Page 87 of This Could Be Us
“Can’t say I’ve noticed.”
“Liar.”
“Nope.” He shakes his head. “I’m cursed or blessed, depends on how you look at it, with this hyperfocus. I latch onto something—a goal, something I want—and it’s the only thing I see. The only thing I pay attention to. My boys have it. Sometimes for Aaron it’s an action figure or a particular cube or… whatever. It consumes him. I didn’tunderstand it when he was younger, but it seems some people on the spectrum fixate. Adam does, too, but not to the same extent as Aaron.”
“Are you autistic?” It’s not the first time I’ve wondered, but it’s the first time I’ve asked. I hope he doesn’t mind.
“I might be. When I was growing up, no one was paying attention to that kind of thing or naming it like we do now. I was the nerd. The odd one. The quiet one. The loner. I adjusted. It’s harder for Aaron and Adam, but I see myself in them and I see them in me, yeah.”
He shrugs.
“Anyway, our divorce was amicable, but it was a huge transition for my boys. They have been my main focus for a very long time, but after the divorce, I became kind of obsessed with making sure they would always be okay. And as they get older, I find myself focusing a lot on earning and saving for their futures even after I’m gone. There was little else that interested me.”
His smile dies and his expression sobers.
“Until you.” He pulls a long coil of my hair away from my shoulder, then frees it to spring back into place. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Perversely, even knowing I’m not going to start a relationship with him right now, it’s exactly what I want to hear. His admission blows off dusty places in my heart. After so long with Edward, who, near the end, didn’t seem to give me a second thought, it feels good to have a man like Judah unable to get me out of his mind.
“Well, since I’m not available,” I force myself to say, “maybe you should find someone else. I’m sure you have needs.”
I know I do.
I don’t voice it, but my needs where Judah Cross are concerned torture me. They keep me up at night. They would run my vibrator into the ground if left unchecked.
“Sol, when I say I haven’t had a date or an attachment since my divorce,” he says, “I mean I’ve been celibate.”
My jaw drops and I can’t even play it off.
“Are you serious?” I gasp.
“I’ve never been into casual sex.” He quirks a dark brow. “You find that unusual?”
“Well, most guys from puberty till the grave are all about pussy. So… yeah. A little.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I love sex, and I’m not saying I only ever had it with Tremaine, but Iwasmarried to her for over a decade. Before that, it was usually in a committed relationship. It’s… well, I guess it’s a trust thing. Is there anything more intimate? And I don’t trust easily.”
“And you’re saying you trust me?”
“I’m saying,” he replies, dragging his thumb over my ear, down the curve of my jaw, over my lips, “that when I fuck you, it will mean something to me.”
His words are as raw as the need in his voice. The rough edge of it mirrors mine like a shard of glass, slicing through inhibitions and reservations. Through my resolve. It’s been so long since a man looked at me the way Judah does, with blazing interest. With such steady, heated intent. But his touch? It has been centuries since I wastouchedthis way. With tenderness. With barely checked desire. The longer we stand together like this, the harder he becomes. His arousal insists where our bodies touch.
I can’t give him everything, can’thaveeverything, but maybe tonight I can give him one thing. I can have one thing.
“Kiss me.”
The words bolt from my mouth before I have time to stop or rethink them. He doesn’t hesitate, dragging kisses over my jaw, under my chin, along the curve of my neck. It’s torture the way he explores me with soft presses and tender licks, like he’s sampling me before he takes his first bite. Open-mouthed, he sucks at the tendon running along my throat, and a current runs to my core. The purse drops from my nerveless fingers as his touch cracks me open and strokes the center of my body, lighting me up until I’m like a wax candle burning down to the wick. He’s everywhere but where I need him. I want to taste him too. I fist his shirt and yank him forward until our lips meet. He smiles into the contact.
“Had to make sure you really want it,” he says.
“I do.” I cup his face, bracketing the high cheekbones between trembling hands. “Just one kiss.”
“Then I better make it count.” His hand travels up the center of my body, up my torso between my breasts to grip my jaw. “Open your mouth.”
As soon as I do, he dives in. The seeking, searching kiss goes fathoms deep, and all rational thought flees my mind. Judah is so controlled, so meticulous in all he does, I expected his kiss to be like that. It is instead a force unleashed on me. Wild and sure and ferocious in its hunger, like he’s been starving it in a cage and now… the feast. He presses my lips against my teeth and presses my body into the door. I widen my mouth for the deep stroke of his tongue as he tastes me, takes me. His other hand grips my hip and he pulls me impossibly closer until the fabric, the millimeter separating us, the reasons I shouldn’t do this—they all dissolve and it’s just naked desire writhing into naked desire. It takes flight and catches fire. I know I need to smother this flame, but can’t bring myself to do it.
He dips his head, breaths ragged at my neck. “I don’t want to stop, Sol, but you said one kiss. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”