Page 64 of The Plus One
Somehow, Jude’s arm moved around her shoulders, her head tucking into the crook where his neck met his shoulder. At one point, her giant bee costume bunched itself further up toward her hips, the warmth of her thighs pressing against Jude through her leggings.
And, eventually, the show stopped playing, Netflix asking if they were still watching.
They weren’t.
They were looking at each other, gazes locked, bodies close.
But they needed closer.
They needed more touch and skin and warmth.
They needed each other.
Indira shifted slightly on the leather couch to fully face him.
And an extremely loud farting noise reverberated around the sensual silence they’d been basking in.
Indira’s jaw dropped, her eyes going ridiculously wide and cheeks burning a luminescent red as the noise echoed around them. She blinked a few times, her mouth opening and closing like a dying fish.Her mortification was palpable, and Jude pressed his lips together in a failed attempt to hide his smile.
After a moment, Indira cleared her throat. “Needless to say, that was my costume against the couch.”
“Yeah?” Jude said, unable to hide a choking laugh. “Make it again.”
“What are you, twelve?” Indira shrieked, pressing up so she hovered slightly over him in what he could tell was an attempt at intimidation.
“I’m not the one who just farted after watching a scaryScooby-Dooepisode,” Jude said with obvious glee.
Indira’s face scrunched up in mock fury. With a haughty sniff and as much dignity as she could muster, she aggressively rubbed her ass over the couch.
Silence.
She rubbed again.
More silence.
“You’re an asshole,” she said at last, throwing her arms up.
“I just like making you squirm,” Jude said, his gaze hot as he watched Indira’s thighs move and press against the couch.
She caught his stare.
And their eyes held—locked and heavy and dangerously close.
Jude became hyperaware of every subtle movement Indira made. Her widening pupils. The rise and fall of her chest. The way the corner of her eyebrow quirked and her gaze dropped to his lips as he licked them. Jude pressed his knuckles to his mouth, dragging them across his lips in a vain attempt to hold back every raw and honest word that wanted to rush out of him. But it was useless.
One thousand things were said in between the seconds of that look.
And, in that final moment before he threw himself off the edge of the cliff and dived headfirst into the feelings that threatened to drown him, Jude knew he was both lost and found in the loveliness that was Indira Papadakis.
With the inevitability of magnets colliding, Indira’s hot, soft lipsclashed against Jude’s, urging him—begging him—to join her in the frenzy.
And he did.
Nothing else mattered but where their bodies touched, where the heat of her gasps and the scorch of her kiss branded his skin. Jude’s mind quieted, and he lost himself in the pleasure swamping his senses. The fractured cadence of her breathing. His own pulse pounding everywhere she touched him. The trace of his tongue across her lip when he pulled back just a bit, savoring her taste. The simple, exquisite comfort of knowing Indira.
A deep moan rumbled through his chest, and Indira seemed inspired by the sound, pushing him further against the couch, then straddling his lap, never breaking the kiss.
Jude gripped her hips like gravity had ceased to exist and she was the only way he’d stay grounded on earth. His fingers pressed into her thighs, her ass, any part he could press his palm against. He caressed and squeezed and touched her like he’d die if he stopped.
