Hudson (11 page)

I
hope
I will lose everything of myself.

It’s the hope that allows me to push my tip in. “Jesus, Alayna.” I’m already in heaven and I haven’t even fully entered her. “You feel so goddamn good.”

She’s so snug, so tight. I push her thigh back, widening her, and I slide the rest of the way in. “So good.” Alayna’s adjusted to me now. I pull out all the way slowly. I consider taking my time working up to a steady tempo. But that isn’t how either of us wants it. So when I drive back in, I thrust hard.

She cries out, her face twisted in pleasure. I lean down and kiss her, fucking her mouth with my tongue as I continue to pound into her cunt. Though I’m lost in the complete ecstasy of her, I’m ever mindful of her needs. Soon she’s rocking against me, writhing to meet each plunge. I need to get her where she wants to be.

Without slowing my barrage, I direct her to wrap her legs around me. She does, and the new position opens her up even further. The heels of her shoes dig into my ass. I’m so deep inside her.

And it’s then—as my balls slap against her with each drive, as her body tightens and contracts against my cock, as I reach the peak of my own release—it’s then that my fears and hopes are realized. I
am
completely lost in Alayna Withers. Figuratively and literally. Completely and inescapably lost.

She trembles beneath me. Does she know what I’m thinking? Is she as moved by this revelation as I am?

“I’m going to come,” she groans.

“Yes. Yes, come, Alayna.” Because I can’t hold on much longer and I want to go with her.

I want to go with her wherever she goes.

Her orgasm crashes through her and I follow, shouting her name, flying with her. And I feel a release that transcends the climax of our sexual activity. A release of unspoken words. This moment we’ve just had together, it’s the most I’ve shared with any woman. As though we weren’t simply fucking but communicating. As though we’d invented our own language, and through it, I was finally able to speak emotions that I never knew dwelled within me.

Or I just had a really good fucking orgasm and I’m poetic with hormones.

I collapse onto Alayna, my head cradled in her neck. I hope it’s more than hormones. I hope I’m not waxing poetic. Whatever the cause of my emotional epiphany, the experience was really, really good. I’m more intrigued by her than ever. More tied to her than I ever thought possible.

This, though—this is the only way I can have her. In a bed. With my body. Because I have nothing else to give to her. I have nothing else that I can share with her. The want to be with her elsewhere is fantastical. It’s a whim, a silly impulse that must be controlled.

And since this is all we will have that is real, I cling to it in a way that makes me think of a little child clutching a security blanket. It’s overdramatized and slightly pathetic but genuine all at once.

I whisper into her skin, needing to share this feeling with her in whatever way I can. “I knew sex with you would be like that. Powerful and intense and fucking incredible. I knew it.”

It’s a lie, though. I had no idea it would be
that
good. No fucking idea at all.

Chapter Ten

She’s sleeping.

I went to the bathroom to clean up and came back to her gentle rhythmic breathing. The softness of it—of her skin, of her hair, of this moment—it makes me yearn for something I can’t name.

I tug the blankets from underneath her and cover her.

Alayna struggles to sit up.

“Sleep, precious.” I like the idea of her sleeping in my bed. Even though it’s not the bed I tend to spend many nights in. It almost bothers me to see her in this place where I’ve had other women. She seems out-of-place.

But where else would I have her? Certainly not at The Bowery where I live. I bring no one there. Still I can’t help but picture her in
that
bed…

The strange yearning is about to take over, and I refuse to let that happen. Though there’s a part of me that wants to explore it and study it the way I’ve studied and explored the emotions of others, I know this isn’t the time or the place to do so. It’s not fair to Alayna. I want her to come out of this unscathed, and these notions are not healthy for either of us.

I need to focus on that, focus on the real, and abandon thoughts of the impossible.

I brush a kiss on her forehead. “I need to order dinner. Chinese okay?”

“Sounds delicious.”

She stretches and her tits pop out from under the covers. They’re gorgeous and are distracting me from food, but Alayna works later and I need to take care of her. “I’ll call it in.”

I feel her eyes on me as I leave the room, and I very nearly let them pull me back to her. Except I’m a man of discipline. I can abstain from the things that I can’t have and Alayna Withers…I can only have her in this way—in measured doses. In fragments of time.

But when I
am
with her, I will be with her completely.

I make the call to the Chinese place on the corner. They’re on speed dial and know me well.

Then I take a few minutes to gather my thoughts, to remind myself of the games I’m playing and the games I refuse to play. When I return, I need to distance myself from her. This evening can’t be construed as anything but what it is—a simple fuck. She can’t believe there is anything more to my desire than that.

Because there’s not. I won’t let there be, no matter what ideas are shaping in my mind.

I collect the clothes we’d discarded earlier in the living room, not letting my mind recall the details of the hot memory. When I return to my room, she’s half-dressed. It should be a good thing—she understands exactly what this was supposed to be and she isn’t cleaving to the physical act, making it something meaningful, like most women would.

