by August Red
Belle doesn’t falter as she finds and meets his possessed pace, gripping the skin of his back and hearing his grunts split the air around them. His other hand plucks at her uncovered breast, his thumb and finger toying mercilessly with the reddened mound.
“Oh, Judas…” The sensations pile upon her, sending her forward, swaying her like she’s crashing in an ocean in the middle of a great storm. Instinctively, her hand comes up to shield her cries, but Judas is faster, grabbing her wrist and pinning it to the floor.
“No,” he whispers, in a hoarse moan, his hot breath puffing against her mouth as his eyes burn for her to try and defy him. “No. I wanna hear you come, Belle."
Those words spur something to life inside her. The heat in her stomach blooms and spreads, and a burst of streaming electricity rivers through her, plummeting her from every angle of her body. Her veins dilate and swell in her as her whole body unfurls and tidal waves. Her soul feels like it’s floating away from her body.
“Oh, Judas!” Her blind cry rips through both of them.
The buzz of liquid intensity courses in between the curves of her body, hard and persistent, shooting up her blood flow and growing dormant for a moment, only to crescendo out of nowhere. Judas grinds into her like a man crazed.
“Judas,” she gasps as a new, stronger, fiercer rush floods her. The walls of her private heat juices and shakes, rocketing her immobile. Like a puppet, she jerks under him, an innocent bystander to his relentless mastering power.
When the riotous tingles finally subside, Belle lies spent under Judas, sweaty and shaky, coughing on the anew soreness of her throat, and blushes instantly when she realizes why it’s there.
He’s kissing the side of her neck, small soft kisses, meant to soothe and highlight what they’ve both just experienced together. His mouth works its way up her throat, kissing the indents of her half-open mouth. “Not enough,” he rasps against the swollen flesh of her lip, nipping her sweetly as he demands, “I want to taste you as you come for me.” Her mouth stretches into a languid smile, her mind adrift to her actions. Her fingers stroke the swell of his cheek, urging him to keep going.
“Judas... What about you?” She trembles beneath him, thrilled and shocked by the amount of stamina in him as he advances on her, deepening the kiss in one thorough push of his tongue. She doesn’t fight him, doesn’t want to. He feels so good, so warm and big above her. She never wants it to end. “Judas...” Her eyes close as his teeth skim her bottom lip, suckling on the soft flesh. “Make love to me,” she whispers against his mouth.
Instead of the eager willingness she expects, Judas turns to stone. Removing himself from her, he sits up for the first time, brushing his fingers through his mussed hair, panting and breathless. She follows him, sitting up as well, climbing to her knees and reaching out to him, even though all her soreness seems to re-enter her at that moment.
"I… What's wrong?” she asks meekly, watching the silent war brewing in his eyes. “Judas?"
Head hung, he exhales a breath, licking his lips before covering them with his hand, as if he’s trying to hold on to the feel of their kisses. He runs his fingers through his head again, his eyes burning with a mysterious quandary as he fixes a look at the fireplace. And not at her.
The flames of the fire behind her, mirror in his eyes. Shadows of his desire for her, kindle, but holds at bay. “I can't,” he replies in a ragged breath, as if it’s against his will. “You need to know who I am.” His eyes sweep her again, torturing her with the sight of his rippling aroused body. “You need to know the whole truth.”
HE NEEDS TO SIFT THE BASTARDS OUT.
Cut them off by the knees. Make an example of them. And have them suffer for their treachery.
There’s more than one betrayer in Vladimir’s midst, and he’s going to use any means necessary to make that happen.
He presses speed-dial Three. It’s finally time for action, and Vladimir’s blood is boiling to the highest degree under his silk blue shirt.
“Roman."
“The fuck you doin’?" Vladimir spits.
“Yeah, I was just about to call you, Boss. On my way back.”
“Find anything?"
“Judas is here."
“Yeah?"
“But he ain’t alone, Boss."
Vladimir pauses, all motion inside him stops like freeze-frame. “Who’s with him?"
