Page 79 of The Invitation

“Yeah?” he replies, gruff, wedging his fists into the mattress to hold up his torso. He grinds, withdrawing, advancing, and every move makes the muscles in his arms and chest swell and ripple.

The heels of my feet wedge into the backs of his thighs. “Yeah.” I roll up, meeting his next drive, and his chin drops to his chest, his teeth clenched. Taking another moment. And I’m happy to let him, happy to watch him dealing with the sensations. He looks so stunning, his face pained with pleasure. Tilting his hips, he starts moving again, driving in and out methodically, the friction perfect, each thrust hitting me satisfyingly deep.

My head is empty except for my appreciation and the pleasure being inflicted on me. I could stay here forever. Watch him forever. Feel like this forever.

I reach for his face, smooth over the creases as he looks up through his lashes, his hair falling onto his forehead. I would walk off the edge of a cliff if he told me to right now. That’s the level of impact. That’s the deepness of this moment.

Balancing on one hand, Jude moves one of mine to above my head, then lowers to a forearm, stroking his other hand up the inside of my arm and lacing our fingers, gripping hard.

“Kiss me,” he whispers against my lips, and I obey, tackling his mouth fiercely, my urgency upping the pace of his drives. I hum, moan, flex my hand in his, claw my nails into his shoulder. The pressure is building, the heat travelling through my body to my head. His dick expands within me, and he squeezes my hand tight, pushing it into the mattress.

Then he’s suddenly moving, rolling onto his back and taking me with him, still buried inside me as I come to rest on his hips. I cry out at the deeper invasion, splaying my palms on his stomach as I breathethrough the mild stab of pain, and Jude pants, his hands falling to my thighs. I gather myself, filling my lungs.

“Okay?” he gasps, waiting. I can only nod, rolling my hips a little.

His fingers dig into my flesh, a rough groan rumbling deep in his throat, and once I know I’ve got a handle on things, I start to move, rocking back and forth, dragging my heavy head and heavier eyes up.

He holds up his hands to me, fingers splayed. “Hold on to me,” he says softly, prompting me to place my palms against his and watch as he slowly folds his fingers over mine, our hands entwined tightly. My anchor as I ride him. His gaze constantly moves from my thighs to my bouncing boobs to my eyes, his face straight, his jaw tense. He starts to flex his hips, and I whimper, blood rushing to my head. Jude nods, seeing I’m close, holding my hands tighter as I ride him harder. “Fuck, Amelia,” he barks, using my hands to pull me down, kissing me with force before pushing me back up. My hair falls all over my face, and I toss it back, focused on the building pleasure and grabbing it until I’m smashing down onto his hips and he’s pounding up. “Fuck!” I’m pulled back down, flipped onto my back, and he’s inside me again, his arms cradling my head, my nails scratching at his back. He hisses, kissing me hard and chastely, biting my lip, moving his mouth to my ear, breathing into it. “I want to come with you,” he whispers, sending tingles from my ear to my pussy. “I want your pussy sucking every last drop of my cum out of me.”

His words serve as a catalyst, and the creeping pleasure starts to steam forward.

“I feel it coming,” he growls, thrusting on, his hips meeting mine every time I lift them into him, his mouth kissing across my face to my other ear. “Do you feel out of control, baby?”

Black dots start to hamper my vision, my head feeling like it’s going to burst with my body. “Jude,” I say, begging.

He licks the shell of my ear. My hands grapple at his back. “It’s coming,” he whispers.

“Jude.”

“Coming.”

“Jude!”

He stills and I yell, slipping my hands into the hair on his nape as he lifts his head and gazes down at me. The look that passes between us is charged. Understanding. This is ... something.

“Coming,” he breathes, gritting his teeth as he retreats and rolls, recapturing my climax and nudging me over the edge, in total control of my pleasure.

The intensity paralyses me, and Jude barks his release, starting to shake, to the point he’s forced to drop his head into my neck. The heat of his breath on my skin, his hot body engulfing me, it’s stifling.

And yet natural.

“Jesus,” he gasps, shuddering.

Our bodies roll, the music melding with our loud, chaotic breathing, the beats sinking into my recovering body.

What just happened?

I stare at the ceiling, overcome, exhausted, hot, sweaty.

And fucking terrified.

“Okay?” he eventually whispers, remaining where he is. I can’t help but think he doesn’t want to see my face or he doesn’t want me to see his.

“Are you?” I throw it back at him.

“I think I’m in more trouble now than I was an hour ago.”

“Me too,” I reply quietly, an unexpected lump forming in my throat. What the fuck? I fight it with all I have, trying to make sense of this, as my body recovers from my orgasm and my heart tries to find its normal rhythm. I question if it ever will again.Marked.Oh God, what’s happening? I amnotgoing to cry after sex. How pathetic. And proof if ever anyone needs it that people do not think clearly during the throes of passion.

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