Chapter 16
When I make it to the spa in my robe, a lady wearing a green tunic and a friendly smile is waiting for me. “Miss Lazenby,” she says, standing. “I’m Maria, one of the therapists here at Arlington Hall. I’ll be looking after you today. Please, take a seat.”
I lower into the chair beside hers as she joins me, my eyes naturally darting, the vision of Jude standing unapologetically naked in the window unshakably stuck in my mind. Confident. A man who knows he has a body to die for, wields it like a lethal weapon.
And I want to die by that body.
“I’m just checking over your information. Has anything changed since your last visit?”
“Nothing,” I say, distracted, looking up when someone enters the spa. An elderly lady in a fifties swimsuit and swim hat.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hodges,” Maria says as she passes.
“Morning, dear.”
“She’s here every day without fail for her swim,” Maria tells me. “Now, are there any areas I should pay particular attention to?”
I roll my shoulder blades in, feeling the stiffness there. Feeling stiffness every where.
Maria smiles and makes a note. “I hear you,” she says. “Let’s get you settled. We’re in treatment room four, at the very end.” She leads me down the glass-walled corridor, the gym on one side, a workout studio on the other. Clean, calming air hits me when she opens a door, the dim lighting not achieving what it’s intended to achieve. Calm. At least, not for me.
Maria goes to the massage bed, the widest I’ve ever seen, and pulls the top blanket back. “If you’d like to slip off your robe and bra and get comfortable front down. There’s a hook on the wall by the bathroom. I’ll give you a few minutes.”
“Thank you.” The soft sound of waves registers, the subtle scent of roses breaking through the lavender. God, I need this. I need someone to work the tension out of me and relax me, because I am strung, my heart thumping relentlessly. I slip off the robe and hang it up, shivering a little, despite the room being warm, as I remove my bra, leaving my knickers on. Lying on my front, I pull the blanket up my back as far as I can, resting my face in the padded hole, closing my eyes and exhaling.
Relax, relax, relax.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Someone please rub this stress and tension out of me.
The door opens and closes, and in the darkness, I hear Maria moving around, the clinking of glass bottles delicate. Her hands press into my back on top of the blanket a few times before she takes the edge by my shoulders and draws it down to the base of my spine, exposing my bare back.
And I wait for her warm touch to meet my skin. And wait.
For a moment, I wonder if she’s left the room. But then I feel her palms rest on my lower back and gently press into me.
And an inferno instantly rages within.
My eyes fly open, staring at the carpet below, and air leaves my lungs in a rush, my body erupting with tingles. I would know his touch amid a million touches. My body already knows him. What the hell?
I start to turn, needing to check I’m not losing my fucking mind, but his touch slides up to my shoulders and presses down, encouraging me to stay. Oh my God. His breath is suddenly in my ear, my senses invaded by the musk and oud smell that’s wholly Jude. He doesn’t speak, just breathes.
But he doesn’t need to speak.
I hear him.
The universe hears him.
The energy in the room is supercharged, electric.
What’s happening?
His hands leave my back, and mine clench into balls. It takes all my resistance not to spin over. See him. Is he naked? “This is so wrong,” I whisper, knowing he can’t hear me. My body is screaming for him, my skin demanding his touch. The throb of my inside walls is carnal, sensing what it wants is close by.
The wave music dies and something else starts. And it does not help my condition. The sound of a woman breathing heavily fills the room, mixing with my own fitful breaths, and then a choir of men singing in French. It takes me only a few seconds to recognise the music.
Enigma. “Sadeness.”
“Oh my God,” I murmur, as the fire of his touch meets my back again, melding gently into my flesh, kneading, stroking, feathery touches mixed with firmer ones. I groan, unable to stop myself, surrendering to his masterful hands working my body, drifting away, the music filling my head, his hands taking me to new realms of pleasure. And that’s all I can think about. How just a kiss and a touch can blindside me. How him massaging my hands with soap can render me useless. Have me imagining all the ways he can use those hands on me. How his voice over the phone built me up to an explosion.
It started with a look.
Then a touch.
Where is this leading?
I don’t mean sex, I know that’s going to happen. And I know it’s going to be biblical. But where then?
I haven’t the capacity to think about that while I’m at the mercy of this gift. I roll my head as he pushes his thumbs into the space between my shoulder blades, feeling like I’m spiralling into complete delirium. I can smell him, I can sense him, I can feel him, but I need to see him. Taste him. I try to turn again, but he forces me back down. I growl my frustration but obey his silent order, and he continues to massage me all over, his soft, firm hands unreal, my mind lost.
