Chapter 12
twelve
SKYLER
The afternoon passes in a blur of appetizers and new faces, along with a glass or two of champagne. Every now and then my gaze catches Hudson’s and the two of us have a little staring battle. It’s weirdly sexy.
By the time evening arrives, the party slowly morphs into a more-adult focused event, complete with non-Disney music and the disappearance of the paid Disney princesses who depart on their boat. And I’m feeling a little intoxicated.
Jesse comes over and tells me he has to leave, too. He starts work at six in the morning and there’s a strict sobriety rule, so I walk him to his car and hug him tight.
“Maybe I should go home too.”
“Don’t be boring. I need you to report back later about the debauchery,” he tells me. “Who ends up kissing who on the dance floor, who throws up in the lawn. Whether Mylene and Eileen come to blows.”
“I expected that to already happen,” I confess. But somehow Autumn – who has the complete knack for party organizing – has kept them apart. She’s even got a timer set on her phone for making sure that Eileen takes the shuttle home an hour earlier than Mylene.
She showed me the whole schedule on her tablet screen earlier. The amount of planning she put into this sends shivers down my spine. I can’t even plan what I’m having for breakfast tomorrow.
Jesse drives out of the hotel parking lot and I walk back into the reception area, coming to an abrupt halt when I see Hudson talking to the woman dressed as Princess Diana again.
She’s laughing at something he said, her fingers casually tracing the lapel of his suit jacket, though I know enough to tell there’s nothing casual about it. And suddenly all those gazing battles seem juvenile.
Rolling onto the toes of her stupidly high heels she whispers something in his ear, her lips curling like a smug cat who just found a vat of cream. Hudson nods, murmurs something back, and she laughs again.
God, she’s acting so obvious. And I’m so stupidly jealous it’s not funny. There’s a twist in my stomach I hate so much.
What’s your problem? Are you the only one allowed to tease him?
Yes, yes I am. I’m not an idiot, I know there can never be anything between us. He’s him and I’m me and we’re so different it’s not funny. But seeing this woman – who’s completely at his level – flirt so effortlessly, and him act like he’s enjoying it.
It makes me want to throw something.
Instead, I act like the fool I am and stomp through the reception area loud enough for the two of them to stop murmuring sweet nothings and look at me.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” I say. Then I look at Princess Di. “But you should know, he may look pretty now, but he turns back into Shrek at midnight.”
She laughs and he turns to look at me, those dark eyes scanning my face.
I don’t let my gaze get caught by his this time, as I try to sidle past them with some level of dignity. But instead – because the world hates me – the tip of my boot hits the corner of one of the velvet brocade sofas that fill the reception area and I lose my footing. My whole body launches forward as I fly through the damn air and land straight down on my face on the marbled tiles.
“Shit,” I groan, willing the tiles to swallow me up right now.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Princess Di clacks over. I feel her shadow come over me.
“Skyler?” Hudson murmurs, hunkering down next to me. “Are you bleeding? Jesus, let me look at you.”
I blink, completely dazed. “What?”
“You tripped. Let me look at your face.”
“No need.” I sit up, then scramble to my knees because I need to get out of here, now . “I’m fine. Just a little trip.” Somehow I manage to push myself up to my feet without falling back over, because my head is so damn dizzy from the fall. Then I go to walk away. Okay run.
Because I can deal with many, many things. But embarrassing myself in front of Hudson and the woman he’s almost certainly going to fuck later isn’t one of them.
I nearly make it out into the garden – where a couple are eating each other’s faces in front of the roses – when a hand wraps itself firmly around my wrist, causing me to skid to a halt.
Some kids party this is turning out to be.
When I turn around, I’m feeling furious. My eyes clash with his. “What do you want?” I ask him. I can deal with him disliking me. But I don’t like the look of concern in his gaze at all.
“To see if you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. I told you I’m fine.” I try to pull away.
He sighs, sounding exasperated. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“To my office. Let me check you over.”
I look around for Princess Di. “Where’s your friend?” I ask, trying – and failing – not to sound bitchy.
“Gone back to the party. Now come with me and let me check you out.”
I open my mouth to argue with him, but all that comes out is a soft sigh. I’m tired, I’m embarrassed. And the energy to fight him has disappeared.
Hudson keeps a hold of my wrist as he leads me through a door marked ‘private - authorized persons only’, then walks me down an empty and dully-lit corridor toward a heavy oak door at the end. He punches in a code and pushes it open, then pulls me inside, flicking the light switch with his free hand.
Then the door slams closed behind me and I’m completely alone with this man.
He’s so damn tall I have to incline my head to look up at him. And when I do, all I see is his scowl. He’s staring down at me like he hates me.
Of course I stare back. For a moment there’s silence – save for the hot thud of my pulse as it rushes through my ears.
I clench my thigh muscles, trying to ignore the way my whole body needs him.
“We have a little problem,” he finally says, breaking the silence.
I blink. “We do?”
His gaze dips to my dress, where it’s pushing my chest up so high I can practically feel my breasts grazing my throat. Then pulls it up to look at my lips.
