Chapter Sixteen
Scarlett
T his man can kiss. He can kiss a woman right out of her clothes and into his bed. Even if she was a forever kinda girl who knows he’s only a sex kind of guy.
Lucky for me, I’m not a forever kinda girl. At least, I’m not a forever yet kinda girl.
My mind is spinning and the thoughts are jumbled, coming thick and fast and I’m in a haze caused by him and that thing he called dancing, but was pretty much vertical sex with all your clothes on.
I should know this complicated doing makes things, well, more complicated but I’m not turning down what promises to be the world’s best candy.
The music moves through my bones, vibrates in my blood, just like he does, and his not question is still in the air.
There’s so much I need to do. Talk to him. I slide my hands up his T-shirt, the hard, sculpted muscles under my palms hot and damp and in the low lighting I know what I have to do.
Tell him why I asked him to come out. Tell him the truth.
After all, that was my plan, the reason I’m here, and to back it all up with the words it doesn’t change a thing. I’m still there for him.
It’s the right thing to do.
I rise on my toes, our mouths so close, and I take a breath.
Then I kiss him, push my lips to his and they give way and our tongues tangle and he sweeps me into him, harder than before, and that erection is big and solid and straining against me. And I want it. I want him.
He’s down deep inside me, the kiss is everywhere, making all my nerves sing and dance and swoon.
We’re on top of each other and it isn’t enough. I break the kiss and I whisper, “Yes.”
His hand is light on my thigh as we drive back to Manhattan. Of course, it’s a car service. He’s that kind of guy, even though we’ve been in a cab before. And I’ll bet whatever small change I have that this is his own private service.
What I should be doing, I tell myself as the tension grows thick, the anticipation charged and sex laden, is do what I haven’t done.
Tell him.
But those plans went out the window when he told me how much this all meant to him. They grew wings and flew like giant birds when I couldn’t or didn’t find a place to tell him and continue not to. And now…now I’m going to his place and we’re going to…
I swallow, hard.
Have sex.
He links his fingers with mine and it’s all so new and familiar and everything is spinning fast and low.
It takes a small forever and it takes no time at all to make it from Brooklyn to his east side home. No time at all to wait for him to open the door and step into the low darkness of a place that smells like him and beeswax and lemon and spice.
It’s going to be fine, I tell myself. I can’t let him down and I’m not going to. My guilt can just stay like that. Or I can drop clues like I’m Gretel and—
“Scarlett.”
His voice stops all logic flowing to my brain. It’s low and black velvet and full of the sort of promises that are adults only.
I look at him.
And he smiles.
It’s slow and hot and predatory and I’m melting.
Hudson’s arm slides about me and he kisses me.
This kiss is hard, and it steals breath and bones and replaces it all with fire and liquid need. I’m slammed up against the door and it’s a carnal feast and I’m absolutely ravenous.
He makes his way down my throat as his free hand slides up my thigh. “Are you sure?”
I suck in a gasping breath, my fingers tangled in his hair. “Yes!”
And through the trousers I’m wearing he slides against the juncture there, up against my pussy and I’m hot everywhere and throbbing, and I push into those questing fingers, just to back myself up.
“This could complicate things.”
Why is he talking? I’m not here to talk. “Or make them more believable.”
“You have a point.” And his teeth sink lightly into the sensitive skin at the top of my breast, through my shirt and I’m sure my eyes roll back in my head at the exquisite bolt of desire it sends ricocheting through my flesh. Right to my clit.
“Of course I have a point,” I say, grabbing his head and pulling it up and kissing him with everything I am. His mouth opens and is just as nakedly sexual, the need in him just as raw and wild as the need that courses through me.
I push him back and he lets me. I know he does. It’s the only reason I can do that. I’m beyond trying to work out how this Hudson fits with the Hudson who wears a suit and lines up all his ducks with the precision of a general, only that it does. Too well.
I push him and I push him again until I have him back against the wall to the right. I’m not paying attention to anything but him, and things clatter to the ground. His eyes glitter with hunger as he watches and waits and I move in.
“You talk too much, Hudson,” I say, sliding my hands down over his chest, pushing one under the T-shirt, and fuck if his skin isn’t like hot silk over steel. I wonder if it’s like that everywhere, and I intend to find out, especially that package that strains against his jeans.
“I do?”
“Yes.” I wonder how his cock looks, how it tastes, and I know I want it in my mouth, in my pussy. I want to just be consumed by him. Invaded.
