Page 51 of The Invitation

My lack of control fails me again. Fatal. I look up at him, our breathlessness loud. My mind is screaming conflicting things at me.

Kiss him.

Don’t!

Walk away!

But again, I have never felt a craving so acute. Like if I don’t kiss him, I’ll die here and now.

Jude stares at me, waiting, his eyes on the greener side of teal, something swirling in their depths. “Just let it happen,” he whispers.

Let it happen.

Because this chemistry and attraction is stronger than me.

“Let it happen,” he breathes, his lips moving slowly.

I lose my internal battle and move into his body, pulling his mouth down to mine, our lips colliding on a whimper of pleasure and desperation. He catches me around the waist and staggers back, hitting the wall with force. “Fuck,” he gasps, opening up to me instantly, his tongue meeting mine, soft and hot. My kiss is forceful, full of frustration, and at the same time, full of relief. Desire travels through me like wildfire, reaching between my legs. My body starts to throb. He tastes unbelievable. Feels incredible. His scent engulfs me—oud and musk, and my mind blanks. Nothing exists, only need. A need I’m terrified is so strong, my attraction so potent, I might not ever quench it. And this kiss is only affirming what I’ve been afraid of.

Perfection.

One hand on his cheek, the other on his neck, I pull him closer, and he moans, moving his hands from my hair, his shoulders hunching as he holds my face and kisses me like every woman should be kissed, with passion and purpose. Like they’re owned.

Then he rolls us so it’s me now pinned to the wall, the full length of his hard body pressing into mine, his mouth and tongue relentless.

Our first kiss. It’s fuelled by anger. It’s fucking electric. Everything I never allowed myself to believe it would be. Consuming. Mind-blanking.

Another step over the line into dangerous territory.

Proof that Jude Harrison fucks with my sensibility. Makes the intelligent part of me malfunction.

No!

I rip my lips away from his and push my palms into his chest, forcing him back. Heaving. “There,” I gasp, scrambling for my sense. “You’ve got what you wanted.”

His eyes widen in disbelief, and he steps back and laughs, roughly wiping his wet mouth. “Are you fucking with me?”

“I’m n—”

He comes back at me, kissing me hard, owning me, and I’m a puppet again, succumbing to the power. Strong, large hands reach for the backs of my thighs, and he hauls me up his tall body. A loud rip sounds—my dress, but it doesn’t stop me. Not this time.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he growls, sweeping his tongue through my mouth, biting my lip, before plunging deeply again. My arms naturally circle his shoulders, pulling him closer, my mouth accepting his.

I can’t stop!

“Good?” he asks, moving his mouth onto my neck, sucking and biting.

My head drops back, my blurry vision on the ceiling as he hums across my skin, mixing licks with his bites, kisses with his sucks.

“Yes,” I breathe. “So good.”

His mouth suddenly stills. He takes a deep breath and slowly peels his body away, setting me on my feet. Confused, I look at him as he sweeps his hair back.

“Thank you for proving what I fucking knew.” He slams his mouth on mine again, a fucked-up kind of encore, kissing me hard but chastely. “I dare you to say no when I ask you to have dinner with me again,” he says quietly, his voice strong and deep. He holds my jaw, making sure he keeps my eyes. “I fucking dare you, Amelia.” Then he releases me, turns, and walks out.

And I stand there in silent disbelief, watching the door close behind him, every nerve ending I have screaming for his touch. His mouth. The fire, the electricity.

The freedom from thinking.

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