by Ella Fields
I laughed, breathless, and forgot that I shouldn’t kiss him.
But I did, over and over again until we were nothing but flesh and bone, wasting away beneath the fading moon.
I stumbled into the spare room’s en suite bathroom, tempted to look back at the bed to see if what I knew happened had actually happened.
It sure happened, said the ache radiating from between my legs.
Gingerly, I cleaned up, knowing I’d need a shower. Not daring to look at the bed I’d slept in, at the enemy I’d slept with and all over like I was some type of blanket he had to keep pulling over his body, I raced naked out of the room to my own and grabbed my toothbrush.
It was after nine, and Silas was hopefully at school, where Jude and I should be, too.
I threw on my robe, toothbrush hanging from my mouth when I heard my name being called.
Walking back into the spare room, I continued to brush my teeth. I would remain cool, calm, and totally collected. So what if my husband who I hated with every bruised corner of my heart took my virginity and then kissed me until I passed out in his arms? Nothing else needed to happen, and nothing needed to change.
I would never dare allow myself to think it might.
I leaned into the door a little too hard as Jude gazed at me from the bed. His hair was a mess from my fingers, deliciously and adorably unkempt, and his eyes were hooded from sleep and… no. No, he was just tired. I wasn’t reading into this foolish situation.
“Come here,” he demanded, sleep coating the words.
My hand paused, the toothbrush still in my mouth. My feet started walking, and I scowled at myself before turning to the bathroom and spitting out foam. I washed it down the sink, then marched into the room to find Jude waiting.
“Red.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
As if his eyes were the bait, I swayed closer without realizing it. His arm shot out, and he nabbed the toothbrush from my hand.
Horrified, I watched him put it into his mouth. “Ew, gross.”
“I’ve swapped saliva and other bodily fluids with you all night, and you worry about sharing a toothbrush?” he mumbled around it. Brushing quickly, he tossed the toothbrush to the floor, and I gaped at the gray toothpaste-speckled rug. “If you don’t come here, I’m going to have to get up and bring you back to bed.”
“Why do you want me to?”
His brows gathered. “Because I want you. What’s the problem?”
What was the problem? I half laughed. “Uh, the problem is I already feel awful enough about what I gave you. I don’t want to regret anything else.”
“Awful?” he repeated, then his expression smoothed. “Right, you think I’m going to hurt you.”
“You have before. You put moths in my locker right after my first”—I scrunched my nose—“oral experience.”
“Oral experience,” he laughed out, then licked his lips. “Come on, Fern, lose the robe and get your ass over here. We’re not going to school today anyway.”
My hands fisted at my sides, but then I smiled and crossed my arms. “It must be hard, being that this time, you can’t make me do anything. Leave or stay.”
“If you’re referring to what I think you are”—he yawned, tucking his arms behind his head—“I kicked you out because watching you clam up over some fucked-up memory while muttering for your father made me feel something…” His eyes met mine, honest and wide open. “It made me want to hug you or some bullshit. I couldn’t do that, Red.”
“So you filled my locker with moths.”
“Yes,” he said simply. “I wanted you, but I also hated you. I hated how badly I wanted you. The way it felt when I was with you made it seem like I’d never truly known what it was to want something before.” Stunned, I let my arms fall. “That made you a threat. You felt like a threat.” His eyes dropped to my mouth, his own curving. “You tasted like one, too.”
I blinked. Unbelievable.
“Fuck you, Jude.” I stormed out of the room.
“Mhmm.” His voice chased me. “Oh, and Fern?” I paused in the hall where he couldn’t see me, but he continued as if knowing I was there. “You didn’t clam up and have some type of breakdown over dusty-ass moths. You just miss your dad.”
Withholding tears, I slammed the door to my room and locked it.
Jude
Fern didn’t leave her room for the rest of the day.
I’d listened to the shower running for half an hour, wondering how it felt between her legs after I’d marked her for life.
A virgin.
I’d grinned at the ceiling before taking a nap.
Fuck knows why, but I decided to make her dinner, knowing she had to be starving.
You could say she needed to refuel. I’d drained a lot of her energy, and if I had it my way, there was going to be a repeat looming once the sun set.
That was my excuse, and I was making one hell of a meal with it.
“What’s that?” she asked, rubbing her makeup-free eyes as if she’d just woken up.
She was wearing some flimsy, frilly looking pajama ensemble, and I drank in the way the shorts sat loose on her magical hips, the matching top’s straps falling down her satin shoulders. No bra, I noticed the lack of straps and the way her tits jumped when her arms dropped.
“Jude,” she said, clicking her fingers.
“Huh? Oh, food.” Already wearing the mitt because I’d been waiting for what felt like forever, I grabbed the dish from the oven and set it atop the stove.
“Food,” she said, laughter thickening her voice.
“Your tits are distracting.”
I heard her snort and the fridge open and close. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
“I don’t exactly love it, but I can.” I plucked up the spatula, sliding some lasagna onto the two awaiting plates. “My mom taught me.”
Fern, drinking from a water bottle, lowered the plastic to the counter and hopped onto a stool. “She must be amazing because this smells so good.”