And I’m disappointed.

“You’re getting dressed?”

I’ve startled her. She covers herself with her arms, hiding from me. I don’t like her hiding.

But that’s not a fair thing to want. Not when I’m hiding. From everyone. From her.

Still, I can’t let her go.

I throw the shirt and tie onto the laundry basket and strike a stern pose. “Are you in a hurry to leave?” My gaze travels the length of her body—her well-toned legs, her trimmed pussy. My cock twitches with arousal.

She shivers and I wonder if she’s cold or if she can sense my want.

Then she looks away and I realize she has no idea how she affects me. It’s insane that a woman so intelligent can’t see the obvious.

“Guys don’t usually want me to hang around after sex,” she says.

I’m ripped apart by her words. “That statement brings up so many issues for discussion that I don’t know where to begin.”

She’s perfect and men have turned her away? I step toward her on impulse. “What is wrong with men to not…?” I can’t finish the statement. Because
I
should be turning her away. Because sentences like that are too close to sharing emotions. Because thinking of her with other men makes my gut twist.

Yet, I have to say something. “Alayna, please don’t group me with other guys you know. I’d like to think I’m not like most of them. And I don’t want to know or think about you having sex with other men. I don’t share.”

She doesn’t meet my eyes, but I can tell she likes what I’ve said.

“That sounds awfully relationship-y to me. I thought you didn’t do relationships,” she says as she tugs on her shorts.

It’s not a challenge—she’s feeling out the boundaries of what’s going on with us. I admire her for that. “I don’t do
romantic
relationships. Sexual relationships are another thing entirely. Why are you getting ready to leave?”

She reaches for her shirt, but I beat her to it. “Stop,” I say, holding her shirt out of her reach. I put my finger under her chin, tilting her to meet my eyes. It’s an intimate gesture—almost too intimate. Lost in her eyes, I say the words I shouldn’t but that can’t bear to be held inside. “I want you to stay.” I add my addendum so that my plea doesn’t get misconstrued—by her or by me. “And, if you are so inclined, I’d prefer that you not be dressed.”

She’s stubborn. Or cautious. “
You’re
dressed.” She crosses her arms over her chest again and thrusts out her lip in such a way that it takes all my energy not to lean forward and nibble on it.

“As soon as the food’s here, I’ll be happy to lose the clothing. Would that make you feel better?” It would help me to be naked with her. This strange energy between us is wearing on me. The physical is what I have to give her. I need to bring that back to the forefront of our relationship.

“Yes,” she answers, and I’m relieved.

But then she changes her mind. “I don’t know.”

I brush my hand against her cheek. Other women are so easy to read, so easy to manipulate because I understand what they’re thinking. But Alayna—she’s different. And all I know is that I have to have more of her. “What’s going on inside your head, precious? Are you going to run off every time we have sex?”

She turns away from me. “I hadn’t really thought this would be more than a one-time thing, Hudson.”

Honestly, I’d thought that I could get her out of my system easier than this myself. But I can’t. I need her in a way that I can’t fully understand.

And something about the way we connected makes me think she feels the same. So why is she running?

I grab her arm and pull her to me. “Alayna.” I search her eyes. “If you don’t want to have sex with me again, you need to tell me.”

“I do! I do.”

She throws her arms around me and buries her face in my chest. I shouldn’t do what I’m about to do, but my arms have a mind of their own, my body needing to protect her and hold her and comfort her. I return her embrace.

“What is it?” I stroke her hair. “Tell me.” I want to know her thoughts, her reasons, her worries. Even though I can’t give her the same in return.

“I’m not good at relationships. Of any sort. I have…issues.”

“Like what?” I know more about her past than she realizes. Her issues are nothing compared to mine. I shouldn’t let her know that I’ve researched her. I should let it go, let her secrets stay inside her. I’m not going to share mine with her.

But there are other parts of me—parts that want her to share with me and darker parts that want to force her to open up. Those parts take over and I ask, “Does this have anything to do with that restraining order?”

She stills in my arms. “You know about that?”

A rush of satisfaction runs through me. I’m addicted to this power—this thrill of being able to make someone feel a certain way. She’s uncomfortable, humiliated.

She tears out of my arms and buries her head in the blankets.

And I hate myself.

This power isn’t the power I want. It’s not who I want to be with her. I want the light, carefree Alayna back—the one that yielded to me with pleasure, not discomfort.

I should let it go. But I have to fix it.

I lie on the bed next to her and force a laugh. I put my hand on her back and massage her shoulders. Her naked skin beneath my fingers feels incredible and warm. I can’t stop touching her.

I bring us both back to the thing that we have, the only thing we share—our physical connection. “I know intimate things about you, precious—the way you look and the sounds you make when you’re about to come—and you’re concerned about
this
?”

She groans and my dick throbs.

“It was a big deal. The biggest deal. Like my biggest secret. I thought my brother had buried it.” She rises on her elbow and turns to eye me. “And are you saying I should be embarrassed about how I look and sound when…you know?”

