: Chapter 14

“Morning,” Sloane says as she walks out on the terrace where I’m sitting with a glass of water. “How are you feeling?”

I glance to the side, catching her smooth legs stretching out from the bottom of my shirt. Her toenails are painted white, her hair a beautiful mess.

“Better,” I say and take a sip of my water, my mouth suddenly dry.

“I’m glad.” She leans against the terrace wall.

She waits, not saying anything, which is unlike her, makes me think that she still might be giving me the cold shoulder—then again, she’s out here talking to me.

Wanting to break the building tension from the past few days and from last night, I say, “Thank you again for yesterday.”

“You’re welcome.” She’s toeing the ground, but then she looks up at me. “You held me all night. Any time I tried to move away, your grip on me grew stronger.”

I push my hand through my hair. “I’m aware.”

“Why?”

I look away, out toward the rising sun. “I’d rather not examine it,” I answer honestly.

She nods and then quietly says, “You know, some might say it’s because you find yourself becoming attached to me.”

Yeah, I fucking know.

I keep my gaze away from her because I fear what I might do if I catch those big eyes staring back at me. I have a feeling I might stand, slip my hand around the back of her neck, and pull her in close where I can explore…

“That’s okay. You don’t have to admit it,” she says as she pushes off the wall and then walks up to me. She slides her finger under my chin and urges me to look at her. “For what it’s worth, the feeling is mutual.”

Then she winks and turns back into the hotel room.

I press my hand to my forehead. “Jesus Christ.”

Hardy: You think it was the chicken?

Hudson: I have no fucking clue, but I still can’t look at food.

Hardy: Humiliating that you not only threw up in front of her several times but also in public. Nothing screams wet blanket on the sexual tension than seeing someone dry heave repeatedly.

Hudson: Probably was needed.

Hardy: I mean, no one looks good retching and clinging to a toilet as if it’s a lifesaver, keeping them afloat.

Hudson: I wasn’t clinging to the toilet.

Hardy: Can’t be sure of that. In my head, you were playing koala and gripping it like a eucalyptus tree.

Hudson: Why do I even text you?

Hardy: I honestly don’t know. Don’t you have any other friends?

Hudson: I do, but I’m currently married to his sister and trying to make sure he doesn’t find out. And we already discussed why Brody can’t be trusted.

Hardy: That dude is so unreliable. The biggest gossip among all of us.

Hudson: Also, he’s a goddamn hot mess. I was in a meeting with him the other day and he happened to spill his coffee all over his lap. Thank God it was just me and him because he whipped his pants off so fucking fast. The dickhead was wearing a pair of briefs with Maggie’s face on the crotch. I can’t unsee it.

Hardy: Maybe that’s why you were throwing up so much.

Hudson: Probably.

Hardy: I saw him yesterday, and he was showing me his scar from when he had his appendix removed. Why does he think that’s something I want to see?

Hudson: He’s fucking weird, but I still like him. Maybe there’s something wrong with me.

Hardy: I think there’s something wrong with the both of us because when he showed the scar to me and said I could touch it…I fucking touched it.

Hudson: Touching another man’s scar…dude, that’s weird.

Hardy: I know. Afterward, I thought, why the hell did I do that? He’s rubbing off on us.

Hudson: He’s rubbing off on you, not me. I wouldn’t have touched the scar.

Hardy: You can’t say that. You weren’t there. You would have touched it. Guaranteed!

Hudson: We are not debating this. I have more important things to worry about. I’m slipping, man.

Hardy: Yeah, I know. Next text I get from you is that you had sex with Sloane and don’t know what to do.

Hudson: I’m so fucking worried that’s going to happen. I spooned her last night.

Hardy: Noooo, why?

Hudson: I couldn’t stop myself. I needed to hold her.

Hardy: This is not fucking good. Seriously, Hudson. You are acknowledging your poor decisions. Which means you need to stop making those poor decisions.

Hudson: I know. But…there was that Devin fuck and she took care of me and I didn’t like that she wasn’t herself around me. I’m just so fucked in the head that I really don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

Hardy: Well, I’m here to tell you to press the reset button. It’s the spot just behind your balls.