“Did it entice you out of your cave?”
She leaned over the counter to open a drawer. I beat her to it, snatching a knife and fork and holding them before her as I stared at her tits.
“Jude,” she said, tugging them from my hand to no avail. “Yes, it smelled so good I had to come down here, happy? Give me the cutlery, you savage.”
I gnashed my teeth at her but relinquished my hold. “Fine.”
I wanted to sit next to her, but I wanted to see her, so I got myself a fork and stayed standing. It was worth it to see those big eyes roll and her mouth stop moving as she savored her first bite. “I’ll admit, I didn’t know if it would taste as good as it smelled, but damn, Delouxe.” She took another bite, mumbling, “So good.”
“I’ll admit to wondering the same thing myself,” I said, sinking my fork into the warm meat and cheesy mess. “About you.”
Fern quit chewing, her cloudy eyes shooting to mine. That maddening rosy tint flooded her cheeks, and she looked down.
I smiled around my fork, chewing with immense pleasure that I still affected her, perhaps even more than I once did.
We ate in silence for a few minutes even though I longed to hear her babble in that way of hers. She was starving, so I let her eat, content to watch as I demolished everything on my plate and went for seconds.
“More?” I asked, setting my food down.
“Please,” she said, her eyes huge.
I slid another slice onto her plate and handed it over. Her tongue swept around her lips to clean them, and then she dug in again.
“You regret last night?” I wasn’t sure why I wanted to know. It was probably better I didn’t. I also probably should’ve felt a little bad about taking that from her after all the shit I’d put her through, but I didn’t.
She was well aware of that, too.
Fern ate a few more mouthfuls, and I could tell by the way she watched her plate that she was struggling with what to adm
it. “I wouldn’t say that,” she finally said and set her fork down.
I straightened, taking her water and draining half of it. “What would you say then?”
She frowned at the red smudges from my mouth around the bottle’s rim, then gave me her eyes. “I just… I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Did you lace this?”
I almost spat water into her face, choking as I forced it down my throat too quickly. “Sure, Red. I laced it.” I leaned over the counter, whispering with a grin, “With love.”
Her face was instantly on fire, her lips parting.
The front door crashed open. “Jude?”
Sighing, I tore myself away from my wife as Silas entered the kitchen. His face was busted up, blood coating his sweaty hair. “I was wondering where you were last night.”
He looked from Fern to me. “I’ll bet you were.” He jerked his head to the doorway.
Reluctantly, I followed him upstairs.
“Where’d they find you?” I asked, entering the bathroom as he ripped off his soiled T-shirt.
“I was conned into a nice family dinner,” he said, his voice strained. “They didn’t need to find shit because I walked right into the lion’s den. Again.”
I turned on the shower for him, then opened the cupboard to search for the rubbing alcohol and drugs. We had nothing.
Fully stocked house, my ass.
Standing, I muttered, “I’ll go get you some shit.”
“Weed, too please.”
“There’s some in my bathroom.” I cursed when I saw his back and chest; every inch of him was black and blue, and smeared with blood. “Why didn’t you just fucking show up?”
He pulled off his jeans, stumbling into the wall with a groan. Even his legs were scratched and bruised. “I’ve hurt her enough.”
Usually, I’d have a retort along the lines of, “stupid, pussy-whipped motherfucker.”
Now, the twinge of empathy in my chest stopped me from being a prick.
Most likely because I knew the feeling. I’d tried to get rid of it, but I’d learned I’d never be able to forget it.
When I returned, Fern was in bed.
I’d stood outside her room, hand hovering over the handle, then lifting and poised to knock. I think I repeated the pointless process seven times before forcing myself to leave her alone.
Aside from watching her run out the door yesterday, I hadn’t seen her in two days.
I hated how much that bothered me, and how much it thrilled me to see her car pull in the drive from my bedroom window.
I felt like I was living back home and messing with the girl next door all over again.
Only now, she was my wife, and there was nothing secret about it.
I wasn’t sure if that was why this growing desperation to make it real had unsheathed itself, unfurling like a wanton beasts wings, growling with eagerness to take flight.
All I knew with a certainty that plagued my every thought of her, was that I couldn’t leave her alone.
The curtains had been removed, exposing the savage internal struggle within. The only difference between now and five months ago was that I couldn’t close them again. I couldn’t shut her out if I tried, but I attempted to anyway.
I tried, and I failed, and after I heard her finish in the shower, I followed the sound of her horrendous humming downstairs. I was greeted by the clang of a stainless mixing bowl and a pan hitting the counter, and the fabulous sight of her ass swaying beneath an oversized worn blue sleep shirt. Her earbuds were in, her hips wriggling as she doused a baking tray with butter.
Amused, I leaned against the arched entryway, waiting until she noticed I wasn’t sleeping.
“You think I don’t see you there?” she said, tossing flour into the bowl and grabbing some eggs. “Feel you watching me?”
Jerked back in time, I released a gruff laugh, but it faded when I remembered what I’d done at that party. The way just a glimpse of her had made me want to crawl to her. “No one has ever infuriated me as much as you.”
