Hudson

Chapter Thirteen

The next few days are painful. I work punishing hours, throwing all my energy into solving the problems at Plexis. But the nights are long and lonely. Neither alcohol nor jerking off relieves any of my need. If I were a subject in one of my own experiments, my point would be proved—affinity toward another person makes one flawed. Still, as miserable and weak as I am now, I wouldn’t give up the moments I’ve shared with Alayna.

I’d planned to fly directly to Chicago on Wednesday for another meeting regarding Plexis on Thursday morning, but I come back to Manhattan late Tuesday night instead. It’s harder to fight my desire to run to her, but I find comfort being in the same city. I spend the night in the loft, and thoughts of our time together accompany me as I drift in and out of a fitful sleep.

First thing Wednesday morning, I receive a report from Jordan. He’s still driving Alayna and, more importantly, still reporting back to me. His report is somewhat banal, except that I note Alayna’s stopped by Pierce Industries the last two days. Her behavior might be written off as meaningless to someone else, but I understand things about her that others don’t. I wonder if her visits are an indication of falling into past habits.

The idea worries me. It’s a minor win for Celia.

At the same time, I’m blanketed by a warm tingle that is almost comforting. It’s a shitty thing to take joy in, but I’m not triumphing in her setbacks. I’m hopeful, instead, that her actions indicate something else—that I mean something to her. That I’m on her mind. That she feels some affection toward me as I feel toward her.

Though why it matters is beyond me.

It’s after an impromptu lunch meeting with one of my advertising teams that I see her. I’ve walked my associates to the elevator, one of the men finishing a joke as the doors open.

And there she is.

“Alayna.” Even saying her name is a treat I’ve denied myself. I’m dizzy at the sight of her, but I’m aware of where we are and of what our relationship is, and I manage to keep much of my surprise to myself.

She’s frozen, a deer-in-the-headlights expression written all over her face. I hold a hand out to her. She takes it and I’m elated. How simple to be thrilled at only the touch of a woman’s hand? It’s ridiculous and wonderful all at once.

I turn to my team. “Gentlemen, my girlfriend has decided to surprise me with a visit to my office.”

The men make some wisecrack that I miss because I’m completely absorbed in her smile. Completely absorbed in her.

The next few minutes are a blur, but finally, I have Alayna with me in my office. Alone.

Nothing about this is a good idea.

With great strength, I drop my hand and distance myself from her physically and figuratively. “What are you doing here, Alayna?”

She doesn’t look at me. That helps.

As she works out her answer, I study her. I understand her, I think. The feeling of wanting to be near someone and knowing you shouldn’t be. Yeah, I get that.

After a while, she hugs her arms around herself and takes a deep breath. “I, uh, I wanted to see if you were back.”

This is difficult for her. It’s difficult for me too. “I got back late last night. You could have called. Or texted.” It’s impressive that I can seemingly remain so cold about her presence when in reality I’m spinning with elation.

“You don’t answer my texts.”

“I didn’t answer one text.”

A tear runs down her cheek. “It was my only text.”

Our eyes remain locked, and I find myself slipping into examination mode. I’m collecting data—the vulnerability in the way she stands, the frailty in her voice, the weight of her tears. But unlike the other times I’ve studied women in the same position, I’m moved by her. I can’t stay hard with her, even if it’s what’s best for both of us, and I falter. “I didn’t realize it was important to you. I’ll make a better effort to respond in the future.”

She gapes.

I’ve surprised her as much as myself, and I fear my softening has done irreparable damage. I straighten, assuming a commanding position. “But you can’t just come here like this. How do you think it looks to have my girlfriend wandering around the lobby, riding the elevators when I’m not even in town?”

“How did you…?”

“I pay people to know things, Alayna.”

More tears fall. “I…I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Please, don’t do it again.” I’m ripped apart. I want to pull her in my arms, not admonish her.

Her forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?” I’m as confused as she is. Was I too stern? I thought I’d been gentle. Well, as gentle as I could be without betraying us both.

But she’s sobbing now. “I’ve fucked things up, Hudson! You should be calling your security to escort me out. I’m a mess, and you’re taking it all in stride.”