Hudson: Grow up.

Hardy: YOU grow up. This is business, start acting like it. Get the job done, divorce her, and move the fuck on.

Hudson: I know. I know. Fuck. Why does she have to be so…interesting?

Hardy: Interesting? Sheesh, good thing you’re not waxing poetic to her about your feelings, because that would be a real doozy. She wouldn’t be able to keep her hands off you.

Hudson: I don’t know how else to describe it. She’s interesting.

Hardy: Yup, keep saying it, that makes it better.

Hudson: She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever met. She has no filter and for some reason, I really like that.

Hardy: Probably because you’ve been surrounded by people your entire life, besides me and Haisley, who have always had a filter on.

Hudson: Yeah, probably. She’s also beautiful. Like…fuck, you should see her in one of my shirts.

Hardy: Okay, we’re not going there. Forget what she looks like wearing one of your shirts, make her wear a turtleneck to bed, also…STOP SHARING A BED.

Hudson: She’s my wife.

Hardy: For fuck’s sake. You know what, I can’t deal with this fuckery anymore. She’s not really your wife, you nimrod. She’s…she’s an associate who happens to be wearing a ring you put on her finger. Nothing else. This is business.

Hudson: She’s still my wife.

Hardy: Jesus Christ. Okay, well, I can see that we are still delusional. Please don’t text me when you fuck. When Jude finds out, I want to be able to tell him that I was an innocent bystander in all of this.

Hudson: You are far from innocent. You’re in deep.

Hardy: I fucking know!

“Is this really necessary?” Sloane asks as she fixes her hair in the mirror. “I’m not going to do anything embarrassing.”

I take in the robe she’s wearing and how it slightly parts in the front while she curls her hair. I know she’s not wearing anything under it, which I shouldn’t care about, but for the life of me, I can’t stop thinking about it.

“It is necessary,” I say. “I want you to be prepared. Sheridan’s wedding will require you to act a certain way. And the Mayfair Club is full of pretentious rich people who will eat you alive if you’re not prepared.”

“You know, I have watched Titanic.”

I’m sitting on the bed leaning back on my hands, looking into the bathroom and watching Sloane’s every move. She can be random and different but Titanic? Where the hell did that come from?

“How does that have anything to do with what we’re talking about?”

She finishes her last curl and sprays some hair spray over her hair before turning toward me and leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom. “Umm, I studied the class difference between Jack and Rose. I get it. You’re Rose, and I’m Jack. You’re trying to get me all gussied up and ready to hang with the wealthy, while I’m dragging you down to the cargo room and trying to fuck you in the car.”

“That’s…no. That’s not what is happening.”

“Isn’t it though?” she says as she moves toward me, her leg peeking out from the slit of her robe. “You were born with wealth and expectations. I’m just a lowly soul, looking to have a good time Irish dancing.”

“Jesus,” I mutter as she moves in even closer.

“I know what it takes to hang with Rose,” she says as she presses her hand to my shoulder and pushes at me until I’m lying flat on the bed.

Please don’t climb on my lap.

Please don’t fucking climb on my lap.

She takes a seat on the bed, right next to me, but leans down on her elbow and then dances her hand over my bare stomach. She’s more playful this morning, almost back to her regular self, and even though I’m happy about it because I couldn’t stomach the cold shoulder from her, I know I need to be hyperaware.

How I react when she’s around.

What I say.

How I touch her…

“What do you think, Hudson? Think you’ll let me draw you like one of my French girls?” Her fingers flick over my nipple, and I can feel myself start to go hard.

“No.”

She smirks. “Mm, shame. Your wife would love to see you naked.”

“Sloane.”

“Hmm?”

“Stop.”

She smiles again and slides her hand down my leg, causing me to lift right off the bed and away from her.

“Get…get dressed,” I say as I attempt to hide my half-hard dick.

“You’re no fun.”

“What the hell do you expect me to do?”

“Get into the role. Be Rose. Speak with an English accent and tell me things that you would never tell Billy Zane.”

“Get. Dressed.”

