Under The Hood

Ch. 15

Jude is a grumpy guy today.

Normally, I wouldn't mind, but this is day four of him taking his injury out on everyone, and I kind of wish he would just go home. There isn't much he can do in the workshop, but he's still here in the lad's ears, huffing, criticising, and adding his unwanted opinions.

It's selfish, but I'm happy he's in the workshop instead of at reception with me, hovering around and making sly comments about watching my spelling and punctuation. The third time he stood over my shoulder, pointing something out, I very nearly lobbed the stapler at his head.

I'm feeling moody today, too. I woke up after a disturbing night of my neighbours having sex really, really loudly. There was a wall between us, but I heard everything, and no matter what I did, the banging and screaming could not be escaped.

The sickness is hard, but something I can't seem to escape is the fact I'm so damn horny. It's insane. I have a vibrator and my hand, but it's not shifting. In fact, with every passing moment, the ache between my legs is growing stronger.

At three in the morning, I woke from a foggy dream of Jude holding my legs over his shoulders while he buried his face directly where I about need him to right now. I haven't ever orgasmed while I sleep before, but I did last night. Strong and long, I awoke gasping and tangled in my bed sheets with my hands behind my head under the pillows.

The ache grew deeper as soon as I got to work and saw him digging around in his office, the slight curl to his hair and the way his eyebrows are a bit skew-whiff sending me over the edge. I wasn't strong enough not to ogle him while he concentrated, none the wiser to my eyes, drinking in every part of him.

Me too.

The text message he sent has been on my mind, going around in my head as to why he brought it up. Why would he if he wasn't trying to convey something to me? Test the waters?

"Imogen," Jude says, keeping his arm close to his chest when I wander through the corridor.

I'm on my way to eat my cereal bar, but the way he goes shy when he has to ask me something is new. I put the bar in my pocket, giving him my full attention.

"Yes, Jude?" I say back, frowning when he fidgets around.

He sighs. "Can I ask a favour?"

Before I answer, he cups the top of his fingers, looking genuinely in a lot of pain. "Of course you can."

Did he just growl? I think he did. Then he inhales sharply. "Please, can you wash my hair?"

He scopes out my face to gauge my reaction, seemingly reading my every thought. It's something he does without realising, I think.

"Oh, sure."

"I wouldn't usually ask, but I have nobody to do it, and I can't ask my cleaner and chef," he says, laughing low and brokenly.

Compassion grips my heart. Given the way he's always so pristine, greasy hair just doesn't feel right. I let him lead us to the bathroom at the back of his office, seeing the shower cubicle has a detachable shower head.

"I have shampoo and conditioner in the storage box under the sink. Do you mind getting it?" he asks, using his good arm to hold the shower door to lower himself to his knees.

I spot the black shampoo and conditioner bottles right away. It smells so good as I unscrew the lid. Jude waits patiently, scooting to the left to give me enough room to fit at his side. When I twist the lever, the water pressure is strong. I run my hand under the spray until it turns warm.

Positioning myself behind him, I let the water coat his hair. I run my fingernails across his scalp, saturating his hair, before reaching for the shampoo. Jude is still, but his back's quick rise and fall catches my attention.