I part them, letting out a soft breath. This man is so overwhelming it’s hard to breathe.
“What kind of problem?” I ask him.
“I think you know.”
“Do I?” I feign innocence.
He won’t stop looking at me. His body is only a breath away from mine. Somehow I’ve managed to back up so my back is against the door.
There’s nowhere to run. And I’m not sure I want to.
Then he closes the gap between us, his hard, muscled body pressing against mine.
His fingers graze the underside of my chin, lifting my head up.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low.
It takes me a minute to remember my spectacular fall. “Yes.” I nod. “No permanent damage.” Then I give him a weak smile. “Nothing more than there already was.”
He drops his head like he’s relieved, which is quite frankly boggling. His brow presses against mine and I can feel the warmth of his breath as he exhales. Can smell the edge of whiskey tracing it.
“What kind of problem do we have?” I whisper to him. My heart is slamming against my chest at his nearness. There’s a steady thrum of appreciation between my thighs at his proximity. At the smell of him.
The damn masculine energy that exudes from him.
He doesn’t answer. He just stares at me, his eyes even narrower, like he’s sizing me up. His fingers are still under my chin, his thumb grazing my jaw.
And I realize exactly what problem he’s talking about. I can feel it pumping through my veins.
“You don’t want this,” I tell him. “I’m so not your type.”
“What is my type?” he asks.
“Princess Di.”
The corner of his lips quirk. “The original or the fake one?”
“The one who stares at you like she wants to eat you for breakfast. The one who speaks properly, who looks like she’s a walking wet dream of a bank balance.” He reaches down to trace my clavicle – from the center of my chest to my shoulder – and I swear I’ve never been so turned on before in my whole life.
“She’s a good girl,” I whisper. “She won’t embarrass you, or dress wrong, or get a piercing in her lip or a tattoo on her hip.”
His fingers dip to the edge of my leather bodice, leaving a trail of fire across the swell of my breasts.
“I’m not like her, Hudson,” I say. “I don’t wash my dishes right after I’ve eaten. I don’t make my bed most days. I’d drive you up the wall within a minute.”
His breath catches.
“I think I can handle you,” he murmurs.
The words feel like the softest of knives to my heart. Like a threat and a promise. The truth is, I believe him.
I’m the one who can’t handle this. Yes, I put on a good game face. I pretend I don’t care. But I’ve never been one for a casual relationship. For fuck buddies or anything else that doesn’t involve emotions.
Out of the two of us, I figure I’m the one who’d get hurt here.
And yet my body doesn’t get the memo. Sliding my hands between his jacket and shirt, I feel the warmth of his skin as it leeches through the cotton. And then, because I’m an idiot who has no idea of self preservation, I push the jacket off him, as he pulls off his own tie, then unfastens the top two buttons to give himself room to breathe.
I can see the dip at the bottom of his throat as it meets his ribcage. I want to kiss it, so I do, leaning forward, tasting his skin.
If I thought my heart was pounding before, it’s pretty much launching itself on a suicide mission against my ribcage now. My breath is short, my legs are weak, pleasure is pooling between my thighs as he leans down to softly kiss the skin beneath my ear.
“Hudson…”
“Hush.” His lips are soft, teasing. “Unless you want me to stop.”
I do. I don’t. I just… God he knows how to tease. Slowly he kisses his way along my jaw until his lips are a breath away from mine.
“I want to fuck you,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of my mouth. “I want to make you come so hard it’ll split your soul in two.”
Dear God! Before I can respond his lips press against mine, and my whole body heats up in appreciation. My fingers curl around his shirt to steady myself, as he moves his mouth, kissing me softly at first.
Then hard, his mouth opening, our tongues colliding, his hands caressing my hips, my waist, my ass. I hook my arms around his neck, kissing him back like my life depends on it, arching my back until I feel his hard ridge of excitement pressing against me.
The man is big in every way.
I run my hands up his shirt, feeling the ridges of muscles on his abdomen, then the tight points of his nipples beneath the white cotton. He groans as my fingers graze them, the rumbling from his throat sending another shot of pleasure to the neediest part of me, before he slides his hands over my ass again and lifts me up, turning around before he carries me to his desk and slides me onto it, using his palm to push the papers piled neatly to my left until they scatter onto the floor.
My mouth already misses his, so I sit up, reaching for him, pulling him between my legs until he’s kissing me again. His fingers dip inside my leather bodice as his tongue teases mine, his warm hands cupping my breasts, his thumbs teasing my nipples until they’re so hard and tender.
My own fingers tangle into his thick, dark hair as he kisses his way down my jaw, my throat, to the swell of my breasts. His hands make short work of the lace fastening my bodice, pushing the leather open until my breasts are exposed, and he takes me in with a dark-eyed stare.
“Christ,” he murmurs, as I arch my back until my breasts are close to his face. “Do you know how perfect you are?”
I want to laugh. I’m anything but perfect. But this man somehow is making me feel like a goddess.
He dips his head and his lips capture one of my nipples, his teeth grazing as his tongue soothes. His hand slides beneath my back to steady me against him. I scrape my fingers against his scalp and he murmurs something unintelligible in appreciation.
