Resisting my Roommate (Sycamore Falls #3)

Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

ABBEY

“This may have been the best day off I’ve had in a long time,” Jude croons, pulling me into his arms.

I can’t help but laugh as I snuggle into him, savoring in the feel of his warm chest.

This has been one of the best days off I’ve had in a long time, too. Possibly ever. I spent all day in bed with Jude. Or, at least, all day since getting back from the coffee shop.

While I wasn’t surprised to see him — considering I’m familiar with his daily routine, including his morning run — I was quite surprised to learn he was upset I snuck out of bed in the middle of the night. I meant what I told him. I was okay if he wanted to keep it a one-time thing.

But after spending all day with him, I realize how crazy I was to think one night would be enough. I’ve officially lost count of the number of orgasms he’s given me over the past few hours. As if the man is on a mission to set a world record. And I’ll happily go along for the ride.

“I couldn’t agree more,” I respond lazily as my stomach rumbles. “Although if you expect me to go for round…what is it? Eleven or twelve? I might need to eat something.”

“That can be arranged,” he says, kissing my nose.

I love when he does that. It may not be sexy, but there’s a certain intimacy to it I crave.

“Is there anywhere open this late?” I ask after glancing at the clock on his nightstand to see it’s already after nine.

“Not really.” He slips out of bed and walks toward the dresser.

“Then where will we order takeout from?” I roll onto my side and prop my head in my hand, admiring his ass. My god, the man is chiseled perfection.

“We’re not ordering takeout,” he declares as he tugs on a pair of gray sweatpants.

“But—”

“I’ll cook.”

“You…cook?”

Despite living together for over two months now, I’ve yet to see him cook. Then again, he hasn’t been home much these past few weeks. Neither have I.

After tugging on a t-shirt, he returns to me, his lips hovering over mine. “I’m full of surprises.”

“I’m beginning to realize that,” I exhale as he presses his mouth more firmly against mine.

“You have time for a shower if you want,” he says, pulling back. “Is there anything you won’t eat or are allergic to?”

“Nope. I’m easy.”

A devilish glint flashes in his eyes as he slides his hand between my legs, teasing me. “And I love that about you.”

He gives me one last kiss, then retreats, leaving me somewhat frustrated and contemplating going into my bedroom to take care of the problem myself.

But I like the idea of Jude owning all my orgasms. At least for now.

Climbing out of his bed, I pad on light feet across the hallway into my room to take a much-needed shower. The warm water is invigorating on my body, my muscles aching from the past twenty-four hours. One thing is certain. I may need to increase the intensity of my yoga workouts if I’m to keep up with Jude. The man is a damn machine.

And I’m enjoying every second of it.

After toweling off and piling my curls on the top of my head with a silk scrunchie, I rummage through my dresser for something clean to wear. Unfortunately, I haven’t done laundry lately. I was planning on doing it today, but I never got around to it. All I have is one pair of clean underwear. Nothing else. I could throw on something dirty, but I decide to borrow some of Jude’s clothes instead.

Making my way back to his room, I open the middle drawer of his dresser and find the t-shirt I slept in my first night here. After slipping it on, I head downstairs, the aroma of garlic and onion growing stronger with every step.

As I emerge into the kitchen, Jude looks up from stirring something on the stove, his eyes flaming at the sight of me.

“I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed one of your shirts. I hoped to do laundry today, but someone couldn’t stop putting his dick in me.”

“I didn’t hear any complaints.” He chews on his bottom lip as his heated gaze drinks me in, a quiver working its way through me.

“And you won’t.” I saunter into the kitchen, leaning against the island. “You can stick your dick in me anytime you want.”

“I might have to take you up on that rather generous offer.” Closing the distance between us, he touches his lips to mine, taking me somewhat by surprise.

I had this image in my mind of keeping anything sexual or intimate in the bedroom only. Thought when we were outside the bedroom, it would be business as usual.

I’m starting to think nothing about this arrangement will be business as usual.

“Wine?” Jude asks, gradually pulling back.

“What? No beer?”

“While I love beer, I think chardonnay would pair better with what I’m making.”

“What’s that?”

“Mushroom risotto with salmon.”

I let out a low whistle. “And here I thought you were just going to throw some pasta in boiling water and open a jar of sauce.”

He grimaces at the notion.

“First, my mother would disown me if I ever used jarred sauce. She’d go on and on about my nonna and bisnonna coming back from the dead to lash me with a wet noodle or beat me with a wooden spoon. Or something equally dramatic.”

“I take it you’re part Italian then.”

“On my mom’s side.” He pours us each a glass of golden chardonnay and hands one to me, a playful glint in his eye. “Second, you’re going to need your energy for what I have planned for you later, and pasta with jarred sauce won’t cut it.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Me, too. Cheers.”

“Cheers.” I touch my glass to his, then take a sip, savoring the smooth flavor of the oaky chardonnay. “Do you need help with anything?”

“I have it all under control. Just have a seat and relax. Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Okay.” I hoist myself onto one of the stools by the island, watching him move around the kitchen with ease.

