Page 59 of You Had Me at Chocolate

Then she opened her mouth and slowly and surely sucked him in. Jude groaned as the heat and the wet of her mouth surrounded him, the swirl of her tongue devouring the mousse and shredding any composure he’d been trying to maintain. Any pretence that he was in control flew out the window.

She might be in the position of supplicant but there was no doubt in his mind who held all the power. And this feeling he had for her, this… need… got stronger.

“Clementine,” he muttered, shoving his hand into her hair, cradling her face, feeling her jaw working as his gut looped itself in knots.

She pulled away, the crown of his dick glistening as it throbbed, just in front of her lips, aching to be pleasured. “If you’re still capable of talking,” she said with a smile. “I must be doing this wrong.”

Jude’s thumb stroked along her cheekbone. “You’re not doing it wrong.”

“Then hush up and let me do my thing.”

She grabbed the bag again and Jude chuckled and said, “Yes, chef,” as more mousse was added and her tongue descended and he was lost.

*

An hour later, after some very enthusiastic, very sticky sexual shenanigans, Jude was lying next to Clementine in the dark. She’d rolled onto her side and snuggled into his body, her head on his shoulder, her curls tickling his nose. Her top leg was draped over his thighs and Jude’s hand held it there, spanning the spot just above her knee.

The aroma of pumpkin pies drifted into them as they chatted about Thanksgiving tomorrow, her fingers absently stroking the firm pads of his pecs.

It was… nice. And Jude didn’t want it to end.

Cuddle time with women after sex had always felt performative to him because he’d never known any of them long enough or deep enough to take off his mask. The sex had been performative too because if they talked to the tabloids—and some of them had—then he didn’t want a rep as a bad or inconsiderate lover. In bed with other women, he’d always been Jude Barlow celebrity chef and he’d felt the pressure to always be on.

He hadn’t realized how much of a toll that had taken until spending these last couple of months with Clementine. With her, he was just Jude. He was the boy she met when she’d been eight. And she was the girl. She knew him down to his bones—he didn’t need to pretend to be something else.

And it was fucking liberating!

He’d started that journey in Africa but Clementine had brought him all the way back to himself. She’d reintroduced him to the Jude he used to be—before the seduction of having his name in lights. She’d believed in his scattered, jet-lagged, half-assed plans because she’d listened to him prattle on about them for years back when he’d been a skinny kid with big ears and parents who fought all the time. And then she’d thrown down the gauntlet, challenging him to finally see them come to fruition, lecturing him on personal accomplishment.

Deep down, he must have suspected that she would and that was the true reason he’d sought her out in Marietta.

Whatever it was, Jude had a lot to thank Clementine for and perhaps that was what these deepening feelings were all about? Sure, there was that startling sexual connection that had whammied him in the gut earlier—but that was just physical.

There was deeper stuff, too. Like… thankfulness and appreciation. And gratitude.

He owed her for helping him make sense of his life and maybe these feelings were merely a reflection of that? She didn’t belong to him in a me Tarzan, you Jane kind of way, more like she belonged to him in a way that had transcended friendship.

They belonged to each other.

“Mom’s super excited for the stroll,” Clementine said as Jude tuned back in to her lazy chatter. “It’s still a couple of weeks away but if she isn’t home by then we should be able to get her another day pass and a wheelchair. I think she quite relishes the idea of Dad pushing her down Main Street.”

Her short sharp laugh puffed warm air near his nipple and shook through her whole body causing a delicious kind of friction between every part of her that was smooshed up against every part of him.

“I am too.” He pulled lightly on one of her many springy curls, stretching it out before letting it go. “Everywhere I go people are talking about it.”

“I’m excited for your first stroll.” She shifted, propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him. “The whole town comes alive and people come from all the surrounding areas to visit the stalls and see Santa and go on the hayrides. When I look back on my childhood, the strolls are some of my happiest memories.”

Her eyes practically glowed and his breath hitched. She was utterly incandescent.

Suddenly a burst of Beyoncé broke the air. “Oops, sorry. That’s Merridy’s ringtone. She’s one of my Contiki friends. They all got back yesterday. Do you mind if I take it?”

“Of course not.”

Rolling away from him, she groped in her bag on the bedside table then flopped onto her back as she answered. Jude bent his arm and shoved it under his head as he listened in the dark to her chat with her friend about her mom then quizzed her about the trip without so much as a trace of envy. Considering she’d missed out on an eight-week dream vacation to the Mediterranean, she’d be entitled to feel that way a little.

“Japan? When? How long?” Jude’s stomach tightened at the breathy little hitch to her voice. “Three weeks. In April? Um… yeah… I’d love to but I’m just not sure… Everything should be okay with Mom by then, fingers crossed, but my friend Sondra has some more feelers out for me in New York so I might actually be employed then. When would you need to know by?”

And that was the moment. Lying here, listening to her make plans that did not include him—when they’d spent the last two months practically in each other’s pockets—that was the moment he realized those feelings he’d analyzed a few minutes ago.

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