Page 3 of The Surrender (Arlington Hall #2)

Whether I believe him isn’t something I can devote any time to right now. “If I was a bet, why didn’t you just try to pick me up that night?”

Sad truth is, I was so intoxicated, fresh off the back of a breakup, I probably would have done something reckless like sleep with a stranger.

Jude remains quiet, and my patience continues to fray.

“Katherine was right. You like the thrill of the chase. The game.” He likes dazzling women and stretching out the seduction, bending them, making them fold under his power until they beg him to blow their world apart.

“At first, yes.” He finally faces me. Faces the mess he’s made of me, because make no mistake, I’m a fucking mess, and no amount of makeup, hair spray, and a fancy outfit can disguise that.

His jaw tics, a sign of his temper flaring.

He’s glaring at me like this is all somehow my fault.

“Yes, you were a bet, but then I got an unhealthy dose of obsession, and the game wasn’t so much fun anymore. ”

“You poor thing,” I say tightly, making his eyes darken to the shade I know so well.

Teal. Not muted or soft, but dark, the perfect blend of green and blue.

The perfect shade of angry. “So the voucher for the spa day—you had that sent to Abbie?” His brother’s reaction comes back to me.

How surprised he was that Arlington Hall was offering discount spa days.

“I did,” he confirms.

“And the conference?”

He inhales. “Anouska’s boyfriend manages the Hilton on Park Lane.”

“Jesus,” I breathe over a laugh, breaking our eye contact. “What about the partners’ gathering I was invited to at Evelyn’s?”

“I had nothing to do with that.”

“Oh, how good of you.” I jump in my seat when he smashes his balled fist down onto the armrest between us. Why the hell is he so angry? Stalking me, finally getting me where he wants me, and now he’s all het up and aggressive? This was a waste of my time. I’ve got my answers.

He’s a whore, and I’m an idiot.

“If being a first-class wanker was a sport, you’d be the fucking champion, Jude Harrison.”

“And if denial was, you’d win that one, Amelia.” He turns his eyes my way, and I withdraw, hurt, as his gaze falls to my lips.

Just as Enigma’s “Sadeness” filters through all the speakers.

I laugh in disbelief under my breath, outraged, but the swirling fury immediately starts mixing with something else entirely different.

Desire.

I stare at Jude as he stares at me, and I’m ambushed by the memory of his hands working my muscles.

Right before he turned me onto my back on the massage table and brought me to climax for the first time with his mouth.

I can’t say it was the start of his seduction.

Because the start was the second I looked into his eyes.

But that moment in the Library Bar wasn’t the first time he saw me .

“No.” I whisper the word, feeling my body tightening.

“Yes,” he retorts, unapologetic.

“No, Jude. I’m not doing this again.” Humphrey stops at some lights, and I open the door to get out. To escape. I’ve had enough of this shit, and I’m terrified I’ll fold under his power and our unmistakable, maddening chemistry. Why the hell did I get in this car?

“Wait.” Jude grabs my arm, and I still, my worst fears realised. My skin burns under his touch, my heart beats faster, and my stomach twists and turns, the connection electric and irresistible. “We can have angry sex now,” he virtually grates, “you can take everything out on me, or we—”

I slam the door and launch myself across the seat, crashing my mouth onto his and kissing him like I hate him.

I need to be rid of this building, burning pressure inside.

Pressure that’s a mix of desire and frustration.

The desire is self-explanatory. The frustration is a result of my fucked-up desire for him.

Jude pulls me onto his lap. I fist his hair at his temples, straddling his waist, and he’s with me in an instant, his tongue battling with mine as he yanks his trousers open, shoves my skirt up my legs, and wrenches my knickers aside.

I feel the hard, wet head of his arousal push at my opening, and inhale as I slam myself down, crying out into his mouth as he repeatedly mutters “Fuck” into mine.

The burning ache subsides. The music seems to get louder.

We still, both of our bodies rolling, both of us panting, our mouths touching.

“Are you going to argue with that?” he asks, nipping at my tongue.