There’s something about a man who knows his way around the kitchen that is inherently attractive, especially as he tastes the food before adding a few seasonings. It’s obvious he’s extremely comfortable cooking. And without a recipe, too.

“How did you learn to cook?” I ask after watching him for several minutes. “Not that I’m complaining since I get to reap the benefits. But I haven’t met many men who could cook macaroni and cheese without destroying it, let alone mushroom risotto with salmon.”

He brings his wine to his lips and takes a sip. “It was kind of out of necessity, actually. When Krista and I first got married, she twisted her leg up pretty badly in a skiing accident. Tore her ACL and everything. She was on crutches for months while she recovered. And since takeout food and Ramen noodles would get old fairly quickly, I decided to learn how to cook. At first I was fucking terrible.” He laughs under his breath, a nostalgic gleam in his gaze.

To be honest, I’m surprised he’s talking about this, all things considered.

Maybe this is what he needs, though. To finally talk about his time with Krista.

Just like I needed to talk about Carson. My dad.

My mom.

“You’d think since I knew how to brew beer I’d be able to do this no problem, but I sucked at it. The first meal I attempted was baked chicken thighs. Simple enough, right?”

“I would say so,” I agree.

“Well, turns out I bought the wrong kind of thighs — boneless instead of bone-in. Not that big of a deal, except I didn’t adjust the cooking time accordingly, so they turned out rubbery and chewy. And don’t even get me started on the rice.” He shakes his head with a self-deprecating smile. “I put in way too much liquid, and it came out mushy. But Krista…” He peers into the distance for a moment. “She was so good about it. You can tell she didn’t enjoy it, but she still ate everything because she didn’t want to hurt my feelings.”

I don’t immediately say anything. I’m not sure what to say. It feels strange listening to him talk about his ex-wife, especially when I can still feel her presence in this house.

“Well, it looks like you’ve learned a bit since then,” I finally remark.

“I have.” He nods, though there’s a hint of sadness in his gaze. Then he clears his throat. “How about you? Where did you pick up your cooking skills? I may have snuck a few bites of those breakfast potatoes you made your first morning here.”

“I figured.” I wink, taking a sip of my wine. “I guess I learned out of necessity, too. Even before my mom dropped me off with my dad, she wasn’t around much and I was often left to fend for myself, especially after my grandmother died when I was seven. Before that, she practically raised me. When she died, it was just my mom.”

His expression falls. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to?—”

“It’s okay. It is what it is. You can’t change the past, but you can take charge of your future.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” He arches a brow. “Taking charge of your future?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“And what does the future look like for you?” He asks as he carries two plates to the island, setting one in front of me before assuming the chair beside me.

“How far are we talking?”

His brows pull in as a brief moment of contemplation covers his face. It reminds me of the concentration he exhibits when brewing beer.

And when thrusting inside me.

“How about one, five, and ten years?”

I snap out of my inappropriate thoughts and take a bite of risotto. As the creamy flavor dances on my tongue, I release a satisfied moan.

“Watch it,” Jude warns, leaning toward me. “Or I’ll throw you on the island and make you really moan. To hell with how hungry you are.” His eyes lock with mine, dark and full of lust as they trace over my mouth. “Because I’m famished for something else to eat.”

“You just had me. All day.”

“There’s no such thing as too much of a good thing, Abbey. And you?” He brushes his lips against mine. “You are most definitely a good thing.”

I whimper at the feel of him, doing everything to remind myself this isn’t real. He can say all the right things, but it won’t change who he is.

Won’t change his past.

Won’t change that whatever this is between us will never be anything more than what it is right now.

“Let me hear it.” He pulls back, as if he didn’t just turn me into mush. “One, five, and ten.”

“Right.”

I snap back to the present, giving his question serious consideration as I slice into the salmon.

After taking a bite, I say, “One year from now, I’d like to be settled in my own place with a stable job, preferably back in the nonprofit sector. Not that I’m not grateful for your help in giving me a job and a place to stay,” I add quickly. “Especially now with the added…perks.”

“I quite enjoy the added perks, too.” He grazes his hand up my thigh, and I part my legs for him, but he draws back at the last second.

“Tease.”

“Maybe.” He waggles his brows. “How about in five years?”

“I’d like to be in a healthy relationship. I still want to find love, even if you think it’s bullshit.”

“I don’t think it’s bullshit. I just…”

“You don’t want that,” I finish.

He doesn’t say anything, but I notice a flicker of something in his eyes, as if he’s about to correct me. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he presses on. “And in ten years?”

“Have a family. Have a job I enjoy. Be one of those couples that make their kids cringe at how much they can’t keep their hands off each other, even after being married forever.”

The corners of my mouth curve up as I imagine this future for me. But its tinged in sadness, too. Because Jude won’t be a part of it.

“I hope you get everything you want. If anyone deserves it, it’s you.”

I want to tell him he deserves all of these things, too. That he deserves to find happiness and not be weighed down by his past.

But some lessons in life can’t be taught or forced down your throat. You have to learn them on your own.

And this is one lesson Jude has to learn for himself.

That he needs to want for himself.

I can’t do it for him.