Page 78 of The Invitation

“Do I need to come knock some sense into you?” Charley asks.

“Probably.”

“Why?” they say in unison.

“Because I’m about to follow him into the unknown.”

I don’t wait around to see if they try to talk sense into me. Maybe because I’m worried they’ll succeed. I hang up and stand, knocking back the last inch of my fizz. I don’t know who I was trying to fool, convincing myself I was having dinner with him to talk. He proved that plan null and void the moment he put his hand on my knee. But we did talk, and damn him, damnme, I enjoyed getting to know him more. I liked what I heard, saw something more vulnerable and genuine beneath the confident facade and boldness.

But I like his boldness. I like that he overpowers the inherent, constant focus I have on achieving. I like the reprieve he offers me. The calmness I find in emptying my mind and being in the moment with him. Red flags be damned.

I follow Jude, mildly unsettled by the pull leading me. Only mildly. Everything inside is screaming at me to explore this. I’m laser focused as I walk through the tables, my eyes forward, my mind at peace. I can’t say no. Won’t say no.

When I make it into the lobby, I look up at the sweeping staircase as I move, seeing Jude halfway up, his suit jacket now off, the material of his crisp white shirt stretched across his broad back. I take the handrail and the first step, my heels steady, my heart steady, the beats sharp but consistent, my neck craned to keep my eyes on him as I ascend. He stops at the top and looks back at me following, reaching for his tie and tugging it loose.

I’m not in control. I’m owned, my moves manipulated by the pure intent in his eyes. When I’m only a few steps behind him, he continues, walking casually down a corridor and through some doors, stopping to hold it open for me before carrying on. We’re in a private lobby, another set of white-gloss doors ahead of us, console tables lining each side, all with a vase of roses set upon the top. Reaching the double doors, he taps his phone on a keypad and opens the doors, stepping inside. I stop on the threshold, looking up and around, searching for the source of the music everywhere. Jan Blomqvist. “Dancing People Are Never Wrong.”

I take a breath, my flesh pulsing harder as he places the champagne on the round table immediately inside the suite before turning and closing the door. Then he faces me, his eyes on mine, and he swallows, holding his hand out. I watch as mine lifts and our fingers brush, sparks firing. I inhale. Jude curses.

And he hauls me into him, his mouth on mine in a heartbeat, hungry but soft, his body swathing me, his hands in my hair, his tongue plunging into my mouth.

And I’m his.

Crippled by the instant rush of blood to my head, dazed by the intoxicating chemistry.

I grab his tie, returning his kiss hard, pulling it off and tossing it aside as he walks backwards, taking me with him. My dress is scrunched at the sides, lifted over my head, and dropped to the floor, and his hands are soon back in my hair as I work his buttons, my impatience off the charts. Abandoning the final one, I rip it open, shoving it down his arms as a supressed grunt hits my ears. I throw it down with force, getting my hands back on him, feeling his chest, his pecs, his stomach, before I grab fistfuls of his hair and force him harder onto my mouth, moaning. My bra is discarded and tossed to the floor, and his palms cover my breasts, making my torso concave, my nipples stinging with the pleasure of his hands brushing across them.

“Jude.” I’m so fucking frantic for him.

“Amelia,” he pants, ripping his mouth off mine and holding my face, his jaw so tight beneath his stubble. He stares into my eyes as I grasp his wrists, our faces so close, our loud breaths colliding. He looks almost angry as he gazes at me. I must look so dazed. But I am far from confused. Him. He’s like a hit of life to a part of me I never knew was dead. This feeling is consuming. The connection is bending my head. Is this what happens when you meet the one? Explosions, fireworks, a burning heat inside that might make you disintegrate? As I look into his eyes, I know I could drown in them.

And I am.

Sinking, struggling to breathe. “What’s happening?” I whisper, my mouth out of control, something taking over me.

His eyes dart across my face, his palms increasing their pressure on my cheeks as my hands grip his wrists tightly. “I don’t fucking know,” he breathes, tackling my mouth again, kissing me hard and purposefully, walking me to the nearest wall and pushing me up against it. “Let’s talk about that in the morning.”

