Don't Kiss the Bride

“You stayed the night last week,” I point out.

“Only because you had surgery and I didn’t want you to be alone.”

I’m glad he can’t see the smirk on my face. He may have left my bed before I woke up, but I distinctly remember him holding me all night, and softly kissing my temple when he thought I was asleep.

More accurately, Jude has a no-getting-attached rule. I recognize all the signs because I also have that rule. However, it doesn’t seem to be working for us. Our rules are breaking themselves. Although, a little voice inside tells me maybe they’re breaking a little more for me than for him.

I just have to keep reminding myself that I’m here for the happily for now and not the happily ever after.

And right now, all I want is to get on that bed and let his touch banish the stress from all the bullying, my eating disorder, and all my various other worries about how my life is going. Jude is like a magic eraser. When I’m with him, it all fades away.

Turning around, I unknot my T-shirt and slowly lift it over my head. He steps back a bit and watches me with insatiable hunger. I’m definitely not ready to give a sultry, pole-worthy strip tease, but I refuse to let myself look nervous, shy, and awkward. All those things will throw up the she’s-too-young red flags.

He looks insanely hot as he comes toward me, and I soak it all in. The messy hair. Those sterling eyes. Muscular arms and washboard abs; the sweatpants slipping down his hips, showing off a bulge big enough to have its own zip code.

Cupping my face in his hands, he kisses me long and slow. I think he’s caught on to the power his touch has over me. I’m a rag doll—my insides turning to mush, my limbs weak. I lean my body into his and hold on to his huge biceps to keep from swaying. As we kiss, he moves his hands slowly down the sides of my neck, his thumbs grazing over my throat, then over my shoulders, to my back. He unclasps my bra, then slips it off and tosses it on the floor. Effortlessly, he lifts me up and lays me down on top of his puffy charcoal comforter. I lie back and watch him as he removes my shoes, then stands between my legs as he unzips my shorts and tugs them down, along with my panties.

“I think I just want to stand here and look at you all night,” he says, inching his hand languidly up my thigh like he’s got all the time in the world. His eyes sweep over me and he gives his head a little shake. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

I peek at him through my lashes. “I could say the same about you.”

He grins, and I sit up on the edge of his bed and grab the waistband of his pants. This time, he doesn’t stop me. He lets me pull them down, and his stiff cock springs free.

“Commando?” I inquire. He’s already hard as steel, pulsing with heat right next to my face.

“Only when I sleep.” He touches the side of my head, gently weaving his fingers through my hair. “I thought I was going to bed, but someone was being a bad wife by staying out too late.”

“You better not say you want to spank me,” I warn, only half-joking. I’m not into the Daddy thing. If he is, I might just pack my bags and my cat and leave tonight.

“Hell no,” he says, moving his hand down to caress the back of my neck. “I want to see your lips wrapped around me like a good little wife.”

My pussy clenches, letting me know my body is totally on board with all these things, even if my mind has totally just hit a brick wall.

I can’t put his cock in my mouth.

OhGodOhGodOhGod. I can’t do this. It’s too big. I can’t even swallow vanilla pudding yet. There’s no way I’m going to be able to swallow cum.

I was so close to being normal.

I’m totally defective. Abnormal. Damaged. Not good enough.

My hand trembles as I stroke his smooth shaft. He’s long, hard and thick, throbbing with heat and desire in my hand. I can feel myself getting wet just touching him, thinking of him inside me. I want this man so bad, I just can’t do that.

Above me, he sucks in a breath.

“Jude…” My voice wavers. I stare up at him and wait for him to open his eyes and look at me. “I can’t…”

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly.

“I can’t do the blowjob thing,” I whisper. “Because of my—”

“Shit… I’m sorry. My mind’s like mush right now. I’m not thinking.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m sorry, I—” My voice catches in a tight ball of embarrassment and shame.