Don't Kiss the Bride

“Holy shit,” I gasp as he spears my pussy hard and deep.

Cupping my ass with one hand, he guides me up and down his shaft while his other hand reaches between my thighs, circling and lightly slapping my clit.

I feel his lips on my wet back, kissing a trail up my spine to the curve of my neck. His breath is ragged, matching mine, as we move faster and harder, splashing hot water around us in waves as my body plunges deliciously down onto his.

When he whispers my name in a deep, erotic groan, it vaults me into a shuddering orgasm. He suddenly pulls himself out of me, and I fall back onto him with a cry as his cock throbs and releases in thick, hot spurts against my ass.

Lingering in post-orgasmic haze, I pull my sore legs into the tub and turn over to straddle him. He looks incredibly sexy and sated, leaning back against the tub—eyes hooded, long hair clinging to his forehead, misted with sweat and steam.

His grin is all drowsy and satisfied. “I think I’m dead.”

Still panting for breath, I cup his face in my hands and kiss him long and soft, not wanting the intimacy to end here.

“Are you okay?” I ask against his lips, worried that we’ve made his back worse.

He pushes my wet hair from my flushed face and kicks the tub stopper with his foot. “I’m fine. But bath time’s over,” he says. Taking the hint, I reluctantly start to climb out, but he pulls me back in for another kiss. “The night doesn’t have to be, though.”

I raise my eyebrow. “It doesn’t?”

He shakes his head back and forth, flinging droplets of water from the tips of his hair. “Stay with me tonight.”

My heart jumps. Since we live in the same house, that can only mean one thing. “Stay… in your bed? All night?”

“Yeah.” He inhales a steady breath and slowly exhales, locking his steely eyes on mine. “I don’t want you to leave.”

I take a moment to answer. The swirl of the water draining from the tub is the only sound between us. It gurgles and sputters, just like my brain right now.

It’s special—spending the night together. It’s an epic level of intimate trust, to fall asleep next to someone in the dark, in his bed. Breathing next to him, asleep and vulnerable. At least, to me it is. And I know tomorrow night when I’m down the hall in my own room again, I’m going to be thinking about him, aching for him, wishing we weren’t sleeping a hallway apart.

But despite that, I’d rather have our night together than never have it.

“Okay,” I finally say. “I don’t want me to leave, either.”

Jude winces as he climbs out of the tub and wraps a towel around his hips. I follow him to the bedroom, also in a warm, fuzzy towel. The hot water and the even hotter sex has made my limbs feel wobbly. I sit at the foot of his bed and watch him lose the towel and pull on a pair of boxers.

Something about me puts a smile on his face as he takes a white T-shirt from his dresser and hands it to me.

“What?” I ask. “You’re making a weird face.”

He laughs. “You just look adorable sitting there, like you’re not sure what to do with yourself.”

“Accurate.” I change into his shirt—which is thin and soft from years of wear, and I never want to give it back—and take our towels into the bathroom, so they’re not sitting around wet. When I come back, he’s lying in bed, propped against a bunch of pillows.

“Should I turn off the light?” I ask, wondering how it’s possible that I felt more comfortable spread-eagled in a bathtub riding his dick than I do getting into his bed with him.

His eyes narrow curiously at me. “Sure.”

I switch off the light and join him on the bed, copying his pillow formation. I’m surprised when he turns on the television and puts on a streaming music channel.

He puts the remote on the night table, then pulls me to him. I turn slightly and lay my palm flat on his chest.

“You can come closer,” he says, laughing a little as he pulls my hand so my arm is around his waist and my body is curved into his. He touches his bare foot to mine and rubs it slowly up and down the arch of my foot. “Why are you acting so nervous? Would you rather not be here?”

I really don’t want to be anywhere else but here. Unfortunately, a case of insecurity has just suddenly taken over. Does being in bed with a man mean we’re here to have sex? Do we talk first? Do we just go to sleep? What happens in the morning? Is it like eating dinner, where you don’t leave the table until everyone is done eating?