hard, and my core punished me with emptiness. I edged away, attempting to escape from the shower.
I didn’t get far.
Jude’s words rasped with heavy desire. “Where are you going?”
He grabbed me. I gasped as my back struck the shower wall once more, but he crashed over me—holding me, touching me, drifting to my slit to feel the mess that he had made.
Or had I made this mess?
If it was even a mess.
“Don’t leave,” he whispered. “Don’t go.”
He didn’t have to ask. It wasn’t this mistake that worried me.
The only thing I feared was losing him.
But first I’d have to escape his arms.
And I didn’t leave his bed all night.
13
Jude
I hadn’t slept. I passed out.
And I woke a very happy man.
A sweaty, sticky, shamefully erect man, but that was the way nature intended. At least if my head had finally cracked and I lost my mind, I could rely on primal instinct to satisfy the woman resting next to me in bed.
Naked.
Rory was naked in my bed.
And she dripped everything sexy and vulgar that either made me hard as a rock or dumb as a bag of them.
I had no idea how it happened. Why it happened.
But fuck, I was glad it did.
I never realized how lonely it was, waking up day after day with only Phillip to greet me. Of course, after today, after watching Rory sleep with her beautiful ebony skin contrasting the cream sheets, her lips parted in a gentle sigh, and her eyes peacefully shut, I’d never want another woman in my bed.
No one would ever look as lovely. No one would ever please me as much.
And that was a problem.
Under the sheets slept an amazing, gorgeous, unbelievable woman…and the blankets hid a bump that swelled a little more each day. It made her all the more irresistible now, but that desire was dangerous for both of us.
She had wanted me, and I lusted for her. Once she woke, I had no idea what she’d expect.
I hoped it was breakfast. In bed. Tangled in my sheets for another few hours.
The room was yet dark, kept in perpetual night with the aid of miracle blackout curtains. They spared my headaches and granted me extra time with Rory. Worth the investment.
My cock twitched. I nestled against the curve of her ass and brushed a finger over her bare shoulder.
What sort of magic or fairy godmother did I need to remember this feeling? A camera couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t capture the peace I found in her embrace.
Christ, I hated myself. Not because I had slept with a friend and spent the night buried within a vulnerable woman, but because I knew how fragile my memories were.
What would happen first? Would we regret this night…or would the feelings, desires, and pleasures fade from my mind?
Rory shifted, and her happy sigh teased me like music. She stretched, though one hand cautiously protected her little Genie.
What had I done to deserve this perfect woman in my bed?
And how the hell did I get her to stay?
I kissed her shoulder and grinned. “You realize what you’ve done right?”
She tensed, her eyes opening only for her eyebrows to furrow with worry. “I know. It’s bad.”
“I don’t know what came over us.”
“Jude—”
“But you can bet I’m gonna sit my ass in the shower every night, hoping you’ll join me again.”
Rory relaxed. “So I wasn’t imposing?”
“Consider the trespass forgiven.” I had to know. “Any reason you decided to make me the luckiest man in the world?”
She didn’t squirm. Didn’t shy away. Didn’t avert her gaze. “I wanted you.”
“Second trimester?”
“No…I just wanted a night with you.”
“Only one night?”
Rory bit her lip, but her eyes widened as she searched the darkened windows, hidden by the thick curtains.
“Oh no, what time is it?”
Hell, after a night like that, I’d be lucky if I remembered my name or what day it was. I reached for my phone, but Rory already slipped from the bed. She ripped the sheet away to cover herself, but I kept a tight ship and a neater bed. The blanket bounced back to the bed. Rory bounced with it.
I couldn’t laugh. Without the sheet, she bolted for the only covering she could find.
My curtains.
The burst of vibrant white-hot morning light seared through my skull.
Rory gasped. “Oh my God. It’s nine o’clock.”
And a Tuesday. My day off. Nine was nothing when I needed to heal. Or recover from the best night of sex I’d ever had. Tuesdays were sacrosanct. The league-wide day off. A time to rest.