Chapter 25
“You’re not seriously going?” Abbie says as she follows me from the bathroom to my makeshift bedroom.
“Of course I’m going. No one gets invited to the partners’ monthly meetup.” I rub myself dry and shake out my hair from the towel. “Besides, I remember him saying very clearly that he hardly ever goes to Evelyn’s.” He prefers the Library Bar.
“He went there the night you were there for the conference. Don’t you remember? He had Clark up against the bar by his throat.”
I give her a tired look. “He won’t know I’m there.” There’s an entrance to the club around the side of Arlington Hall. I’ll use that one. I’ll crawl combat-style if I have to.
“You’re mad.”
I sit down on the floor in front of the mirror. Maybe. But I don’t have much choice. “It’ll be fine,” I assure her, and she shakes her head, picking up a basket of washing and dropping it on the end of my bed. “Thanks.” I smile mildly.
“Wearing this?” She plucks something off the top of the pile. The bra Jude bought me.
“Throw it away.” I pick up my blow-dryer and drown out her sigh.
After clearing the gateman, my Uber drives painfully slowly toward the splendid old building, the driver releasing constant sounds of awe. I fidget in my seat, faffing with my hair. When he rolls around the fountain, I see the army of staff waiting to greet me, help me, escort me.
“Just keep going to the end,” I say, leaning forward, wanting to minimise interaction with anyone. “To the car park around the side.” Would they recognise me? “I can walk through the grounds, it’ll only take a few minutes.”
“I’m being signalled to stop,” he says, slowing down.
“Damn,” I murmur. My door is open before I can put a bag over my head, and I smile my thanks to Stan as I reluctantly step out. “I’m meeting colleagues at Evelyn’s,” I say. “I’ll just make my own way round.”
“Oh, I would highly advise against it.”
“Why?” I flinch when something hits my head, just as Stan produces a golf umbrella and the heavens open. “Oh my God,” I gasp, as heavy, fat drops of rain start pounding down. “Jesus.” I lift my clutch bag and hold it over my head as Stan fights to get the umbrella open.
“Here we go, miss,” he says, covering me as we run to the doors. I make it and shake my bag, looking down at my white wide-leg trousers and gold silk camisole. “Shit.” Patches of wet everywhere, the material the worst for showing water marks.
“The ladies’ are just through there, if you’d like to use the facilities.”
I look up and find Anouska before me. Double shit. “Thanks.” I give her a tight smile. “Could you do me a favour?”
“A towel?”
“Don’t tell him I’m here.”
She cocks her head. “So you’re not here to see him?”
“No, we’re not ... I’m not ...” For fuck’s sake. “It’s over.” I frown. “Not that there was anything ...” Someone kill me now. I sigh. “I wouldn’t be here, but my bosses chose this of all places for their monthly meeting, and I couldn’t not come.”
“I see.” Anouska nods. “Well, in that case you’ll probably be pleased to hear he’s not here.”
I feel everything in me deflate. Thank God. Now I just need to put him out of my head and focus. I look down my body. And dry off. “Thanks, Anouska.” I leave her and go to the ladies’, dropping my purse by the sink as I thank the hand dryer gods for the super powerful Dyson hanging on the wall. I pull my top out from my trousers and slip it off, dropping it between the drying blades, flapping it as it roars to life. It’s dry in no time at all. Happy, I slip it back on and shimmy out of my trousers, dipping them in and out too, smiling awkwardly at an elderly lady who enters and does a double take at me in a camisole and gold strappy heels. “Rain,” I explain, getting back to the task of drying my trousers.
By the time I’m done, it’s bang on eight o’clock. Which means I’m going to be late. I hurry out of the ladies’, answering my phone to Abbie as I make my way to Evelyn’s. “He’s not here,” I say in answer, knowing she’ll be worried.
“I know, because he was just here.”
I skid to a stop, my blood cooling. “What?”
“He just showed up demanding to see you.”
“Are you joking?”
“No, I’m not fucking joking. I had to prove you were out.”
“How did you do that?”
“I let him stalk round my flat checking all the rooms.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Fucking hell, Amelia, he was not in a good mood.”
Just as she says that, my phone starts beeping. “I told you he has a temper.” I pull my mobile away from my ear and wince. “He’s calling me.” I reject the incoming call and get back to Abbie. “Please tell me you didn’t say where I was.”
“Of course I didn’t! I told him you were on a date.”
My jaw hits the floor. “You did what?”
“I’m joking. I didn’t disclose your location.”
“What did he say?” Jesus, what did Abbie say?
