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)
He shoves his sweatpants down, then hooks his arms under my knees and pulls me farther to the edge, his hips at the perfect height to enter me. My spine bends, my eyes close, and I exhale as he slides in, his hands shaking where they rest on my thighs. He doesn’t hang around—I’m more than wet enough. He starts to pump, the penetration deep and oh-so-mind-bendingly high. I moan, writhe on the wood, reaching for his hand on my leg and gripping it.
“God damn.” He hisses, increasing his momentum, the sounds of his gratification in my darkness forcing me to open my eyes and watch him unravel. The strain on his face is one of my favourite expressions on him. The pleasure. The greed.
“Yes,” I whisper, releasing his hand when he flexes it, taking my feet to his shoulders, holding them there, his tempo never faltering. Every advance has me crying out, every withdrawal makes me moan. “Yes, yes, yes,” I breathe, floating away, feeling the pressure build.
Jude’s head drops back, his eyes close, his hands lying over the tops of my feet. Ripples roll across his torso, the skin of his stomach taut. “Fuck, Amelia,” he yells at the ceiling.
My arms reach out above my head, frantically searching for something to hang on to, because I feel like I could take off, the power of the pleasure gushing through me so strong. “Jude,” I say in warning, feeling it steaming forward. “Jude!”
His hands clamp down over my feet harder, his head drops, and I watch in rapt fascination as his eyes turn wild, his neck veins bulging. Then his body folds in, he hisses, and a palm slams into the wooden counter to hold himself up. I feel the wet heat of his release fill me, and with that, my body releases too, the power of it locking me in position, before I start to convulse. He gasps, I yell, and he collapses over me, both of us breathless, our bodies vibrating violently.
“Fucking . . . hell.” His forearms rest on the wood either side of me, his head hanging low. Beads of sweat drip from his face onto my boobs. “I could be inside you twenty-four seven.” Exhausted, I look up at the ceiling, recovering, as Jude takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks and licks softly for a while. “Definitely tastier,” he whispers, kissing in between my breasts and licking his way up my body to my neck, onto my chin.
My lips.
Content.
I’m so fucking content. And for the first time, in every aspect of my life.
I let him kiss the daylights out of me, my hands on a mission through his hair. “Watch your hand,” he says, gruff.
“It’s fine.”
“Still hungry?” He rests his head on my chest, feeding his fingers through mine.
“Not really,” I say with effort, wincing as he slips out of me. After getting his sweatpants in place, he pulls me up, smiling at my mess of wet hair. He looks so content too. No stormy clouds hanging over him, his temper tamed.
“How were your brothers when you lost your parents?” I ask, the question falling out without warning, surprising us both. I wonder for a moment if he’ll answer. I’m sure he thinks he’s talked enough about his parents today, but he finally smiles a little and drags a light fingertip down my cheek.
“They dealt with it in their own way. Casey escaped into a kitchen, Rhys escaped in women, booze, and rugby.” He pushes his lips to my forehead. “Never be at odds with your parents, Amelia. You never know when will be the last time you see them.”
I want to cry for him. Could cry for him. Nodding, I let him get me down. He helps me into my robe and puts me on my stool, before sorting himself.
“Need a tissue?” he asks as I have some wine, what he just said about parents sitting heavy on my mind.
“Yeah, give me a second.”
“Of course,” he says, starting to collect the plates.
I leave the room and go to his bathroom, cleaning myself up before calling Dad.
“Darling?” he answers, sounding worried. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, why?”
“You’re calling me when you’re not talking to me. This isn’t how we do it. You come round for dinner, make me a cuppa, I give you a hug, and that’s that.”
I sit on the edge of the bed and fall to my back. “Aren’t you fed up with doing that?”
“No, I like it when we make peace.”
“That’s not making peace, Dad. That’s me letting things slide because I hate being at odds with you.”
“I just want what’s best for you.”
“What is best for me?”
“Well, security. A decent, strong man who can look after you.”
“Any decent, strong man? Or just Nick?” And I don’t need looking after, but I won’t get into that.