Page 19 of The Surrender

“Hmm.” He carries me back to the kitchen and puts me on a stool, indulging my demand for his mouth. “Are you going to let me cook for you, or am I taking you straight to bed?”

“That’s not allowed.”

He chuckles and tears his mouth from mine, gazing at me as he braces his hands on my thighs. I pout and move in, wanting more. But he dodges my attempt to get another kiss. So I try again, scowling when he moves his head to the side to avoid my lips.

“That’s not allowed, Amelia,” he whispers, pushing off my legs and stepping back, unable to hide his smug smile.

So he wants to play that game? Fuck, I’ll lose. I already know Jude’s got some superpower that enables him to walk away from me during highly charged sexual moments.

He pulls his phone out and wanders around the counter, and I look up at the ceiling speakers when Lana Del Rey starts singing softly toRiopyplaying the piano. I smile, turning myself on the stool. “What are you cooking?” My thighs tense and squeeze together in an attempt to stem the pulses.

“Lamb and roasted vegetables.” He pushes a chopping board across and places a peeler and a knife on it. “You’re in charge of the carrots.”

I raise my brows and collect a carrot. “Are these from the Kitchen Garden?”

“Everything in the basket is from the Kitchen Garden. Use the big carrots. You need to peel them and slice them into discs around five millimetres thick.”

“What qualifies as big?”

“About eight inches long, two inches thick.”

I frown to myself and pout as I try to measure out eight inches between my hands. “I don’t know how big that is.”

“Think of my cock,” Jude says, peeking up from slicing the courgette. “Erect.”

I cough over my laugh. “That’s not allowed.”

“Sure,” he murmurs. “Get on with it. I want to get to thereallynot-allowed stuff.”

God damn me, so do I. It was foolish to slap conditions on this. Our sexual chemistry was the catalyst to us. And truly, we’re not reallyuswithout our intimacy. I see a more vulnerable side to him when we connect like that.

I reach for a carrot and assess the length. The girth. Peek up at Jude, who’s merrily chopping his way through the Kitchen Garden. Smirking to myself, I get off the stool and round the island, and Jude stops chopping, eyeing me until I’m next to him.

“Excuse me,” I say, lowering to my knees.

His eyebrows shoot up as I stroke over his crotch. “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice unmistakably gruff.

“I take my job very seriously.”

The knife drops from his hand, clanging against the oak. “Shit, Amelia.”

I unzip his fly and reach into his boxers, taking hold of his hardening cock, and Jude grunts under his breath, clenching his eyes briefly. “Is this allowed?” he asks, as I continue to massage him.

I smile and pull out his raging hard-on, inhaling at the sight of the swollen, taut head weeping. I lean in and lick the head, humming my happiness. The smell of him, the feel, the taste.Home.

“Fuck,” Jude barks, his eyes dropping, hooded and dark. “Suck me, baby.”

“You want me to suck you?”

“Do it.”

I consider his demand for a few seconds, then smile and hold the carrot next to his dick, humming. “I think it’s just shy of eight inches, actually,” I muse, dropping him and standing. “Your dick, not the carrot.”

Jude lets out a sharp bark of laughter, grabbing the counter for support, as I make my way back round the island and slap the carrot on the chopping board, holding it gingerly with my damaged hand and bringing the knife down on the end. He jumps. The top flies off and shoots across the kitchen, and both Jude and I follow its path until it lands by the doorway.

“Now it’s seven inches,” I murmur, making Jude fold over the counter in complete hysteria. It makes me stop and take a moment to appreciate it. It’s the most gorgeous sight, Jude Harrison in a full-blown laughing fit, having to hold himself up. I rest my arse on a stool and split my attention between peeling a carrot, holding it cautiously with my dressed hand, and watching him gather himself, odd chuckles escaping. He wipes his eyes. “Alright there?” I ask.

He grins down at the half-chopped courgettes. “Amelia,” he says, turning his gaze up. His eyes are so green right now. I tilt my head in question. “I ...” His mouth closes, and he inhales. “I’m really happy you’re here.”