“I dare you, Amelia. I fucking dare you to argue with how good that feels. How right .” He thrusts up, pushing himself deeper inside, and I moan my despair, rolling onto his invasion, yanking at his hair.

“Fuck!” he yells, reaching for my top and pulling it down.

My breasts fall out, and his hands cup them harshly, squeezing.

“God, I’ve missed this body. Come on, baby.

Fuck me like you hate me.” He lifts me and slams me back down.

“Give me all you’ve got.” His mouth resumes attacking mine, and we go at each other like two people possessed, our kisses messy and wild, our bodies pounding into each other as I ride his lap, forcing his head back to the seat.

His hands squeeze my boobs harder, and his cock seems to grow inside me, swelling, throbbing, filling me lusciously to the brim.

With every powerful pound, I feel a little bit more stress leave me. With every lash of his tongue around mine, I feel the anger dissolve. It shouldn’t. I should still be raging with him.

On that thought, I lift and smash down onto his lap.

“Fuck,” he barks, moving his hands to my head and grabbing my hair.

I go again, whimpering at the pain I’m causing myself. It’s a better pain. A pain I know will fuck off when I’m done.

“Amelia!”

I lift, hover, groan, relishing his matching moan. And smash back down, grunting, biting at his bottom lip like a savage.

“Jesus,” he yells as I go at his mouth like it’s a meal I’ve been starving for.

His hips buck, his grip of my hair meeting the ferocity of mine on his, my temples throbbing with the force of his hold.

“I’m going to come,” he blurts out in a panicked gasp, sitting up straight. “Shit, Amelia, I can’t hold it.”

My pace increases, my own release on the horizon, my urgency fierce.

“Amelia!”

“Shut up,” I bite back, rocking the moving car with my momentum. “Just shut the fuck up.”

He hisses and yanks his mouth off mine, pushing into my chest so he forces me back. I don’t let it upset my flow, my hand reaching for the window and splattering against the misty glass. Our eyes lock. And they remain that way as I ride him, chasing my release, his eyes wild, his breathing shot.

The moment my orgasm hits, every internal muscle tightens and holds on for dear life as lightning bolts shoot through me, my body rigid, my hand moving from the window to the ceiling of the car.

I come so fucking hard, my scream suppressed when Jude slaps his hand over my mouth, taking my other hand and putting it over his to prevent his own bellow.

Eyes glued.

We come together.

Hard.

Long.

Intense.

The sensations of his dick inside pulsating, pushing against my walls, extends my pleasure, my body rolling to cope with the intensity as I reach for his hand over my mouth and knock it away, needing air, heaving.

The way he’s looking at me now, his eyes on the greener side of what I know and love . .. I can’t take it.

He slips a hand around my nape and tries to encourage me forward, but I remain steadfast in my position, not allowing him to pull me close for what I know will be a tender kiss.

And only when he relents and releases me, his frown fixed, do I move in, getting my face close to his for a brief few moments before taking my mouth to his ear. I breathe into it, feeling his body roll in anticipation. “I dare you to try and contact me again,” I whisper. “I fucking dare you, Jude.”

“What the fuck?”

I ease off his lap on a held breath and get my skirt into place before lifting my top up. And as soon as the car stops, I get out.

“Amelia!” he yells, lunging across the seat to stop me.

I slam the door in his face.

Take a breath.

And immediately hate myself for caving in to the power of Jude Harrison. I see an opening into Hyde Park and hurry through the crowds, glancing back over my shoulder when I hear him bellowing my name. He’s scanning the masses of people, his hands working to fasten the fly of his trousers.

I disappear into the park and fall against a wall, breathless, sore, and angry again. “Fuck!” I yell, burying my face in my hands, hating myself for surrendering. For lowering myself to his fucked-up level. Tears pinch the backs of my eyes, and I roughly and angrily wipe them away.

I need a drink.

I need to regroup.

I need to forget I ever met Jude Harrison.

Trying to figure out where I am exactly, I soon conclude it’s too far to walk back to the hotel, especially in these heels. So I walk until I reach the other side of the park and flag down a cab.