: Chapter 17

I don’t know how to read Hudson right now. He seems charged, irritated, ready to possibly rip one particular person’s head off…ahem.

Dinner was awkward and uncomfortable, no thanks to Devin.

The food was amazing, the wine even better.

The conversation was…intriguing. It got me thinking about things. About what Stacey and I could possibly do with our house. Almost gave me a vision of what I should do with my life. Still working it out in my muddled brain, but there’s something there.

I would say, overall, I did a good job presenting myself and representing Hudson. Although Hudson is fuming, and I can’t be sure if it’s because of the accidental sex talk I brought to the table or if it’s because of Devin. Either way, the moment we stepped into the hotel, he went straight to the closet and started undressing without saying a word.

It’s late, we’re both jet-lagged, and I can only imagine him wanting to wash away this dinner. So I slip into the closet as well just as he sets his clothes on the hanger for dry cleaning.

“Can you unzip me?” I ask, pulling my hair to the side.

He doesn’t say anything, just walks up behind me, places his hand on my hip, and slowly tugs the zipper down until the fabric is loose on my shoulders.

I turn around and look him in the eyes. “Thank you.”

He nods and is about to step aside but then pulls a shirt from one of his shelves and hands it to me. He doesn’t have to say anything for me to know what he wants me to do.

I slip out of my dress and put it on a hanger next to Hudson’s suit. I remove my bra and underwear and slip his shirt over my head. The soft, rich cotton feels like a warm blanket, wrapping me up in the best way possible. Seriously, nothing is better than wearing one of his shirts, especially after having to wear that dress all evening with the sequins poking my arms.

Once dressed, I move into the bathroom, where Hudson is brushing his teeth. In silence, we get ready for bed together, me taking longer because I have to remove my makeup and go through my skincare routine. The difference in time between men getting ready for bed and women is entirely unfair. Once I put on my last bit of lotion, I turn off the light and head into the bedroom, where Hudson is typing away on his phone.

I ignore him, go to my side of the bed, and slip under the covers while turning out my nightstand light. With my back to him, I adjust my head on my pillow and shut my eyes, trying to rest my head after the insane day I’ve had. Too much happened—too much for someone who hasn’t been in London very long.

And a lot is going on tomorrow; before we left the restaurant, Sheridan asked if we could go to tea tomorrow at the Mayfair Club, so while the boys are in the cigar room, I’ll be partaking in a spot of tea.

Rest is key, especially so I don’t slip up again and start saying something like…how big Hudson’s dick is.

Spoiler alert, massive.

Did I hear him in the shower? Yes. Did I tell myself not to look? Absolutely. Did I look anyway? How could I not? I walked into that bathroom like I was handed a private invitation to a show. And I watched. I watched that man masturbate like my life depended on it, and it was easily the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, especially knowing that I was the reason he was doing it.

The man is ripped, head-to-toe muscle wrapping around every limb and his entire torso. And when he’s turned on, when he’s ready to come, the veins in his arms get thicker, more prominent. His expression, tense yet sexy. His hand so large, pulling on his long, thick cock…

God, I’m getting turned on just thinking about it.

I will never get over the sight of him in that shower, wet and pleasuring himself. That will stay with me forever. And whenever I go to pleasure myself again, I know exactly what I’ll be thinking of⁠—

“What are you doing?” Hudson says, startling me.

“Sl-sleeping,” I say.

His hand wraps around my stomach, and once again, just like last night, he pulls me across the cold bed and right up against his body.

“You sleep here,” he whispers.

“Oh, I wasn’t sure, you know, because of how quiet you’ve been.”

“This is where you sleep at all times. Understood?”

“Yes,” I answer, feeling the frostiness of his voice against my ear.

“Good.” He rests his hand on my stomach like last night and tucks his other arm under his pillow.

“Um…is everything okay?” I ask.

“Fine,” he says, his hand curling around the fabric of my shirt.

“Are you sure? Because you seem agitated. And if it was because of what I said at dinner, I just want you to know that I was nervous and⁠—”

“It wasn’t you.”

