder, and the honey-gold of her skin.

I followed the arch of her spine, and recalled the stroke and glide of her touch over my body.

Damn.

As much as I wanted to linger, wake her and make love to her again, then later have breakfast with her, I had to get going.

With great reluctance, I unwound myself from her limbs, slipped from bed, showered, and hit the road.

We were getting in one last rehearsal before the doors opened for our first Rome show at the Stadio Olimpico.

We practiced on the new soundstage, my fingers flying over the fretboard of my Gibson Les Paul as I ran intense, aggressive scale patterns.

Across the stage, Angel adjusted his microphone stand while Reign tapped out a rolling beat on the snare.

‘You’re rushing the tempo, man,’ Levi called out to him as he plugged his bass into the stack.

‘You’re just getting slow, Levi,’ Reign shot back, throwing a drumstick in his direction. ‘Can’t handle my heat.’

I chuckled at their banter, dangling my guitar beside my hip as I pulled out my phone to dial Sofia.

‘Hey, babe,’ I rasped when she picked up.