Page 78 of Infamous
I can’t answer. My throat’s dry, my heartbeat too loud.
The room feels smaller now, the shadows thicker. When he finally reaches the side of the bed, his fingers trail along my ankle, a simple touch that sends a tremor all the way up my spine.
“I don’t want to rush this,” he murmurs.
He pauses above me, bare skin catching the soft glow of the lamp. Shadows slide over him like ink, tracing the lines of muscle, the rise and fall of his chest. His eyes never leave mine - not once. Feeling me, claiming me.
“Jude,” I whisper, and it’s not a plea so much as a surrender.
He leans down, bracing a hand beside my head. The mattress dips under his weight, the air between us thick enough to drown in. His scent wraps around me - soap, smoke, something distinctly him. I breathe it in like oxygen.
He tilts his head, mouth barely brushing mine. “Say my name again,” he murmurs, voice low, almost a growl.
“Jude.”
This time, his eyes flutter shut like the sound is something sacred. He drags his thumb along my jaw, tracing the path of his gaze as if trying to memorize me in case he never gets another chance.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you look right now?” he says quietly, his breath feathering my lips.
The words hit somewhere deep, leaving me open and trembling. My fingers curl against his shoulders, searching for something solid to hold onto.
A sharp breath leaves him - half groan, half laugh, and his body shudders when my fingers glance across his skin.
“Careful,” he warns, though the warning’s already broken in his throat. “Or I might come before I even fuck you.”
I meet his eyes, daring him. “Maybe I don’t want careful.”
For a heartbeat, the world goes silent. Then his hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me into him. The kiss starts slow, almost reverent, but it doesn’t stay that way. It deepens, darkens, until everything else dissolves and there’s only heat and hunger and the sound of our breathing colliding in the dark.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, thumb still resting beneath my chin. “Tell me to stop,” he says.
I shake my head, voice barely a whisper. “Now, why would I do that?”
And in that moment, right before the world tips again, it feels like gravity itself gives up trying to pull us apart.
His restraint snaps. He strips off his jeans in one fluid motion, sending them flying across the room. The sound of the belt hitting the floor is low, final. He’s left standing there, the wet patch on his boxers proof of his heat and hunger.
The air between us thickens, and my pulse races so hard ithurts. He looks down at me as though I’m both the sin and the salvation he’s been waiting for. He removes the last piece of fabric between us and finally moves toward the bed.
I can’t look away. He’s all heat and fire and and longing, and there’s something achingly familiar about him, yet something new, bold, extraordinary.
He leans over the bed and catches my mouth in his. The world narrows to the space between us, to the heat of his skin and the sound of our breathing tangling in the dark. It’s a collision, a confession, and a promise all at once.
I lose my breath as he moves in with effortless grace, climbing onto the bed before falling back and dragging me with him. In one seamless motion, I’m straddling his hips, my palms splayed across the solid wall of his chest. His hand fists in my hair, the strands caught tight in his grip as he tugs just enough to make me gasp. His mouth finds mine again. He’s hungry, consuming, the kind of kiss that steals sense and gives back nothing but heat. Beneath me, every muscle in him is drawn tight, his restraint a living thing. And in that tension, I recognize what he’s done. He’s given me control. He’s pulled me on top of him not out of dominance, but surrender - offering me the pace, the choice, the power to take what I want.
I move against his skin. Our bodies chafe. There’s nothing but the small of sex surrounding us as I glide against his body, grinding into his thigh. And when he lifts me, holds me firmly by the hips and effortlessly lowers me onto his throbbing dick, I do everything I possibly can not to detonate then and there.
He stretches me, his long thick length pulling at the delicate, sensitive skin of my pussy, accommodating me like a perfect fit. Hands still on my waist, he lifts me and lowers me until I’ve perfected a steady rhythm of grinding up and down on his dick.
Jude exhales a ragged sigh that melts into a low, throaty moan. His eyes roll back, his body arching slightly beneath mineas a shudder ripples through him - pure, unfiltered euphoria. It’s beautiful, the way he comes undone, the way pleasure drags him under. But what hits me isn’t just pleasure - it’s something deeper, rawer. It’s that dizzy, heart-stopping rush that feels like gravity realigning, like finding the one place your body was always meant to return to. It’s not just desire. It’s recognition. It’s home.
48
LUCIAN
It’s been more than a decade since I last touched her, but my body still remembers the shape of her - like it was carved into me, branded beneath my skin. Eleven years, and still, my hands ache with the ghost of her warmth. The way her fingers used to slide across my jaw, tentative, reverent, like she was touching something fragile when I was anything but.
Prison burned everything soft out of me.