“Was it Devin?” I ask on a wince.

He lifts up to look me in the eyes. “What the hell do you think?”

“He’s not that bad of a guy, Hudson.”

His eyes widen. “Are you really defending him right now?”

Yeah, what the hell are you doing, Sloane?

“I just don’t want you thinking⁠—”

“I’ll tell you what I think, Sloane. I think the guy is a dick and has no respect for the fact that you’re wearing my goddamn ring on your finger. I saw the way he was looking at you. I saw the way he said goodbye. The asshole is trying to make his move.”

“Hudson, he’s not trying⁠—”

“You’re mine,” he nearly growls. “Do you hear me, Sloane? You’re mine, and I don’t fucking appreciate that man sniffing around you. I don’t want him anywhere near you.”

“I mean, I don’t want to purposefully seek him out, but if I’m going to be part of the wedding, then I’m going to have to dance with him.”

“No, you’re not, and I’ll make sure of it.”

“Hudson, you don’t want to make this a thing. Remember this is business, and you want to make sure Sheridan and Archie are comfortable.”

“We are doing them a favor with you as a bridesmaid. They should make us comfortable.”

“Are you forgetting all rules about business?” I ask. “That’s not how⁠—”

“Do you know how many times I caught him staring at your tits, Sloane?”

“I… Was he?”

“Twelve times. I caught him twelve fucking times. As your husband, I don’t fucking appreciate that.” His hand moves down to the hem of my shirt, and then to my surprise, he slides his palm against the skin of my stomach. My breath catches in my throat from the touch. “You’re mine; this is mine. I don’t want him thinking he can just fucking look at you, undressing you with his eyes at the table anytime he wants.” His thumb strokes my skin. “You’re mine, not his.”

I roll my teeth over my bottom lip. “I…I know.”

“Do you?” he asks. “Do you realize how important this is to me? I might not be able to have you, Sloane, but the fuck if someone else is going to while we’re together.”

His hand slides higher up my stomach and my body lights up as his thumb inches closer to my breasts. What I wouldn’t give for him to play with me, to touch me, at least give me something to help with this itching need I have for his touch.

“I don’t want anyone else,” I say.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” I say. “I’m married to you, Hudson. You’re the only one I want, the only one I think about.”

In fact, it wouldn’t matter if Devin made a move, if I’m honest. This man in the bed next to me, holding me captive as if I’m really his, is who I want. Sexually, at least. His new territorial nature is only turning me on. Devin doesn’t hold a candle to this man. Even though I know Hudson will never be really mine. I’m his for now. If only he’d take me.

He wets his lips.

I spread my legs apart.

“I want you so bad, Hudson. So fucking bad. Not him. You.”

His breath becomes labored as he stares down at me. In my head, I keep saying, Break. Break.

Fucking break!

Please, for the love of God, end this sexual tension.

His hand moves another inch up my stomach, just below my breast now.

“Touch me,” I whisper. “Please, Hudson, just touch me.”

His eyes flit back and forth between mine, his mind working a mile a minute. I can see that he wants it. I can see that he is teetering on the edge of giving us both relief, but then he says, “Touch yourself.”

“Hudson—”

“Hand between your legs, Sloane. Touch yourself.”

“I don’t want that. I want you.”

“And I want to see you touch yourself, so fucking listen.”

The command in his voice is so intense, so freaking sexy, that I can’t do anything but listen to it. I move my hand between my legs, where I slide my finger along my clit.

“Oh God,” I moan as I sink into the mattress.

“Are you wet?” he asks.

“So wet.” I bring my hand up between us and say, “Want a taste?”

“I fucking do, but I can’t.”

Hope slams hard in my chest as I realize that he might not break at all, that this is all I might get from him. If it is, then I better soak up every second of it.

I press two fingers against my clit and start circling it, giving it just enough pressure and movement to heighten the pleasure that’s already ripping through me.

