Cody:
Maybe
Me:
Cody. I miss you
It wasn’t something I said often, because I didn’t want it to seem like I was trying to guilt-trip him into flying here to see me, but it was the truth. Every part of me missed him. It was an ache that never went away.
Another message came through. No words. Just a screenshot.
A screenshot that showed a flight booking.
25
Jude
Cody was here. He was here. In the UK. With me.
I was seated inside my newly purchased black Range Rover, both of us agreeing it was the discreet thing to do when I picked him up from the airport. But as I saw him practically prowling towards my car with all fucking sexy, powerful movements, the only thing I wanted was to go to him. To kiss him, to hug him, to fill up that fucking hole inside me that had been there ever since we’d parted ways.
My heart pounded in my chest. Mine. Mine.Mine.
The passenger door opened, and our eyes met for the first time in what felt like forever. My heart stopped and then started again, adrenaline thrumming through my body as he drank me in just as greedily as I was drinking him in.
“Fuck,” I whispered. “Cody.”
He growled under his breath, practically launching himself into the passenger seat, and I lunged forwards, colliding with him in a mess of teeth and tongues and hands, uncaring when he yanked me across the centre console to straddle his thighs. All I cared about was getting his mouth on mine after so long, of feeling his body against me, of filling the giant fucking hole that had been there ever since I’d left him.
I couldn’t let go of him.
By the time we got to the M4 motorway, heading in the direction of my temporary flat, I’d just about managed to break my solid grip on his thigh, shaking out my hand and doing my best to ignore the unsteady breaths he was demonstrating from the passenger side.
Even though we’d been speaking on an almost hourly basis, including texts, I asked him what had happened since I’d left. Hearing it from him in person was different. Better.
He gave me a quick rundown—how Petrov and Davis had been checking on him regularly, how the final sessions of his coaching season had gone before they stopped for the summer, how empty his apartment had felt without the possibility of me showing up at his door.
“Fucking Mrs. White asked where my boyfriend had gone,” he ground out.
I smiled, my hands tightening around the steering wheel as I overtook a car doing fifty in the middle lane.Knobhead. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I feel like we bonded over wondering what you were up to,” I mused, and when he shot me a glare, my smile widened. “Oh, sorry. Was I supposed to be an asshole to her?”
I could feel his gaze boring into the side of my head. He exhaled harshly. “No.”
“Is it the boyfriend comment you’re annoyed about?”
“No.”
My dick jerked at his pissed-off growl. There was definitely something wrong with me. Yet I continued to provoke the man who had flown over four thousand miles to spend time with me, who I wanted more than anyone or anything in the world. “You’re my boyfriend, though, so I don’t see why that part should annoy you.”
“Jude.”
“Oh. We didn’t discuss titles.” Flipping on my indicators, I glanced in my mirrors before moving into what I liked to refer to as the slow lane, preparing to turn off the M4 and onto the A road that would lead us back to my temporary flat.
“Jude,” he growled again, and fucking hell, my dick was so hard. It was probably down to the fact that the man I was really fucking into was sitting beside me, taking up all the free space in my SUV and looking at me like I was the only thing he saw. How could I resist?
