Somewhere between us are the words we can’t bring ourselves to say. I’m trapped, and so is he. We both know it. We’re drowning in it. Drunk on it. Desperate for another fix. These feelings are too tangible to ignore, and the more we give in, the more I’m aware that we feed off each other. And I fear that only one of us will be strong enough to walk away in the end. I know when I shatter around him and look into his eyes, it won’t be me.

I also know when Judge tips his head back, groaning as he comes inside me, he isn’t just going to break me. He’s going to destroy me.

12

Mercedes

Judge looks up at me with a sleepy, sexy softness as he pins my hips in place, grunting as water sloshes over the edges of the bathtub, and he comes inside me. Again. He stays there, his warmth flooding my body, soaking into me like he’s branded me in a way nobody else ever can.

I can tell by the lack of concern he’s not thinking about the consequences right now. I don’t know if he’ll even remember it tomorrow. He’s been fucking me for three hours, and even still, he can’t seem to keep his hands off me.

His head falls back against the tub with a thud, but his hands continue their leisurely exploration of my body, stroking over my ribs, my breasts, all the way up to the back of my neck. The area he touches often in moments like these. Without a doubt, I know if he were to ask for it right now, I would give that space to him. But I know better than to believe in things like that.

Tonight, we’re in a dream-like haze. Tomorrow, when Judge wakes, he’ll go back to what he knows. The walls he’s built will resurrect themselves, the shutters will come down, and I’ll be fighting to gain so much as an inch back into this space we’re in now.

Maybe it’s not fair play, but I decide I may as well grasp the opportunity while I have it. He’s pliable. He’s open. And I want to know what has kept him so guarded all these years.

“Tell me about your mother,” I whisper against his lips.

He sighs, eyelids falling shut as he mumbles his response. “What’s there to tell? She hates me.”

The admission surprises me because I didn’t sense that at all. I mean, it was obvious his mother wasn’t winning any awards for affection. But she seemed much like any other vapid Society matron during my brief interactions with her. Sure, she was fake, but most of them are. I just assumed it was with me, not Judge.

“Why?” I press. “Why would she hate you?”