She rolls her eyes. “Ugh, you’re so annoying. Always business. That’s you. Business, business, business. What happens when you’re on your deathbed one day looking back at your life? Are you going to be happy with all of your business-focused choices? Or are you going to think back and say, remember that time I married my business partner’s sister and had the time of my goddamn life? Don’t you want those memories?”

“The reason I’d be on my deathbed is because I decided to have those memories with my business partner’s sister and he was the one who put me in the hospital.”

“Oh, it would be worth it,” she says as she stands from the bed. “Because I’m worth it.” She winks and turns away from me, dropping her robe right before she heads into the closet.

Fuck.

Me.

Hands on my hips, I try to clear that image of her perfectly round ass out of my head. I try to calm my racing heart. Tell myself not to fucking fall into the trap. Remind myself that this is what I wanted. I didn’t want her being cold to me. I hated it, actually. I like this side of her; I just wish that it wasn’t slowly eating away at my willpower.

“This class will be good for you,” I call out as I push my hand through my hair. “It will prepare you for what’s to come.”

She pokes her head out of the closet and asks, “Did you say come?”

My expression falls. “Sloane, come on.”

“Come on what? Come now? Husband, you can’t just demand it. You have to work for it.”

Jesus.

Christ.

“What kind of etiquette class is this?” Sloane whispers to me, leaning in close so her breath tickles my neck.

I glance over at her, my eyes falling to the immense amount of cleavage she has on display today. She chose a white-and-blue toile dress that’s fitted up top but loose at her hips. If it wasn’t for her tits nearly popping out the top, it would be the perfect dress to go get tea.

“I don’t know,” I say as I tear my eyes away from her cleavage. “I thought it was⁠—”

“Shh,” Madame Lori says with a snap of her finger in our direction.

Both Sloane and I straighten up.

So when I decided Sloane needed to go to etiquette class, I was thinking that it would be more of what utensils to use at a fancy dinner, things like that so she wouldn’t feel so…out of place when we are out on business.

But this…this is not what I was expecting.

First of all, I wasn’t expecting to be in the class.

Second of all, I wasn’t expecting there to be not a single table in sight, but rather just a line of chairs with an instructor toting a riding crop in her hand. When she entered the room, she slammed it against the wall, scaring everyone right out of their goddamn shoes, me included.

“You have come to me for help,” Madame Lori says. “And from the looks of it, you all seem to be in desperate need.”

I glance around the room at all of the couples. I mean, we look like a decently posh group. How could she be a judge of that? The guy in the bow tie, for instance, looks more than ready to take on a business function that includes petty small talk and low-hanging quips.

A woman to the right, who is wearing a flower fascinator in her hair, raises her hand. “Yes?” Madame Lori asks.

“Is there time to go to the bathroom?”

What a dumb-ass question. Don’t you know you always pee before entering an event? Maybe I was wrong; maybe these people do need etiquette training.

“You should have gone before,” Madame Lori says with a snap, and I inwardly applaud myself. Might have been a while since I learned the rules, but this guy still has it. “Now, I need you all to take your chairs and move them to a distinct part of the room, find your own quiet section.”

Odd but okay.

I stand up and just as I’m about to grab my chair, a resounding snap shrieks through the room, pausing all of us. We turn to look at Madame Lori and she yells, “Sit down!”

Shocked, we all sit and I can feel Sloane move in closer to me.

“When I offer you direction, you must say ‘Yes, Madame Lori.’”

Jesus. Okay.

“Now”—she moves around the room again, tapping her crop in her hand—“please, pick up your chairs and find your own distinct area in the room.”

Together as a group, we say, “Yes, Madame Lori.”

Then we grab our chairs. I take mine and Sloane’s and carry them to a corner off to the left near the closed curtains.

“Do we sit down?” Sloane whispers to me.

“I have no fucking idea,” I whisper back.

“You should know; you’ve been through this kind of class before.”

“This is different. Must be a more modern version.”

“Now, line up,” Madame Lori says, motioning for us to all line up in the middle of the floor. We do as we’re told because I don’t think anyone wants to see the markings of that riding whip on our skin.