“I wish this were you. I wish you were playing with my clit while driving your huge cock inside me. God, I want it, Hudson. I want you to fuck me so hard. I want to feel you bottom out and touch me places no man has ever touched me before.”

He wets his lips and his thumb inches upward, just underneath the swell of my breasts.

“Take a swipe,” I say. “You know you want to feel me. Just one brush, Hudson.”

He lets out a deep breath and I wait patiently to see if he will do it, if he’ll listen. I hold my breath, hoping that he will until…his thumb barely caresses my breast.

“God, yes,” I say, scooting down just enough to make the back of his hand touch me. “Play with my nipples, Hudson. Please.”

“No,” he says, still holding strong. “I fucking can’t. Just…fuck, just let me see you come.”

“And when I do, what are you going to do?” I ask as my hand that’s not pleasuring me finds his erection.

His hips buck back. “Don’t, Sloane.”

“Don’t what? Help you finish?”

“Focus on you.”

“I am, but I just can’t…hit the right spot.”

I need that right spot.

I feel crazed, teetering on the edge. Desperate for more contact. One swipe of my breast isn’t going to cut it.

It’s not going to make me lose control like I want to.

So taking a risk, I sit up on the bed, push at his chest so he’s lying flat on the mattress, and straddle his lap before he can do anything about it. I’m met with a surprised expression from him while I grip both of his wrists and pin them just above his head.

“Sloane…fuck…we can’t.”

But that’s the problem. We are two consenting adults.

We can.

Wanting to prove that, I find the hard ridge of his cock and glide my center right over him—it’s one thrust, one gloriously delicious thrust.

“Fuck,” he breathes out as I wait.

I wait for him to move me.

I wait for him to tell me to stop.

I wait for him to bolt out of this bed, but when he doesn’t move, doesn’t even attempt it, I rock against him.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers.

“God, you’re so big. This is what I want; this is what I need. You.”

“Sloane, this… Fuck.” His jaw clenches and his hips thrust up into mine. “Fuck, I want more.” I reach for the hem of my shirt to pull it off, but he quickly says, “No. Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Just…don’t. Just ride me.”

Seeing that he’s given me an inch, I’m not going to take a mile. But I am going to ride out what he’s willing to offer and take full advantage of it. I place my hands on his chest, propping myself up, and then start thrusting over his erection, loving the friction and how quickly I can get myself ready.

“So good, baby. So fucking good,” he says, his eyes on me the entire time. “I can feel how wet you are through my briefs.”

“Because I’ve wanted this for so long. I’ve wanted you. And I want more. This isn’t good enough. I want your tongue, your cock, your hands. Just, fuck, touch me, do something, Hudson.”

“I can’t,” he says, keeping his hands in place. “Just fucking use me to get off.”

“I want more.”

“This is all I can give.”

Frustrated, I dig my fingers into his chest and pump my hips over him, riding him harder, grinding into him with more intensity, trying to fill the void he keeps making.

The entire time, he doesn’t touch me, doesn’t even lift his hands to my hips to help. He just lets me use him for my own pleasure.

“Fuck,” I say as I feel my stomach start to twist, my clit throbbing, looking for that last push.

Frustration rips through me because I want more. I need more, and he won’t give it to me.

“This…this isn’t good enough.” I slow down my hips. “I want to come, but I⁠—”

I don’t get a chance to finish as I’m tossed onto my back, my legs are spread wide, and his hands fall to either side of my head right before he starts thrusting his brief-covered erection against me.

“Oh my God,” I say as I claw at his shoulders. A whole new wave of pleasure rushes over me. “Yes, Hudson. Oh my God, yes.”

His eyes fixate on where he’s humping me, only the thin layer of his briefs between us. But it’s all I need. This is what I needed, for him to take control, for him to want me just as much as I want him.

“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Yes, yes, Hudson. Oh my God…” My body starts to seize, pleasure pools into my stomach, and then a burst of light surges through me as I tip over the edge and my orgasm rocks through me as such a hefty spiral that I’m clinging on to him, legs wrapped around his waist, holding him tight until my orgasm slows. “Oh my God,” I say breathlessly, my legs relaxing.