“I suppose that should be a compliment,” she muttered, mixing her ingredients.
“Of epic proportions,” I said, meaning it.
She thought it was a joke, shaking her head as she smiled sadly at the bowl.
“Cookies?” I asked, pushing off the wall to stalk closer.
Fern didn’t move, just kept mixing away, so I enclosed her from behind and braced my hands on the counter. “Choc chip.”
I could’ve imagined it, or maybe I’d pressed forward, but her back hit my chest, and the scent of her shampoo infiltrated. My eyes shuttered. Her hair was in a topknot, spirals spilling down to kiss her slender neck.
I kissed it, too, holding my breath while I waited to see if she’d pull away.
Her shoulder tipped up, a small giggle leaving her as she lifted her finger toward me.
I stared at the batter sitting there, and then I sucked her finger into my mouth. Instead of releasing her, I turned her around so those tits pressed into my chest instead of her back. “I’ve thought about you.”
She stuck her finger in her mouth even though I’d left not a trace of batter behind.
The blatant desire for me in the action spiked through me, and blood rushed to my already hard dick.
She released her finger with a pop and leaned back into the counter, her eyes narrowing. “And in what manner have you thought about me?”
I wasn’t scared about possibly giving her the wrong answer. That was one of the things I liked most about this wife of mine—her innate excitement for me, no matter what I said, and no matter what she said or did to try to prove otherwise. “Every manner possible.”
Breath fled her parted lips, and I captured them with mine. I kept them locked, unmoving, and just feeling long enough for some of the tightness to leave my chest and shoulders.
“Cookies,” she said, pecking me once before ducking beneath my arm.
Patience had never been my strongest suit, but I let her be. To help with that, I helped her and grabbed another tray and a spoon.
Once they were in the oven, I plucked an earbud from her ear and stuck it in mine.
Taking Back Sunday exploded when Fern hit play on her phone that was sitting next to the bowl on the countertop.
“Why do you listen to this song?” I had to ask.
She just grinned and sauntered out of the kitchen.
I gave chase, catching her in a fit of laughter in the living room and not letting go. “Tell me,” I said, hands stuck to her hips.
“You don’t need me to,” she whispered, throwing her arms around my neck.
Smirking with extreme satisfaction, I skimmed my lips over her cheek to whisper in her ear, “Dance for me.”
She hesitated, but when I kissed her mouth, each corner before opening it for our lips to slide over one another, she did.
Behind the couches, we rocked together, and I could hardly stand to quit her mouth long enough to breathe. So when her phone rang, killing the music but by no means my desperation, and she removed my arms from her body, I scowled.
She laughed, stabbing her phone at me. “It’s my mom. Keep an eye on those cookies.”
I was sure she’d set the timer, so I parked my ass on the couch with a glass of OJ and the game and waited.
And waited.
And then I caught a whiff of something burning.
“Fuck.” I launched off the couch and slid into the kitchen, grabbing the dish towel and pulling each scalding tray from the oven.
They were done for, and the floor above my head creaked, the sound of Fern’s muted voice evaporating.
“Shit,” I hissed, waving the towel over the smoke and switching the oven off.
“So he can cook lasagna, but he can’t pull a tray of cookies out of the oven on time.”
I glared, and she laughed. “They’re black,” she said, her forehead creased. “What did you do?”
My shoulders lifted to my ears as I slowly backed up. “I th
ought it’d be cool if they resembled my soul.”
She threw one of the rocks at my head. “There’s nothing wrong with your soul, Jude Delouxe.”
I ducked, and it hit the floor, splintering into hundreds of crumbs. “No?” I watched her prowl closer, waiting. Then I snatched her, making her smile soar into a grin. “We both know that’s not true.”
“Nightingale?” she pressed, her teeth denting her bottom lip.
“You should probably know.” I tugged it free. “There are two Judes, Red. The Jude from before, and the Jude you’re unfortunately stuck with.”
Fern shook her head, then bumped her nose into mine. “The old you didn’t exist. This is you, like it or not, and…” She smiled, her eyes bright and burning. “I happen to think I might just like it.”
“You like me?”
“I can like you and hate you at the same time.”
I pouted, then sighed. “Fair.”
She laughed, and I wanted to maul her on the spot, but after kissing her, I wondered if maybe she was right. If I’d always been this guy, and she was always meant to find me at my absolute worst, and I decided it was past time I earned something that’d been given to me.
Fern
I woke to find Jude asleep on my lap, and for the longest time, as the credits rolled on, I just stared. I stared, and I wondered how we’d gotten to this place of not just sharing a home, but living in it.
Movies, binging TV series, cooking, sometimes studying at the dining table after dinner… I wasn’t sure what to make of it all. I’d even arrived home from my afternoon class yesterday to the sound of a roaring lawnmower. I’d peeked out the back door and then traipsed onto the small porch to discover Jude in gym shorts, sunglasses, and nothing else, mowing the backyard. Since we’d moved in, I’d thought we’d hired someone to do that. I’d likely just missed seeing the beautiful sight until then.
I’d retreated inside, but not before he’d caught me spying on him. He’d puckered his lips at me, laughing when I backed into the screen door.