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“No?”
“No.” He sits me on the end of the bed and pushes between my boobs, sending me to my back. I yelp when the champagne splashes out of the glass all over my chest. “Oops,” he whispers, setting his glass down and wedging a fist in the mattress by my head, his eyes sparkling as he claims the flute in my hand and sips. And I’m utterly rapt again.Standard. Dipping, Jude hovers his mouth over mine and releases, trickling the cold bubbly liquid over my lips.
Here we go again.
And I’m here for it.
My tongue dashes out and gets one sweep before he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, releasing it on a pop, kissing down my neck and licking across my chest. My body bows, my arms reaching above my head, looking for something to hold on to. I’m too far away from the headboard. So I find his thick waves and grip.
Hard.
“Jude,” I groan, my head turning from side to side as he works his way across my body. “Jude.”
My pleas go unanswered.
Standing, he reaches for a candle that’s burning on the bedside table, and I inhale as he gets on his knees on the bed, straddling my stomach. He takes one arm and puts it by my side, holding it there with his bent leg. Then he switches the candle to his other hand and repeats, immobilising me. Watching me as he makes his moves. And I let him. My breathing turns into pants, my chest rising and falling violently, anticipation swirling.
Resting on his forearm, he brings his face close to mine. Smiles mildly. Dips and bites at my cheek. Even that sends shock waves through me, my body trying to buck and failing.
“Keep still,” he says, sitting up, his cock lying across my stomach.
He holds the candle up, scanning my torso, settling on my boob.
“Oh, God, please,” I murmur, throwing my head back and clenching my eyes closed.
“Come on, Amelia.” His hand wraps around my jaw, shaking. “Watch.”
I gather some resistance and open, meeting his eyes. Dark, dark green. “Do it,” I whisper, clenching my fists where they’re held. His smile of satisfaction is blinding and beautiful, every muscle in his stomach rippling as he sits back up and tips the candle a fraction. I hold my breath and gasp when the wax hits my boob just to the right of my nipple. “Fuck.” The burn is instant and intense but brief, the heat fading quickly, the clear, perfect round drop of liquid turning opaque. I exhale, taking a moment, because I know he’s not done.
The approval in his eyes is incredibly motivating. “Again?”
Swallowing, I relax into the mattress, bracing myself for the next drop as the candle hovers over my nipple and tips. Two drops this time, and I grunt under my breath, gritting my teeth, my back arching. This man will be the death of me.
No.
I blank my mind, not letting it go to places that could ruin this. “More,” I whisper, tensing everywhere as Jude tips the candle again. “Fuck!” Three drops this time, the burn more intense, more prolonged. I throw my head back, my body bending into a rigid arch.
“Too much?” he asks, definitely short of breath himself.
“No,” I snap, adamant, returning my eyes to his. “Never too much.”
His head tilts, his moves faltering. “Never too much,” he murmurs, lowering and kissing me gently. “You’re going to be my ruin, Amelia Lazenby.”
“Not if you ruin me first,” I breathe, plunging my tongue into his mouth, hungry, determined to get everything I can. It’s like my subconscious is telling me to make the most of this. That I won’t have this feeling again.
Jude accommodates my demand.
Before he suddenly pulls back, breathless.
My head slams against the mattress. I scowl hard, and it clearly delights him. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. The suspense, his godly chest in my face, rippling and swelling, his hair all ruffled and damp, his lips wet and ready.
“Jude,” I whisper, flexing my arms pointlessly.
“What do you want, baby?” he asks, his gaze moving slowly and seductively across my skin.
“You,” I grate.
He looks up. “Oh, you’ve got me.” Then he tips the candle and moves it slowly from side to side, dripping the hot wax continuously. “The question is, can you handle me?”