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Kissing Jude was not at all what I expected it to be. It is better. It is a thousand times better. I have done wrong by her - in all of my numerous fantasies, in all of my nights spent awake plagued by her appearance in my dreams, I have conjured an idea of her that is not nearly comparable to the real thing. Her lips are sweet and soft when they press against mine, but barely move, as though she is afraid I will push her away. For a second I indulge in that possibility.
You hate her, I tell myself. It's the same mantra of words I've been forcing myself to repeat for months. You hate her.
She hates you. She hates you and you hate her. Pull away.
And yet. And yet I cannot claw out the power to push her away. It is slightly absurd, how powerless I am against her, how powerless I have been and will continue to be. I hate her for making me feel this way, for making my body heat and coil at the thought of her next to me, on me, in my arms. I will never be able to deny her, no matter how hard I try. As the seconds pass, my rational thinking is being replaced with heady and syrupy desire - it courses through me, slowly and terrifyingly.
I no longer care for anything. Not for what me and Jude are to one another outside of this room. Not for her knife, carefully and experimentally pitted against my neck.
I give in and give up. I press my mouth against hers ferociously, with teeth and with anger and with all I have. I hope she feels it all, hope she understands. Kissing her feels like all of my deepest, greediest desires have suddenly been ripped out of me, exposed and raw for her to see. It feels like all of my nerves have caught aflame, like the heavy rush of wine and the delirious taste of nevermore. She is better then any wine, any drug. She will poison me, and I will not mind.
Jude sticks her knife into Dain's mahogany desk, and with the threat no longer restricting me, I get to my feet, pressing her against it. A small gasp of surprise leaves her, and the sound makes my tail twitch, makes me want to hear her make it again and again. She doesn't protest, doesn't pull away. Instead, she grabs the collar of my doublet and pulls me impossibly closer, our bodies hot and flushed together. I can feel her chest as it heaves against mine, the slight tremble in her hands and the rest of her body. I can tell she is less experienced then me, can tell she is grievously embarrassed by it, but I do not comment on it. I only kiss her harder, each slide of our lips like a permanent sear and brand upon my mind.
My hands slither from her shoulders down to her waist, and I marvel at the softness of her curves, so full and so unlike the fae. They have been plaguing my nightmares incessantly, and now that I can at last feel them beneath the palms of my hands, I never want to let go.
"Tell me to stop," I murmur, bringing my lips down to the supple skin of her neck. She will need to tell me to stop, because by myself I will not be able to.
Jude pulls back, but not by much. Our noses still touch. I can feel her warm breath against my face. Her eyes are studying mine intently, whirlpools of rich brown full of a hate so deep I could drown in it as I do in my cups. But there is also a greedy lust, and I can see she is fighting with herself. She doesn't want to let go, but she feels she must.
It is gratifying to know that the effect of our encounters isn't lost on her, that she too cannot resist her desires however much she might despise me.
Jude looks at me the way she always looks at me - with bold determination, as if even this she must face with the ferocity she faces everything else. I am startled because I do not want that. I want her face to be bare, I want for her to lean back and sigh in pleasure. I want her to let me take control, to let me show her all the things my cruel mouth can do.
"We will never speak of this," Jude says against me. She tries to sound imposing, but her voice is mostly breath. I have taken her by surprise. I almost smile.
"Agreed," I tell her, and when she gets off of me, for a second I believe I have misunderstood and that she is leaving. But she only goes to lock the door, and when she does, I notice that her hands are slightly trembling. Then she walks back to me and stops at a respectable distance, as though not sure weather she ought to come closer. She is hesitating and I am afraid that if I continue to stay idle she will hesitate enough to stop whatever it is that's happening between us.
I reach forward and trace the human curve of her ear, feel the unusual dullness and softness of it. Jude shudders. I cannot help myself when I lean down and slide my mouth against hers again, cannot help the rush of heat that splinters across my skin like an ignited flame when her hands fist in my hair possessively. I bring my lips down the her neck and kiss her there, while my other hand travels to her jaw, holding the lower side of her face in place. She gasps.
As if in retaliation for that, she pulls back and looks at me, face flushed and chest heaving. "Do not fool yourself into believing that this means I dislike you any less,"
The thrill those works give me is sick. It is sick enough that it makes me smirk, makes me want more. I place both of my hands against the back of her neck and tilt her head up so that she has no choice but to look me in the eyes. Then I lean closer and whisper in her ear, as lowly and seductively as I can;
"You do not have to like me to want me." I push aside her chestnut hair and bite the sensitive skin beneath her ear.
Her hands curl on my shoulders almost enough to bruise, but I don't care - it seems the two of us enjoy leaving marks on one another.
She kisses me again, roughly and messily, our mouths hot against one another. I grab her waist and turn her around so that she is once again pressed against the desk, and before she can protest, hook my arms under her thighs and lift her. Jude yelps in surprise, but doesn't look anything other then delighted, which is an expression I scarcely ever see on her face when I'm around. I run my hands down her thighs, standing in between them as I kiss down her throat, each scrape of my teeth against her skin as greedy as the last.