Coolness meets my spine, and I jerk. Oil. He’s dripping oil on me. The heel of his hand pushes into the base of my spine and glides firmly up to my neck, seeming to push every inch of doubt out of me. I’m taking this. Taking him . I couldn’t say no if I wanted to, and in this moment, I don’t.
His palms splay across each side of my back, drifting down onto my hips, spreading the oil, then back up again, brushing the edges of my breasts. My breath hitches, and for the first time, I hear his breathing too. Deep, long breaths. The blanket is pulled off my legs, leaving me completely bare except for my knickers. Exposed. Vulnerable.
Another brush of my breasts as he drags his hands back down, hooking his fingers into the top of my knickers when he reaches them. My eyes open. My hands ball and flex. My heart pounds. Harder and harder and harder.
The music goes on as I lift my hips and let him draw my knickers down my legs. His palms wrap around my ankles and hold me for a few seconds before he slides them up my calves. Onto my thighs. Stops. Works circles, kneading a little. Then up some more, stroking softly over my arse. I gasp when I feel his lips push into my left cheek. His mouth opens, he bites down gently, and my lips press together, but a smile breaks as he sinks his teeth into my butt, the pain tolerable.
And then he swats it before spinning me onto my back.
And I see him.
“Oh Jesus,” I whisper, my thighs wet with my desire as I stare up at his naked physique, my eyes delighted. I prop myself up on my elbows. His hair is messy, falling forward, forcing him to rake it back. His mouth is lax, his chest undulating, and ...
Shit.
I think I’m in fucking love.
I shake that crazy thought away, getting back to the matter at hand. The Adonis standing over me like a polished marble statue waiting to feed my every desire. He rests his hands on the end of the bed by my feet and leans forward, his eyes on mine. I definitely detect a hint of triumph in his dark gaze, which is particularly green today. I can’t even be indignant about his obvious satisfaction. But he still doesn’t speak, and I keep my mouth firmly shut too, at risk of blurting something wholly inappropriate.
Lock me up and inflict this pleasure on me every day for the rest of my life!
His eyes drop to the strip of hair at the apex of my thighs, his tongue tracing his bottom lip, wetting it. I fall to my back, covering my face with my bent arm, bracing myself for his assault as his hands slide under my knees and yank me farther down the bed.
Straight onto his mouth.
“Jude!” I scream, the instant pleasure lifting me off the bed.
“Shhhh,” he hums across my wet, aching flesh, licking me straight up the centre. I hold my breath and grab fistfuls of his hair, very aware I could raise the dead and alert the whole of Arlington Hall about what’s going down in here.
He nips at my inner thighs, sucks hard, bites harder, his forearm spread across my stomach to hold me down. I’m out of my mind, my loud breathing and the sound of him gorging on me blending with the provocative beats of the track. His tongue circles my clit, kisses the tip, lashes through my very centre, pushing inside me, fucking me. My head starts to shake, thrashing from side to side as I feel my pleasure climbing, the pressure building. I don’t know what to do with myself, don’t know how to deal with this level of wonderful torture. His working mouth gets firmer, faster, his hands sliding up my torso to my breasts and tweaking my nipples brutally, making my back snap into an arch. He forces me back down. I pant. He licks me. I whimper. He kisses me. I groan. He sucks me into his mouth.
I release my fierce grip of his hair and start hitting the bed by my sides, feeling beads of sweat trickling down my temples. My stomach muscles ache, my thighs scream.
It’s coming.
And he knows it, his pace increasing, his working mouth ravenous. I’m burning up. My heart can’t sustain this kind of strain.
Can it sustain him?
I come on a suppressed scream, my body bending to the point I’m sure it could snap my spine, and the rush of pleasure just keeps on coming, holding me in an arch, my head thrown back, my eyes clenched shut. His mouth has slowed down with its assault, but that doesn’t curb the sensations hijacking me. Everything distorts. My entire world just shifted on its axis, starting to turn in another, unexpected direction.
A direction I’m not sure is the right one for me.
Because of one fucking orgasm.
I slump down on the bed, my lungs burning, trying to shake my vision clear, as Jude wipes his mouth and jerks his head, flicking his hair back as he gets on his knees at the end of the bed and crawls his way up to me. His dick is dripping with need, spotting my stomach as his face comes level with mine, his lazy eyes scanning mine. I need him inside me. The burn is quickly taking over again, my body not done with him.
Will it ever be?
Oh God, I am in so much trouble.
I blink, staring up at his stunning face, feeling something shift inside. Somewhere near my heart.
How?
No.
Impossible. I hardly know him.
