Hudson

Chapter Fifteen

After

I only have a few minutes before Alayna returns from the bathroom. I’m supposed to be waiting for her naked on the bed when she returns, and I will be. I’m already half-undressed and full-hard. But as I finish shucking my pants and briefs, my mind sifts through a vacation’s worth of thoughts at lightning speed.

This room, this place—I’m overwhelmed.

Mabel Shores holds a lifetime of memories, yet the prominent ones right now are the summer with Celia’s experiment. It taints every wonderful thing that has happened here in the Hamptons this weekend with Alayna. It buzzes in my ear as a reminder of my faults, of my flaws, and there’s very little I can do to silence it.

My father’s presence here this weekend doesn’t help. While I should be grateful that he is a counterbalance to my mother’s bitchy welcome, I don’t trust his motives with Alayna. I don’t want him to befriend her as he has. Though she would never betray me the way Celia did, though he’s never made a move on anyone I’ve known in the years since, I can’t stand the idea that he might try something with Alayna. It frightens me, and I’ve never been one to scare.

The memories haunt others too. My mother is constantly reminded, and she takes it out on Alayna. Her unwillingness to move past Celia’s miscarriage and embrace Mirabelle’s pregnancy as her first grandchild makes me suspicious. In the back of Sophia’s mind—does she know? Does she suspect the secrets that surround Celia’s baby? Probably not, but how can she not feel that there is something off about it?

I suspect that’s why she brought it up again today, throwing it in Alayna’s face. I understand that the recollection doesn’t let my mother go—it doesn’t let me go either. But it’s no excuse for the way she hurts Alayna. The way she hurts me. It’s another new emotion that has cropped up in my repertoire in the last few days, but I’m not sure of its name. Sympathy? Compassion? It’s a pain that digs deep into my chest whenever Alayna is hurting, and I’m desperate to prevent it—not for my sake, but for hers.

And the way I had to dig myself out of that revelation with Alayna…

I’ve vowed to be as honest with her as I can despite the one lie—the huge lie—that I carry with me always. So when she asked about the baby, I told her what I could. For the first time, I wanted to tell her all of it, but I didn’t know how I could without exposing the worst parts of me. Yes, she knows of them, but she doesn’t truly know how awful I’ve been. Where does Celia’s baby’s story end, anyway? At her miscarriage? When she asked me to teach her how to be like me?

The only thing I could do was beg for Alayna to trust me. She’d given me her trust before, and I had no right to it then or now, but she gave it to me again. It’s another brick in my pack of guilt. How long can I drag this around before it weighs us both down?

And it’s not just the guilt pulling me down. There’s more—the emotion. There’s so much of it wherever Alayna’s concerned. It’s all new and intense, and it feels like a smear of colors on a painter’s palette—all of it so blurred that I can’t identify any colorful emotion for what it really is. Sometimes from the look in her eyes and the soft pressure of her lips and the way she gives and gives and gives—I wonder if she doesn’t feel it all too. I’ve told her, I’ve warned her that this can’t be real. But is she as powerless as I am in all of this?

Isn’t that just the question Celia’s putting to the test?

Alayna’s more experienced with feelings. I can only hope she’s unaffected. But if she is unaffected…

God, that might kill me too.

I hear her stir in the bathroom, so I rush to get in place on the bed. Suddenly I’m struck with a very different memory of Mabel Shores. Mirabelle’s wedding day. While I didn’t put any faith in romantic relationships, I knew she did. Her deeply rooted trust in Adam perplexed me so entirely that I eventually had to ask her how she could be so certain about marrying the man.

“Because when you love someone,” she’d met my eyes and answered without a flicker in her confidence, “their world interests you more than your own.”

I don’t have time to examine why that memory came to me now because the bathroom door opens and Alayna’s standing there, ready for me. She’s wearing a red lace nightie that draws attention to her gorgeous tits. Her hair spills around her shoulders, and she looks so incredible. My breath catches.

“Jesus, Alayna. You’re so goddamn beautiful,” I say, surprised I can speak. I kneel, my cock standing at full attention between my legs. “I might have to let you wear that while I fuck you.”

She blushes, and I wonder if I’ll be able to last until I touch her. “Come here,” I growl.

She starts toward me and then halts. “Wait, I’m in control, remember?”

I’d forgotten I’d agreed to that. I’m not usually comfortable giving up the reins, but for Alayna, I’m actually looking forward to it. She might not understand it, but this is my way of saying I trust you too.

I sit back on my heels and invite her to take the power. “Then take charge.”

A spark flashes in her eye. She bites her lip and then issues her first command. “Sit back against the headboard.”

Fuck, she’s sexy. I can’t help grinning as I follow her orders.

She climbs up the foot of the bed and crawls up the length of my body. Her breasts are on perfect display and they steal my attention, but I’m also drawn to her eyes. They’re on fire with lust and something else. Something soft and beautiful that I can’t quite make out.

