Page 33 of The Surrender
He peeks at the motif on my hoodie with a cocked brow. “Give me a hug that’ll lead to sex.”
I walk straight into his open arms and let him cuddle me half to death, feeling his remorse. I relax into it for a while, eventually breaking away and looking up at him. “My friends hate you,” I whisper. He definitely flinches. “I don’t want them to hate you.”
“So I need to prove myself.” He seals our mouths and walks me back to the bedroom, kissing me all the way there, releasing me only to lift the hoodie over my head. Then he kisses me down to the mattress. “And I will.” He starts at my neck and works his way over my dress to my thighs, and I melt into the sheets on an exhale as he hitches the material up and brushes his finger across the lace of my knickers, biting at the insides of my thighs. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
He comes back up and pulls his trousers open, freeing himself. “Get your knickers off,” he orders, prompting me to wriggle out of them as he holds himself up, getting his trousers and boxers down just enough. One swivel and he’s inside, and we both groan at the inexplicable rightness of our bodies coming together. His head hangs as we adjust, before he looks at me, resting on his elbows and framing my face with his hands. He’s still and silent for a few moments before he eventually speaks quietly. “I feel like you’ve got an arrow aimed at my heart, Amelia.”
I breathe in my surprise. Then we’re on the same page. Except Jude has fired and hit his target already. Should I confirm that?
He retreats and advances on an exhale, our breathing heavy. My hands stroke through his hair as he gazes down at me, his eyes green and soft. I feel like I’ve waited a lifetime for this feeling. For him. And yet it’s happened so fast and been so tumultuous, I’m struggling to grab hold of my thoughts and make any sense of them. How fast can love happen?What dictates it? Chemistry, lust, banter? My heart beats harder with him. It hurts when we fight.
“What are you thinking?” he asks softly.
The words hang on the end of my tongue, but I quickly remind myself that this is still very early days, and I don’t mean since we got back together. I can’t show my hand, expose myself. “Nothing.”
Jesus Christ, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Jude is comfort but unpredictable. Patience but frustration. I want to keep him at arm’s length and be sensible, but my plan goes to shit each time, because when I look at him, something inside kicks, and I love the feeling, but fear it.
He starts grinding slowly, the intensity of his lazy eyes on me unmoving. I shake my head, unable to articulate how I’m feeling while also trying to deal with the sensations being inflicted on my body.
“What areyouthinking?” I ask, throwing it back at him.
He stills for a moment, throbbing inside me, his eyes darting across my face. “Nothing,” he whispers back. And he kisses me, rolling his hips and sending me out of my mind on Jude Harrison. He groans and starts moving faster, firmer, kissing me to match our new pace. “We’re fucking idiots,” he mumbles, biting my lip and pulling out, wrestling me out of my dress, then stripping himself. He turns me onto my side, curling his body around mine, guiding himself to me. Slipping in smoothly from behind, he slides his hand over my thigh, using it to pull me back onto him, yelling, sounding angry, and I cry out, closing my eyes, knowing soft and slow has left the building.
And more frustration has joined us.
Jude subjects me to a brutal pounding, his shouts loud, his force merciless, and I take it all, wishing I were brave enough to speak my truth.
I love him.
And to Jude’s point, am I an idiot?
Chapter 8
The flesh around his nipple puckers as I circle it with my fingertip, my head in utter chaos despite my body feeling sated and calm. Jude hasn’t murmured another word since he bellowed a few curses on his release, digging his fingers into my arse after he got me on my hands and knees and hammered into me to finish us both off.
I look up at him from where I’m sprawled across his chest, seeing his eyes closed. My mind races some more. It feels like there’s something hanging between us, something awkward.
I’m worried we’re not aligned to what that something is.
I love him and I don’t know if I should. And, worse, I’m worried Jude hasn’t entertained that possibility. The possibility to love. Loving being inside someone isn’t the same as loving someone. Missing them isn’t the same as loving them. My head starts to ache with the weight of my thoughts as I gently peel my body off his and get out of bed, padding on bare feet to the bathroom. I use the toilet, my eyes fixed on the cupboard as I pee. I hate myself for it, but as soon as I’m done, I find the box and check.
I don’t know what to think when I see no more pills are missing. I put them back and rest my arse on the edge of the tub, my mind spinning. The answer for his erratic moods could be in that box. Allowing myself to conclude his irrationality and possessiveness are simply Jude being Jude isn’t something I want to do. Or could the answer to his quirks be something else? I bite my lip, remembering hisface when I told him I was falling for him. He looked shocked. No, he looked worried.
We’re both idiots.
Am I wrong? Has he entertained the possibility? I bury my face in my palms, my overthinking head hurting some more.God damn it.I have to talk to him. I feel like I’m going insane, wondering if I’m wasting my time and love on a man who is incapable of feeling the same. Wondering if he’s a man who thrives on the chemistry, but that’s all it is. Good sex.
Possessive.
“Fuck,” I whisper. He’ssopossessive. Is that what I want? A man who flies off the handle if another man so much as enters a five-mile radius of me? A man who sees me as a possession? A domineering, arguably volatile man who could have me walking on eggshells around him? Supressing myself? Being wary of every move I make? Jude’s words to his brother come back to me, and I once again wonder what he was talking about.
Well, I feel fucked, to be honest.
The bet? It would make sense, but I just feel like there’s more to it. He feels fucked.
“You and me both,” I whisper. Ask him about the pills? Don’t? Stick around to be hurt? Don’t? Go back to my original plan of focusing on work and wine for a while? Don’t? But the universe is telling me this is the one. Flaws and clashes aside, he’s the one.