Although he knows me very well now. Keep it physical. I reach for his arousal, but his hips lift and he shakes his head. I cock mine. Then he lowers and kisses me, keeping his hands where they are on the bed, no touching anywhere else. I open up and close my eyes, letting his wonderful mouth take me off to a place only Jude Harrison can take me, my hands on a feeling frenzy across his chest.
Euphoric.
Out of this world.
I hum my happiness, soak up the perfect pressure of his tongue, my internal muscles still rolling with the aftermath of my climax.
Then he suddenly pulls away, kisses the corner of my mouth, gets off the bed, tugs his jeans on and walks out.
What the ever-loving fuck?
A short, disbelieving puff of air passes my lips as I prop myself up on my elbows again, staring at the closed door. He left? I’m lying here, postclimax, ready and willing, and he left?
Falling to my back, I stare up at the ceiling, trying to unravel what kind of fucked-up game he’s playing.
So no more games?
I’m still fighting to catch my breath.
I dare you to say no to me.
But he can say no to me?
Control.
He’s guaranteeing by the end of this dance, I’ll be begging for him. The hands, the phone sex, the kiss, and now this? Getting me off with his mouth and leaving?
He’s taking control, and I’m letting him.
I crane my head up, silently cursing him to hell and back. The slow seduction. Giving me little bit by little bit to prolong my torture and his satisfaction. I huff, indignant, and quickly still when I hear the door handle.
“Oh my God.” I sit up fast and grab the blankets, yanking them over my naked body, just managing to cover myself before Maria walks in. Heat explodes in my cheeks as she smiles mildly, awkwardly, and unhooks my robe from where it’s hanging on the wall.
“Callie will be in treatment room two when you’re ready for your manicure and pedicure.”
I accept my robe but remain on the bed. “Thank you.” I want the ground to open and swallow me whole. I’m still quivering from the aftershocks of Jude’s sweet, long, merciless torture. Maria must know exactly what’s just happened.
I’m mortified, fresh off the back of a Jude Harrison special. Kill me now.
Maria leaves, and I remain on the massage table cringing my arse off, but at the same time I feel light. The weight of my conundrum has lifted. I’ve accepted what needs to be accepted. I’m taking all he’s got to give. And if Jude has his way, I’ll be begging for it. No shame.
Groaning, I slip off the table, scanning the floor for my knickers. No knickers. He took my knickers? “God damn it.” I feed my arms through the sleeves and tie the robe, grabbing my bra and stuffing it in my pocket as I go to the door. I peek up and down the corridor, certain my face must be a telling shade of postclimax, before I walk on fast feet to treatment room two and push my way in.
A curvy, young, red-haired beauty greets me, smiling brightly. “You must be Amelia.”
“That’s me.” I close the door and put myself in the chair Callie points to, a huge cream leather piece with a foot bath in front of it and a low stool for Callie to perch on—the perfect height for her to reach my feet. “Nice to meet you, Callie.”
“And you.” Scanning my face, she tilts her head. “Steam room?”
I laugh out loud, rubbing at my cheeks. “Yes.” Jesus Christ, how red and sweaty am I? “Lots of steam.”
“It’s so relaxing, don’t you think?”
I hum, batting off flashbacks coming at me from all directions. All Jude. I’m still tingling between my legs. Still pulsating. Callie pats the stand on the bath, and I pull the robe in around my thighs and place my feet where indicated, making sure I keep my legs closed. What the bloody hell has he done with my knickers?
She inspects my toes and reaches for the tap on the mini bath, flipping on the water and holding her hand beneath the flow to check the temperature. “What colour are you feeling today, Amelia?” She holds up two bottles, and I look between them with a furrowed brow.
“Those are my options?” I ask, pointing to one. “Nude and ...” I indicate the other. “Nude?”
“Both complement your skin tone wonderfully.”
“What’s my skin tone?”
“Ummm ...” She scans what she can see of my skin. “Fleshy?”
My frown deepens, my mind going into overdrive. Oh my God, did he ...? “Callie, did someone choose a colour for me?”
“Oh no, I just thought that you looked like a nude kind of woman.” She grins, all toothy.
“You’ve never seen me before I walked through that door.”
Her eyes drop, her fluster growing rapidly as she flips the tap off.
“Callie,” I say again, this time quiet. “Did someone pick this colour for me?”
“Yes, yes, okay, Mr. Harrison may have stopped by and influenced the choices.”
He’s dictating what nail polish I should wear? I huff and scan the row of polishes on the glass shelf behind Callie. “I think I’d like that one. Third in from the right.”
“Seafoam?”
“Yes.” I nod. I’ve never in my life chosen any shade of blue or green polish. “Perfect.” It reminds me of Jude’s eyes. I frown to myself.