I cannot count the number of times I have imagined her like this. My hand fists in her hair and I pull it back, so that the entire expanse of her neck is bared to me. I lick a stripe from her delicate collarbone up to her jaw, and feel a wicked satisfaction when she arches into me, a muffled sigh trying to peek its way out of her lying mouth. But when Jude wraps her legs around my waist and roughly hefts me towards her, I myself cannot hold back the sound that leaves my mouth, a rough and jagged thing, a response at being pressed together in all of the most sinful and right places.
"You are the bane of my existence," She breathes into my mouth. My hands tighten around the flesh of her waist - an impulse I cannot control. Shame curdles in my gut, as it always does when I see her and still wish to have her despite everything.
My mouth travels further down from her neck, and I pull her dress down so I can kiss my way in between her breasts. I meet her amber eyes and give her a sharp quirk of my lips. "And you the object of all my ire." My words are soft, and I hope they caress her like the embers of violent fire.
Before she can no doubt answer with another sharp jab of her wit, I cup both of her breasts through her mortal bralette, digging my fingers roughly into the soft flesh. I growl at how good it feels to have her in my hands, at how she is so unlike the many fae I have bedded, whom are all sharp edges and frigid skin. I should loathe how heavy her breasts are, how soft and full they feel in my hands. I should hate each and every sign of her mortality, and yet all I can find myself is wanting to ravage her even more. I am sure she notices my tail as it moves back and forth like an angry whip, am sure she can feel the strain of my breeches.
The move is anything but gentle, an yet it earns me the first real sound of pleasure Jude has made thus far - a low wine in the back of her throat, as though it had been dragged out from her. She clamps a hand across her mouth, and through the haze of my lust, I think on how she will have to try so much harder to be quiet when I truly get started.
As if to prove my reprehensible thoughts right, I get down on my knees.
Jude immediately stands straighter. There is a spark of fear in her eyes. Her hands curl around the edge of the desk. "What are you doing?"
I have a corrupt urge to assure her that it is alright, that I mean only to bring her pleasure. But she is my enemy, so what I do instead is smirk and hope I look the exact picture of the cruel prince she believes me to be. I sit back up and lean down to whisper in her ear.
"I intend to make you scream out of pleasure for once," I bite her breast and she clutches my hair so hard it sends a flare of pain up my scalp. "Sweet Jude."
I feel her shudder like an electric shock all over my body.
"I am anything but sweet," She says at last, eyes like steel, eyelashes lowered.
I hum and hike her dress up, lowering myself in between her delicious thighs once more. This time she does not protest. Since I can say no lies, I do not deny her. Not as I feel up and down her smooth skin, polished like shining copper. Or as I push her mortal undergarments to the side and have to resist the urge to devour her whole. Not even as my tail wraps around her calf of its own accord, coiling there possessively.
But when I pull her closer to the edge of the desk, when I push her legs apart and hold them like that, I cannot resist answering her.
"No, but I bet you will taste like it," Then I put my mouth on her.
Jude whimpers and lets out a strangled gasp, thighs clamping around my head immediately. I pry them apart roughly. If I had doubts about her never doing anything like this before, then I no longer do. She is far too sensitive, twitching and shivering with each stroke of my tongue against her, back arched and mouth parted.
Only in my most deplorable dreams has Jude ever looked like this - face flushed, curls unbound and unruly across her naked chest. Breasts heaving, swollen and bitten, hard like pebbles. Only in my darkest fantasies does she ever let me take control, lets herself be pliable.
I am ravenous.
I use my deft tongue to the best of my talents, flicking it in all of the right motions in tandem. When I run my fingers through her slit, I groan. She is slick like oil and sweltering like the embers of an untamed flame. I am not gentle as I go. But Jude would not have accepted me doing this to her in the first place if that was what she preferred. The two of us will never be careful with one another, will never be reverent. She will always pull my hair a little too hard, will always rack her nails down my back without any regrets. And I will always bite the skin of her throat with too much fervor, will always squeeze her fleshy breasts and delight in the way she throws her head back.
I hate her so much. I hate every part of her. I hate her warm skin and how it wraps around me like a curse. I hate the mortal calluses of her hands as they tighten in my hair. I hate the curve of her hips, the light brown of her hair, the quick silver smile she wears that always promises a threat. I hate those same lips, crimson like blood as they sigh over and over again.
I hate her for all of the things she has and I do not. But mostly I hate her for making me like her.
Jude comes undone on my tongue with a powerful quiver of her thighs and an almost silent scream. I press my palm to the planes of her stomach and push down, holding her still as she pants and squirms. I am in awe as I watch her come down from her high. There is a sort of surrealness about what the two of us have just done, about the line this encounter has undoubtedly crossed.
But I am even more horrified to find that I want to pull her close. That I want to soothe her and then touch her once again, even though we've just finished. That I want to cross another line and show her how high the peaks of her pleasure can truly reach.
I get up and push her dress down. I am hot and heavy all over, hard and aching to such an extent that it hurts.
Jude looks up at me, a small glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes. But there is also disdain. I almost grin.
I wonder if she believes I want her now.