“A girl… Boss, she fucking matches the description you gave me...” There’s a short bout of silence before Roman continues his report. “Got quite close to her and uh, Boss... got a real good look at her—fucking hot! Seriously, you should see the ass—"
"Roman! Fuck’s sakes."
"Sorry, Boss, sorry."
"What happened? What else you see?"
"Uh… She nearly caught me..."
Vladimir feels his veins pop. "You'd better. Not fucking tell me. You let her see you," he says though clenched teeth.
“She… didn’t see me, sir?”
“Is that the truth?” Vladimir sighs hotly.
"I, uh, dunno, sir. She started running like a bitch and she, uh, fell and hit a rock."
"And?"
"And... I was gonna kill her in case she saw me but then Judas fucking came… Boss, this girl and Judas... they’re… they seem like they’re real fucking close."
“Close?” Vladimir says the word like a curse.
“Judas carried her back to the house like some fucking superhero and I followed. Kept watch all night and, uh, they started doing nasty shit to each other like—”
“Roman! Don't need to hear how you got off tonight. Get the fuck back here and bring that piece-of-shit Luis to me."
“Tate?"
“Did I fucking ask for Tate? No. Just bring Luis."
“Is something happening?”
“Yeah, something's going to happen,” Vladimir answers with a deceptive sliver in his voice. “Something big.”
Chapter Six
CLUTCHING THE FABRIC of her sweater-vest and hauling the neckline up, Belle ignores the warm measured stare that Judas gives and strives to control some semblance.
“The truth…? The truth about what, Judas?"
His eyes are back on her mouth, aimed in sorrow and hunger, a combination that confuses her and makes her groan inside for him. For a tear-drop-of-a-second, she wonders if he’s going to kiss her again. His eyes hold the same yearning: darkly enigmatic, but unreachably dedicated to her. Only her.
Instead, he stands up and walks out of the room in short confident strides. She watches, perplexed and dizzy with the acknowledgement of what’s just happened between them. On this very floor.
The short absence allows Belle time to regain the little composure her frazzled nerves require, flattening her hair and lifting the scoop of her neckline. But the pillows scattered around her, the light tingling on her skin from where he had kissed her, and the wet ache between her legs, refuse to let her forget.
Judas heads back with a cloth in his hand. Sitting in front of her, his bent knee touches hers, just like before, when all the insaneness had started. He hovers over her, lifting the damp cloth to her face. Caught-off-guard, Belle flinches, retreating a few inches from his paused hand in mid-air.
“Your lip… I mean…” he says, and the raw uncertainty in his voice makes a thrill leap in her stomach to kiss him. “…The cut on your lip is bleeding."
“Oh...” Feeling silly, she sighs, drawing her lips together. Judas cups the edge of her jaw lightly. His wipe against her is so soft, she wouldn’t have felt it if not for the fire his touch always carries. She can’t help but stare into his face as his concentration seems to be otherwise occupied.
“Did I hurt you?” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to be so—"
“No,” she cuts through, unable to stop from relishing in his bashfulness. He is adorably gorgeous when gentle, shy. She hasn’t seen this side to him before; like he’s revealing a secret part of himself. “No, Judas,” she whispers, her mouth curvi
ng up. Her smile brings his thumb closer to the entrance of her mouth. They both seem to notice at the same time.
“I didn’t mean for this... this…” he trails off, his brow deepening. Belle’s heart pounds in her chest. Her throat tightens. “This doesn't mean anything."
“Oh...” Her face drops along with her heart. “Oh... I see—"
“No,” he adds, shaking his head and lifting her chin in one swoop. "You don’t."
Her chin begins to wobble in his hands, and she hates the sting that paralyzes her lungs as she warns with desperation, “Don't play games with me. Don't."
“I'm not,” he says, in as much agony as she is in. He leans his head toward hers, but her eyes set down.
She yanks her chin out of his hand and he lets her. “Then what do you want from me?” she rasps. “Just tell me.” She shakes her head faintly. “You’re tearing me apart, Judas."
