Chapter 10: Keller Run, After Midnight

"Upstairs," I said.

"Not here, not in my father's house.

"Yours."

Jude didn't answer.

He took my hand and walked me through the dark garden to his truck.

He drove the two miles to Keller Run with one hand on the wheel and the other wrapped around my fingers.

Neither of us said a word.

I was twenty-eight and I had not wanted anyone in a long time.

I wanted him so much my teeth hurt.

The farmhouse was old and plain, white boards and a deep porch, with one lamp left on in the kitchen.

He barely got the door shut behind us.

I turned and shoved him back against it, and he made a low, rough sound in his throat that went straight through me.

"Calla."

"Shut up."

I kissed him.

It was nothing like the tack room.

There was no care in it, and no patience.

I dragged his jacket off his shoulders and tore at his shirt buttons.

He caught my wrists and pinned them against the wood above my head with one hand.

"Slow," he said into my mouth.

"No."

He let go of my wrists at once and drew back, breathing hard, his hands open at his sides.

"Then you tell me how," he said.

"Not slow.

"Hold my wrists, Jude, and don't you dare go slow."

I put my own hands back against the wood above my head.

He looked at them, and the grin that came over his face was pure sin.

"You've been wound up for nine years," he said.

"Then I'll give it to you hard."

He took my wrists again.

He kissed down my throat, and I arched against the door and swore.

His free hand found the zipper at my back and dragged it down in one pull.

My mother's wine-stained silk slid to the floor and pooled around my boots.

I stood in front of him in a strapless bra and black underwear, my wrists still held over my head.

I watched him look.

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