Chapter Fourteen

Libby rolled over on the big bed for the fourth time that night and kicked off the sheets. So uncomfortable. And hot, her skin flushed despite the softly blowing air conditioner.

Why couldn’t she just sleep already?

Okay, she knew that answer even though she loathed admitting it, even to herself. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw images of Jude in this bed with her, doing things to her that made her insides quake.

It wasn’t fair.

Out of all the men on the planet, she had to want the one who was the worst for her mental health. Frustrating, annoying, impossible, selfish Jude Wilde.

But he was right about one thing: they burned up the sheets together and, God, did she need the release of a good orgasm right now. She’d been wound so tight since their fight this afternoon, and then the way he’d stared at her during Battleship…

No man ever stared at her like that. No man, that is, except for Jude.

“You can’t have him,” she told the ceiling.

Well, no, that wasn’t completely true. She couldn’t let herself have the real him again—but the fantasy version, the one she kept locked away in her mind and brought out on lonely nights? That version of Jude she’d permit herself. He’d always be there, always be hers, and he was perfect because he never spoke. Never teased. Never infuriated. He was just there to offer pleasure.

She closed her eyes, and as she traced a hand down her body, she pictured him, the Jude she used to know. Younger, his hair shorter in a severe military cut, his body leaner and less muscled. No earring. No tattoos. Same pale blue eyes, quick smile, and talented fingers.

She imagined those fingers now, slick with her desire, parting her folds, finding her clitoris. Her body tightened as pleasure zinged through her, and a low moan escaped her throat. He slid a finger into her, testing her, and she was oh so ready, hanging on by a thread. His thumb tweaked her bundle of nerves, and his lips brushed her neck, traced her jaw.

Come for me, babe. Now. I want you to come for me.

Oh God. Young Jude faded away as the words whispered through her mind and an image of the man sleeping out on the couch took his place.

Come for me.

She was going to, her body trembling on the edge of that abyss. Holy hell, this fantasy was so much more potent. Jude, with his earring and all his tattoos, his wide shoulders and hard body that always crushed her into the mattress with each powerful thrust of his hips. She strained toward climax, begging him to finish it, to take her over into oblivion with his amazing fingers—and still it wasn’t enough.

Dammit. Fantasy wasn’t enough.

Nearly sobbing in frustration, she lifted her hips to meet her hand and squeezed her eyes shut tighter. She needed to come. She needed…

“Jude.” Yes, saying his name helped. He was right there in bed with her, driving her mercilessly toward orgasm, whispering naughty things in her ear. “Jude…” So close, her thighs quivered and her inner muscles clenched around her fingers. But it…wasn’t…enough. “Jude!”

…

At the shout from the bedroom, Jude shot to instant wakefulness and grabbed his firearm from the end table where he’d set it before stretching out for the night.

Something was wrong. Libby wouldn’t call out for him. Not unless something bad was happening.

He didn’t waste time dressing and ghosted toward the bedroom, pushing open the door as silently as possible. If someone was in there with her, he wanted some element of surprise—

He ground to a halt and stared at the bed, his mouth suddenly dry as he engaged his weapon’s safety and placed it on the nearby dresser. Libby lay splayed out on top of the sheets, her nightshirt bunched up around her shoulders, giving him a prime view of her body. Her hand stroked between her legs, her slender fingers sinking in and out of her sex, and she arched with the movement, her eyes screwed shut, her body taut. Struggling for a climax, she needed somebody to give her a little something more, somebody to love her right, to raise her up and over the mental block keeping her from coming.

That someone should be him. Always him. Only him.

Fucking hell.

All the blood drained from his head at that possessive thought, making him dizzy as fuck, and his erection jumped from half-mast to ahoy matey so fast he nearly exploded right then and there. He dipped a hand inside his shorts and gripped himself to stop it from happening, squeezed until the line between pleasure and pain blurred, and a groan rumbled from his chest without his consent.

Libby’s eyes snapped open. “Oh God! What are you doing in here?”

“You called for me.”

“You’re crazy. I wouldn’t—” She started to sit up and withdraw her hand, but Christ, he couldn’t let her. He wanted to watch her pleasure herself more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

“Don’t.” His voice was pure gravel, but he didn’t bother clearing his throat. He pumped his hand up and down his shaft in hard strokes. “Let me see you. I need to see you.”

Her gaze drifted down his body, her eyes widening at the sight of his straining cock. After a second that seemed to last for years, she slowly settled back against the pillows and let her knees fall open. Her hand returned to her pretty pink sex, and as he watched her dip her fingers inside herself, his whole body started to tremble.

