Page 64 of The Invitation

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 placemy 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.

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