Hudson pulls away, lifts my shirt up so my stomach is showing, and then he pulls his cock out and right in front of me, starts stroking himself. It takes only a few before he groans and then busts all over my stomach. Drop after drop until he’s completely done.

He hovers over me, breathing heavily before he swipes his hand across my stomach and leans forward, his lips right next to my ear as he whispers, “Mine.”

Chills break out all over my body as he gets off the bed and goes to the bathroom.

I lie there, thrumming, his cum hot on my stomach, my mind swirling with what we just did as my body settles.

Jesus, that was…that was really hot.

That was unexpected.

That just fucked with me big-time because if I can experience an orgasm like that with him when we’re just dry humping, then what the hell would he be able to do with all clothes off?

I push my shirt down and then stand up just as Hudson walks back into the room with a washcloth.

“Let me,” he says, but I shake my head.

I take the washcloth from him and then go into the closet, where I pluck another shirt from his pile. I then walk into the bathroom, shut the door, and remove my shirt. I stare down at where he marked me, fascinated.

The whisper of that one singular word pulsing through my veins.

Mine.

Mine.

I believe him.

I fully believe everything about the one single word.

I’m his. Right now, in this moment, as I wear his wedding ring, I’m his. And he might not give me all of him, but he sure as hell is claiming all of me.

I set the washcloth down, and instead, I turn on the shower. I tie my hair up into a bun and slide into the shower, where I rinse off using the delicious-smelling soap that the hotel provides. When I’m done, I dry off, throw on some lotion, and slip his shirt over my head. I take a moment to stare in the mirror. My cheeks are still flushed, but that’s the only sign that I just felt Hudson Hopper, felt how close he could be, felt how good he could make me feel.

I nibble my lower lip, envisioning what his five o’clock shadow could do to my skin, what his mouth and teeth could mark.

I need it, desperately.

And if I have to wait, if I have to keep taking these small steps to get there, I will. Because he’s what I want. Everything about him. I need him in my life, and I won’t rest until I have him.

I turn off the light and open the door. His light on his nightstand is on, but instead of looking at his phone, his hands are behind his head, and he’s waiting for me.

I feel his eyes track me as I round the bed and then slip under the covers. He turns off the light and turns toward me. I keep my back toward him and wait…

And wait…

And then his hand wraps around my stomach and he pulls me in close to his chest.

“I thought I fucking told you this is where you sleep.”

I smile to myself. “Sorry, must have forgot.”

Sloane: OMG OMG OMG we dry humped last night and it was the greatest thing I’ve ever experienced and I will forever and ever and ever want to dry hump with him.

Stacey: I’m about to go to bed and this is the freaking text you send me?

Sloane: I’m sorry but I couldn’t keep it in. I went down to the lobby for some coffee so I could get away from him. I swear he’s stalking me like prey now. He had a little taste and now he wants the main course.

Stacey: What do you mean?

Sloane: I mean he woke up this morning and he has not taken his eyes off me. He’s always on his phone, always typing away, but it’s different now. It’s like he’s waiting to pounce and it’s thrilling. And the dry humping, omg! Gah, and I saw his dick and I know you don’t like dicks, but Jesus, Stacey, even you would like this one. So big and long and thick and I rode that cock hard last night, through his briefs, and it brought me to completion.

Stacey: This is all…too much. I don’t think I want to know about thick dicks.

Sloane: Stacey, this is HUGE! Just like his penis.

Stacey: Dear God. You realize this is bad, right? You weren’t supposed to cross this line?

Sloane: I know but I can’t even remember how it happened. Oh yeah, he wanted me to masturbate in front of him and I was trying but then I wanted so much more. And that’s when I started riding him but I couldn’t find the right spot and then he flipped me to my back and pulsed against me. I’m surprised he didn’t plow a hole through the wall from the force. Oh, and then he came on my stomach and whispered “mine” in my ear. My nipples are hard just thinking about it.