“Before or after I gave him a piece of my mind?”
“Before.”
“Not much. I asked him if it was true about Katherine.”
“Oh God,” I breathe, as my phone starts beeping again. I reject his call.
“He didn’t confirm it, but he didn’t deny it either.”
“I really don’t have time for this right now.” I get moving, reeling. It’s been two days since I texted him. Why now? “I need to concentrate.”
“I just wanted you to know.”
“Well, if he’s there, he’s not here,” I say. “I’ll call you when I’m leaving. Don’t wait up.”
“Don’t forget tomorrow night,” Abbie blurts before I can hang up. “Charley’s looking forward to it.”
“I’ve not forgotten.” I hang up and silence my phone when Jude tries to call yet again. “Not now,” I say, wondering if I would answer if I weren’t here. I shake my head, unwilling to let my mind go there.
I find everyone on the far side of the club, all comfortable in velvet club chairs, various shaped glasses decorating the small gold table in the middle of the circle of chairs. Gary spots me and stands, welcoming me.
“I’m sorry, I got caught in the downpour,” I say, accepting his kiss on my cheek before everyone rises in turn to welcome me.
“What are you drinking, Amelia?” Bob asks, waving a server over.
I lower to the chair Gary’s pulled over and slide the cocktail menu from beneath a glass.
“This is divine.” Sue moans her pleasure as she wraps her pink lips around the straw. “What’s it called, Gary?”
“Hey Jude.” He confirms what I knew, and I smile tightly.
“I think I’ll have a dirty martini.” Something short that I can sip slowly. I have to remain switched on. Always stay a few drinks behind the rest. Thank you, Tilda.
“Did anyone see the news?” Uptight Uriel asks, looking as relaxed as I’ve ever known him, his foot resting on his knee.
“The base rate?” Spencer says. “Unmoving.”
“Well, that’s faded all hope of the FTSE making a miraculous recovery,” Ted grumbles.
“It was a slow start to the week,” Gary says. “But I’m comfortable on where we closed today.”
“And the news of HighTac’s bumper profits was welcome,” Sue adds around her straw. “The question is, are we going to see any shift in the right direction soon?”
They all hum, and Gary looks at me, smiling over the rim of his glass. “What are your thoughts, Amelia?”
“Me?” I blurt, accepting my martini, all attention suddenly pointing my way. “Well.” I take a small sip, buying myself some time. Pressure. “It’s been a topsy-turvy month for sure, but I don’t think it’s a sign of a broader market panic. I’m definitely looking more towards the longer-term plans. I’ve had a few clients’ plans mature this week. One of my recommendations has been to reinvest in one of the six-year Global Defence plans. High risk, yes, but if things go as I predict—and hope—they could top a twelve percent return.”
“Twelve?” Bob asks. “You’re lucky to get eight these days.”
“I know, but when they guarantee the return of your initial capital, provided all underlying indices are at or above sixty-five percent of the initial strike level, it’s worth paying attention. You know they’re not playing when their minimum investment sits at fifty grand.”
“Oh, I do love a ballsy adviser,” Sue says, placing her glass on the table. “Where’s the fun in low-value, safe investments?” She looks at Gary, who smiles wide. And a deep, warm feeling floods me.
I’ve got this.
A few hours later, talk of the Dow Jones and FTSE 100 is a distant memory, the music is chilled and not too loud, and I’ve loosened up some more with the thanks of a few more dirty martinis. Although I have ensured I remain two drinks behind. And I’m all the more grateful for that when Sue comes close, her eyes definitely a little heavy with drunkenness.
“You know,” she says quietly, “I have to tell you, Amelia, I think I might quit if that Leighton makes partner.”
I snort. “Stop,” I whisper.
“No, I mean it. He’s a fucking snake. When you’ve been in this world as long as I have, you know one when you see one.”
“The guys like him,” I say, trying not to fish but unable to help myself. Opportunities like this do not present themselves often.
“Of course they like him. He’s a dick-swinging prick. They all are, truth be told. Some just know how to control their urges. Leighton’s young. Got something to prove to these dinosaurs.”
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“Has he tried to prove himself to you?”
She huffs. “He’s a boy. I think I intimidate him.”
I laugh to myself. “I know the feeling.”
“Oh?”
I wave her interest off. “He just needs putting in his place every now and then.” I stand. “Another drink?” I should not get into a slagging match with a senior partner, no matter how tipsy she is.
Sue flings her arm in the air with her empty. “Fill me up.”
“I’ll order, then pop to the ladies’.” I head off, smiling, happy with how the evening has panned out, and very grateful for the insight and inside information.