“That’s rich.”
“Excuse me?” I trail my other hand lower, over the buttons of his jeans and oh, yes, there he is. Hard. Hot. Big. He’s so big and that’s all for me.
He grabs my hand and holds it there. “You accusing me of talking too much. I can barely get you to shut up.” There’s no rancor in his tone, only heat and hunger. “You better know what you want, Scarlett.”
“You.” The word is immediate. True. “All of you. Now.”
He kisses me again, keeping my hand against his hard cock, and this time the kiss is deceptively soft. But the vibration of dark hunger that’s there turns my temperature all the way up. “We should get started.”
We’re walking, or he’s guiding me to something. A soft ding tells me it’s an elevator and then we’re in it. If I wasn’t so consumed by lust and need and desire I’d be floored by the fact he has an elevator in his home. But right now, I’m only floored by him.
Hudson is looking at me, and somehow, just by us standing there, not even kissing now, looking at each other, my hand held against his cock by his, it’s the most erotic and charged moment of my life.
When the elevator dings again, he lifts my hand away and brings it to his mouth and he deliberately sucks my thumb, biting down on the pad, sending a jolt of pure erotic energy through me, and then he leads me out, smart lighting blooming as we go.
My hand is in his now, and he takes me down the wide hall with art on the wall that I don’t even bother to look at. There are doors leading off each side but at the end of the short hall we come to a wide-open door.
This time, he reaches out and does something just inside the door and the lighting comes on at his touch.
Hudson turns to me. “Last chance.”
“For what?”
“To run.”
“I’m not going to run. Do I look like a runner? No. Besides, you’re drunk and I’m here to take advantage of it.”
“I’m not drunk, Scarlett.” He moves in close, dropping my hand as he cradles my face with both of his hands. “I had a few, but I’m in complete control.”
“Why are we talking?”
He smiles slow and kisses me. Soft, once, and I’m on him, hands under his shirt and he’s on me, tugging at the buttons of my shirt, down to the side zip of the trousers I’m wearing and the kisses grow hot and hard as each article of clothing comes off.
And then he’s against me. Flesh against flesh and he is a living specimen of male fantasy. His hands are on my hips as he thrusts against me, letting me know his need and then he pushes me back and I go, landing on something soft and big—the bed. I’m paying absolutely zero attention to the room we’re in. Everything I do is focused on him and the need and urgency growing.
The lighting is a low and soft glowing amber, and the room is big like the bed and he lands on me, pushes my thighs apart with one hand, his mouth hot once more on mine. This time the kisses are drugging and long and deep, the type to sink into, and reach for more.
And his fingers on my thigh are a whispering tease as they slip higher until he’s stroking the lips of my pussy, light and feathery. I’m wet, I’m aching. It’s that deep, throbbing ache that needs to be assuaged by him inside me.
Back and forth he goes, building a rhythm, one of his thighs pinning one of mine so I’m spread open to him and half trapped. His cock is there, and hot and erect, and I need to touch it.
I reach down and wrap my fingers around the thick girth and tease the head with my thumb and he growls low in the back of his throat.
His fingers tease higher, just to my clit, not quite touching, and I try to move to them, to have him on my sensitive bud, but he just laughs, and I give him a squeeze.
“Hungry girl.” I do it again, teasing him back, this time pumping him slow and using the precum to slide back and forth over the head of his cock.
“You keep that up,” he mutters in my ear, one of his fingers pushing into my wetness, between the folds and into my pussy and I convulse, little butterfly wings of an orgasm around that sweet invasion, “and this is going to be all you’re getting for a while.”
“Are you saying you’ll be coming in your pant—oh!—pants.”
The fucker does it again, pushing in with another finger, staying shy of my clit, and he thrusts in and out, giving me a taste of real satisfaction but holding it from me like some sadistic creature.
“I’m not wearing pants.” He punctuates each word with small bites on my throat, accompanied by a thrust of his fingers into me.
“Just—oh, God…” I’m writhing as he now begins a measured assault around my clit, not quite going for that nirvana I need. “Just fuck me, Hudson.”
“Your pussy is so tight and wet. I bet it tastes sweet. Do you?”
“I’m not that flexible.”
He laughs and pulls his fingers from me, and then my hand from his cock and he moves down me, kissing and licking a trail over my burning skin, until he reaches my pussy.
Hudson licks me. All the way from top to bottom and back again, dipping inside me, sucking my clit into his mouth and teasing it gently with his tongue, and I scream. I actually scream.