I step toward her, hating the space between us. “No.” God, how I want to touch her. “That’s what I meant about being around someone who understands. I know about compulsion. I know about having to do things you know you shouldn’t.”

Not able to help myself, I reach forward and wipe a tear from her cheek, my hand lingering there longer than necessary. “When you feel you can’t help yourself, talk to me first.”

Am I deluding myself? Thinking that somehow we could be like this together—healing each other, fixing each other? Is it really that far-fetched? If I forget about Celia and the game and only concentrate on us—on me and Alayna—it almost seems…possible.

She meets my gaze, and I think she feels the same. Where could this take us? I wonder…

But then my secretary’s voice echoes over the intercom. “Mr. Pierce, your one-thirty is here.”

Reality enters and I remember that the space between us is for her own good. I sigh and drop my hand from her face. I miss the warmth of her skin already. “I apologize for cutting this short, Alayna, but I have another meeting now. And I’m leaving again this evening.”

She doesn’t hide her disappointment, though I’m not sure which part of what I’ve said bothers her. Then she says, “I hate that you’re leaving. It makes me feel a little distraught.”

I feel like a Christmas tree the way all my nerves light up at that small admission. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” I squeeze her hand. “Join me tomorrow night for the symphony.”

I’m selfish. I’m sadistic. I’m sending her to slaughter. But I’m elated because it’s less than thirty hours and I’ll be with her again.

The euphoria follows me through the rest of the day, and when Alayna texts me later, I answer. When her message asks, “Are you thinking of me?” I don’t hesitate and answer honestly, “Always.”

My plane is delayed leaving Chicago, and I’m late for the symphony. I’m anxious as I rush through the lobby at Lincoln Center. Not only am I eager to see Alayna, but I’m going crazy imagining all the shit Celia could have stirred up in my absence. Luckily, Madge and Warren are also in attendance. Hopefully their presence will keep their daughter in check.

I enter our box just as the lights go down. Alayna’s back is to me, but even just the nape of her neck and the curve of her shoulders is enough to make my cock twitch and my chest warm. I can tell that she’s wearing the dress I requested. Though I can’t see how she looks in it now, I know from memory how the long black gown hugs her curves, how the corset ties that lace up her back are going to be a bitch to untie when I strip her later.

Except I’m not stripping her later. I have to remember that’s not what she’s asked for.

My phone buzzes with an incoming text and I glance at it. It’s from Alayna. “Where are you?”

I slip down the steps to my chair and lean toward her to whisper in her ear as I sit. “Right beside you.”

The music begins as I nod a greeting to the Werners, but all I’m aware of is Alayna. The look of her, the warmth of her, the smell of her—it’s all consuming. She doesn’t want anything but the pretend between us, but I take her hand and justify it as a part of the show for Celia’s parents. I hold it, clinging to her touch until intermission. If this is all I have of her, I’ll soak up every last bit.

We do well with our performance as a couple. The Werners seem to buy our relationship. I’m concerned when Alayna accompanies Celia and Madge to the restroom, but I can’t do anything to prevent them from using the facilities. My eyes dart from Warren to the box entrance the entire time they’re gone.

Warren notices. “Ah, young love,” he says. “I remember when I couldn’t stand being without Madge. In fact, forget young—I still feel that way.”

I nod. Love, he said. I spin the word in my head. It has no meaning to me. The way he seems to feel about his wife is nothing I’ve ever witnessed between my parents. And, yes, I’m keen to have Alayna by my side again. But that’s not called love. Is it?

When they return from the bathroom, Alayna seems on edge. She’s needy, touching me as often as she can. She slides her hand under my suit jacket, and I’m hopeful that it means she may be willing to give us another chance.

But if she is, it’s a bad idea for me to pursue it, and an even worse idea to let Celia know. So I limit my contact with Alayna to hand-holding, even though I am just as desperate to touch her as it seems she is to touch me. As the music plays, I convince myself a million times that I will not take her back to the loft. And just as many times, I convince myself I will. Whichever will win, I don’t know, but at least Celia won’t be privy to it.