I leave my order with the barman and use the loo before washing my hands, reapplying my lipstick, and checking my phone. “Fucking hell,” I whisper, scrolling through the endless texts and missed calls.
You’re out, apparently. Where?
Answer me, Amelia.
We’re not done.
For fuck’s sake, we need to talk.
Delete.
Delete, delete, delete.
I head back out, willing my heart to calm. It’s making me shake. I take a few controlled breaths at the bar as the barman loads the glasses onto a tray, digging deep. It’s been a great evening. I need to keep it together a little while longer. I take the tray and head back to the partners, laughing when I see Bob and Sue on the dance floor swaying to Jan Blomqvist’s “More,” their eyes closed.
“Old ravers,” Gary says, chuckling.
“I fear some very dodgy shots on the golf course tomorrow.” I lower to the chair next to him.
“Oh, the hangovers will be rotten. Always are. I don’t think we’ve played a game of golf sober in our entire working relationships.”
“Does Sue play?”
“She’s the best.”
“Oh, I love it.”
“Perhaps you should get yourself some lessons, Amelia,” he says, giving me a telling look.
“You think?” His words remind me that I still need to get my father sorted. I put it on my mental list of things to do, along with calling some agents to see if there’s anything new on the rental market.
“Oh, I definitely think. And I know Sue would love a bit of backup on the course.” His eyebrows waggle.
Is that code for backup in the boardroom too? “Maybe I will.” I smile around the rim of my glass, settling back in my chair, watching Sue and Bob on the dance floor.
“Can I offer some inside information?” Gary asks, sitting forward. I definitely detect a little slur. Not too much, but enough to tell me the drink is about to talk.
“Sure.”
“When ... if you make partner, there’s a whole new world of rumours waiting for you.”
“Okay,” I say, trying not to get ahead of myself. The decision on if I make partner isn’t entirely Gary’s.
“There’s whispers,” he goes on, “of a merge between two of the big investment banks.”
“Oh?” I ask, interested, moving in closer. “Two that may feature heavily in some of my recommendations?”
“Indeed. I’m just throwing it out there, and they are just whispers at the moment, but you know there’s no smoke without fire.”
“Do I need to be reserved?”
“It could propel things, depending on how the banks’ boards handle PR. Or it could sink.” Which means one of the banks is struggling. “Just keep your ear to the ground and be ready to make some changes.”
“Got it.” I nod, my increasingly fuzzy mind wondering if Gary’s shared this information with anyone else. Like my adversary. “I appreciate your ...” My words fade, my mouth dries, and I slowly rest back in my seat. Shit. Jude’s sitting at the end of the bar, his hand wrapped around a short glass, and he’s looking this way like he wants to kill someone. Fuck. His eyes pass over to Gary. Oh God, oh God, oh God.
I return my attention to my boss, who’s now chatting with some of the others. What the hell should I do? I can’t let Jude come over here. He doesn’t have a very good track record when it comes to dealing with me talking to other men. He could completely fuck up my entire night. And career.
“Excuse me,” I say, standing and collecting my clutch bag, breathing in deep and heading over to Jude before he can go all caveman on my boss. His fiery eyes follow me the entire way, and I don’t shy away, crying on the inside at the unholy perfection of him in some jeans and a black slim-fitted T-shirt, the material clinging to his toned torso and biceps. His thick hair is its usual beautiful mess. His face its usual gorgeous ruggedness.
I shake away my awe and get back to the matter at hand. Remember why you’re here, Amelia. Remember that he lied to you. I’ve had too much to drink to take on Jude Harrison, but just you try to stop me. “You said you hardly ever come here,” I say, my voice strong.
“I don’t.”
“So who told you I’m here?”
“It’s irrelevant.”
“Like you sleeping with Katherine is irrelevant?” God damn me, I did not want to fire that bullet, but as I stand here looking at him, struggling for reason and strength while also fighting off the inevitable effect of Jude on my senses, I’m getting worked up. Angry. He should have fucking told me, and, actually, he owed me that. I did deserve that information, so I could have at least been prepared when she inevitably warned me off.
His jaw rolls as he lifts his drink and takes a casual sip. He’s having his own battle, clearly working hard to keep himself in place rather than spinning off the handle. He looks stressed past his stony facade, his pissy glare constantly moving to the group I’m with. Did he just come here to be all passive aggressive? Stand there and make me feel awkward and uncomfortable? Anxious of what he might do? The least he could do is fucking apologise to me.