Then she’s licking my cock, and I forget all else but her wonderful tongue. “Do it again.” I haven’t forgotten who’s in charge, but she needs to know what I want.

“Maybe I will,” she teases.

Jesus, she’s so goddamn adorable.

She bends to my dick again, kissing and licking my crown before she takes me into her mouth.

I groan. “Oh precious, you suck me so good.” She teases me—licking and sucking and fondling without taking up a steady rhythm. Soon I have to take over or I’ll die. I tangle my fingers through her hair and hold her still as I thrust into her mouth.

She doesn’t let me get away with this for long, and when she resumes control, she releases me. I moan at the loss of her warmth.

“You want more?” she taunts. “You’ll have to wait.”

I do want more, but I’ll take anything she’s giving. She climbs further up my body and straddles my waist. My cock nudges against her ass. Fuck, it’s pure torture. I’m in heaven.

She spreads her hands across my chest, and as my skin burns from her touch, she bends down for a kiss. She tastes so good. I cradle her face with my hands, holding her in place so I can devour her.

But she shakes her head free, and I’m reminded how out of my comfort zone she’s put me. I don’t know what to do when I’m not directing the scene. “What do you want?” I ask, though I wonder if it sounds more like begging.

“Touch my breasts.”

Gladly. I slip my hands inside her nightie and fondle her tits. I’m rough because I know it’s how she likes it, but also because I’m so turned on I can’t be gentle. I pull down her gown and sit up to take her breast in my mouth. I suck and bite at her nipple, and I’m rewarded by her cry. “Hudson, oh, God.”

I love her reaction, and I have to have more. I slip my hand under her panties and swipe across her clit, through her folds until I find the opening of her pussy. “You’re already so wet, precious.” I lick across her peaked nipple, and she shudders. I’m about to shove my fingers into her hole when I remember she’s in the driver’s seat. So I urge her to drive. “Shall I put my fingers inside you? Tell me.”

“I want your cock inside me.” She’s tentative with her request, and it only makes me harder.

There’s nothing more I want than to bury myself in her warm cunt, yet I force myself to hold back. I suck on her other breast until she moans. “But you aren’t ready for me, precious.”

“I’m ready enough.” She’s demanding. “I want to ride you.”

That’s all it takes. I rip the sides of her flimsy panties open and throw them aside. She grasps my cock, and I jerk in her hand. She balances over me. I’m so close to being lost inside her.

“I can’t imagine why I deserve this,” I say, palming her breasts. I know from our times before how it will be, how I’m going to feel when her pussy clenches around me. Not just physically but emotionally.

And I spook.

So I say something shitty as a reminder to both of us that none of this can be real. “I should be rewarding you for your very believable girlfriend act today.”

She stills, and I realize instantly that I’ve hurt her. And the implications of why that statement would hurt her tell me what I didn’t necessarily want to know—she is feeling it too. All of it.

I’m not sure how to deal with that knowledge. A bubble of euphoria has burst in my chest and spreads through my limbs. But my brain tries to halt it. She can’t fall for me, it says. She cannot. Because if she does, it’s going to hurt her more when all this comes to an end, and it has to come to an end. And that will destroy me.

I just don’t know what will destroy me more—that it ends or that she’s hurt. Shit, I’m so fucked.

Her eyes seem to recognize everything going through my mind. Then, with a defiance that almost makes me proud, she lifts her chin and slides down on my cock. She’s tight and raw. She wiggles, trying to work me in deeper. It’s a metaphor, I think, how she’s trying to slip further into my life and how she meets resistance from me time and again.

Though there’s nothing to be done about the metaphor, I can help her with the literal. I place my hand on her belly, pushing her back slightly until she opens up and glides down until I’m buried completely.

“Fuck,” I groan. “You’re so tight, Alayna. So good.” They’re sex words, but in my head, the meaning is hazy. Is it her clenched wet cunt that feels so good? Or is it everything else about her that feels so fucking good?

Or is it all of it?

She lifts up and down my length. I try to command the tempo, but she maintains her steady pace, sliding up and down. Up and down. It’s the most erotic sight, and my inability to direct any of it makes me restless. My hands wander over her body, touching her, caressing her, finally settling my thumb on her clit where at least here I can take some control.

“God, oh, god,” she cries, squeezing my cock with her pussy. She’s close, and I’m caught up in the way she writhes and squirms on top of me. Her skin glistens with sweat, and her cheeks are flushed so beautifully.

She talks as she rides me, her words mixed with broken moans. “I’m happy, Hudson. You’ve made me happy.” She’s not usually a talker, and I absorb every single sound she makes, every sentiment she shares.

All of it heightens the confusion of desires within me. I don’t want to hear these things. I want her to say more.