After the concert, we all walk to the parking garage together. I keep my arm around Alayna, but I can’t look at her. The touching is supposed to be show, but if she peers into my eyes, I’m afraid she’ll see how very real this all is for me. I’m afraid it will be witnessed by my partner in crime. It’s a balancing act that I manage but only barely.

At my car, I put Alayna in the passenger seat and then say goodbye to the Werners. Celia leans in to hug me. “You’ve backed off. I’m impressed,” she whispers in my ear.

“I could say the same.” I whisper back, though I doubt that she’s backed off anything and I’m not at all impressed. She laughs. My gut constricts at the sound. She takes such pleasure in this game while I’m struggling, playing both sides.

But I don’t want to think about Celia any longer. Now I get to be alone with Alayna, and I have to decide what that’s going to mean.

We’re quiet as we drive out of the garage, snippets of the symphony replaying in my mind. I use this time to let go of the tension the evening has caused. I also resume the internal war—do I take her to her home or to the loft? From what I can read of Alayna, she’s equally conflicted. Since she’s unaware of all the risks involved in our relationship, it’s up to me to make the informed decision.

I’ve made up my mind by the time we’ve gotten to the road. It’s not a decision that makes me completely comfortable, but it’s the only one I can live with.

While I’m working out how to tell Alayna, she breaks the silence. “So you knew Celia would be there tonight.”

Her tone is harsh, and it surprises me.

“I knew Celia would be there with her parents, yes.” I throw a glance at her, trying to understand her angle. “Her parents, whom are friends with my parents, remember.”

She’s upset with me. I’m not sure why. Or she’s upset with herself. She knocks her head softly against the window, and I catch her dabbing at a tear.

“What’s wrong?” Maybe there was more to the restroom trip with Celia and Madge than I realized. I’m already making plans of what I’ll do to Celia next time I see her.

But Alayna surprises me again. “I want you,” she whispers into the glass.

She’s said it so quietly that I doubt what I heard. “Alayna?”

“I know what I said.” She wipes her eyes. “But maybe I was wrong. I mean, I don’t know if you’re right—if spending time with you can make me better. But I know that since we’ve been apart, I’ve been worse.” She looks at me and there’s the light again. The light I’ve been longing for that shines only in her eyes.

“I miss you.” She giggles. “Told you I get attached.”

I’m relieved. I’d made the right decision, and even more comforting is that she’s admitted she’s attached. I don’t even care what that means for Celia’s scam. Because what it means for me is everything.

I can’t hide my delight. “Where do you think I’m taking you?”

She looks out the window. I can tell the exact moment she realizes we’re headed for the loft. A blush shades her cheeks. “Oh.”

Then she thinks about it more. “I told you no more sex, and you were taking me to the loft without asking?” Irritation’s spun with her words.

“Alayna,” I sigh. God, our situation is frustrating. She’s frustrating. “You are a bundle of mixed signals. At the symphony, you seemed to indicate—”

“And you totally blew me off. Don’t talk to me about mixed signals!”

Of course that’s what she thinks. She didn’t understand my motives. How could she?

I rest a hand on her knee. “I was trying to avoid mixing business with pleasure. A difficult task with you, precious.” I need her to know how she affects me. I would prefer to show her, but since I’m driving, I have to try words. “Especially with your wandering hands and how hot you look in that dress.”

She softens. “Oh.”

“If you want me to ask, I will, though you know it’s not my style.” She stares at me, wide eyed, so I force myself to ask what I never ask. “May I take you to my bed, Alayna?”

“Yes,” she moans, and I’ve never been so grateful for a traffic light. I pull her to me. I’m greedy with my kiss. Forget manners or niceties. I’m going to fuck her how we both need to fuck tonight—with desperation and need. This kiss is the prelude.

A horn interrupts us, prodding me to drive. My dick is as hard as stone, and I can barely concentrate, but somehow I manage to get to the Pierce Industries building without killing us. I hand my keys to the valet. Then we’re in the elevator. We tease each other on the ride up, and as soon as we’re in the loft, I have her pressed against the wall. I cradle her face with my hands, and I kiss her. Greedily, hungrily, with abandon.

