Wrong Kind of Love

I fall into the patio chair with a heavy sigh. Like I said before, the price of freedom is never cheap or easy.

39

Victoria

Epilogue

It’s been a year since we moved to this island. A year of waking up with Jude and Cayla, a year of Marney burning everything he cooks. The man refuses to use oil no matter how many times I’ve told him. A year where I’ve almost forgotten who Jude is until nights like tonight.

Nights when he’s been out with Gabe and isn’t home on time, then I start to worry. It’s past midnight when Jude staggers into the room, blood splatter on his shirt.

I hate that he still does this shit, that it’s anywhere near Cayla. But I also know what he had to do to come back to us. This is the price we pay for the life we have, the price of Gabriel’s protection.

“Do I want to know?”

“No.” He grabs the bottom of his shirt and tugs it over his head as he approaches me. Moonlight plays over the hard lines of his abs. We’ve been together two years, and still, he has an effect on me. Jude is my twisted version of happily ever after, my bloodstained prince in a sea of violence and revenge.

He sinks to the bed beside me and presses a kiss to my throat. "You smell so fucking good."

“You think that line’s going to work?”

“Oh, I know it will.” His hand sinks between my thighs, fingers playing with the edge of my underwear. "You'll fuck me anywhere. Anyway. Any fucking time, doll." He yanks my underwear down my legs before shoving out of his jeans and boxers. One brutal kiss, and he slams inside me. No foreplay. No questions. And I welcome the way it feels. Rough and hard, the absolute definition of Jude.

"Your pussy always feels so fucking good." His lips cover mine in an angry kiss, his hands groping my breast as he buries himself harder, deeper.

We become a tangled mess of limbs and heavy breaths of “I love yous” and “fuck me harder.” Until we both reach that edge and tumble off of it together. I dig my nails into the hard muscle of his back as pleasure rips through my body like a rogue wave, and Jude stills, pressing inside of me so hard it catches my breath. “Fuck, Tor…” he groans, then rolls off me and drags me onto his sweat-slicked chest.

I lay in the dark, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart as I come down from the blissful high only he can give

Our love story is one written in blood and bonded by violence, it isn’t a fairy tale, but a nightmare we found our way out of.

The End.