It’s the last part of her statement I want to react to, but I still have mending to do. “I needed to know anything that might come up about my pretend girlfriend. It wasn’t necessarily easy to find, but not incredibly hard. It’s been buried now.”

With that out of the way, I cup her cheek and lose myself in her brown eyes. “And never, never be ashamed of how you look or sound at any time, especially when you’re about to come.” I circle her nose with mine. “I’m honored to be acquainted with you in that way.” I’d like to be acquainted with her in that way right now, in fact.

“I’m mortified.” She falls back onto the bed. “About the restraining order, I mean. I don’t know how to react to the other.”

“Why?” Her past is nothing like mine, and in many ways, her restraining order is silly and frivolous in comparison to the lives I’ve ruined.

But I understand her regret and her compulsions. They intrigue me and I want her to see that I can relate even though I can’t tell her how. Instead, I run my hand across her face and through her hair. I shouldn’t be touching her like this—it’s too near showing affection—but I can’t help myself.

“Because it makes me feel all weird and tingly. And turned on.”

“Fantastic.” I should take her again, right now.

I don’t. “But I meant, why are you mortified?”

“Oh.” She flushes and my dick hardens. That color on her face is so beautiful—she looks the same way when I’m fucking her, when I’m driving inside her. The urge to ravage her deepens.

But I want to hear her other answer. It’s important.

“Because it’s evidence of my crazy,” she says. “You know when I said I love too much? The restraining order is part of that, and I like to pretend it never happened.”

Like to pretend it never happened.
I can’t get to that point. The things I’ve done are still real in my mind—every moment, every day. They consume me and eat at me, and even though I have learned to regret them, I can’t move away from them. What I’d give to pretend they never happened.

I suspect that, despite what she says, it’s the same for her—that she can never escape the things she keeps running from. I admire her for trying.

So, as if I have any power to make it true, I give her this wish. “Then it never did.” I kiss her nose, and for this one moment, I let words wash away past sins—both of ours. Mine and hers. “We’ve all done insane things in the past. I’d never hold it against you.”

In this time and space, I’m captured by her—connected in a way that goes beyond the physical. I know her at a depth that she can never understand.

And that’s when I return to reality. I can’t keep this connection. I have to let it go, have to push her away. Alayna Withers cannot belong to me. “Just another reason romantic love holds no interest for me. People get crazy with it.”

Why does my stomach twist from this reminder? This is all that can be between us. What else would there be? Even if I can feel something for her—which is far-fetched in itself—I am incapable of any emotion she deserves.

I force myself to relax and focus my attention on her. “But going back to the heart of this conversation—why does that have a bearing on a relationship between you and me?”

She sits up suddenly. “I freaked out, Hudson. About a guy. Several guys, actually, but it was the last one that ended not well.”

I sit up next to her. “And do you think you’re going to ‘freak out’ about me?” I’m afraid of her answer. I don’t want to freak her out. I don’t want to break her.

Yet I can’t deny that there is a part of me—a very sick and disgusting part of me—that wants exactly that. Not because I want her to fall apart or because I want Celia to win, but because I want Alayna’s attention. I want her focused on me.

Whatever she says, I realize, it will be a disappointment.

I hold my breath while she answers.

“I really can’t honestly tell you. I’ve stayed away from any relationship for a while so I wouldn’t have to deal with it. Trying to have something now with you—it’s uncharted territory for me.” She looks up and meets my eyes. “I haven’t freaked out so far. With you. And I don’t want to not have sex with you again. I mean…” She turns away, blushing.

I see her struggle, and I wish to God that I could let her go. For her sake, not mine. If I could simply walk away, this would be so much easier for her. Even if I followed through with Celia’s game, I understand that it is this—the pursuit of her outside the game—that will do the most harm to Alayna.

But I can’t let her go. I’m too much of a selfish ass.

I wrap my arms around her and nibble on her ear. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered. I don’t want to not have sex with you again either. So we won’t do that. We’ll have tons of incredible sex instead.”

She surrenders into my embrace. “I’m not saying yes, yet. I have to take this one day at a time.”

If I had a conscience, I’d be more supportive of her declaration. “Alayna, you might have to take this one day at a time, but I already know there will be tons of fucking between the two of us.” I pull her closer. Holding her like this, talking to her so intimately, it’s made me hard. “In fact, I’m going to have to be inside you again before you leave for work.”

She glances down at my erection and then peers back up at me. “Like right now?”

The way she’s looking at me with big lust-filled eyes, it takes everything I have not to pull her beneath me and plow into her. But I only succumb to a kiss. Then the intercom buzzes and dinner has arrived.

In the few minutes that I’m away from her—getting our food and paying the deliverer—I gather my wits. When I return to the bedroom, I’m more together. She still drives me crazy with her long fantastic legs and her perfect pouty lips, but it’s manageable. We flirt and I feed her and we banter about. It’s nice, actually. Comfortable.