Stacey: God, that’s the great thing about being with a woman, you don’t have to worry about a man marking you up with his freaking semen!

Sloane: I love it. I want him to mark me all over my face.

Stacey: And I’m done with this. Good night.

Sloane: Wait, I’m not done. I have questions, I have stories. I want to tell you how great my orgasm felt.

Stacey: Night.

Ugh. What good is having a twin if you can’t tell them about your orgasms? I grab my coffee from the half wall I set it on and then start toward the elevators only to stop when I see Hudson waiting by them, arms crossed, waiting for me.

Dear God in heaven.

Is it possible to have an orgasm just from the sight of someone?

Wearing a pair of expertly ironed black dress pants and a matching button-up shirt, he looks dark and dangerous, like a CIA operative ready to take down anyone who comes in his path.

Coffee in one hand, phone in the other, I walk up to him and say, “What are you doing down here?”

“Looking for you,” he says as he presses his hand to the nape of my neck and guides me toward an open elevator.

“Oh?”

When the doors shut, he closes in on me, pressing me against the wall.

“Was there anything in particular you were looking to talk about? Anything that you felt needed to be discussed?”

“I don’t like it when you leave and don’t tell me where you’re going.”

“Ah, I see, the whole possessive thing is still carrying over from last night, and I guess…the day before that and the day before that.” I hold up my coffee cup between us. “Just getting some coffee. Not running away or being taken.”

“I could have had them bring the coffee up to you. That’s why we have a staff for our every need.” His hand strokes my cheek, and it’s such an intimate touch that I nearly melt right here in the elevator.

“I wanted to give my legs some time to loosen up. Cramping is never a good thing.”

The elevator dings and we step off it and into our room, which he opens with his key card. When we’re inside, he asks, “Who were you texting? Is that why you went downstairs? You wanted privacy away from me?”

“No,” I say with a shake of my head.

“Then who were you texting?”

“That’s, uh…that’s private information.”

His brows narrow as he moves in closer to me. “Sloane, who the hell were you texting?”

I take a step back. “If you think it’s Devin, then you are mistaken.”

“Then who was it?”

“Do you really not trust me?”

“I don’t trust him,” he says, closing the space between us again.

I press my hand against his chest. “You don’t have to trust him, but you can trust me and the fact that I know who my husband is.”

His jaw ticks as he thinks about it. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I ask, surprised he’s dropping it like that.

“Okay,” he answers as he takes a seat on the couch. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” He blows out a heavy breath, and I can see just how complicated his thoughts are by the way his brows bounce around, ranging from concern to passiveness, to a more relaxed state. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man war with himself as much as Hudson does.

I sit next to him and curl my legs under me. “It was my sister. I was texting her.”

“Why did you need privacy for that?” he asks, his hand landing on my thigh.

“Because I was telling her how huge your dick is and how I got to dry hump it last night, and it felt amazing. And if it felt that amazing with clothes on, I can only imagine what it would be like with clothes off, you know, stuff like that.”

The smallest of grins turns up the corners of his lips but is quickly washed away when he looks down at his lap. “I…I shouldn’t have done that last night. I’m sorry.”

“God, please don’t with the morning after apology. Nothing hurts worse than an apology after an orgasm.”

“I’m serious, Sloane. That never should have happened.”

“I hear you loud and clear,” I say. “And yet I’m glad it did happen.”

“I’m not,” he says softly, then leans back against the couch, blowing out a heavy breath. “Fuck, I’m getting distracted. I honestly can’t even remember why I’m out here, why I’m doing this. All I can think about is you.”

“I’m flattered.” I press my hand to my chest. I know he’s feeling slightly tortured at the moment, but I like seeing him not bent over his phone. I like hearing him speak to me, telling me about his feelings. “Thank you. It’s not very often you hear of someone constantly thinking about you. Now, in your thoughts, am I bent over a lot?”

“Sloane,” he grumbles. “I’m being fucking serious.”