My hands are in his hair, tight and I half orgasm, but he pulls away again.
Diabolical bastard. He pulls the fuck away and comes back up me, this time his body on mine, heavy between me, my thighs either side of him and he kisses me and I can taste myself on him.
“Sweet,” he says.
I’m too busy drawing up my knees and pushing up with my hips to try to get him to fuck me, to put that thick cock where I need it. I try to reach down, but he stops me, pinning a wrist down to the bed next to us. And then he uses his other hand and pushes his cock against my entrance, once, twice, and then again. Again and again, he pushes right there, my lips moving to take him and again and again he retreats.
“You’ll be sweet in tiny pieces if you don’t fuck me.”
“Vicious,” he says, licking along my throat, “aren’t you? If only the ladies in the Hamptons could see you now.”
“They’d see you, too.” I have no idea what he’s talking about. I don’t care about anything but this. I’ve gone and lost my mind.
“I don’t fucking care if they do.”
And this time, he thrusts into me. He’s big. I know that from touching him, but when he’s pushing his way into me, stretching me wide, filling me, it’s a different story. And I’m in heaven.
All words slip away as he pulls my legs up high, so he can thrust hard and deep into me. Inside, I’m coming apart. Each time he slams into me is a revelation and I’m moaning and clutching and moving my hips up to take more of him. I want it all. Everything.
The fullness, the being joined, and it’s more than that. It’s like coming to a home I never knew I had or needed. And I bite his shoulder to stop from screaming again. He moves faster and inside I’m a tornado of flaming desire. I’m being consumed. Stretched. Opened. Taken.
And the need builds. The tension, the pleasure, starts to combust and then I’m just gone. A cascading firestorm of absolute pleasure as I come, my body convulsing and clamping down on his, over and over again. I’m flying high, I’m nothing but this. And I give over to those waves of heaven.
Finally, I start to come down and Hudson’s still thrusting into me. Harder, now. Faster. No control as he’s getting close and he’s making me come all over again.
I’m rolling with it. It’s too much. I’m out of control and I can’t find anything but him to cling to and I feel him come and he shudders in my arms, his body emptying into mine, and he kisses me hard as he does so.
Finally, he slumps down. And I’m too exhausted to do anything but wrap my arms and legs around him, with him still inside me, and close my eyes.
That was worth the world.
We have sex three more times. Once so hard I thought the bed would break, another slow and languid and eye-rollingly sensual. And another so filthy I could come again just thinking about it.
I can’t sleep.
Hudson is. He’s got one arm thrown over me and I’ve been watching him for what feels like forever, and I could do it for another forever, too.
But I can’t.
As all the pleasure and the need has now been satiated, with it comes the commonsense hangover.
I might have justified things to myself before we did all that naked salsa-ing, but how can I now? I came here to tell him the truth now instead of later, when things got complicated.
And now things were definitely complicated.
It’s struck me at some point in the last small forever of watching him sleep, the long lashes that dust against his cheeks, the stubble, the softness to his features that isn’t there when he’s awake, the little huffling snore he makes, that slides into me and warms me down to the toes, it’s struck me that I’ve let things go way too far.
I’m in way too deep with the lies. They might be white, but there are a lot of them and they’re growing, and I worry, now we’ve done that, he won’t see it as something small that got out of hand, but something else entirely.
Something darker.
Something he’ll want to take revenge on.
I’ve let things go on and on and on by essentially lying to him every moment of the day.
Slowly, I slide out from under his embrace, careful not to wake him.
The room around me is in darkness, but there’s enough light from the window to show me where I am.
A big bedroom. It’s not what I expected. It’s definitely got money and quality all over it. But it’s simple and masculine and comfortable. It’s not trying to be anything but what it is, a bedroom with a king-size bed, a bookcase on one wall, and a sofa under the window. There are a couple of plants too. He never struck me as a plant guy, but maybe it’s his interior decorator. Although I don’t think one did this room. It feels utterly Hudson in a way I can’t exactly explain.
I’m standing, naked, writing a soliloquy in my head to his bedroom.
With a shake of my head, I find my clothes and pull them on, heading out the door. There’s a staircase straight ahead, past all the other doors and the elevator, and I head to that.
I need to get out of here, get home, and think about what to do next.
My hand is on the railing, when a floorboard creaks behind me and Hudson speaks.
“Going somewhere?”