Page 52 of This Might Hurt

“I—Jude.” I walk backward into the middle of the room I grew up in, the one I never shared with him.

I feel like I’m coming apart, shame balanced with the shock of being wanted so much that someone would break space and time to save me.

I drop onto my knees on the carpet because nothing is good right now, and this has always felt like a good place, where I am known in ways I’ve never known myself. “Do something, please.”

Sucking in a breath, he hesitates in the doorway, that terrible anger finally leaking away. All I can hear in the silence is his shaky breathing as he studies me like he has to solve all the mysteries of the universe before he can move.

“Jude,” I beg softly after what feels like forever. My body needs him to be here, not over there.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, just a whisper, crouching down like he can see me better that way.

“Be patient for me.” The words run across my skin like water, washing away the thick, grimy reek of shame that the shower couldn’t touch.

He sees, he knows. He has never pitied me. But right now, it’s still not enough.

I must make another pleading sound, because he stands up and unbuckles his belt, letting his pants drop around his feet and stepping out of them.

He’s wearing the black designer briefs I got him, molded perfectly around his hips and ass.

I forget all about them as soon as he crosses the room, stopping with his bulge right in my face.

When he put me at his feet in Ramona’s bedroom and at the ranch, he had a light in his eyes, a surety.

Right now they look dark, his pupils dilating to swallow his gold irises until they’re almost pools of black.

I can’t make myself look away, even though my neck hurts from craning it.

His face is blank, intent, but he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek like he’s unsure.

Finally he strokes the fingers of both hands firmly through my hair, bumping my nose with his crotch.

This isn’t even about sex, but the relief of his touch is so visceral it hits me harder than an orgasm.

I whine softly like he’s stolen all my words, my dignity, but I know they’re safe with him.

Instinctively, unsure what he wants, I lean in to mouth at his bulge.

He takes a step back, keeping me still with a hand on my head. “No.”

His hand explores down around my ear, along my jaw.

I rest my face in his hip crease and he lets me stay there, curling and uncurling his fingers in my hair as he pushes down the front of his briefs.

His dusky cock is only beginning to harden.

“Good.” I haven’t even done anything. He sounds as dazed as I feel, and just as relieved, like everything is slowly, painfully slotting back into place.

My eyes are half closed against his body, so I hear more than see him start to stroke his cock.

I have no idea how long he jerks off for, but it feels like an eternity.

I only know the smell of his solid body, the slight rhythmic jostling as he moves, his hand caressing the back of my head, the soft slapping sound.

When I’m more than half asleep, his fingers tighten in my hair and he pulls me away from him, spilling his load with a low growl. His cum hits my face in short, hot spurts that make me shiver—in my eyebrows, my lashes, leaking down my temple to my jaw, pooling along my upper lip.

His big hands cradle either side of my head, and I feel his nose in my hair.

“You’re mine.” He whispers it against my scalp, his grip painfully tight.

When he lets go and steps back, pulling his briefs up, his eyes drink in the state of me.

I can feel cum dripping off my chin onto my chest. He opens his mouth like he’s going to speak, then changes his mind.

He didn’t tell me to stay, but I can’t seem to move.

The smell of his cum fills my nose, the faint salt taste of it in the corners of my mouth.

I feel like I might be getting hard, but I don’t dare tilt my head down to check.

I can’t understand what’s happening except that I feel very raw, like something soft and pulsing inside me has been peeled open and I can feel air touching it for the first time.

I’m scared. I want to cover it over again before this house destroys it.

My panicked breathing slows down when Jude crouches so we’re level again, his eyebrows furrowing as his eyes flick between mine.

He sees it, whatever part of me he just tore free.

I told him he could have everything, but I don’t think I meant this.

No part of me this soft was ever supposed to survive.

I’m starting to shiver. I press my thighs together and hold my breath.

He scoots closer across the thick, cream carpet, stopping a couple of feet away.

No one has ever in the history of time looked at me so thoroughly.

I realize there’s something wet trickling down the corners of my nose—not cum, much warmer and wetter than the cum.

I give a snotty, disgusting sniff, like I can somehow choke back the tears trailing down my cheeks.

But I don’t take my eyes off him because I’ll be damned if I look away first.

He sits up straighter, his body taut, his dark eyes widening a little as he reaches a hand toward my face. “You’re—” But he doesn’t finish.

“What?” My confused voice comes out all fucked.

“God.” He pulls his hand back and runs it through his hair, his voice awed. “You’re just…I’m so damn lucky I found you.”