“But . . .”
“It’s perfect,” I say again, thinking. I am way out of my depth. So no more games? Something tells me Jude Harrison is having a lot of fun. But what happens when the game ends? Who wins? I wince at the pang of pain that flares in my chest, automatically reaching up and rubbing into my robe. What the hell is that?
He chose nude polish. Isn’t he the one who’s gone on about being more ... loose? As in adventurous. I laugh under my breath and close my eyes, letting Callie at me. Here I am. My God, what on earth am I doing? This isn’t me, bending to a man’s will, begging for him, dreaming of him, rendered useless by him. Jude Harrison has brought out a side of me I never knew existed. Submissive. I’m not sure how comfortable I am with it. Except ... I sigh. I can appreciate the step out of my everyday life, escaping expectation and letting someone lead.
In my darkness, I think in circles, going over the same things again and again, as if something new might pop up and offer a different take. It doesn’t. I keep coming back to the same conclusion.
I love how he so easily wipes my mind of everything except the moment I’m in with him—whether it be a moment of frustration, desire, or anger. I love how he consumes my thoughts. I love how he so easily distracts me from work, giving me momentary—and needed—freedom from the pressure I place on myself. It’s like handing the reins of a part of my life over to someone else and letting them steer me for a while. Because when I surrender to him, I’m light. Free. Happy to go wherever he takes me.
That’s not so bad, is it?
I open my eyes and see Callie has finished soaking my feet and massaging a foot scrub into them, and is now painting my toes. I smile at the lovely bluey-green shade as she places a UV lamp over my right foot to set the gel polish before starting on my left foot.
“Same for your fingers?” she asks, not looking up.
I look down at my perfectly neat coral nails. “I think so.”
The door knocks, and Callie calls out for whoever it is to come in. I wilt in the chair when it opens, revealing Jude, his hair now perfectly back in place and tucked behind his ears. I breathe in, feeling the scratchiness of his facial hair on the inside of my thighs. Where’s my knickers?
The corner of his mouth lifts in the semblance of a knowing smile as he steps into the room. He’s still in those faded jeans he pulled on before walking out of treatment room four— what a treatment —but he’s added a casual white linen button-down shirt, his sleeves rolled up. I mentally faint on the spot.
“Mr. Harrison,” Callie says, abandoning my toes, looking a little panicked. It’s the nude polish. I’ll defend her to the end.
Jude frowns down at my toes and turns interested eyes my way. I don’t shy away. “Green?”
“It’s seafoam, actually,” I say, inspecting my feet casually, thinking how it’s a similar shade to Jude’s eyes when he’s about to send me delirious with pleasure. His accusing glare licks my skin. Over nail polish? I look out the corner of my eye. He doesn’t seem impressed.
“Callie, would you give us a moment?” he says calmly.
What?
“Of course!” She’s up and gone before I can protest, and Jude’s soon sitting on the little stool she’s just vacated in front of me.
Reaching for the leather arms of the chair, I hold tight, stiffening from head to toe as he takes my ankles and starts to pull my legs apart. I fight him with everything I have. No, we’re not doing this again. I tense harder, resisting his force, but I’m no match for him. My legs spread, and I go lax in the chair, surrendering to him again , as he moves his stare to between my legs. On a long, deep breath, his chest expands, and he sighs, tilting his head, having a good study while I sit there and just let him, his large hands flexing around my ankles.
“How was your massage?” he finally asks, keeping me exposed to him.
“Overrated,” I say quietly, making him smile a little, peeking up at me. I’m unable to stop myself from mirroring the glorious sight, my own small smile breaking. He’s maddening. And fucking wonderful.
“Maybe you should leave a review on Tripadvisor.”
A burst of laughter erupts from me. If I leave a review on Tripadvisor, he’d be fully booked for the rest of his life. And, weirdly, that makes me wonder about all the women who have come before me.
And those who will come after.
I flinch.
Using my feet as a prop, he rises and leans in, getting his face close to mine. Then he releases one ankle and walks his fingers up the inside of my leg and strokes through my recovering flesh. My lips part, air streaming past them, my body instantly convulsing.
“Overrated?” he whispers, bringing his finger to his lips and sucking it clean.
Fuck.
“You’re going to a lot of effort to get a woman into bed,” I say quietly, my eyes glued to his.
“Do you think I go to all this trouble for—”
“Every woman you want to fuck?”
He takes a moment, thinking. “I don’t, to be clear.”