While I worship her with my mouth, she strokes me through my clothing. Then she works my cock free, stripping me of my pants and briefs. She sinks to her knees, and before I can think about it, she has me in her mouth. I gasp, tugging on the strands of her hair. “God, Alayna. That’s so…ah…so good.”

And it is. It’s pleasure upon pleasure the way her tongue licks my crown, the way her mouth sucks my shaft into her warmth. I’m dizzy, my thighs clenching as I get harder and my orgasm gets closer.

But while she’s amazing, while everything she does to me is amazing, I don’t want this from her. I’ve been blown so many times by so many women. I’ve taken from them—taken, taken, taken. I don’t want to be like that with Alayna. I want to give to her. I want to pleasure her. At the very least, I want to come with her, in her. I don’t want to be the only one on the receiving end.

So I stop her.

She’s bewildered, disappointed, maybe. “Did I do something wrong?” she asks.

It’s part of her beauty—how naïve she can be without being innocent. This is about me, though, and I need to alleviate her fears. “No, precious. Your mouth is amazing.” I kiss her again, the salty taste of my pre-cum still on her lips. “But I need to come inside your cunt. I’ve been thinking about it for days.”

Then we’re lost in each other again. By the time we’ve struggled through stripping each other of the rest of our clothes, we’re both so eager and impatient that we can’t wait any longer. I lift her, urging her legs to wrap around my waist. I pause, my cock poised at her pussy. I’m sure she’s not wet enough, but she invites me to take her anyway.

I can’t help myself—I do, driving into her with a deep thrust. She’s raw at first, and so tight, but I ram into her over and over until she loosens and I slide in her easily. It’s insane that I can fuck her like this—holding her while pounding into her so intently, and I have to credit pure adrenaline and lust. The erotic sounds of her moans and our thighs slapping and the fuck-hot sight of her breasts bouncing in front of me fuel my desire. “So…damn…good,” I tell her. “You feel…so…damn…good.”

I’m close, so close, and if she doesn’t go over with me, I’ll be wrecked. I turn her to the wall, using it as a brace to hold her up while I help to get her there too, rubbing her clit as I continue to pound into her with my cock. “Come with me, Alayna,” I urge. “Come.”

Her thighs shake around me and that’s how I know she’s at the breaking point. Then she throws her head back and lets out the most beautiful sound—a euphoric sort of keening. Her nails dig into my back as her cunt milks me. It’s so goddamn hot and I’m there too. I call her name as I come inside of her, and in those simple three syllables, I give her credit for all that she does to me, not only physically but emotionally.

She can’t possibly understand everything I mean by the stating of her name. In that post-orgasmic state, while the whooshing is still in my ears and my legs are still numb, I hope that one day she will understand. That she’ll know how much she means to me, how much she’s changing me. How much more I’m willing to change for her.

We’re both still panting when she says, “Can we do that again?”

Does she even have to ask? Of course we can do it again. I make a show of telling her, though, looking at my watch before I respond. “You have to be at work at one? I think we can manage to do that again twice.”

I take her mouth again, not trying to start things up, but rather to cool me down. Her lips are swollen, and my kiss is tender. When my heart rate resumes a normal speed, I break away.

After leading her to the couch, I start toward the kitchen. “Water or iced tea?” I call over my shoulder.

“Water, please.”

I grab a bottle and take a long swallow before returning to her. She’s curled up in the corner of the sofa, hugging her knees. I hate that she still hides her nakedness from me, but it’s adorable at the same time. As if she can actually hide anything from me.

I hand her the bottle. She nods a thank you as she takes it, her forehead wrinkled as if she’s thinking. She has a sip then asks. “Could you really do that? Go again twice?”

“What do you think?” I could go all night with her. She’s the first woman that I can say that about. I can never get enough of Alayna.

Her brown eyes flash with sass. “I think you’d like to think you can.”

My eyes narrow. “You don’t have to challenge me to get me to prove it, precious.” I’m semi-hard already.

“Oh, really?” Her eyes dart to my cock and it grows harder under her gaze.

I take the bottle from her hand and set it on the coffee table before I pounce on top of her. She squeals but easily obeys when I urge her to stretch out her body beneath mine.