After a long, agonizing minute of harsh silence, he admits in a gruff voice, “You confuse me."
A nervous laugh escapes her mouth. “You're no better, Judas. You want me, then you don't. You act like you care, and then you tell me it's just that—an act. Then when I think I'm nothing to you, nothing but some means-to-an-end, you… you do this. What am I suppose to think?"
His chest rises higher than normal, but he doesn’t respond. Judas gazes unrelenting at her. He doesn’t appear to have heard her, caught up in something she can’t see.
“I want to know,” she says with determination, despite her fear of the answer. “You asked me what I want. What about you, Judas. What do you want?"
“I...” His eyes blaze into hers, seizing time and space, and then lets go. Ripping through his hair, in one sweep of his fingers, his answer comes robotically, “I want to make sure Vladimir doesn’t get to hurt you. Nothing's gonna happen to you while you're with me. I swear."
“That's it? That's all?"
“I can't…” When she goes to stand, his hand snakes around her wrist, pulling her back to the floor, almost onto his lap. “Belle,” he rasps. His eyes capture hers in a stern glare that keeps her in place. “This isn't easy. There's a lot you don't know."
“Like?"
The way he is breathing, hard and raspy, turns her on. His chest, golden and inked, like a glistening leopard in the Sun, thumps up and down so wildly, at such a laborious pace, she can feel the pleasure again of what he’d done to her only moments ago. The small thought makes her body desire for him to drag her underneath and finish what he‘d started.
“You tell me you need to tell me some truth—then tell me.”
“The deal was fake, Belle,” he breathes out, his chest tight. “As soon as I had my orders…" He sighs as though a great weight presses down on him. "...I knew it wasn't a kill. Vladimir had other arrangements regarding you and your family's future. I disagreed so I'm seeing to it you don't have to suffer the fate he thinks is necessary."
“In other words—he wants us all dead.” Her breath hitches in her lungs, and she yanks her hand out of his hold. She knew her father was on the kill-list, but the fate of her mother and brother has always remained a mystery. Hearing it out loud, makes her doubts a living nightmare. “He was going to kill me, my baby brother, my mother—just like that?"
His eyes squeeze shut for a second. “Yes."
“Why?” she demands, her tone thick with anger.
His eyes linger, swaying between hers. “That's something you should ask your father."
“I'm asking you.” The level of her fury rises.
“And I'm telling you it's not my place to say," he replies gruffly.
Looking down at her hands, the image of her baby brother warms her heart.
How can anyone want to harm—murder—our little Tigger? What did Dad do that was so bad to push someone to kill us all?
“I always intended to let you go and be with your family. Deal or no deal. I came that day not to kill your father but to save you—all of you. I planned to make it look like I’d carried out my orders but I was gonna send you away. Somewhere safe.”
“Away?"
“You and your family. I was gonna give you new identities, send you somewhere where no-one—not even me—knows where you are.”
She examines his eyes, seeking the truth that lays beyond. “I... already guessed you went against Vladimir’s orders but if you wanted to send us away to keep us safe, then why take me away from my family? Why, Judas? Why lock me up for a hundred days? I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this.”
He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “The cops ruined the plans. I had to take you as hostage in case they found us en-route to the planned safe-house. I brought you here to let the dust settle so Vladimir wouldn’t find out you were still alive. He has spies everywhere…” He stands up and moves away from her. With his profile facing her, he adds, “I know,” then stops before twisting to meet her gaze. “I know this is hard."
A little more able to breathe, like she doesn’t have an elephant laying on her chest, she pushes herself up to her feet, meeting him halfway, and speaks softly, “You can't possibly know what I'm going through. Not just me—my family. They don't know what's happened to me. I could be dead for all they know.”
“They don't. They know you're safe, they just don't know where,” he replies. “I was gonna send you away—all of you—make it look like your house was robbed then tell Vladimir we'd done what he’d wanted."