Somehow he’s unlaced the last of the eyelets, and my bodice falls to the desktop beneath me, leaving me exposed to him. He takes his time, kissing each breast with appreciation, teasing my nipples and stroking my body like a man who knows exactly what he wants. And then he lowers his mouth to my tattoo, tracing the edges of it with his tongue.
Just when I think I couldn’t get any more turned on, he slides his hand down my stomach, along my thighs and dips it beneath the hem of my skirt, pushing it up, exposing me.
And then he grins. A boyish, heart melting smile that makes me realize how rarely he looks happy. “You’re wearing panties.”
“I know.”
Sliding his hands over my legs, he traces the edge of my skin-colored panties. “Maybe you’re not the bad girl you think you are,” he says, his fingers touching the center of them. Even though there’s a layer of cotton between his hand and my aching core, I almost jump out of my skin.
“Maybe I’m worse. Now you know I’m a liar.”
He slides a finger under the cotton, muttering a soft oath when he feels how turned on I am for him. “Is this for me?” he murmurs, his middle finger finding the bundle of nerves that are so swollen I swear I’m on the edge of oblivion.
“No,” I manage to pant. “Disney music. It always turns me on.”
This time he laughs. And damn, it makes my heart ache. There are crinkles around his eyes and his lips are curled up. His lips brush mine, and it feels almost tender.
I bite the inside of my cheek to remind myself that this isn’t about love, or emotion. He’s a man who wants what he wants, and for some reason he wants me.
When it’s over? He’s going to walk away. Because no matter how stupid the chemistry is between us, he’s an intelligent guy. A rich man. He already knows that we’re complete opposites. I wasn’t lying when I said Princess Di was the kind of woman he’d want in his life.
I’m always a dirty secret.
But then he starts kissing me again, pushing all those dark thoughts out of my brain. Replacing them with fireworks as he circles his finger against me, his mouth soft, his tongue teasing.
My breath comes in stutters as he pushes a finger inside of me, groaning as I tighten around him.
“Christ,” he mutters. “So fucking tight.”
I don’t bother telling him it’s been a while. Truthfully, I’m not sure my lips are able to form a sentence right now. He curls his finger inside of me, presses his thumb against the swollen part of me, and kisses me until I’m so breathless all I can do is cling onto him, my fingers digging into his arms as I feel the muscles flex beneath them, determined to make me feel good.
Then, right as I’m on the edge, he pulls my panties down my legs and throws them on the floor, before dropping to his knees and yanking my thighs apart. Before I can say a word his face is pushed between them.
He runs his tongue along the length of me, his face rough against my tender thighs. Every part of me feels exposed.
“I knew it,” he mutters. “I knew you’d taste this good.”
I open my mouth to respond, but then he pushes a finger inside of me again, at the same time as he flickers his tongue against me, and my head tips back in pleasure, because this man knows exactly what he’s doing.
I slide my hands through his thick hair, tugging it, scraping my nails. Making him groan louder as he continues his onslaught, with soft flickers and hard long licks.
“Please…” I manage to gasp out.
“What do you need?” he says, looking up at me. His eyes catching mine.
You. All the time. Like this.
“Don’t stop.”
His eyes crinkle. God, he’s so stupidly handsome it hurts. “Sweetheart, if you don’t want a man to stop, don’t interrupt his dinner.”
Before I can come up with a witty retort, his tongue traces me from my behind to the tip of me, then he pushes two fingers inside until my eyes roll back in my head.
And then I feel it. The explosion pulling me from the inside out. My thighs tighten around his head, my fingers scrape his scalp, and I convulse around his fingers so hard that I’m worried he’ll never be able to use them again.
Not that he seems to care. He’s too busy coaxing the pleasure from me, his fingers moving gently, his mouth kissing every aching part of me, as my body arches from the desk as I chant his name.
And then everything comes crashing down.
“Hudson?” a low voice calls out through the door. He looks up from between my thighs and our eyes lock in panic. For a moment neither of us breathe.
“You in here?” There’s a rap of knuckles at the door. And I’m so aware that I’m half-naked on his desk, my body still quivering from the best orgasm I’ve ever had.
“Just a minute,” he calls out to whoever’s on the other side of the door. His voice is so calm and controlled. He looks at me again, running his tongue along his bottom lip.
God, he’s tasting me. For some reason that sends my heart racing.
I sit up, pulling my leather bodice together. It took forever to lace up when I was getting ready earlier. There’s no way I can make myself respectable in time for Hudson to open the door. So instead I hold it over my boobs and slide off the desk, picking up my panties from the floor, then run around to the other side of the huge oak desk and slide underneath it.
There’s a rustle of sound, almost certainly Hudson pulling his jacket on, then the steady thud of footsteps as he walks toward the door.
I’m crouched under his desk in the space where his chair is usually, holding my legs to my chest so they don’t stick out. My head is pressed against the underside of the desktop. A minute ago I was screaming his name on his desk, now I’m hiding like some kind of bad secret.
And I brought it all on myself. Dear God, what have I done?