Hey Jude (Lennox Valley Chronicles #1)

I can feel my pleasure building, gathering in my core. I throw my head back onto the bed and clench around his fingers, my hands curling into his hair.

As if reading my mind, he deepens the pressure. Thrusting his fingers harder and faster inside me, sucking and licking me madly, he brings me closer and closer to the edge.

With his fingers still pumping fast, he breaks his mouth away just long enough to say, in a deep rumble, his lips grazing against the burning heat of my center, “You taste fucking amazing, Olena.”

His words are the end of any control I had been holding onto. Release crashes over me, shattering my senses. With my core clenching and my muscles gripping tightly around his fingers, he quickly sucks my swollen clit back into his mouth, flicking his tongue rapidly back and forth, drawing out my pleasure as long as possible. I cry out in a ragged moan as the waves of overwhelming ecstasy thrum and pulsate through my entire body.

When my breathing finally calms, my ears ring and sparkles dance across my vision. As I try to piece together my grip on reality, I look down to see those green eyes gazing up at me, smiling.

I’m done for.

No one has ever made me feel like that.

I exhale.

“Again,” he growls, pushing his fingers into me once more.

23

OLENA

My phone buzzes beside me on the nightstand. With some effort, I crack one eye open, quickly taking in my surroundings and remembering where I am with a smile. Noticing Jude’s not beside me, I roll over and reach for my phone. His text reads:

good morning, beautiful. went to get breakfast. stay put. x

He must have found my phone and put it here for me. I let it fall against my chest and smile, biting my lip as the memories of last night wash over me in flashes. Oh my God. Jude’s lips brushing mine on the porch. Crashing through the doorway in his arms. His head between my legs. ‘Again,’ his throaty growl echoes in my mind.

I put my hands over my face, the memories enough to bring back the heat in a wave of delicious pleasure. Curling into the pillow, I’m grinning so hard I might pull a muscle. I let out a long breath to steady myself.

I decide to get dressed, though my shirt is nowhere in sight. I see a flannel shirt of Jude’s hanging on the back of a chair across the room and go to pick it up, bringing the fabric to my face to breathe in his scent. Dear God, this man smells so good, I think to myself as my eyes flutter shut. I slip the shirt on. Buttoning it up halfway, I notice it’s enormous on me and hangs down below my ass. Loving the feeling of the fabric swishing against my bare skin, I pad through the house to locate my own clothes.

I find my panties and jeans near the bedroom door and put them back on, the cold fabric chilling me slightly. I scrunch the sleeves of Jude’s flannel over my hands like makeshift mittens and hug my arms tight to my chest. My nipples are hard from the morning chill and I relish how sensitive they feel rubbing against Jude’s shirt. Another flash of memory hits me: Jude’s tongue flicking and sucking, sending ripples of pleasure through me… I flush at the thought and continue smiling like a fool all by myself.

The house is quiet; Jude must have taken Murphy with him when he left. I flick on the bathroom light, taking in my rumpled reflection in the mirror. I wet my hands and use them to comb down the most unruly sections of my hair.

After hunting around for my purse and realizing I’d left it in Jude’s truck, I locate a chopstick in one of the kitchen drawers and use it to twist my hair up into a messy bun. Pleased at my resourcefulness, I renew the search for my shirt, remembering with a smile that we were near the front door when Jude ripped it off me. My eyes land on it and I walk over to pick it up.

Shirt in hand, I’ve barely stood up when someone suddenly pounds on the front door and my head snaps up, eyes wide. My heart leaps into my throat. Another loud pounding sound has me stumbling backward several steps.

Jude? Why would Jude be knocking on the door? This is his house… Surely, he has keys… Doubt crawls over my skin as I realize someone else must be out there and my pulse quickens. Stepping back another few paces, I bump into the edge of the kitchen counter and stop.

“Jude!” a rough, deep voice calls from outside.

My stomach drops and I freeze, my shirt clutched tightly in my fist.

“Jude, man, you home? I just came to see if you—”

I hear a stumble and a crash outside.

“Oh, shit,” the voice exclaims, then there’s a rough, strange laugh.

Something’s not right. This guy sounds drunk. Why is some drunk guy banging on Jude’s door at 9am on a Saturday?

Three more loud bangs. He mutters something I can’t quite hear.

“Jude, buddy, I need to talk to you!” the voice shouts.

I flinch as he rattles the door handle roughly. The memories rush back: me in my Seattle apartment, hiding behind the couch as two men shout outside our window, Sean’s terrified, wide eyes watching mine as the glass shatters.