I’m not going to argue. If he doesn’t sate this fire inside soon, I’m going to lose my mind. I yank his belt loose, push his trousers over hisarse, and dig my fingernails into the solid globes of flesh. He hisses, kissing his way over my cheek, onto my shoulder, across my décolletage, onto my boob. I smack my head against the wall and look up at the ceiling, my lungs burning. His warm mouth covers my nipple and sucks as my hands drag up his back and grip his shoulders.

“Trousers,” he demands hoarsely, placing his hands on the wall on either side of my head, his eyes heavy. I slide down the wall, exhaling at the outline of his erection as I pass. Urgency has me lifting one foot in turn and pulling his shoes off, then his socks, before I reach for the waist of his trousers and fight them down his legs. He kicks his way out of them and hauls me back up his body, my legs wrapping around his waist. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he breathes, turning and carrying me across the room blindly, his lips back with me, our chests splattered together, his neck craned back to accommodate my mouth. Soft sheets meet my back, his front splayed on mine. Our kiss is chaotic and loud. He moans, I moan. He fists my hair, I fist his. Then he rolls us so I’m straddling him.

Biting his lip, I drag it through my teeth, and he groans, squeezing his eyes shut briefly before opening them and watching me kiss my way down his chest, onto his stomach, over his boxers.

“Shit, Amelia,” he barks, reaching down and yanking me back up, rolling us again and returning the favour, licking and biting his way across my breasts. I whimper, my back arching violently, desire overwhelming me. Air is hard to find, my panting loud as his mouth crosses my stomach, his thumbs slipping up the sides of my knickers. Sweat starts to bead on my forehead as he inches the lace material down my legs, kissing his way onto the inside of my thighs.

Then he licks through my slickness and I cry out, my stomach muscles tightening, the stabs of pleasure sharp. Discarding my knickers, Jude gets to his knees and pulls me to mine, taking fistfuls of hair, holding me in place, his eyes wild, his hair in disarray. I breathe in his face, reaching for his boxers, and slip my palms inside onto his arse, stroking, feeling, watching him bracing himself as I edge them downand drag the tips of my fingers over his tight hips to his lower stomach. I brush lightly through the hair, down, down, down, as my tongue leaves my mouth and licks across his parted lips. A low, supressed grunt vibrates at the back of his throat, and he waits, his body rolling with mine as I move my touch to the very root of his arousal, delivering teasing, feathery strokes with the tips of my fingers across the length of him. I reach the weeping head and wrap my fist around him, rubbing my thumb through his precum, fascinated by the darkening of his hooded eyes, starting to work him, slow and steady. His grip of my hair increases. His face strains beautifully, his head dropping back, giving me access to his neck. Moving in, I worship his throat with my mouth, his dark-blond scruff rough against my lips and tongue.

His Adam’s apple bulges from his swallow, and his hand is suddenly over mine on his dick. “Stop.” He strains the word, his breathing becoming rapid. “Just give me ... I need ... Fuck, give me a second.”

I wait while he gathers himself, feel him throbbing in my unmoving hand, returning to his neck and inhaling his manly scent, tasting the salty sweat on his skin. He suppresses a low, deep growl, pulling me away by my hair.

Looking down at me, he scans my damp face, moving his hands onto my cheeks, stroking softly. “I didn’t expect this, Amelia.” He pushes me down to my back and crawls up my body, blanketing me. “There’s no going back after this.” He shifts his hips and slides into me, inhaling sharply, and his eyes clench shut, the strain on his face just fucking beautiful.

“Yes,” I breathe, as he fills me inch by inch until I’m full to the brim with him, my walls throbbing, gripping. The fullness, the rightness. It makes my head spin. I feel so incredibly free trapped beneath his hard body.

“Breathe,” he whispers, remaining still, allowing me to meld around him.

I didn’t realise I was holding my breath. I exhale, bending my legs, opening them wider. “God, you feel good.” I can feel every pulse of him inside me.

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