“So am I. A girl wants to know what positions you’re drawn to. More than that, a wife wants to know what her husband loves sexually.”

He slides his hand over my hip as he looks me in the eyes. “You’re torturing me, Sloane. Fucking torturing me. Last night should have never happened, you and I both know that.”

“And yet you came all over my stomach and claimed me as yours.” I tap my chin. “Seems like you kind of wanted it to happen.”

“Why are you making this hard?”

“Because I like it when you’re hard.”

He drags his hand over his face. “This is why age gap doesn’t work.”

“Mm, or is this why it does?”

“Christ.” He starts to get up, but I push on his chest.

Easing up on him, I say, “How about this? Last night was amazing, I fucking loved every second of it, and even though I want so much more, I won’t ask for it. The next move is on you.”

“There won’t be a next move.”

I shrug. “Okay, if that’s what you choose, then that’s okay with me.” I stand up and head toward the bedroom. “I’m going to get dressed.” Since I took a quick shower already this morning, I slip out of my shorts and shirt and then reach for my underwear, where I find the ice-blue sets Hudson got for me.

Smiling to myself, I slip them on, adjust the cups of the bra, and then with all the confidence in the world, I walk out into the living room where Hudson is typing on his phone. I lean against the doorjamb and ask, “Anything in particular you want me to wear to tea?”

He looks up from his phone to answer, only to take in what I’m wearing. His expression immediately morphs into hunger, and a rush of female satisfaction pulses through me. Because I did that. In a matter of seconds, I was able to change his mood.

He tosses his phone to the couch and walks up to me. I continue to lean against the doorway as he closes the space. He places his forearm above my head and leans forward, his other hand landing on my hip. “Why are you fucking with me?” he says in a tortured voice.

“You claimed me; therefore, I wear what you want.”

“Fuck,” he says as his finger traces the waistband of my thong. “This looks so fucking good on you.”

“I’m glad you like it,” I say. “Anything for my husband.”

His finger trails up my stomach, the sensation turning me on immediately. When he reaches my breasts, he traces the lace for a few seconds but then drops his hand, only for his eyes to meet mine.

“You need to wear a dress and a hat for tea.”

“Okay, anything else? Do you want to pick it?”

He shakes his head. “Surprise me.”

“That I can do.” And then because I can, I lift up on my toes and kiss him on the nose. When I pull away, his eyes meet mine again, but he doesn’t move. He stays there. “Anything else I can help you with?”

His eyes flit down to my mouth and then back up to my eyes. His head moves in even closer, our foreheads touching now.

“What do you want, Hudson?” I ask as his hand travels up my side, to my back, and to the clasp of my bra. “Tell me what you want.”

He wets his lips and I can see him wavering, fighting with himself.

“Do you want me naked?”

“Fuck,” he breathes out. “I do. I really fucking do.”

I reach behind me to undo my bra, but he stops me, his eyes opening to mine.

“Don’t.”

“Do you want to do it?” I ask.

“No, I don’t…I don’t want you doing anything. I want you to get dressed.”

“Hudson,” I say in disappointment. “Just take what you want.”

He shakes his head and then lifts away. “No. I won’t.” He then leans forward and kisses the tip of my nose, but instead of pulling away, he lingers, his mouth moving what feels like a centimeter south, right above mine.

I won’t do it. I won’t close the distance—it has to be him.

He has to be the one that makes the move.

“Do it,” I whisper. “Kiss me.”

He wets his lips again, and I swear, when I feel him lean forward just a little more, my heart stops beating and my breath seizes in my lungs. I wait.

I wait for that moment.

For the one both of us has been waiting for.

Just kiss me.

Please.

End this misery and kiss me, Hudson.

He sucks in a sharp breath and then leans away, pushing off the wall and taking two steps back. He tugs on his hair and stares me down.

Jesus, I’ve never seen a man with such strong willpower.

Got to give him credit.

“Dress and hat it is, then,” I say as I slip back into the bedroom.