Page 110 of The Surrender
“We need to let off some steam,” he mutters, making me laugh dementedly as he carries me up the stairs.
“You want to have sex?”
“No, I want to fuck you.”
“Why?” I hiss. “Feeling threatened?”
His growl is deep and deadly as he carts me up to his apartment, dumping me on my feet just inside the double doors of his private lobby. He steps back, putting a metre of space between us. “Take your clothes off,” he orders.
My mouth drops open, my disgust rampant, but will my feet move? No. They’re cemented to the carpet, Jude’s blazing gaze keeping me in place. Lust mixes with my outrage, and I watch his chest expand as he shoves his jacket off.
“Do it.” He unfastens the buttons of his shirt one by one, revealing his gorgeous chest, sending me further into bedlam.
“No.”
His working hands stop, his shirt hanging open.
And he takes another step away.
Bullets of energy come at me, my feet shifting, desire at risk of dominating me.
“Go then,” he whispers, pulling a hand through his hair. “If you really want to leave, fucking go, Amelia.”
“Fuck you,” I hiss, stepping forward, grabbing his shirt, and yanking his mouth onto mine, needing an outlet for my frustration. I kiss him like I hate him, hard, forcefully, biting his lip, his tongue.
And he takes it all, hissing when I fist his hair, sucking in air when I bite him. We stagger around the small lobby until his back slams into a wall. I eat him alive, and he spins us, thrusting his hips into mine, trapping me with his body.
The weight of my thoughts leaves me.
Fire.
Fighting.
And now, we make up.
Jude bends me over the circular table between the two sets of double doors and shoves my dress up. My laboured, desperate breathing drenches the space, my head craning to see him behind me yanking his trousers open. He sneers at me, bringing his palm down on my bare cheek, the sting real.
“Fuck you,” I grate through my teeth, earning myself another whack on the other cheek. “Fuck you!” I smack the wood with both palms, my teeth clenching to sustain the pain I’m causing myself.
“And fuck you, Amelia.” He pounds into me on a loud bellow.Bang.“Fuck you for fucking up my plans.”Bang.“Fuck you for stamping all over my fucking heart.”Bang.“Fuck you for taking up every tiny part of my mind.”Bang.“Fuck you for showing me peace.”Bang.“And fuck you for making me fall in love with you.”
I scream, hitting the wood as Jude hammers into me, fucking me without mercy, and I’m here for it. The relief is needed, my head empty, my body accepting.
“Tell me you fucking love me,” he yells, pounding on, his skin slapping against my arse, jolting me forward every time. “Tell me!”
I can’t talk, can only focus on keeping my legs steady. He’s lost it, and for some fucked-up reason, I’m happy to sustain his brute force. I’m glad I’m his outlet.
The strength in my arms fails me, and I lower to my front, my cheek on the wood, and close my eyes, drifting away, listening to him yelling his pleasure as I quietly enjoy mine. Every advance pushes us a little bit closer, the buildup a crawl to release. The points on my hips where his fingers are hooked are numb, my calves stretching, every muscle screaming at me.
“Tell me,” Jude repeats, over and over. “Tell me, Amelia. Fucking tell me.”
“I love you,” I whisper into my darkness, opening my eyes and staring at the picture on the wall, a beautiful landscape painting of Arlington Hall. The colours are wishy-washy. The detail sketchy. Maybe because of my foggy vision, or maybe because of the artist’s style. I can’t tell. “I love you,” I breathe, jolting, a tidal wave of pleasure ripping through me, forcing me to push myself up by my palms and tense harder, the intensity almost unbearable. “Fucking hell, Jude,” I yell, my voice shaky.
Looking over my shoulder, I just catch the smoke of his eyes, the strain in his jaw, the twitch of his torso, before he smashes home one last time and gasps, holding himself deep, reviving my orgasm, the swelling of him inside me pushing against all my walls, taking off the sensitive edge. Sweat trails from his temples, his hair darkening as a result, and wet patches litter his white shirt.
Spent.
He’s still shaking. I’m breathless.
