Page 41 of Judge's Mercy

Iknew Judge was into some kinky shit, and I don’t mean the normal kind of kink like BDSM. I mean the unusual kind, and I have to admit, I’m into it too.

He rubs circles around my breasts and up the center of my chest before massaging each one, not touching my nipples, which are erect and achy for attention. Is this part of the massage, or is he purposely trying to drive me insane?

This isn’t how I thought my night would go at all. I was terrified when Cory lurched for me, and I knew I was in trouble when he reared back to hit me. I was lucky I didn’t lose consciousness and was able to think fast by stabbing him in the neck. Nothing went as planned, which meant there was a higher chance of a mistake.

The whole ride home, my anger grew at how badly I fucked up. All I wanted was to shower and go back to rotting in bed. That’s all I have the energy for if I’m not surveilling a target—tucked away in bed with my curtains drawn and the world a safe distance away.

Then, my adrenaline spiked for the second time that night when I thought someone had broken into my apartment. I should’ve known it was Judge. He has a knack for showing up at the worst, or maybe the best, times. It irritates me that my first inclination when I saw him was to fall into his arms and have him make everything better. But I’m not that girl, and I can’t possibly accomplish my goals by becoming that girl. This only works if I remain strong and independent.

Then he put his hands on me and I gave in, just a little. I can be strong and independent and still accept the most relaxing massage I’ve ever experienced. I’m tense, and I deserve this. However, as his fingers drift closer and closer to my nipples and my core winds tighter and tighter, I think I’ll be relaxing in a whole new way, very soon.

“When I was in India learning about Hinduism, I was introduced to Tantra,” he says, dragging his fingers up my breasts until he reaches the peak, then repeating the movement. “My only knowledge of the word was what was presented in boys’ locker rooms. So basically, I knew nothing. I was surprised that it actually has nothing to do with sex. It’s about performing rituals and practices in order to attain a higher level of consciousness. It’s about liberating yourself from physical and mental bondage.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“It is. Very complicated. Which is why I’d never claim to be an expert or even especially knowledgeable, but I have lent some practices to my life, like connecting with my breath and yoga. Westerners tend to bastardize Eastern religions and cultures, so it was important for me to travel and learn from experts.” His eyes remain trained on my breasts despite the conversation we’re having. It’s odd how unsurprised I am. I tried hard not to get to know Judge, yet he snuck in anyway.

“You do yoga?” I ask, my back arching when he plucks my nipples.

“I do. Not as much as I should, but it’s a way for me to search for inner meaning.”

“Maybe there is no meaning to anything.” My words are breathy as he finally—freaking finally—cups the entirety of my breasts and massages the oil into them.

“You could be right. No one has definitive answers, but I think not believing that our presence on this earth has any importance is sad.” He moves on from my breasts, using circular motions to rub lower from my abdomen to my pelvic bone. I’d never guess that it would feel good, but it does.

“I actually find it calming. Like I don’t have to live up to some predetermined standard because nothing matters, and one day I’ll die, and soon after, no one will even remember me.”

“It’s your life. The only correct code to live by is the one we put on ourselves.”

“I guess.”

“Anyway, my point is that there are Tantric practices that involve sexuality and creating intimate bonds. One of them is a yoni massage.” His hands skim down to my inner thighs, where he kneads the muscles. “The purpose isn’t to orgasm, though it’s perfectly fine if you do.” He pushes my thighs up and out until my hips lift off the mattress, almost in a frog pose. “If this becomes uncomfortable, let me know.”

This position puts all my lady bits on display while he’s still fully clothed. Something about that feels erotic and turns me on. He lowers to his ass and positions himself as close to me as possible with his legs open and crossed over my thighs.

With slow motions, he massages down my labia, all the way to my asshole and further to my butt cheeks that he takes a second to knead before stroking upwards, back to the top of my pussy.

I ‘m up on my elbows in a heartbeat, glaring at him. “What are you doing?”

“I told you: a yoni massage.” The sheepish grin he gives me is so innocent and pure that my heart skips a beat.

My cheeks heat. “Judge, this is weird, even for you.”

“Just lie back and relax. Like everything else I’ve done, this is meant to relieve stress and tension.” He repeats the slow stroke down and back over all my private bits.

“Fine.” I fall back to the bed, allowing him to proceed, but it’s a fight not to snap my legs closed. It’s one thing for a man to be down there trying to get me off. It’s a whole other thing for him to be. . . fuck, whatever it is he’s doing. All I know is that by the end of this, he’ll know my cooter better than I do, and that’s unsettling.

Closing my eyes, I move what he’s doing from a sexual column in my brain over to the medical column. This isn’t meant to be arousing, so I need to treat it as such. Minutes pass, and eventually, I get used to the feeling. He must sense it, because he chooses that moment to move on.

“What kind of pressure do you prefer?” Both of his hands cup my pussy, his thumbs resting on either side of my clit. He digs his fingers into my pelvic bone, and I can’t help the slight zing that runs through me. Apparently, I haven’t separated this into a medical column after all. After a few seconds, he lightens the pressure until I can barely feel his touch.

“Harder. I want to feel it.”

His thumbs move down between my labia while his other fingers settle just under my ass, his pinkies resting right on my asshole. God, this is so strange. Only his thumbs move up and down on either side of my clit and inner lips. His pressure is firm but not painful, and if I can get past how awkward this is, it actually does feel good.

“How is this?”

I drape an arm over my eyes, hiding myself. “Good.”

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