Wrong Kind of Love

Within seconds, his fingers send pleasure ripping through every cell in my body.

“You make me do bad things, Tor,” he says, his lips lingering against mine until he takes a step back. Then, with his gaze locked on mine, he slips his fingers inside his mouth. “Really fucking bad things.” Holy shit. He is a bad thing, the worst.

His lips slam over mine again as he frantically works my jeans over my hips. “Do you know how fucking long I’ve wanted you?”

I shouldn’t like that he wants me. I shouldn’t want him back.

He gets one of my legs freed from the jeans, then shoves my thighs open as he sinks to the floor between them. This isn’t where I was expecting Jude to go with this, and when he tugs my underwear to the side, my cheeks burn.

Before I can say anything, his warm tongue makes a slow lick over me, and every muscle in my body tenses from the sensation.

“You taste as goddamn innocent as you look….” And I know compared to him, I am innocent, like prey thrown into a predator's den. The lamb isn’t supposed to want the lion, though.

He sucks my clit into his mouth, and my nerve endings light up like a firework show. This shouldn’t feel so damn good. It shouldn’t, but my God, it does. The man who held me hostage, then let me go, the man who saved me and killed for me, is between my legs, manipulating my body like a master puppeteer. And I’m enjoying every second of it because I think I may secretly be as screwed up as him.

He nips and bites, fucking me with his tongue like it will get him off. “I could eat this pussy all damn day,” he says, groaning as he yanks me harder against him, and that’s it.

That’s what sends me over the edge. Heat floods my skin, creating a momentary high of pure bliss. My body bows and contorts to his tune, a slave to his whims. The orgasm reaches a crescendo, and I’m unable to take another swipe of his tongue, so I grab his hair and yank. And when I breathlessly open my eyes, Jude’s pushing to his feet with a look in his eye that promises he’s about to ruin me.

“That felt pretty personal,” I breathe.

“And not near as personal as I want it to be….”

I should put a stop to this; I should, but I won’t.

He goes for his belt, pausing when someone knocks on the door. I yank my jeans back on so fast I almost trip over. And God, I’m glad I do because Marney opens the door and freezes at the threshold. His gaze swings from Jude to me. “Ah, hell, boy…”

That’s it. I make a beeline for the door, then go straight to Jude’s room and shut the door.

That was a big fat line I just crossed. I’d say I regret it, but with the tingle of that orgasm still lingering on my skin, it’s impossible to. Maybe it’s warped or just plain poor judgment on my part, but I want him. What in the hell is wrong with me?

“Ria?” Caleb’s voice comes from the other side of the door, and I hope to God my face isn’t still flushed from that orgasm because I do not want Caleb to cock a brow and mention anything about Jude and me fucking.

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to the store. You want anything?”

Out of this damn house. Because I’m terrified that whenever Marney leaves, Jude’s going to come up here to finish what we started, and I know I will let him. I open the door and step into the hall. “I’ll come with you.”

He frowns as I pass by, heading for the stairs. “You’re supposed to be dead, Ria. Probably isn’t a good idea to just walk around town.”

“I dyed my hair. I’m not from around here. No one will recognize me.” I wait for him to catch up to me, then snatch his ball cap from his head, placing it on mine. “And I’ll wear this.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he just sighs and goes down the steps.

An hour later, we’re leaving Wal-E-Mart, and my nerves are on edge. While the mothers trying to calm their screaming children and the men on their mobility scooters may not have reason to think my death was faked, Tom may. Without the sex-hazed panic clouding my brain, I realize this is a bad idea while the thought of Tom or one of his guys seeing me plays on repeat in my head.

Caleb finishes putting the groceries into the back while I climb into the passenger side. I drop my bag to the floorboard, a slight smile pulling at my lips when I glance at the little wooden picture frame sticking out from the plastic. I just hope it’s the right size for the picture of Jude’s mother and sister.