“Fucking talk!” I snap, my blood beginning to boil. He remains silent, unresponsive. I want to bash into his chest with my fists. Scream at him for giving me the time of my life, making me believe in something that isn’t real, and then shitting all over it.
“What does it matter?” he asks, his face straight. “You’re not looking for anything serious anyway.”
I recoil, injured. But he’s right. I said that. And this, my reaction, is revealing. Feeling my control slipping, my anger rising, tears forming, I throw back my drink. “Fuck you, Jude.” I slam down my glass and escape before my emotions get the better of me, shoving my way into the ladies’, yelling my frustration, startling a poor, unexpecting woman who’s applying some blusher. “Sorry,” I murmur, throwing my purse on the sink and bracing my arms against it, my head hanging, my eyes low.
I think I’m in more trouble now than I was an hour ago.
Last night felt pretty fucking serious.
Flashbacks assault my woozy head, images of his face as he blew my mind in bed, our limbs entwined, his smoky eyes as he maintained eye contact throughout the most intimate and explosive experience I’ve ever had with a man.
A man I hate to admit I’m mad for.
Was mad for. Now he’s just a good-looking guy who is guaranteed to play me. A man to be avoided. Dangerous. Just as I initially thought.
I’m so fucking stupid. Just seeing him, I’m trembling. Hot. My body’s reacting in ways I’m not comfortable with, even though I’m mad with him. I need to remember the aftermath, the turning of my stomach when Katherine messaged him. The panic that hit me when I considered what the uncomfortable sinking of my heart could be. The friendly visit she paid me at work.
The information she shared.
It could be easy, no strings, a bit of fun. No commitment, no distraction.
But that changes the moment feelings happen, and after just one night together—fucking hell, even before our night together—I felt those feelings creeping in.
My reaction to Katherine is prime proof. I can’t do this. I can’t risk free-falling into a mess.
I breathe in deep and exhale, looking at my reflection. I’m alone now.
Then . . . not.
Jude pushes his way into the ladies’ and lets the door close, standing with his back against it. Our eyes meet. The universe shifts. My whole world tilts.
Did I think he would come? Yes. Did I want him to?
My throat thickens, my swallow lumpy as I look away from him. Do not fall. I hear him approach, and he’s suddenly behind me, his gaze still steely.
“Do not touch me,” I warn.
He plain ignores me, his hand lifting, his lips straight.
“No, Jude.”
His touch closes in.
“I said no.”
“And yet you’re not moving away,” he replies, his voice grainy. “Why’s that?”
I don’t want to answer. His hand meets my elbow, and delicate eruptions pitter-patter across my skin, aiming right for my heart.
“No!” I cry, turning and physically shoving him away. He fucks a married woman. He said she was no one. He let me walk into a fucking lion’s den.
Jude steadies himself and comes right back at me. No! Desperate, I swipe a hand out and slap him clean across the face. He blinks, inhales, and comes at me again, taking the tops of my arms and holding me, his face tense. He’s in better control than me. It makes a change. As he eases me up against the nearest wall, his eyes drop to my mouth, his intention clear. The heaviness that falls between my thighs forces them to clench. I will my body to behave, beg it, as he slowly drops his lips to mine, kissing me gently. The rush of blood that coasts through me nearly puts me on my arse.
Jude pulls back, his wet lips glistening. “Are you going to argue with that?”
I wrench my arms free, push him away, and deliver another stinger of a slap. He clenches his eyes closed briefly, his nostrils flaring, as I pant before him, half-furious, half–turned on. God damn me.
After a deep inhale of perseverance, he’s coming at me again, our lips crashing together, his kiss more forceful this time, stealing my breath. His body compresses mine to the wall, my boobs start to ache, my head gets messier. I growl to myself and force him back, slapping his face again . Do not fall.
“I’m losing my patience, Amelia,” he grates, shaking his daze away and slamming his mouth onto mine.
“Fuck off.” I bite at his lip, shoving him back, my stinging hand on autopilot, swiping at him again. Slap. His head jerks to the side, and he holds it there, breathing through his rising anger as I breathe through my rising craving for him. I’m in fight-or-flight mode, and the anger is ruling which option to take.
Fight. Fight him with everything I have. Hurt him. Protect myself.
Jude licks his lip as he slowly lifts his eyes to mine. They’re so dark. So full of rage, but I see his desperation past the sheen of anger. I don’t think straight around this man. I lose all reason, shift from stable and sensible to senseless and irrational.
I heave against the wall, my brow dampening, my body calling for him. And as I drop my eyes to the fly of his jeans, I see he’s turned on past his anger too, the bulge prominent. I want it. I want him .