Once we’re in position, she walks up and down the line, examining every participant in the class. When she gets to me and Sloane, she studies Sloane’s dress, and I inwardly plead for Sloane not to get picked on. Her breasts are nearly spilling out, and I know that’s not what a teacher would be looking for in an etiquette class.

“Does she belong with you?” Madame Lori asks me.

“She does. She’s my wife,” I say.

“I see.” Madame Lori steps back and looks Sloane in the eyes. “Join me.”

“Shit.”

Sloane steps forward and Madame Lori puts her into position, so Sloane is facing everyone in class.

“Take a look at…what’s your name?”

“Sloane.”

“Yes, take a look at Sloane.” Madame Lori motions her crop up and down and then carefully drags it over Sloane’s cleavage, which of course raises the hairs on the back of my neck. “Do you see this dress?” Here we go. “This dress is exactly what all of you women should be wearing.”

Umm, what?

“Raise your hand if you have not looked at this woman’s breasts since she’s walked into the room.”

I glance to the left, looking down the line of attendees, and not a single one of them raises their hands. What the fuck? The guy at the end is even wetting his lips and staring at Sloane. This is going to be a fucking problem.

“The silhouette is formal with the skirt hitting just above the ankles. The print is posh. And yet, her breasts are a promise of what she’s not afraid to show off.”

I scratch the back of my head and wonder what the hell is going on. Did etiquette classes change in the last few years? I thought I’d have to tear down one of the curtains and fashion Sloane a scarf to hide her breasts.

Madame Lori walks up to me and slides her crop over my chest. “Very well done.”

Sloane joins me and smiles with a fist pump. “Passed the first test.”

How?

Madame Lori then goes down the rest of the line, pointing out how each participant could have enhanced their outfits while I rack my brain to try to figure out what the hell I’m missing.

“Did you see everyone’s been looking at my boobs?” Sloane mutters to me. “Even you, you didn’t raise your hand.”

“Hard to miss them,” I mumble.

“I’m glad you approve, Husband.”

I want to roll my eyes, but I’m still so fucking confused.

“Please, take your seats,” Madame Lori says, with a snap of her crop. Why the hell does she have that thing in the first place?

I press my hand to Sloane’s lower back and guide her over to her chair. We both take a seat so our knees are knocking together and we’re facing each other.

“One of the first things we need to learn when it comes to etiquette in the bedroom”—in the what?—“is giving yourself over to your partner.”

Uhhh.

Sloane leans in very close and says, “What the hell is she talking about?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“Please raise your hand if you are the Dom in your relationship.”

The couples around us offer their hands up, and when I look at Sloane, she has her hand raised with a giant smile crossing her face.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Clearly I’m the Dom between us.”

“The fuck you are,” I say just as Madame Lori walks up to us and smiles.

She slides her crop over Sloane’s neck and says, “I knew you were just like me.” Then she slaps the crop against the window and says, “Subs, on your knees.”

Sloane points to the floor between us. “That would be you, Husband.”

“Clearly we’re in the wrong class.” I clear my throat. “Madame Lori.”

She whips around to look at me, the devil in her eyes. Christ, I don’t know if I would want to be caught in a bedroom with this woman. She terrifies me.

“Yes?”

“Uh, I think we might be in the wrong classroom.”

“This is the only classroom in this building. This is Etiquette 101.”

“Yes, that’s what we signed up for.”

“Then on your knees, sub,” she says, pushing at my shoulder and forcing me down to the ground.

When she walks away, Sloane covers her mouth and laughs. With Madame Lori’s back to us, I quickly take out my phone and search my email for the confirmation of this class. That’s when I read the name of the school under Madame Lori’s name.

Madame Lori: a school of etiquette for the kinks.

“Jesus Christ,” I say. “I booked the wrong school.”

“Really?” Sloane says as she slides her leg over my shoulder. “I don’t know, this feels like it might be the right school.”

“We’re getting out of here, Sloane.”

“Did I just hear you correctly?” Madame Lori says. “Are you trying to dominate your Dom?”

