The Wrong Kind of Love

“You wanna come for me, doll?”

“Yes!” I want to come, and then I want to kill him.

He drives into me hard, his grip around my throat tightening. I relish in my spotting vision, in his bruising hold. I grip his cock with my pussy.

“God-fucking-damn, woman,” he stops midthrust, his fingers digging in so hard I see stars.

I need him to move. Now. “Please, Jude.”

And then he releases my throat and grips my hips, before hammering into me. Ruthless. Relentless. Savage. I rake my nails over his broad back, meeting each of his hard thrusts, chasing my orgasm.

“You better come,” he says, biting my neck. My pussy clenches around him, and I claw at his shoulders as I topple off that edge I’ve been teetering on. The fall feels endless, all encompassing, earth shattering.

He fucks into me like an animal, his fingers bruising my hips before he stills on a deep groan. His lips cover mine, swallowing my erratic breaths as he forces himself deep enough inside me it causes a twinge of pain.

“And now you’re fucking mine, doll.”

I know Jude Pearson is the kind of guy I’ll crawl away from, ruined for any other.

Jude

My leg hurts like a bitch thanks to Tor having to stitch it twice. And as much as I like her, I’m not in the mood for her constant badgering today.

“You smoke too much,” she says, pulling a chair up to my desk and plopping down before she places Caleb’s laptop beside my legal pads.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Sitting with you. Caleb’s out.”

She’s sitting with me? I drag a hand down my face. This is getting way too normal. The phone rings and I answer it, taking a bet. As soon as I finish noting down the wager, I glance over at her computer screen and nearly lose my shit. “What in the hell, Tor?” I snatch the damn computer right out from under her because she’s trying to log in to Facebook. “Are you fucking crazy? You’re dead. You can’t just log into your social media!”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m obviously setting up a random account. I just want to check on Lizzy.”

Glaring at her, I reluctantly pass the device back to her. “No picture. Make yourself a man…”

“Yes, fine. I’ll be Shane Jones with cherry dogshit hair.”

I hate that I want to laugh. A text dings on my phone. Package will be ready in a few days. And the partial smile on my face fades. I needed that dose of reality. This is not forever after. Tor is only mine until I can get her out of here.

*****

It’s late in the afternoon when we get to the stadium. I keep glancing at Tor, tugging the brim of her sunhat down as we push past several drunk fraternity brothers and on our way to the skybox. This shit makes me anxious. She swats my hand away. “Would you stop?”

Frowning, I reach for the glass door. The cool air hits us when we step into the room. People stand around a banquet table, picking over food. Rodney, the guy I’m here to get money from looks up when the door closes behind us. His gaze goes straight to Tor and my back goes up.

“This your girl?” he asks, making his way through the small crowd.

“Yeah.” I ignore the stare Tor gives me. She is as much my girl as any woman will ever be.

“Well, you’ve got good taste in women, JP.” Rodney grins, holding his hand out to shake mine and passing the rolled up wad of cash to me. I pocket it as he guides us over to the bar in the corner. “Help yourself to some drinks. The Saints have done me right this year. Thanks to you, they’ve done me just right.”

I don’t want to hang around here, but it will look weird as hell if I come in, shake his hand, then leave.

We stop by the counter and he passes Tor and me a drink. “One day I’ll meet your boss, right? Just have to get in his good graces, I suppose?”

Tor glances at me. I take a sip of the shitty beer he gave me. “He’s not much of a people person,” I say.

Rodney goes into some crap about football and Tor leans into me. “He doesn’t know who you are?”

“No.”

She studies me, sips her beer, then slowly looks over the room. Something happens on the field and everyone goes nuts, yelling and shouting. I hate having to do social business shit like this. My attention drifts from the people around us to Tor and the way that dress hugs every damn curve. My blood flow shifts. She’s like a drug, and all I can think about is when I’ll get my next hit. I chug my beer, imagining spreading her legs and fucking her the minute we get home.