“I did call for you,” she admitted and dropped her head back to stare at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “I was imaging you doing this, your fingers right here where mine are, stroking me.”

He couldn’t find his voice, couldn’t tear his gaze away from the slow slide of her fingers in and out. Unconsciously, he matched his strokes to her rhythm.

“I want you,” she gasped, and he saw he wasn’t the only one trembling. As her thumb pressed against her clit, her legs shook so hard she vibrated the bed. “I want you, and I know I shouldn’t. I can’t help myself.”

“You want me?” He was panting now, about to go off like a teenager making out in the backseat of his first car. He wanted to be inside her when he did, and it took every ounce of control he could muster not to jump onto that bed and pound into her until they were both screaming. “Say the word, Libs. That’s all you gotta do.”

She caught his gaze, held it. “Yes.”

He dove for the nightstand and yanked open the drawer for the condoms he’d stored there during their first night in Key West. As he ripped one open and covered himself, Libby’s velvet laugh was more seductive than a caress. It rippled down his spine and tightened his balls, leaving him breathless and desperate to plunge into her body.

But not yet. Not quite yet.

He grabbed her ankles and pulled her across the bed. Rough. Too rough, and yet he couldn’t seem to slow it down, take it easy. He held her open, looped her legs over his shoulders, and bent to taste her. Just a quick taste for now—he already wasn’t going to last long and needed inside her.

Libby cried out and bucked against his mouth, her legs going rigid around his shoulders as the orgasm she’d been striving for slammed through her, leaving her gasping, the muscles in her thighs quivering. He gave her clit one last tease with his tongue, then stood and buried himself all the way inside her in one hard plunge. Again. And again. She screamed his name with her next climax, and the sound shattered his control. He leaned over her, planted his hands by her hips for better leverage and pumped hard, driving in as deep as he could get. His release surged out of him with so much power, he half feared his cock had exploded.

Breathing ragged, sweat chilling his overheated skin, he fell forward, catching himself on his forearms and resting his head on her breasts. His feet were still flat on the floor, but with the way his damn legs trembled, he didn’t think he’d be able to lift his weight off her for…oh, never. Her heart hammered under his ear, and he smiled sleepily at the sound.

“Can you move?” Libby finally said. “I need water.”

Oh shit. She didn’t sound content. More like annoyed. Had he done something wrong? He wracked his lust-addled brain for any hint that he’d screwed up. She’d said yes, and he knew she’d come at least twice before he’d lost himself in his own pleasure and quit counting. Maybe she’d been faking…but he didn’t think so. Nobody could fake the involuntary muscle spasms that had squeezed his cock so hard that he’d been unable to hold back his own orgasm.

“Yeah. Sorry.” He willed his still trembling muscles to work and straightened, realizing too late that he was still inside her. He hissed as their bodies dislodged, and she let out a soft moan.

Son of a bitch, he was already getting hard again. He watched Libby walk toward the master bath until the door closed behind her, then disposed of the condom and sat down on the bed, making himself comfortable with a pillow behind his back. With a mix of wonder and disgust at himself, he stared down his body at his cock, which was definitely up for a round two.

That woman. Christ, he must be a glutton for punishment because he just couldn’t get enough.

When the door opened again, she stood silhouetted by the bathroom lights, wrapped up in a short robe that looked silky to the touch. He wanted to take that soft tie off the robe and wind it around her wrists. Or, hell, she could even tie him up with it. Actually, that thought was far too appealing, and he covered himself with his hands to hide his instant reaction.

Unmoving, she stared at him from the doorway for a long time.

Jude winced at the expression on her face. “Are you gonna pull out the ‘this was mistake’ line and kick me back to the couch?”

She rolled her bottom lip through her teeth, but then shook her head. “No, not this time. We’re both adults now. We should be able to carry on a physical affair.”

“A physical affair,” he echoed. Was she saying…? No way. She couldn’t be. He must have misunderstood or something. Then again, there wasn’t much in her statement to misunderstand. “Uh, lemme make sure I’m hearing you right. Just for the sake of clarity. You want to keep having sex?”

“We may be here for a while. It’s logical, as long as we keep emotions out of it.”

Jude blinked. This was too good to be true. “No emotions?”

“None,” she agreed and moved to sit on the end of the bed. “Just sex. There’s no denying the chemistry we have in bed, so why not exploit it? At very least, it’s a nice distraction.”

Nice distraction. Those oh-so-logical words tweaked something a little too close to his heart for comfort, so he did what he always did when something hurt: he grinned. “Well, hell. What kind of a man would I be if I said no to that deal?”