“Okay... but wouldn't he have wanted evidence or something to see if you got the job done right? Like a head or something." She didn't intentionally mean to make him scowl, but he does, so she zips her mouth shut and just listens.
His stare lingers on her, weighty and dark. “Vladimir…” He does a sorry job of clearing his voice, it still sounds coarse. “…Vladimir trusts me. He’d never ask something like that of me. He knows I'd never go against him." The glint in his eyes then, sends a shiver through every cell in her body. “Until now.” She doesn't say anything, doesn't feel she has the right to. “He went too far this time and I'm trying to make this right for you. That's why you have to trust me."
Belle tries to clear her throat when she notices him coming closer. “Where are my family? Are they near?” Why does she have to sound so unsteady?
He pauses a beat, then walks the rest of the way. Two steps, and he’s standing right in front of her, her breaths shallow.
“They're in a holding place in Falconlake. I’ve been waiting for the trail to go cold. For the cops to stop looking." Somehow he’s able to read the question in her eyes as she peers up at him. “Vladimir will never know."
“He’s a crime lord. Surely he won’t forget this kind of stuff."
“Like I said, he trusts me. If I tell him I took care of it, he won't ask again."
Compelled to dig deeper, she makes herself ask, “And then what? We live under assumed names and start over again?"
“Yeah.” His low reply fractures the thick silence.
Belle is the first to break away. She peers out the window, hoping to God that this is some sort of sick nightmare her warped imagination has created. She remembers everything that's passed since she found Judas shot in the attic. Rolling through the mental list, she’s positive she won’t survive the rest. She doesn’t know how she’s made it this far without collapsing into a messy heap.
“What if Vladimir finds my family?" she asks, turning to him.
“He won’t. Trust m—” He sighs, closing his eyes and fisting his hand at his side. “I'll make this right, okay?" Her lids droop a bit, the weight of the past seven weeks falling hard on her shoulders, and a bolt of pain strikes her. She grips the sides of her head, and in a flash, Judas is by her side. His arm wraps around her shoulders. “You okay, Belle? Motrin not kicked-in yet?” She bristles at his support, nudging him away.
“I’m fine.”
“Don't lie."
“Lying is one of your specialties so don't stand there and talk to me about it," she snaps, looking away.
Unhindered by the words that are clearly delivered to wound, Judas continues, “Keeping things secret is part of my job. Lying to yourself isn’t yours.” He waits until she looks up and makes some sort of eye contact with him. "What you're doing right now is different. You're only hurting yourself."
“That's a risk I'll take if my only option is you."
Silence falls between them once again until he murmurs, “I'm sorry, Belle…” His voice echoes hollow between them. “For the pain I've caused you."
“I don't… I can't believe this,” she whispers to herself, muffling the words in her sweater-covered palm. “You’ve been lying to me all this time.” Her mind mulls over the night they’d made the deal and the events since. It was all a lie. But a lie to keep her safe. Belle wants to keep on hating him. But everything he’s telling her now… it’s only making her need him more.
She watches his jaw work overtime, his teeth milling away as they grind together, but he doesn’t speak up to defend himself. His stare is a mixture of anger and empathy. Both she wants nothing to do with. She wants herself away from him. It’s enough to break the spell Judas has over her. But there are other fears besides his physical closeness that scares her.
“Talk to me," he murmurs.
And that's it.
The way he can read her; it's like he can sniff her out and know which button to push to crack the impenetrable wall she’s taken years to forge. When she’s fighting him, the pull to give in to him is easier to ignore. She can argue back, and somewhere between their bickering and anger, her feelings will be forgotten. But when his voice gets all soft and warm, like now, like a cloak of heat is being laid over her body, she can’t think clearly. Can't respond the way she wants to. A few days ago, he looked like he wanted to bite her head off. Now he’s sucking all her strength away with just one melting plea.
”Fine. If all you say is true—that you’ve intended from the start to let me be with my family—then why play games with me?” she says, a little louder, fiddling with her sweater. “Why toy with me?”