Praying for help in maintaining my diminishing resistance, I look up as Jude snarls, moving slowly in, bracing himself for my out-of-control hand to come at him again. But I’m out of fight. I’m done. He slips a hand onto my waist, tugging my hips into his, his eyes hooded, his breath spreading all over my face. My palms find his hips, my cheek rubbing against the harshness of his bristle when he nuzzles me.
His cock pulses against my lower tummy.
My nose is invaded by his scent, calming me further, his hands working at my strung muscles across my back until I’m boneless against him. Settled.
His mouth moves to my ear. “I want you, Amelia,” he whispers, stamping all over my willpower with his words as well as his touch. “I want you so fucking much.” He kisses the sensitive spot beneath my earlobe, and my knees wobble. “We’ve got to figure this out together.” Taking my chin, he directs my face to his. “We can have angry sex now, you can take everything out on me, or you can come with me and let me try to fix this.” His eyes pour with sincerity that I can’t ignore. I just can’t. “But walking away isn’t an option.”
I bite at my lip, scared to say the words bubbling in my throat. Scared to seal my fate.
“It’s not an option,” he whispers, reinforcing it as he holds my face. “Come with me.”
“I have work people out there,” I say, remembering where I am. Why I’m here. “The partners. I can’t just leave.” My phone starts ringing, and I look across to my purse by the sink.
“Don’t answer it,” Jude says. “Please.”
“I have to.” It could be Abbie or Charley. They’ll be worried. Jude reluctantly breaks away, letting me get to my phone. It’s my boss. Oh God, did he see me with Jude? “Gary?”
“Just checking you’re okay,” he says. “We’re heading back to the hotel.”
I wince. Am I okay? I look at Jude in the reflection past me. He’s waiting patiently, but I detect his wariness.
“I’m okay,” I say quietly. “You go. I have an Uber coming.”
Jude starts mildly shaking his head, refuting that.
“You sure?” Gary asks.
“Yes, I bumped into someone I know in the ladies’ and got talking.” I visibly wince. “Sorry.”
“Hey, don’t worry. Like I said, just checking you’re okay.”
“Have a great day on the course tomorrow, and thanks for tonight.”
“My pleasure, Amelia. See you Monday.”
I hang up and inhale when Jude’s front is quickly pushed up against my back. He reaches past me, takes my purse off the counter, and slips his hand around mine, leading me out of the bathroom and through Evelyn’s. I can feel my heart beating in my throat, my mind racing. Where’s my resolve gone? Where’s the disgust, the anger, the determination to avoid him?
The pull is too strong. I keep going back for more, and I’m terrified I always will.
We leave Evelyn’s, Jude leading me, his hold of my hand tight, and pass through the glass corridor back to the main hotel. I see Gary up ahead with the others.
“Jude,” I breathe, slowing, making our arms stretch between us. He looks back at me in question. “My bosses,” I say, and he checks, quickly diverting us down another corridor and up a different staircase.
When we make it to his apartment, he drops my phone on the couch, picks me up, and walks me to the kitchen space, sitting me on the counter and getting between my thighs.
Cupping my face, he pulls it down to his, but he doesn’t kiss me. I wrap my palms around his wrists. Wait for his words to make everything better. “I should have told you about Katherine.”
That doesn’t make everything better, but at least he’s owning his mistake. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because I was afraid it would put you off.”
“It does,” I say frankly. “I’m not interested in becoming part of a love triangle.”
“Well, on Sunday you weren’t interested in anything serious,” he says over a laugh. “So tell me, Amelia, what the fuck do you actually want?”
I blink at him, surprised, outraged. And now he’s being an arsehole? “You’re doing a stellar job of trying to fix this,” I snap, yanking my face from his hold and getting down from the counter. “Fuck you, Jude.” I can’t deal with these seesaw emotions. Mine or his. Lust one second, rage the next, despair, calm, joy, anguish. This isn’t healthy, and it’s not what I want.
“Amelia,” he barks, making a grab for my arm. I dodge his lunge and retrieve my bag. “Oh, great, so now you walk away again. Brilliant. Very fucking reasonable of you.”
“Reasonable?” I cry, my voice high-pitched. “You’re fucking a married woman! Is it all a fucking game to you? Bending women to your will, brandishing your charm left and right. What’s wrong with you?”
I see it coming. The explosion. “Everything is fucking wrong with me!” he bellows, completely losing his shit. He swings around and smashes his fist into the wall, and I jump back, alarmed, as plaster crumbles around his balled hand. “Fuck!” He yanks it free and curses his way to the sink, shoving his scuffed knuckles under the cold tap. He takes a few deep breaths. Clenches his eyes closed. “I’m a fuckup, Amelia,” he says calmly. “A total fuckup, so, yes, the best thing you could do is leave and crack on with your life.”