“No, there’s just been some⁠—”

Madame Lori pushes me forward, bending me at the hips just enough for her to slap her riding crop across my ass.

“Motherfucker,” I yell, causing Sloane to snort and cover her mouth again.

“You listen to your Dom.” Madame Lori releases me. “Good thing you brought him to this class, Sloane; it seems as though he needs the training.”

“Could not agree more,” Sloane says.

“Now, submit.” Madame Lori waits for me to move.

“I… What?”

Squatting down, Madame Lori gets right in my face and says, “Bow your head to your Dom and submit to her.”

Not wanting to get whipped in the ass again, I look up at Sloane, who can’t keep it together, and I slowly lower my head, bowing to her.

Her hand finds my hair as she says, “Such a good boy.”

“That’s it,” Madame Lori says as I feel like the biggest asshole in the world, bowing to my goddamn assistant while her leg is draped over my shoulder. “Tell me, Sloane, does he listen to you in bed?”

“It’s why we’re here,” Sloane says. “He has yet to make me come.”

I’m going to kill her.

“Well.” Madame Lori stands. “We’re going to change that. Don’t worry. We will give him all the tools he needs to give you everything you deserve.”

“Thank you,” Sloane says.

“Now,” Madame Lori says to the class. “Subs, I want you to look your Doms in the eyes and tell them that you are there to serve them.”

I lift my head and look at Sloane. “I’m not saying that.”

Sloane’s hand glides over my cheek. “Oh, Hudson, when will you learn? You will receive pleasure once I start receiving pleasure.”

“Cut the shit, Sloane.”

“Hmm, that doesn’t sound like you want to serve me. Maybe try again, this time with less anger.”

“I’m not fucking saying it.”

“That’s a shame because now I’m going to have to raise my hand and get Madame Lori to come over here and spank my naughty boy again.”

She starts to raise her hand, and I quickly say, “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

“Say it, Hudson, or I raise my hand.” I don’t say anything. I remain still, and she drops her leg from my shoulder and leans forward, offering me the best view of her tits. “Say it, my good boy.”

“Sloane…”

“Say it or I’m raising my hand.” She starts to raise it again. When I don’t say anything, she raises it fully and calls out, “Madame Lori.”

Panic ensues because I don’t want to be spanked, and despite not knowing what the hell is going on, I mutter, “I’m here to serve.”

“A problem over there?” Madame Lori asks.

Sloane looks at me, eyebrow raised.

So I say it a little louder. “I’m here to serve.”

“Here to serve…who?”

“Is there a problem?”

I glance at Madame Lori and that riding crop and then look Sloane in the eyes. “I’m here to serve you.”

“Not a problem,” Sloane says, keeping her eyes on me. “Such a good boy,” she says and then leans forward and kisses me on the nose.

I don’t think this could get any worse.

“His balls are really sensitive,” Sloane says as she rubs my back while I’m positioned on all fours, tied up with rope, and feeling like a goddamn hog ready to be roasted over a fire.

“If that’s the case, you don’t have to tie his balls. You can leave those free,” Madame Lori says, also rubbing my back. “It’s a shame they’re so sensitive. Ball play can be very pleasurable for both parties.”

“I know, that’s what I’ve been telling him, but anytime I go remotely near them, he comes.”

“Oh,” Madame Lori says. “So they’re very sensitive.”

You’d think I’d be defending myself at this point, but nope. Coming from her being near my balls is barely a blip in what I’ve been through today…during this three-hour-long fucking class.

She has told Madame Lori, who has paid extra special attention to us, that I squeal—yes, she said squeal—when she plays with my nipples and that I kick my legs when I go down on her, which is why she’s had a hard time coming because the kicking has been distracting.

Madame Lori said she had a solution for that, hence why I’m tied up at the moment.

I’ve also been labeled as the early ejaculator of the group, the man with the large boner, and finally, Baby Blue Eyes by one of the other Doms in the class.

I’ve been rolled on my back, on my stomach; I’ve had my head tucked, lifted, my ass spanked several times; and I’ve watched another man come in his jeans because of how hard Madame Lori was spanking him.

