Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
I become a statue, my mind failing me. I don’t leave, I don’t speak. But I shake like a fucking leaf. He’s in the same clothes, looks even more tired, but tranquil at the same time. As if he’s at peace with where we’re at.
“What are you doing here?” I ask like a fool, unlocking my eyes from his and scanning the room. It’s a suite, a beautiful suite. Did he stay here last night?
“We need to talk.” He slowly rises, cautiously, as if he’s preparing for me to walk out.
“I’ve nothing to say to you.”
“Your body did a lot of talking last night when you fucked me on the back seat of the Rolls-Royce.”
My jaw clenches. “Fuck off, Jude.”
Growling under his breath, he advances towards me. “Would love to.” He slips a hand around my waist, his palm sliding across my bare midriff onto my lower back, and he hauls my body into his. Sheer contact makes my insides furl. Then his breath is on my face, his lashes tickling mine when he blinks. “But I can’t.”
“Try harder,” I whisper.
He shakes his head mildly. “How sore are you after yesterday?”
My hands twitch by my sides, lifting and lowering, wanting to reach for his shoulders but not. “I’m not doing this.”
“You said that last night too. Then you climbed onto my lap”—he moves his mouth to my ear—“sank onto my big, begging cock, and fucked me hard.”
What the hell is he saying? I told him only days ago that I was falling for him, and now he’s treating me like a bit of arse? And he expects my compliance? I wince at my thoughts. I’ve always found it hard to say no to him. Even now, when I hate him, I’m shaking with the effort to not kiss him. My move last night in the Rolls-Royce was pure frustration. Anger.
A revenge fuck.
“No.” I push the word past my lips and pull away, fighting the magnet.
“Yes,” he retorts, dragging me back.
“No.” I shove his hands away from my body.
He hauls me into him again. “Yes.”
“No!” Shaking him off, I move back, firm in my voice, if not my stance. “Don’t think you can win me over with a bit of dirty talk and forcefulness. We’re done, Jude. I’m done. Getting involved with you was the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”
Anger is radiating from him quickly, flashing in his dark eyes, pulsing in his throat. “Why do you constantly fucking lie to yourself, Amelia? Talk yourself in circles, try to convince everyone you’re some impenetrable ice queen whose best assets are her laser focus and drive?”
“I don’t have to listen to this.” I pivot, my fists balling. Jude Harrison is no good for me, just as I always suspected, and I fucking hate that I gave him the opportunity to prove me right. “We’re done,” I reiterate, full of grit, taking the handle and hauling the door open. “Have a nice life.”
“Fuck, you’re infuriating.”
I feel his arm loop around my waist, and my feet are suddenly off the floor, the door shutting on a slam. “What are you doing?”
“You’re not walking away from me.”
“Wrong!” I wrestle my way out of his hold, my hair coming loose and falling all over my face. “I never want to see you again—what don’t you understand about that?”
“What don’t I understand?” he yells. “I don’t understand you, Amelia!”
“You don’t fucking need to, because we’re—”
His lips are suddenly on mine, his tongue violently seeking entry, the backs of my legs pushed up against a cabinet. For a split second, when I feel the heat of his body touching mine, his mouth ravaging me, I forget myself, opening up, groaning. Fuck, what am I doing? “No!” I shove him away, reaching for the cabinet to steady myself, but I miss the edge, swiping my hand through a collection of neatly lined-up champagne flutes. “Shit.” They scatter and smash across the wooden surface, the sound echoing around the suite, and my unstable form becomes a bit more unbalanced. My hand meets the wood, and a sharp pain has me hissing and retracting, the warm sensation of blood instantly trickling down my fingers, making me inhale.
“Fuck!” I curse, checking my hand, but I’m unable to see the damage through the blood.
“Amelia.”
“Don’t,” I warn, grabbing a serviette from the cabinet and holding it to my palm. I grit my teeth. The temporary swab lasts a few seconds before it starts disintegrating, soaked. “God damn it.”
Jude moves in. “Don’t you dare fucking argue with me.” He walks me to a chair and sits me down, bending his body over mine so I’m forced to sit back. “Don’t move.” He disappears for a few moments, then returns with a facecloth and removes his suit jacket, throwing it aside and pulling a chair closer. He lowers and takes my hand, checking the damage.