I baulk at him. “That’s exactly what I was trying to do until you turned up tonight.”
“You were in my club,” he grates.
“And you were hammering on my best friend’s front door before that, so don’t you dare throw the blame for this shitshow my way.” I fling my arm toward the door, pointing. “You just led me up to your apartment with the promise of fixing it, and all you’ve done is make this fucking worse.” I underestimated his anger issues. His temper. He looks absolutely crazed as he shakes his hand and grabs a tea towel, drying it, his lip curling in contempt. I’m a fuckup, Amelia.
He’s not wrong, and he’s fucking me up too. My anger, the frustration. I feel out of control.
“You let me lead you up here, Amelia, because you wanted me to fuck you like you love me fucking you.”
“Go to hell.”
“I’m already fucking there!” he yells as I storm out, slamming the door behind me, my face certainly every shade of furious. Stomping to the next set of doors that lead back into the hotel, the pressure in my head growing, I haul the door open.
And come face-to-face with Katherine.
“Oh,” I laugh, as she looks me up and down. “Well, this is fucking perfect.”
“Excuse me?” Indignant, she glances past me, and I turn to see Jude jogging this way, his face a picture of horror, fury, anxiousness.
Fuck.
Him.
I smile, sweeping a hand out to Katherine. “Look who’s here,” I sing, delighted.
Deranged.
“Have fun, you two.” I leave, damning the pinch at the back of my eyes, pushing my way through the various double doors until I’m at the top of the stairs. Bastard. I’m a fucking idiot.
“Amelia,” Jude yells after me.
“Fuck off,” I hiss, wondering if I’ve ever cursed so much in my life.
“Amelia, for fuck’s sake.”
I take the stairs but make it only three down before I’m dragged back up. “I said fuck off!” I scream.
“Not on your fucking life,” he seethes, his face up in mine. “We’ve got things we need to discuss.”
I laugh. “What, like how much of a fuckhead you are?”
“If it makes you happy.” He grabs the top of my arm and starts guiding me back toward his apartment, but just when I’m about to fight back, Katherine appears, and the expression of shock on her face tells me I look as wild as I feel.
His fault.
This ... because of a man.
What has become of me?
Jude wrestles me past her, and the filthy look I give her should turn her to stone. “You’re welcome to him,” I seethe, getting a warning squeeze from Jude for my trouble.
“You say that like the choice is yours,” Katherine replies, deadpan. She truly means it.
“Enough, Katherine,” Jude warns calmly, marching me on.
“Tell that to your bit of stuff,” she retorts.
I cough over my indignation, breaking free of Jude’s hold. Slap her. Claw her eyes out. Fucking strangle her. “Bit of stuff?” I parrot, gunning for her, my mind and sense completely gone. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe he is your bit of stuff, since you’re the one who’s fucking married in this situation.”
She hums, pouting, her head tilting as if considering that notion. “Correct.” She smiles, and it’s smug. She’s enjoying this. My upset, my loss of control. “Mine,” she adds.
What the hell is this madness? What the hell have I got myself into?
Katherine sighs, feigning impatience. “Jude, if you’re going to sleep around, could you at least find someone with a bit of class and who knows her place?”
“Oh my God,” I breathe.
“Katherine!” Jude barks. “Shut your damn mouth.”
Locking down every muscle so I don’t launch myself at her, I have a stern word with myself. I’m better than this. Keep it classy. Too late.
Leave.
Go.
I need to get out of here before I embarrass myself even more. I pick one foot up and yelp when I’m hauled upwards. “What the fucking hell? Jude!”
“Shut up,” he snaps, throwing me over his shoulder and marching back to his apartment. The door crashes closed, and he dumps me on my feet. “I’m not fucking done.”
“I am!” I scream. “I’m so fucking done. I wish I’d never laid eyes on you. I wish you didn’t exist. I wish I could forget you! I wish I could go back to before I met you and make some better fucking choices.”
Jude blinks. Recoils. He’s hurt? Give me a break. “You could forget me if you wanted to.”
“No, I can’t.” And that fucking sucks. He’s scratched into my mind. I’m fucking doomed, destined to live with regret because of the stupid decisions I’ve made. I was right all along. He’s dangerous.
I need to go.
I have to leave.
