The Bet by Max Monroe
Saturday, March 10th, Early Morning
Sophie
My front door slams into the wall first, and then my back hits the door, Jude’s entire body weight pressed against me as he licks a line of unimaginable foreplay through the crease of my lips.
It promises a plethora of things, many of which I’ve spent entirely too many hours fantasizing about. It’s still dark outside, but the precursors of dawn are all around us. A hazy softness whirls in with the stark blue of night, painting the sky above the buildings out my window a shade of cerulean Miranda Priestly would be proud of.
My whole body burns and aches from the strain this many hours of arousal without culmination have put on it, and I don’t know that I’ll be able to continue much longer without shattering.
Jude doesn’t wait for direction, instead grabbing my hand, pulling me away from the door, and slamming it behind me. The sound echoes into the otherwise quiet space like a snap of a rubber band.
Pulling me behind him, Jude moves at a fast clip down the hallway toward my bedroom. The fact that he knows where to go already gives me a small thrill I’m not entirely expecting—almost as if we’re a couple or something—and I triple the speed of my feet to keep up with him and then some.
Brushing past him, I turn to move backward, pulling him along with me, and watch as his face transforms completely from the teasing man who spent the night trying to balance work and taunting me, to a man who means fucking business.
No more messing around, no more foreplay—Jude is going to fuck me like I’ve never been fucked before. I can feel it.
When the backs of my legs hit the bed, I fall to my ass and shove into it, crooking a finger toward him that amplifies the look of his lust with a smile.
“Eager, huh, baby?” he asks, making me bite my lip and nod.
The truth is, I hurt I want him so bad.
He climbs in the bed after me, unbuttoning his shirt so slowly I could cry. He knows what he’s doing, though, the smirk lifting the corner of his mouth and the dancing light in his eyes all the evidence I need.
Finally undone, his shirt lands on the floor somewhere behind him after a quick toss, and he travels the rest of the distance up the bed to me. My back pulses against the mattress, practically begging me to arch up in climax.
“Jude,” I prompt, and he leans forward into the bed, drops down on his stomach, and shoves my thighs apart. My breathing picks up in cadence, and my knees shake with anticipation and need.
Up my thighs, Jude skates the palms of his hands lightly across my feverish skin until he reaches the hem of my panties.
Gently, crooking his fingers beneath the red lace material, he curls the pads of his pointers around the fabric and slowly, ever so slowly, runs them up my bikini line to the curve of my hips.
Suddenly, he grips the waistband violently and pulls, ripping the fabric right off my body altogether.
Glory be.
Not done, he takes the hem of my dress and tosses it up my body, ordering, “Take it off. I want to see your tits while I eat you.”
I nod quickly, writhing anxiously on the bedding until I can get the red satin number up and over my head, and toss it to the side.
The only element of my outfit still in place are the calf-laced red stilettos I got last year for my birthday, and as far as I can tell, he doesn’t intend to get rid of them.
“Hook your legs over my shoulders,” he orders instead, lifting the weight of my legs to help me without waiting for me to comply.
Cool air hums against my bare clit, reminding me just how exposed I am. For some reason, though, I’m not nervous. All I can focus on are the lean, powerful muscles in Jude’s shoulders as he reaches down, grabs the cheeks of my ass, and pulls me toward him, sealing his lips over the whole of my sex at once.
My head shoots back like a rock out of a slingshot at first contact, and my cry rends the air.
“Oh my God.”
“No, baby,” Jude teases as he pulls back to lick his lips. “Just Jude.”
Something inside the ego-driven comment strikes a chord in my own pride, and before I know it, I’m using the strength of my thighs to roll him over, spin around, and sit on his face. Our last romp left me with memories I can’t forget, but this time…this time, I’m going to make sure I leave the same with him.
He doesn’t complain. In fact, he groans in excitement when I hastily undo the buckle of his belt, unfasten the button of his pants, and release the zipper, shoving the fancy wool material down toward his thighs, right along with his boxer briefs.
His dick bounces as it’s freed, and everything inside me turns animalistic. I have to taste it, suck it, make it mine.
Without delay, I grip him hard at the base and lick a line around the crown at the top. Using the moisture from my tongue, I rub circles into the head, and he moans against my clit.
Oh yes.
Starting at the tip, I curl my tongue around his shaft and widen my jaw, accepting his large girth inch by inch until he touches the back of my throat. There are still a couple inches left of his exposed cock, so I work them with my hand, letting the moisture from my mouth drip down to lubricate it.
His hips dance wildly, startling me briefly with a thrust upward that gets him another inch deeper.
Surprisingly, I’m not uncomfortable, and with the way his mouth is sucking me and the feel of his heavy cock in my mouth, I’m on the very brink of coming.
By all accounts, I should have already. Sometimes, though, when I prolong a climax this long—and holy moly, I’ve been staving it off for hours—it takes a little extra work to break it free.
Up and down, I skate the very edge of my teeth along his delicate skin, sheathe them again, and then pop my mouth off at the top to allow myself a deep breath.
