Page 184 of Vicious Addictions

His gaze leaves my mouth to stare deep into my eyes.

“How much did you read?”

“Enough,” I answer, my voice soft with a gentle timbre. “More than enough. Enough to know that I wish you had shown them to me earlier. It would have saved us from a world of pain.”

“I wish I had too.” He exhales deeply and leans back, shoving his hand into his pocket. His lips press into a fine line when he comes up empty—his keepsake no longer there to ground him.

To keep his hands busy, he starts unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling his sleeves up his impressive muscular forearms.

Sensing his nervous state, I move my bishop one spot and remind him of his turn.

Jude exhales and makes his play, and soon, all the tension in his body starts to disappear with each chess move.

Playing chess is more than just nostalgia—it’s familiarity and comfort.

For as long as I’ve known him—and from what was written in his journals—playing chess with me has always been his escape, his happy place. No matter what chaos surrounded him, the board was where he found control, where every move had a purpose. And now, as he settles into the game, I watch the tightness in his shoulders ease, and the crease in his brow soften. The weight of all his past mistakes and woes somehow feels lighter to bear with each precise move he makes.

“Check,” he says a bit too triumphantly.

“I thought you said you were rusty?” I taunt, nudging his thigh with the tip of my heels.

His gaze immediately pulls away from the chessboard and onto my legs, the same legs that have been taunting him since he sat down.

“There are just some things that no amount of time can ever erase from a man’s memory,” he murmurs, placing his hand on my ankle and slowly dragging it up to my knee.

The way he licks his lips has my breath catching in my throat. The urge to uncross my legs so he can slide his hand in between my thighs is blindingly strong, and it takes inhuman effort for me to cover his hand with mine and keep it still on my knee.

“So I guess what you’re saying is that playing chess is like riding a bike.” I swallow dryly. “You never truly forget.”

“I could come up with a better analogy than that one, love, but have it your way.” He smirks, giving my knee a little squeeze.

I move my king one square to which Jude attacks with his bishop. “Check.”

“Rusty, my arse.” I giggle. “Tell me the truth. In the last few years, you haven’t just been playing chess—you’ve probably even entered a tournament or two.”

The remark was meant to lighten the thick, lust-filled tension settling between us, but instead, all I managed to do was dampen his mood.

“I didn’t lie to you, Mina. I never touched a board again. I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” I ask breathlessly.

His gaze locks onto mine, heavy with meaning. “You know why.”

“Jude,” I lean in to cup his cheek. “I know. I meant nothing by it. It was just a silly joke.”

His eyes search mine as if he’s trying to unravel every secret I have with just one look.

“You were right. Marcello’s induction was a successor reveal,” he says unexpectedly. “After our conversation in the woods, I confronted my father about it, and he admitted that his intention is for Marcello to replace him when he decides to step down.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” he confesses with a shy smile, his eyes fixed on mine.

“You’re not?” I breathe, hope starting to build in my chest.

“No. Quite the contrary.” He shakes his head with a grin. “When my father told me the throne would be Marcello’s, I felt relieved. As if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I didn’t even realize what a heavy load I’d been carrying. The weight of my birthright coloring every decision I ever made. Now that it’s not my burden to carry any longer, I feel—”

“Free?” I finish for him.

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