Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
It’s coming.
And he knows it, his pace increasing, his working mouth ravenous. I’m burning up. My heart can’t sustain this kind of strain.
Can it sustain him?
I come on a suppressed scream, my body bending to the point I’m sure it could snap my spine, and the rush of pleasure just keeps on coming, holding me in an arch, my head thrown back, my eyes clenched shut. His mouth has slowed down with its assault, but that doesn’t curb the sensations hijacking me. Everything distorts. My entire world just shifted on its axis, starting to turn in another, unexpected direction.
A direction I’m not sure is the right one for me.
Because of one fucking orgasm.
I slump down on the bed, my lungs burning, trying to shake my vision clear, as Jude wipes his mouth and jerks his head, flicking his hair back as he gets on his knees at the end of the bed and crawls his way up to me. His dick is dripping with need, spotting my stomach as his face comes level with mine, his lazy eyes scanning mine. I need him inside me. The burn is quickly taking over again, my body not done with him.
Will it ever be?
Oh God, I am in so much trouble.
I blink, staring up at his stunning face, feeling something shift inside. Somewhere near my heart.
How?
No.
Impossible. I hardly know him.
Although he knows me very well now. Keep it physical. I reach for his arousal, but his hips lift and he shakes his head. I cock mine. Then he lowers and kisses me, keeping his hands where they are on the bed, no touching anywhere else. I open up and close my eyes, letting his wonderful mouth take me off to a place only Jude Harrison can take me, my hands on a feeling frenzy across his chest.
Euphoric.
Out of this world.
I hum my happiness, soak up the perfect pressure of his tongue, my internal muscles still rolling with the aftermath of my climax.
Then he suddenly pulls away, kisses the corner of my mouth, gets off the bed, tugs his jeans on and walks out.
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.”