Page 106 of The Invitation

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.

Chapter 26

The whales wake me again, calling to me. I note the empty space in the bed and roll onto my back, breathing out. How did I end up here again? It’s a stupid question. Memories of last night dance through my mind, giving me a full, comprehensive recap of where we’re at.

Fuckedis the answer. In many senses. Jesus, I have never behaved so erratically. Never lashed out so spectacularly. I’m horrified. Mortified.

I shuffle to the edge of the bed and pull the sheet with me, wrapping myself up in it. I find Jude at the island in the kitchen, sitting exactly where he had me bent over last night. He has one hand in his wet hair, holding his head, the other on the trackpad of his computer. He’s showered and dressed. Casual in beige chinos and a white T-shirt. Barefoot.

“Morning,” I say, sheepish.

He looks up, pushing his computer away and turning on the stool. “Good morning.” He gets up and approaches me, taking the sides of the sheet around me and reversing his steps back to the stool, pulling me with him. He lowers to the seat and puts me where he wants me, between his thighs, looking at me with interest.

God, I feel so ashamed of myself. “I’m sorry about how I reacted last night.”

His lip quirks a little. He’s amused? I laugh on the inside. He wasn’t last night when I was on the rampage. “I’m hardly a poster boy for control when it comes to sharingyou, am I?”

Very true. “What about Katherine?”

“What about her?”

“Was she here last night to ...” I can’t say it.

“Probably.”

“She just shows up, and you accommodate that?”

“If I’m in the mood.”

I nod, my brain aching. It’s too early for this kind of hard-hitting conversation. Does he remember the last thing I said last night? That, I don’t regret. And, more importantly, does he remember his reply?

“And now?” I ask. I want no ambiguity whatsoever. Last night was hideous.

“I’m only in the mood for one woman,” he says, dropping a kiss on my cheek. “And she isn’t married.” He hitches a brow. It’s adorable. “Is she?”

“She’s not.”

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