Revenge plot part 4

I was two-thirds of the way through a bottle of something amber and expensive when the door opened again.

Jude stopped in the doorway. His eyes went from my face to the bottle in my hand and back.

“I thought I told you to stop.”

I lifted the bottle in a mock toast. “Welcome home.”

He crossed the room in three strides, took the bottle from my fingers with firm pressure, and set it out of reach.

“That’s enough.”

He crouched in front of me so we were eye level. The concern in his face was worse than anger would have been.

I looked at him, and the words I had never said finally pushed free.

“I’m sorry.” The confession came out raw. “For all of it. The books in the mud, the notes, the way I made sure everyone laughed. I just… I wanted to feel like I belonged somewhere. Hurting you was the only thing that ever made the other kids stand next to me. That doesn’t make it better. I know that, but it’s the only reason I have.”

Silence stretched.

“I won’t forgive you.”He said.

I reached out, took his wrist, and guided his hand until his palm rested flat against the centre of my chest, over the thin fabric of my blouse. His fingers tensed.

“Even if I do this?” I asked quietly.

The heat of his hand soaked through the cloth and into my skin. I could feel my own heartbeat against his palm.

“Trust me,” I said. “This is as weird for me as it is for you, but who cares.”

I reached past him, retrieved the bottle, and took a long swallow. The burn was sharp and clarifying.

Jude watched me for a long second. Then something in his expression shifted.

“Fuck it,” he muttered.

He took the bottle from my hand, tilted it to his own mouth, and drank.

The air between us changed.

I leaned forward first. Our mouths met in a rush of whiskey and heat. Tongues licked and circled, wet and insistent, the kiss turning rough and intense almost at once. Teeth caught, breath tangled. His hand gripped the back of my neck hard enough to tilt my head exactly where he wanted it. I answered with equal force, fingers twisting in his shirt.

We broke apart only long enough to drag air into our lungs.

“Undress me,” I said.

I didn’t ask twice when he peeled my blouse upward and off, then the bra beneath it. The cool air of the room kissed my bare breasts. He worked my jeans and underwear down my legs in one smooth motion until I lay naked on the sheets. I watched him the entire time, pulse hammering in my throat.

I reached for the bottle again. While I was still lying back I tipped it slowly over my chest. The amber liquid spilled across my skin, warm at first, then cooling as it ran between my breasts, down the centre of my stomach, and finally between my thighs until it reached the sensitive folds of my pussy. The scent of whiskey rose sharp and sweet.

“Punish me for my crimes,” I whispered.

Something fierce and hungry moved across his face.

He started with slow kisses, biting my lower lip, then the upper, tasting the whiskey on my mouth. His lips travelled down the side of my throat, then lower, following the trail of liquor through the centre of my chest. One hand came up to massage my nipple, rolling and pinching with deliberate pressure while his mouth kept moving. I moaned hard, the sound raw in the quiet room.

He kept going lower.

When he reached the place between my legs he didn’t tease. He spread me open with his thumbs and ate my pussy like a man starving, tongue flat and greedy, licking deep, sucking on the swollen bud until my hips jerked. It was messy and intense. I was soaked, thighs trembling around his head, fingers locked in his hair as he worked me without mercy.

Before I could tip over the edge he pulled back, breathing hard. He turned me onto my stomach so my buttocks faced up, legs pressed close together. I heard the soft rustle of fabric as he shoved his own pants down. Then the blunt, thick head of his cock pressed against me from behind. He pushed in with one long, steady thrust, burying himself deep between my tightly closed thighs.

The stretch made me cry out, half pain, half pure joy.

He fucked me like that, hips snapping forward, the force of each thrust bouncing my ass against him. The angle was tight and relentless. Every stroke dragged along sensitive places inside me. I pushed back to meet him, moaning into the pillow, the wet slap of skin on skin loud and shameless.

After a while he slowed only long enough to bind my wrists to the headboard with something soft. Once I was secured he drove into me again, this time face-to-face, no slow start, just hard, fast, punishing thrusts that made the bedframe creak. It was exactly what I had asked for. I threw my ass back against him as best I could, chasing the brutal rhythm, and the pressure built so fast and so high that I shattered with a sharp cry. Pleasure tore through me in long, uncontrollable waves; I felt myself squirt around his cock, soaking the sheets beneath us.

He pulled out while I was still shaking.

I scrambled to my knees as much as the bindings allowed, took him into my mouth, and sucked hard, hollowing my cheeks, tongue working the underside, taking him as deep as I could. Saliva and the taste of both of us mixed. He groaned, hips twitching. I kept going until he was dripping, until his control frayed completely.

Only then did he tug free, free my wrists, and collapse beside me.

We lay there breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat and whiskey and the evidence of everything we had just done. The room smelled of sex and alcohol. My pulse still thundered in my ears. His arm was thrown across his eyes.

Slowly, the haze began to lift.

Realization settled over both of us like cold water.

I stared at the ceiling, wrists faintly marked, thighs still trembling, the taste of him still on my tongue. Jude lowered his arm and looked at me. Neither of us spoke for a long moment. The hunger had burned itself out, leaving only the quiet, complicated truth of what we had allowed to happen.