Page 114 of The Invitation

And my view is suddenly unmatchable. My God. His face tight, he drives into me on constant grunts, his fingers digging into my thighs, the slaps of our bodies meeting ringing around the room.

Sparks ignite between my legs, my stomach aching from tensing. I’m going to come again.

“Shit!” It takes me out completely, and I free-fall, the orgasm ripping through my body viciously. Jude’s head drops back, the veins in his neck bulging as he roars his release, slamming into me wickedlyone last time, holding himself deep. The ripples of his own orgasm mix with the pulsing of mine.

My body heaving with my laboured breathing, I drag air into my burning lungs, my chest pumping as he folds down onto me, crushing me to the wood, his breathing in my ear loud and fast. “Jesus,” he wheezes, his wet chest slipping across mine.

And we lie there, recovering, getting our breathing back to a safe rate. “That’s definitely worth a five-star review,” he whispers.

I’m fucked, knackered, beat. But I still manage a wide smile as he slips out of me and helps me to my feet. He pulls his jeans up, and I take the time while he’s buttoning his fly to feel across his chest. When he’s done, he slides his hand into my hair, massages a little, as if sensing my scalp has suffered. “Sore?” he asks, his eyes sincere.

“Everywhere,” I confirm, knowing I’ll be feeling him between my thighs until the next time.

“Good.” He pushes his lips to my forehead before fetching my clothes and slowly dressing me. I watch him, fascinated, loving the mess of his waves. His eyes flick to mine as he fixes the straps of my camisole. His lip lifts a little. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Have I convinced you to stay the night?”

God, I wish I could. But I reluctantly shake my head, and he sighs, claiming the half-empty bottle of champagne and my hand, hitting the button with the neck of the bottle to open the doors.

“How much is that bottle worth?” I ask as he walks us out, my legs on the rickety side of stable. “Orwasworth.”

“Fifteen hundred,” he says, casual, unaffected, as I baulk behind him. He looks back, serious. “Best fifteen hundred I’ve ever spent.”

I scrunch my nose, content. “You need to take me home.”

“If I must,” he murmurs, unhappy.

We’re back on track.

And I’m feeling the most content I ever have.

Chapter 28

When Abbie and I arrived at Charley’s house, she was ready but obviously frazzled. Lloyd got home an hour later than he promised, so she was rushing getting ready, and quite pissed off. In the taxi to the restaurant, she declared any talk about men was banned for the entire evening. I assumed that included talk about Jude, so I was happy. I have no idea what to tell them. I’ve gone from hating him to adoring him again in a heartbeat.

“Are you guys sure we should go to Amazonico?” I say as we turn the corner onto Berkeley Square.

“It’s my favourite,” Charley says. “We have to go.”

“Yes, but the last time we were there, we made a spectacle of ourselves and didn’t pay.”

“They said wedidpay.”

“Except none of us have proof of payment,” I remind them.

“It’ll be fine.” Abbie links arms with me, looking down at my cream silky slip dress. “I love this dress.”

“Thanks.” I scrunch my nose. It’s loose and light, which means it’s not rubbing against the tender flesh of my inner thighs.

We reach the doors, and the doorman lets us pass with the confirmation of our reservation. I watch his face for any recollection of us. There’s none.

“See, it’s fine,” Charley says, giving her name to the maître d’. She too smiles and lets us pass, handing us over to a waiter. Charley gives me a nod of reassurance, and my nerves settle. “Nothing to worry about.”

We’re seated, Abbie grabs the menu, and I start to relax. I recognise our server when he approaches, an Asian guy with both nostrils pierced. He’s who served us last time. And when he falters on his way to the table, I fear the worst.

His disapproval is obvious. “Do I need to get security to guard your table so you can’t leave without paying again?” he asks.

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