Legit his eyes rolled in the back of his head as he groaned and moaned.

Easily the most uncomfortable situation I’ve ever been in, and yet, there’s Sloane, fucking thriving, asking questions, getting into the spirit of the classroom.

“Would you mind if I touched him there?” Madame Lori asks.

“I mind,” I nearly yelp. “I mind if you touch me.”

“Silence,” Madame Lori says. “That is not your choice to make. You gave yourself over to your Dom. Best you remember that.”

I swear on my left nut if Sloane allows Madame Lori to touch me, I will hand her divorce papers today and ask for my money back because this is not the bride I purchased.

“Actually, I think I want to be the only one touching him,” Sloane says, finally making some good choices.

“I respect that. Can I guide your hand, then?”

“Of course,” Sloane says.

What? There should be no guiding. Also, guiding where?

“If you want to avoid him ejaculating so quickly and taking the fun out of a session, have you tried rubbing down his crack?”

“I haven’t,” Sloane says.

“Well, it’s a great way to tease but not tease him where he’s more sensitive. Place your hand on his tailbone.”

Sloane, don’t do it.

Don’t fucking do it.

Her hand lands on my tailbone.

Yup, she’s doing it.

And I’m regretting not wearing jeans right now, because these chino shorts are not the thickest material.

“With your middle finger, slowly slide it down his crack.”

I clench and hold my breath, not wanting to be turned on⁠—

Smack.

“Mother…fucker,” I yell as the riding crop hits me in the ass.

I learned about two hours ago, when I asked whether the spanking was allowed, that I signed off on it when I registered for the class. I chastised myself for not reading the fine print.

“Unclench,” Madame Lori snaps at me.

Breathing heavily, I unclench my ass and wonder what the other students are doing. I hear a little bit of moaning in the background, but my ears are ringing from the onslaught of emotions and feelings pushing through me.

“That’s my good boy,” Sloane says as she reaches around and squeezes my nipple. “Squeezing his nipple is like giving a dog a treat for a job well done.”

“My sub loves when I play with his nipples,” Madame Lori says.

Seriously, when I get out of this classroom, I’m going to have a really long conversation with Sloane.

“Okay, now slide your hand down his crack, but stop right before you reach his balls.”

Sloane slides her hand down my shorts, and I stare at my hands holding me up, attempting not to feel anything. Just a normal day on the job, nothing to worry about here. Just working with my assistant, learning things that won’t apply to us in the future, but gaining life experience.

Yup, that’s it.

There is no way I’m going to get turned on⁠—

“Now drum your fingers close to his testicles, so close, he can feel the vibration.”

Sloane starts drumming and Madame Lori praises her.

“Yes, just like that. Continue to drum until he gets hard. I’ll be back to check on you.”

“Thank you,” Sloane says.

When Madame Lori walks away, I mutter, “What the hell are you thanking her for?”

“Uh, this is good information.”

“We don’t do this shit,” I say as she moves her fingers closer to my sack. Christ, that…that feels a little good.

“I know we don’t do this, but that doesn’t mean when we get divorced and I start my new life in the house I own with my sister that I’m not going to want to drum another man’s perineum. As you know, I’ve only been with one man who’s been able to give me pleasure. I don’t want to risk another disappointment. If I go into my next relationship knowing how to drum, it could be the key to unlocking pleasure with my new partner.”

“Can you stop talking about other men?”

“Jealous?”

“No.”

“Liar.” She leans forward so I can see her pretty face and asks, “You hard yet?”

“No, Sloane.”

“Damn it.” Then she lifts up and shouts, “He’s not hard yet.”

“Get closer to his balls,” Madame Lori calls out.

“Must do what the doctor orders,” Sloane says and then moves her hand right over the base of my balls and starts tapping on them.

Fuck.

Fuck…me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and I feel my ass lift in the air without my permission as my cock starts to grow.

“Stop,” I say.

“Stop?” she asks, coming in close to me.

“Yes, fucking stop.”

I can hear the smile in her voice as she says, “Getting hard?”

“What the fuck do you think?”

“That my work here is done…Husband.”