“Be careful who you’re playing with, Alayna.” I nip at her jawline. “I assure you, I’m the one who will come out of this on top.”

I prove it by pinning her hands above her head while I kiss her senseless. Her hips wriggle to meet mine, but I keep my pelvis slightly off of hers, taunting her. Just as I’m about to get swept away with my teasing, I back off. There’s something I need to ask her, and I can’t wait any longer for the answer. “Why did you decide to resume this?”

It takes her a minute to understand my question. “The sex?” She blushes, moving her eyes from mine. “Well, besides the obvious reason—”

“Which is?”

“It’s fun.” Her blush deepens.

“Yes, you’re right. Quite obvious.” And quite fun. It’s her other answer I’m interested in, though. “And…?”

Now she meets my gaze, her dark browns penetrating me with their transparency, with their honesty. “And I trust you,” she says.

My throat goes dry and my heart feels like it’s dropped to my stomach. It’s not what I expected her to say in a million years, though what had I expected her to say? That she’d jumped back into bed with me because I’d bullied her? Because she couldn’t resist me? Because she was in love with me?

Most anything she could have said would have had its own repercussions to face, but any other answer would have been easier to take than this one.

It suddenly seems like there isn’t enough air, and I have to sit up. I gently maneuver her legs so I have a place to sit. And then, because I’m a masochist and I have to hear it all, I say, “Go on.”

“Well…” She curls her knees again as she thinks, but doesn’t use them to hide her breasts like she did before. She’s more comfortable—quite ironic considering how uncomfortable I feel at the moment. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice.

“You said you were different now,” she says finally. “Different with me. And I realized that it doesn’t matter if it’s crazy or stupid to believe it. Because I believe it anyway. I believe you. I trust you. About this, I trust you.”

Again, she hits me with those piercing browns, and I feel like someone who’s standing before a judge waiting for his sentencing. It will either be freedom or execution, but the strange thing is that the verdict will be decided by me. By how I choose to respond to her frankness.

I already know what decision I’ll make, even before weighing my options.

There are so many reasons she shouldn’t trust me, of course, and not the least of which is that I’m currently lying and scamming her. This is a perfect opportunity to confess, and if I were decent at all, I would, even though it would certainly be the death of me.

But it’s not what I choose. Because in a very real way, I’ve been more honest with her than anyone in my entire life. Even with Celia, I smothered any emotion that ever began to creep into being. With Alayna, I’m letting that go, letting feelings slip into my existence. It’s changing me into someone who can be trusted. She’s changing me into someone who deserves those words—I trust you.

It moves me—her words, her presence, my transformation. It robs me of speech.

So I pull her into my lap and take up telling her in the way I know best—with my body. With our physical connection that transcends any connection I’ve had with another human being. I kiss her face, her eyelids, her cheeks, the curve of her jaw. Then, as my mouth travels along her neckline, I trail my hands down her sides, memorizing the lines of her ribs with my fingertips, gliding the slope of her hips with my palms.

I speak to her like this. My gestures in place of words. I’m learning for you, I say when I lick the rise of her shoulder. Your trust gives me a reason, I say as I tug her nipple to a peak. Don’t give up on me, I say as I slide my hand between her thighs to rub at her clit. I feel for you, as I lift her up and settle her on my cock.

Though I know nothing of love, I make love to her. Wholly. Completely. Undeniably.

She steadies herself with her hands on my shoulders as I buck into her and glide out. She’s warm and tight, and my crown knocks against her in a place that makes her writhe and makes my cock grow harder. She’s on top, but I control all the movement—the tempo, the force of my thrusts, the depth of my drive. It’s a love song that I sing to her, the way I hold her and kiss her and send her to a state of ecstasy, her breathy gasps the underscore. I make sure she comes—twice, even—before I grip my fingers into her hips and chase my own orgasm, reaching it when I least expect it with a sudden burst of euphoria.

It’s the sweetest sex has ever been for me. The most poetic. The most transformative.

As we settle together, spiraling down from bliss, I land in a space of clarity. I stop worrying if it’s going to be Alayna that falls apart from this affair and start accepting that it’s going to be me.