My hair skims the tops of his thighs, and the beauty of my hands and hair and his cock together is something completely unexpected. A jolt of immense enjoyment at the sight makes the center of my chest burn.
So much so, I zone out a little until he flips me handily to my stomach, kneels behind me, rustles briefly with what I imagine is a condom, and drives his dick so deep I cry out loudly enough to wake the neighborhood stray cats.
“Oh my God,” I rasp, making Jude grab the hair at the back of my head and pull gently.
“It’s Jude, baby. And I’m going to fuck your little pussy so many times tonight, even it will know my name.”
Fuck. Me.
The bed dips beside me, and it’s apparently just enough to break me from my almost-slumber, and my eyes flutter open. Jude stands beside the bed, hunting and pecking through our tangled mess of clothes on the floor and pulling out his apparel one item at a time.
His boxer briefs are already back in place, and his deliciously ruffled hair hangs down in front of his eyes.
The searing pain of rejection hits me square in the chest, and I have to clench my eyes tight to stop the sting of tears in my nose from developing further.
I can’t believe he’s sneaking out again. Everything inside me vibrates with betrayal and a heady feeling of triviality, and the only two options left are to tuck my tail between my legs and suffer silently, or to give him the shit he deserves.
“You’re leaving again?” I ask harshly, my brain having clearly chosen the latter.
He jerks his gaze up, startled that I’m awake, I think, but it’s only a moment before his trademark easy smile slides into place. “Yeah, babe. I have to get home.”
I shake my head at myself, backtracking my sliding scale in the direction of flight rather than fight, but as he continues to get dressed, a fire burns inside me that I just can’t seem to extinguish. If I don’t speak up now, I never will. The chances of running into him again in a city this large are statistically nil, and while last night I would have characterized that as a bad thing, now, I should let it work in my favor. The worst that could happen is that he leaves—which is obviously already happening. Fuck being meek. This is my life and my bed and my intimacy, and I shouldn’t be afraid to ask.
“What is this?” I implore, shoving up in the bed with a hand until I’m sitting. I take the sheet with me, covering my exposed breasts.
Jude brushes his hair out of his eyes and smiles. “What’s what?”
I don’t appreciate the seemingly intentional inanity. I want answers, dammit. Not only that, I deserve them. It’s one thing to have a one-night stand that leads nowhere, but there’s got to be some kind of rule after the second night that at least entitles you to a succinct conversation. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe he’s comfortable with no boundaries at all, but I need the border of what zone we’re in to be at least faintly defined.
“What’s happening here? With us. This,” I finally emphasize, dropping the sheet to wave both hands wildly between us.
Jude shrugs, a shameless smile lighting his undeniably gorgeous face, and flicks his gaze from my eyes to my bare breasts and back. “It’s fun.”
Fun, he says. It’s fun. That’s great and all, but what in the hell is that supposed to mean?
My mind races neurotically, and he slides his feet into his shoes.
I watch silently as he grabs the pen and notepad I keep on my night table and scribbles down a series of numbers across the top. It’s the chicken scratch of a typical man, but it’s definitely legible—whether or not I want it to be is another question entirely.
“Use this to call me when you want to have some more.” Everything inside me stops as he leans forward and places a gentle kiss to the apple of my cheek and tucks the paper into my palm.
He shuffles out of the room then, still settling his pants into place on his hips and then buttoning the open shirt on his shoulders. It takes all the effort I can manage to keep myself from jumping from the bed and chasing him down the hall just to read him the riot act again.
I feel volatile and completely unstable and, quite frankly, insane. How in the fucking world can someone spend the night doing the things we just did, in the positions we did, and not feel some small ounce of…connection?
How on earth can he walk away so easily?
Manic, I push out of the bed and start to stalk in the direction of the hallway, but I stop myself when it hits me. Months of forced self-reflection courtesy of Dr. Winters have apparently honed my skills.
I’m angry and emotional and undeniably confused, yes, but…well, he hasn’t actually done anything wrong. He’s been upfront and honest, and I’m completely responsible for the consequences of doing this again after watching him walk out the first time. I knew. I knew that this was a man who’d walked out before and was just as likely to do it again, and still, I chose to subject myself to it again.
And what do you even expect him to do instead of leaving your apartment after two hot sex marathons? Wake you up with flowers and breakfast in bed?
Besides the intense orgasms only he seems to be able to give me, I don’t necessarily know what I’m even wanting from him at this point. Bottom line, I signed on for this, willingly, whether I want to admit it or not. I practically stalked the man to make it happen, for goodness’ sake.
I glance down at the paper in my hand as the front door to my apartment clicks shut, and I study the numbers with stark precision.
The ball is in my court, and the future is in my hands. Jude Winslow is the good-time guy, and he’s ready and willing to keep having them with me. But it’s never going to check all the boxes on my list, and it’s not going to end with the two of us tucked away behind a symbolic white picket fence.
I have to decide if just fun is something I can handle or not.
And right now…the truth is, I don’t know.