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)
“Better,” I say quietly into my hand. “But it’s not just that.”
“Oh, you mean the dirty great big luxury hotel and the fact he was clearly first in line when God gave out good looks is swaying you?”
“He’s charming.” I fill my lungs and come out of my hiding place. “We talk, he sounds genuinely interested in what I say, he’s funny in a dry, serious way, seems to have his head screwed on, says all the right things. And I’ve seen vulnerability. He told me he lost both his parents. His dad when he was just twenty-four, and his mum during the renovation of Arlington Hall. She never got to see her dream completed.”
“Wow, that’s tough.”
“I know.”
“Are there any cons?”
“Apart from the fact I’ve just stepped out of a relationship and need to concentrate on my career?”
“Yes, apart from that.”
“I think he could be a little possessive.” A little? No, a lot. And there’s no thinking about it. “And he maybe has a bit of a temper.” Maybe?
Abbie hums. I’m not sure I like that hum.
“What are you thinking?” I ask, desperate for her thoughts.
“I’m thinking you’re at risk of being in my boat.”
“What?”
“But at least you know who blew your world apart.”
It clicks. “The man in France,” I say quietly. She’s never got over that brief, explosive encounter with the nameless guy she met in a backstreet café. Compares every man she’s dated since to him. “Do you still daydream about him?”
She laughs. “Every fucking day, and it’s been two years, Amelia. The universe was definitely being plain fucking cruel giving me that gift.”
I chuckle, looking up when Jude appears with two glasses of champagne. “Hey, listen, I have to go.”
“Call me,” she demands.
I hang up and stand. “Abbie.”
“She’s a good friend.”
“She is.” I go to him and take a glass. “Now she’ll be reporting back to Charley.”
Jude nods, taking my hand and walking us back to his bedroom.
“I should probably get out of your hair.” I look around for the speakers when I hear music again. Moby. “Porcelain.” Christ, he has the ultimate playlist for seduction.
“No, you shouldn’t.”
“No?”
“No.” He sits me on the end of the bed and pushes between my boobs, sending me to my back. I yelp when the champagne splashes out of the glass all over my chest. “Oops,” he whispers, setting his glass down and wedging a fist in the mattress by my head, his eyes sparkling as he claims the flute in my hand and sips. And I’m utterly rapt again. Standard. Dipping, Jude hovers his mouth over mine and releases, trickling the cold bubbly liquid over my lips.
Here we go again.
And I’m here for it.
My tongue dashes out and gets one sweep before he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, releasing it on a pop, kissing down my neck and licking across my chest. My body bows, my arms reaching above my head, looking for something to hold on to. I’m too far away from the headboard. So I find his thick waves and grip.
Hard.
“Jude,” I groan, my head turning from side to side as he works his way across my body. “Jude.”
My pleas go unanswered.
Standing, he reaches for a candle that’s burning on the bedside table, and I inhale as he gets on his knees on the bed, straddling my stomach. He takes one arm and puts it by my side, holding it there with his bent leg. Then he switches the candle to his other hand and repeats, immobilising me. Watching me as he makes his moves. And I let him. My breathing turns into pants, my chest rising and falling violently, anticipation swirling.
Resting on his forearm, he brings his face close to mine. Smiles mildly. Dips and bites at my cheek. Even that sends shock waves through me, my body trying to buck and failing.
“Keep still,” he says, sitting up, his cock lying across my stomach.
He holds the candle up, scanning my torso, settling on my boob.
“Oh, God, please,” I murmur, throwing my head back and clenching my eyes closed.
“Come on, Amelia.” His hand wraps around my jaw, shaking. “Watch.”
I gather some resistance and open, meeting his eyes. Dark, dark green. “Do it,” I whisper, clenching my fists where they’re held. His smile of satisfaction is blinding and beautiful, every muscle in his stomach rippling as he sits back up and tips the candle a fraction. I hold my breath and gasp when the wax hits my boob just to the right of my nipple. “Fuck.” The burn is instant and intense but brief, the heat fading quickly, the clear, perfect round drop of liquid turning opaque. I exhale, taking a moment, because I know he’s not done.
The approval in his eyes is incredibly motivating. “Again?”
Swallowing, I relax into the mattress, bracing myself for the next drop as the candle hovers over my nipple and tips. Two drops this time, and I grunt under my breath, gritting my teeth, my back arching. This man will be the death of me.