Within These Walls (Within These Walls #1)(48)

My heart beat faster, and I took several slow breaths to steady it. As soon as the fabric cleared my head, I instinctually moved to cover the pink line between my br**sts that I’d had since birth. The same scar had been enlarged and modified with each surgery, growing along with me as I aged.

“Don’t cover yourself,” Jude said softly, pulling my hands away from my body. “You’re beautiful.”

His eyes were everywhere, and that astonished me. When I was shirtless, my scar always took center stage. It screamed for attention. Even medically trained doctors were drawn to it.

The moment Jude’s eyes fell on my half-naked body, he saw me, just me. He didn’t see my scar or a broken girl with no hope for the future. He saw me, and in his eyes, I saw passion and heat, no sorrow or pity.

“You’re beautiful,” he repeated, tracing his fingers over the pink skin.

My eyes fluttered close, and I moaned when his tongue traced the edge of my bra, leaving a wet trail across my breast and up to my mouth. Our legs and bodies quickly intertwined as our kiss intensified. His tongue tangled with mine, over and over, as I moved against him. I felt him harden against me, and rather than blush, I kissed him again, finally understanding what it felt like to use this womanly body I’d been given. His wandering touch slowed, and his frenzied kiss began to fade until he pulled back entirely.

“We need to slow down,” he said, smoothing back a few wild wisps of my hair, as he gently smiled down at me.

I nodded, dodging his green gaze, as I searched for my shirt.

“Lailah, look at me.”

I didn’t. I just continued my hunt until gentle fingers turned my head.

“What did I say? Tell me what I did wrong.”

“Would you have stopped if I were anyone else, Jude?” I asked, folding my hands over my plain white cotton bra. It was the same boring bra my mom had been buying for me since I was thirteen.

“Why would you ask me that?”

“I don’t want to be treated any differently,” I spit, finally finding my T-shirt wadded up near my feet.

I bent over to pick it up, but Jude stopped me midway.

“Well, deal with it,” he bit back. “I will treat you differently, not because of your heart problem or the fact that you think you’re physically fragile or weak. I’ll treat you differently because you’re different to me. You matter to me. I will not take your virginity in some random hospital when you’re still recovering from a virus that nearly killed you. You deserve a hell of a lot better than that. So, yeah, I’ll continue to treat you differently because I think you are worthy of more.”

“I-I’m sorry,” I said, stumbling over my words. “I thought—”

“You assumed I stopped because I thought you were so innocent and fragile? The girl writhing and moaning underneath me was neither of those things. I want you, Lailah. I want all of you in every way, but it won’t be here, not like this. I want you slow and tender, fast and hard, and everything in between. When we come together, it will be miles from this place, and I will spend hours helping you cross out that number on your list,” he said with a wink.

I opened my mouth to chastise him, but he spoke before I had the chance, “I know it’s got to be on there somewhere.”

“It is,” I answered. “Number one hundred and twenty-one.”

He smiled and bent down to brush a kiss across my lips.

“So, not number one then?” He reached back to grab my shirt and handed it to me.

“Nope.”

“What could be better than sex?” he joked, the little dimple on his cheek reappearing as he watched the soft cotton fabric float back over my skin.

“Hmm…I don’t know. Guess you’ll just have to find out.”

I want all of you in every way.

Jude’s heated words had continued to play through my mind well after he’d left, and they had been with me again as I rose the next morning.

Slow and tender…fast and hard.

I’d been a mindless, drooling puddle ever since. I couldn’t even remember what I’d eaten for breakfast. I’d been staring at the same blank page of my journal for well over an hour when my mother waltzed through the door.

“You’re here early,” I said, noting her dressed-down appearance. She was in jeans and a flowery blouse. It was different from the business-casual look she would wear when teaching.

“I canceled my classes today,” she said with a flick of her hand as she settled into the worn blue chair.

“You canceled your classes?” I repeated, tilting my head in shocked surprise.

Unless I was going into surgery or there was an emergency, my mom never canceled class. Her students must be rejoicing today.

“Yes, I wanted to speak to you—alone,” she answered, giving the last word specific emphasis.

“I see.”

Here it comes.

“I did a bit of research on your friend Jude,” she began.

“You did research, Mom?” I asked, holding up my hand to silence her.

“I Googled him.”

A small snort morphed into full-out laughter, and I wrapped my arms around my sides in an attempt to control the roaring inferno. “You…used Google?”

My mom was a teacher, a professor, but she hadn’t quite graduated to the twenty-first century. She carried a cell phone for emergencies. It flipped open and had exactly three numbers programmed into it—the hospital, our home, and Dr. Marcus. The laptop I owned had been given to her by a colleague when he decided to upgrade. My mom had taken one look at the thing and cringed. She used a desktop computer at work and considered it punishment.