Page 66 of Mayfly

“But I'm one,” he smirks, eyeing my mouth before looking back up. “I’m not willing to share you with anyone. And I can’t promise I’ll be a good boy if anything else tries to come between us… Including your job.”

I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that logic and reason are fighting it out with his heart and dick over what he should say next.

“I’m serious, Jude. I’m never gonna let you out of my sight. I might even get you an ankle monitor. HaveProperty of Curren Campbellengraved on it and everything.”

“Are you gonna wear one too?”

“Will there really be a need for that?”

Now he looks confused, sprinkled with lashings of sin. But that’s us. Always has been, and always will be.

“Cut the tape off my legs,” he says like I didn’t just feel his dick harden beneath me.

“Nope.”

“Do it.” Dominion is back in his tone. The same one he used when we left the pub. When he first spoke to me like the object I’d never wanted to be.

“Not gonna happen.”

“You need to get out of here.”

“You can get fucked if you think I’m gonna walk away from you again.”

“Cut the fucking tape, Curren.”

“If you expect me to do as I’m told, using that voice isn’t gonna work.”

Jude sucks in a harsh, frustrated breath, but I grind against him before he can say anything.

“Curren!”

He’s trying so hard to be strong.

“I’m… Not… Going… Anywhere…” I reiterate, circling my hips with each new word.

Jude's head falls to my chest. “This isn’t the time or place.”

“I beg to differ. I think this might just be the hottest fuck I’m ever gonna have.”

Jude wraps one arm around my waist and reaches for my leg, but I grab his wrist, twist his arm behind his back, and grip his jaw with my other hand. “You've never been quicker than me a day in your life.” I bend, take out my blood covered knife, and place it just out of his reach. “We’re gonna do what I want, and then I’ll cut you out. But until that point, you’re gonna sit there and take it.”

Jude fights against the tape.

I pay him no mind, and run my hands down the front of his stained shirt where Marius’s blood is kept warm against his body.

His inflamed flesh from where I beat him yesterday, every crinkle in the fabric as it clings to his torso, the stickiness that used to give a person life—I feel them all. Directly, with no barrier protecting my fingers. Every disgusting, dirty, perfect thing.

I watch Jude’s chest slowly expand and retract, and reach for his belt. But the second I apply pressure on the buckle, he stands, and reflex has me clinging to his shoulders.

“Get down, Curren.”

I wrap my legs around him. “You’ll tire long before I do.”

“For fuck’s sake, Curren! This is beyond a joke. You just killed a federal agent and his blood is dripping down to god knows where. This can’t be cleaned up—fuck, I don’t even know if I actually can talk my way around this. You’re acting like a goddamn child!”

My legs drop to the ground. “What the fuck did you say to me?”

“This is reckless and you know it.”

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