I search for my purse, realising quickly that I must have dropped it outside. I point to the door. “My purse is out there,” I say, my shortness of breath indicative of my exhaustion, physical and emotional.
“Why can’t you forget about me?”
My arm lowers and my brain empties. The expressive eyes staring back at me could break me.
“Tell me, Amelia. Why?”
“I’m leaving.”
“You’re not leaving. You’re going to stay and help me figure out what the fuck is going on here.”
I bite down on my lip, so fucking torn. I can’t be with a man who pimps himself out, no matter how serious or insignificant. This, what we’re experiencing, isn’t insignificant. Fuck, I know this isn’t insignificant.
Approaching cautiously, Jude watches me carefully for any signs that I’m about to bolt. I feel like my feet are stuck to the carpet. My resolve is cracking. I’m a slave to this man, and there is nothing I can do about that. Do I just have to accept the inevitable?
“My eyes are on you and you alone, Amelia,” he says quietly, closing in on me. He reaches out, offering himself up. “So fucking take me. Devastate me. Do what the fucking hell you want with me, because this begins and ends with you.”
His declaration crushes me as I look at him before me, his hands held out, offering them to me. “Stop it.”
“Only you. Do you want me?”
My teeth clamp down on my lip, trying to stop it wobbling.
“Answer me,” he demands.
The dam holding back my need and desire collapses as I reach for his hands. It’s my answer. I’m tugged into his body, and neither of us holds back, our lips finding each other’s, our frustrations and desperation getting the better of us. Our kiss is all wild tongues, clashing teeth, our hands are everywhere, feeling each other.
Untameable.
Unquenchable.
Inevitable.
I wrench his T-shirt up his torso, practically ripping it over his head and throwing it down, my hands going to his belt and yanking it open. Jude groans into my mouth as I unbutton his fly, keeping his lips on mine, his tongue lapping, as he wriggles out of his jeans, kicking off his shoes, reaching to pull his socks off, before he starts on me. He tears my camisole off, pushes my trousers down my thighs. I moan, biting at his lip as he circles my waist and lifts, letting me shake my heels and trousers off. My back is soon against the wooden island counter, Jude bent over me, my legs wrapped around his hips as he yanks the cups of my bra down. I cry out, throwing my head back as he kisses his way over my breastbone and bites at one boob, massaging the other.
“Fuck, I’ve missed this body,” he mumbles around a mouthful of my flesh. “Fuck, these tits, your mouth, your begging pussy.” A finger slips past my knickers and into my desire, and I grab his hair, pulling and tugging, squeezing my thighs tighter around his hips. He gasps, drives deep, and withdraws, coming back to my mouth, slipping his palm under the back of my head and encouraging me up, making our kiss forceful. “You feel so good.” His tongue laps at mine rapidly, any control fading fast, his dick fighting for freedom. I reach down to his boxers and slip my hand inside, holding him, gasping at the heat and throb. “Shit,” he grunts, momentarily losing the pace of his kiss. “God, I need you so badly.” He rises, dragging his palm down my front to my stomach, watching his moving hand. My body rolls, anticipation ruining me. The sight of him towering over me, adoring me, worshipping my body.
Irresistible.
Mouthwatering.
Heartthrob.
Jude peeks up at me through his lashes, his eyes hooded. The way he’s looking at me? It’s crushing. Need. So much need. “Why are you a fuckup?” I ask quietly.
He strokes back up my body, forcing my spine to bow, my chest pushing up. I can’t take my eyes off him. “I don’t want to ruin this,” he whispers, scanning my eyes.
“Then don’t.” My breathing is loud. My pulse throbs in my ears.
He nods and turns me onto my front, effectively bending me over the counter, and draws my knickers down my legs.
“Oh shit,” I whisper, my palms flattening against the wooden surface, my boobs squished. I look over my shoulder to Jude looming over me, both of his hands smoothing across my arse cheeks. The hunger in him is something else. I can’t possibly be misreading the utter desperation on his face. His eyes flick to mine as he pushes his boxers down, his dick springing free, jutting out, long and hard. I blow out my cheeks and brace myself.
“Watch me fuck you over the kitchen counter, baby.” He nods past me, and I swallow and look forward. To the mirrored doors of the fridge. A small, awed wisp of breath leaves me as I push up onto my forearms. The sight. “Quite the vision, huh?” He reaches for my hair and pulls my head back, and then he enters me slowly on a long exhale, his eyes on my boobs in the mirror, mine on his face, the strain taking his beauty to new heights. His abs bulge, his pecs swell, his hair falls onto his face. I close my eyes and absorb the fullness, humming when he bends over me and presses his lips to my back, kissing from one side to the other. “Are you ready?” he whispers.