Probably because he usually gets little resistance. “Lucky me,” I breathe as his mouth moves closer. The heat of his fresh breath warms my face, his signature musky scent sending me dizzy. He rests his lips on mine but doesn’t advance his move into a full-blown kiss. It doesn’t stop my insides from furling, though, my hands twitching, ready to grab him and haul him into me as I look into his eyes, waiting, my impatience growing. I can’t help but think that any kiss I experience in my future that isn’t with Jude Harrison will be subpar. How depressing. I release my tongue, lightly slipping it into his mouth, meeting his, and he groans, pushing his mouth harder onto mine and devouring me for a few brief moments before pulling away, leaving me listless and breathless.
“Let’s talk about your choice of polish,” he says, lowering back to the stool before me and lifting my feet onto his thighs. “Blue.” He pouts.
“I told you, it’s seafoam.”
“I chose nude.”
“They’re my nails.”
“Tonight, Amelia, you’re all mine, so I get to choose.” He stands and moves onto a chair beside mine. Just tonight? “Callie,” he calls, and she pops her head around the door. I close my legs and pull my robe in, making Jude smile mildly. “Amelia has changed her mind,” he says, matter-of-fact.
“Have I?”
“She’d like nude.”
“Would I?”
He looks at me with a dash of playful warning. “Just let me do all the thinking.” He takes my hand as Callie resumes her position and picks up her small nail drill, starting to remove the seafoam polish. “Hand massage?” Jude asks.
“Oh no,” I snatch my hand away, shaking my head. Definitely not.
“It’s part of the service.” He reaches for the hand cream on Callie’s workstation. “Isn’t that right, Callie?”
She giggles and blushes, keeping her attention on removing my polish as Jude pumps a few blobs of cream into his palm.
“And I know for a fact that you love a good hand massage,” he says, claiming my hand. Callie chuckles again, peeking at me.
“I don’t need a hand massage.” I glare at Jude, silently begging him not to do this here as he starts working the cream into my hand. Of course, my plea goes unanswered. I grit my teeth, closing my eyes, digging deep for the strength to sustain the next phase of his seduction as his fingers slip through mine. I’m taken back to the bathroom at my office building, when he blindsided me, and my recovering flesh starts to throb greedily for him again. A million curses are let loose in my head. I’m trying so hard not to tense so Callie feels it. I know I’m failing when she repositions my foot to where she wants it.
Jude’s soft, huge hands work slowly and effortlessly over mine, the fire inside me raging. “Jude,” I whisper, flexing my fingers as he rubs between them.
“It’s not nice?” he asks, pushing his bottom lip out, as if hurt.
My jaw tightens as I stare at him, tingles erupting, his magic hands crucifying me yet again.
He smiles. “I’m really fucking glad you accepted my invitation.”
“Your invitation to send me wild?” I ask on a whisper, making his smile widen.
“If it makes you feel better, you send me wild too.” He leans over and hovers his mouth close to mine, apparently unbothered by his staff in our sexually charged orbit. “If I kiss you, will you be able to control yourself?”
“Probably not,” I admit. “Will you?”
“No.” He moves closer. “And that’s what I love about being around you.”
“Your lack of control?”
“You’re consuming,” he whispers. “Can you imagine how incredible it’s going to be when I’m finally inside you?” His lips skimming mine has me folding to his power, opening up to him, my head yelling at him to make that happen now.
But the door opens, and Jude pulls away, looking over his shoulder to who’s entered. Anouska sighs. I feel the same, Anouska. He’s exasperating. “You have a call,” she says, holding up a mobile.
“I’m busy,” he counters, continuing with his fun, back to rubbing my hand while I die on the chair with an audience.
Anouska turns her eyes onto me, her intrigue real. I shrug, at a loss. “It’s Rhys,” she says.
That soon wins Jude’s attention. He drops my hand fast and stands, and I rest back in the chair, not for the first time wondering what’s happening. And yet I don’t feel like it’s a question I can ask him. I hardly know him, and yet I’ve never felt this kind of intensity before. I’m not sure how to deal with it, except to succumb to its power.
Oh my God, I’m thinking in circles.
Jude strides toward Anouska and takes his phone as he passes. “Rhys,” he says. “What’s up?”
My curiosity rages as Anouska gets her surprise in check and Callie silently resumes removing my seafoam nail polish. And I don’t stop her. There are so many questions swirling around in my head right now. Who’s Rhys? Is that a man or a woman? Why did Jude react so urgently?
“So nude,” Callie says, smiling up at me.
“Yes, nude,” I reply, sinking farther into the chair.
Just let me do all the thinking.
I wholeheartedly wish I could do that, just surrender to the force of Jude Harrison with no doubts or hesitation. Problem is, I feel like a thousand red flags are being waved in my face.