The feel of his lips was so familiar. So comforting. It was as if he were really here with me. Maybe a brain tumor wasn’t so bad. Maybe I could indulge in my fantasy just a little longer.
I wanted to explore his chest with my hands, but he held them tight in his. I kept my eyes closed, fearing that if I opened them and looked, he’d disappear like the remnant of a dream.
“Jude,” I cried out against his lips. I longed to hear his voice again. The rough timbre, the graveled vibration as he said my name.
“Baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispered against my lips.
His hands slid up my arms, over my shoulders, up my neck and into my hair, leaving mine free to finally touch him. I skipped his chest and went for his belt. If this was a fleeting dream or hallucination, I didn’t want to waste any time.
I pulled at the buckle and tore at the snap. I quickly unzipped his pants and reached in, grasping his cock. His moan was pained as I gripped him, squeezing him the way I knew he loved.
“Fuck, Morgan, I’ve missed you so damn much.”
He was saying all the right words. All the things my heart longed to hear, and I questioned if my heart or my brain had conjured him up. Not that it mattered. I would take what I could get. Seven long years without this man, seven years without hearing his voice or touching his skin.
Maybe it was hearing his name earlier that had caused my subconscious to manifest him. Maybe Phoebe really was a witch and had cast a spell to ease my suffering. I’d have to remember to thank her later.
“I’ve missed you, Jude. Why did you leave?” I asked the apparition. I still didn’t believe it was real. How could it be? He was dead. He’d died in an explosion. King was there; he’d watched his best friend die.
But he felt so real.
He grabbed my hands and wrapped them around his neck. With his hands on my ass, he lifted me and pressed me against the wall. My skirt rose up to my hips and his fingers brushed over my panties.
“You’re so wet for me, baby.”
Tomorrow was definitely going to suck. When I woke up from whatever this was, this dream, this illusion or whatever the fuck it was, I would be devastated.
The grief would come back even stronger. Maybe I should wake up now. Force my subconscious to spare me the pain of losing him again. But I didn’t want to let him go.
He tore at my panties, ripping them from my body. His mouth assaulted my throat. He licked and nipped his way up to my ear. Biting my earlobe hard enough to cause pain. Like the pinch, my mind refused to accept reality.
Refused to acknowledge that this was real. I pulled at his hair, moving his head to where I wanted it, and he was kissing me again. Brutal and honest. Real and true.
I was losing my mind, but what a fucking way to go.
He pressed me harder against the wall while his fingers swept over my pussy, finding my clit and rubbing in circles before he dipped one finger inside me, coating it in my own arousal as he circled my clit again. I felt my body winding up, felt it climbing to that peak that only he could get me to.
I expected to wake up any minute. This was the moment I woke from every dream I had. Every memory that visited me in the dark. It was always the same—he pushed my body to the brink, only to fall back into the darkness, leaving me wanting.
“Come for me, Morgan. Come on my fingers and I’ll give you my cock,” he demanded as he pumped his fingers into me.
God, I wanted his cock. I’d missed it almost as much as I missed his kiss. His smile. The sweet words of love he whispered in my ear when I was sad.
I missed it all.
I missed him.
I cried out his name as wave after wave crashed over me.
He removed his fingers from inside me, hoisting me higher as he lined up his cock. He surged inside me, and my head fell back, banging against the wall.
“Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” His voice rasped against my neck, and still my brain let me have this moment. My heart was bursting. I’d never gotten this far in the dream. It had to be something Phoebe had done. Some spell she’d spoken over me to take me back in time. Remind me what it was like.
Remind me why I could never let him go. Jude Peterson owned my heart and soul, and there would never be enough left over for anyone else. If this were all I had, this moment, this spell or hallucination, I’d gladly live the rest of my life locked inside my mind as long as he was with me.
He pulled back, and I swore I felt every inch of him. His thrusts were slow and shaky, as though he too had waited a lifetime to be with me again. As if he had no control over his desire and longing for me.
His fingers dug into my skin, and once again the pain didn’t quite register. My mind refused to allow me to accept reality.