I nod, dizzy with pleasure, and he starts moving, driving in and out, grinding firmly, working us both up, finding his pace, maintaining it for a few mind-bending minutes, before upping the ante, no longer driving, but hitting deep in short, fast bursts.
“Jude,” I groan, my head lolling. “So good.” I watch him in the mirror, owning my body, strong and powerful.
Sliding his hands onto my shoulders, he pulls me back onto his advances, his jaw taut. I’m forced to my tippy-toes, his hips thrusting, increasing gradually until they’re going like pistons.
I cry out constantly, but my eyes remain nailed to him in the mirror. The veins in his neck bulge, and I am helpless, at the mercy of his command, his fingers clawing into my hips. I can’t describe the pleasure. The sight of him, of us, his face, the gratification plastered all over it. The sounds of our bodies crashing together, the smell of sweat, Jude, and me, all mingling. The telltale heat rises from my toes, my stomach furls, my muscles tense. I hold my breath, try to seize the teasing orgasm creeping forward, his dick banging into me relentlessly. His eyes smoke out, and his head drops back, his lips parting.
Balling my fists, I press them into the wood, trying to anchor myself. This is going to be powerful. “Yes,” I breathe, chasing the release, willing it forward. “Yes, yes, yes.”
Jude sucks air through his teeth, powering on, merciless, unstoppable. “Come on, come on.”
“Yes!” I shout, the pleasure sizzling on the edge, waiting to spill over and engulf me.
“Fucking hell, Amelia!” he yells, fucking me hard, banging all the tension and doubts away.
I’m fixated, enthralled, his slick chest swelling, his neck bulging. “Yes!”
“Fuck.”
“Yes!”
“Amelia!”
“Yes!”
“Fuck, I adore you.”
Bang, bang, bang.
“Talk to me, baby,” he bellows. “Tell me.”
“Now!” It grabs me and tosses me into a euphoric state, my vision blurring, my hearing fogging, Jude’s yells and shouts becoming fuzzy and distant. Every inch of me is hypersensitive, my body reacting violently, twitching. “Oh God,” I gasp, dizzy, fighting back the fog as Jude comes with me, his upper body folding over my back, his shuddering fierce. We’re both rendered useless as we deal with the pleasure, and it’s never-ending, me splattered against the wood, Jude splattered against my back.
“Fucking hell,” he gasps, sniffing, rubbing his wet forehead across my skin, his hair tickling my back.
Tremors are still slithering through me. I’m paralysed, unable to move, hardly able to catch my breath, panting across the countertop. I can’t talk, and I wouldn’t know what to say if I could. My head is all over the place. Sex does not make things better.
Fucking take me. Devastate me. Do what the fucking hell you want with me.
Dazed, my clit still pulsing, my walls still throbbing, I close my eyes and try to imagine the best outcome here. My heart intact would be the best outcome, along with my dignity. I never anticipated this. I never anticipated him .
And now I feel royally fucked, because Jude is right. Walking away isn’t an option.
It’s also impossible.
Unnatural.
I’m a fuckup. A total fuckup, so, yes, the best thing you could do is leave and crack on with your life.
Except I can’t seem to leave, and when I stupidly tried, he stopped me.
I don’t want to ruin this.
God, is that what he’s scared of?
His touch drifts over my shoulders and up my arms to my hands, holding them. Squeezing. “You’re quiet,” he says softly, dotting kisses across my shoulder blades. “Talk to me.”
“I don’t want you to ruin this,” I whisper, surprising myself with my honesty. “And I don’t want to ruin it either.”
“I should have told you about Katherine,” he says quietly.
“I’m scared,” I admit. “I didn’t expect you either.”
Jude shifts, and he slides out of me, the slickness he leaves behind hot and coating my thighs. Turning me, he hooks an arm around my neck and pulls me into his chest, resting his chin on my head. “I’ve got you.”
He’s got me.
But do I trust him to keep hold of me?
I don’t have the headspace to think about that in my postclimax state. I’m wrecked, drained. “Okay,” I say, accepting his comfort. Hugging him.
Kissing my hair on a sigh, Jude dips and pulls me up to his body by the backs of my thighs, encouraging me to hold on to his shoulders. “You’re staying the night,” he says as he carries me to the bed. I’m lowered onto the silky-soft covers, and he climbs in beside me, pulling me into his side. My hand on his chest, I stare across the planes as he places his hand on mine where it rests.
“I don’t want you to sleep with her again,” I say quietly.
“Okay” is his simple reply.