She does say more. “And I’ve made you happy too.” I want her to stop. I want her to go on. “We’re falling in love. This is us, falling in love.”

Those words are the death of me. They’re beautiful poison, and I can’t listen anymore.

“Enough.” Instantly, I flip her underneath me. I bend her legs and push them back while I pound into her with a rebellious force. I drive to silence her words that still echo in my head—in love, we’re falling in love. She shouldn’t have said that. I thrust into her, punishing her for voicing the ridiculous thoughts. If there’s any truth to it, I refuse to acknowledge it.

But I know. As Alayna comes undone underneath me, as I spurt my own release into her with long, hot pulses, I know that she’s right. That this can’t be thrashed out of our systems with desperate, frantic sex. That this can’t be forgotten or buried or ignored. There is emotion between us, and if that’s what it’s called—if it is actually love—it isn’t going away.

And what the fuck do I do with that?

I roll off her and fall onto the bed. As much as I want to be, I’m not angry with Alayna. I’m angry with myself. And Celia. Angry that she has any part of my relationship with Alayna, of what might be the most genuine moment of my entire life.

Most of all, I’m affected. When I’ve never been affected by anyone, and that means I’m also confused and maybe a little afraid. Or maybe a lot afraid.

Not knowing what else to do, I pull Alayna into the crook of my arm, close my eyes and pretend to sleep. I wish that I could fall into the bliss of unconsciousness, where thoughts and feelings can’t bite and nip at me as they do as I lie here wide awake. It’s not like there’s anything new to dwell on. The same thoughts recycle through my mind: We’re falling in love. Can I actually be in love? I have to end this game. I have to tell her everything. But then I’ll lose her. And won’t I lose her anyway? Eventually doesn’t all love end?

Or what if it doesn’t end? What if this door she’s opened, if the flood of sensation she’s unleashed, is a permanent part of me now?

It’s nearly an hour later before her breathing settles into a deep rhythm, and I know she’s asleep. I slip out of her embrace and throw on some sweats. Even with clothing on, I feel stripped naked. Is this what love feels like?

I take a seat in the armchair next to the bed and watch her as I try to sort it all out. Mirabelle’s wedding-day words return to me: When you love someone, their world interests you more than your own. Everything about Alayna interests me more than myself. That’s why I’d thought of that memory. Because somewhere in my fucked-up psyche, I understood that what I felt for her was love before she even named it. I’d avoided the acceptance of it, knowing that this amazing, wonderful birth of love inside me couldn’t have come at a worse time.

Whatever I do next—and I still have no idea what it will be exactly—I do know that there will have to be a denial. Either I’ll deny this emotion and all that this woman brings to me, or I’ll deny Celia and her fucked-up game. Denying this love would be painful for us both, but admitting my hand in deceiving Alayna…I can’t even bear to think about how much she’d despise me for that.

I spend the rest of the night hours looking for any other way out of this mess I’m in. I come up with plan upon plan that involves further manipulation and lies. But I don’t want to be that person anymore, so I abandon each one and am left without a strategy. This is another first for me, another newness I can credit to the beautiful creature sleeping in my bed.

When the pale light of morning starts streaming through the window, I imagine for a moment waking her up and telling her I love her too. With words and then again with my body. I can picture the warmth in her gaze as I say it. I can hear the way she’ll say it back to me. Again and again we’d pass the declaration back and forth with our lips, with our tongues.

This fantasy doesn’t go far though, because of all the decisions I’ve yet to make, there is one thing I know for absolute sure—I can’t tell her how I feel without telling her all of it. My definition of love is still forming, but I am certain it includes transparency and honesty, and I can’t give either without shedding all my secrets. I can’t truly proclaim my love to her while keeping this dark curtain closed over one of the most important parts of us.

It’s an ache in my side. A double-edged sword. I can’t claim her without releasing her. So I let her sleep.

Needing a distraction, I pull out my laptop and look through my emails. I’d turned everything off the day before, taking the day off work at Alayna’s request, and now I have a slew of unread messages to sift through. Quickly, I realize that many of them are from Roger and other members from my Plexis team. Despite my attempts to stall, the board is taking a vote to sell at noon Monday. Which is today. My personal life is in an uproar, but this—my company—this I can do something about. It’s business, it’s familiar. It’s where I can make a difference.

It only takes a couple of texts and a handful of emails to arrange my departure later this morning. I shower and pack my things, careful not to disturb Alayna. I stare at her for long minutes before leaving. There’s so much I want to tell her, so much I want to be with her. But I don’t know how. So, though I’m fearful this could be the last time I see her naked in my bed, I slip out without a goodbye.

Leaving her is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It’s also the only thing I can do.

Downstairs in the kitchen, I find fresh coffee. And Celia.

She’s sitting alone at the counter bar, as if waiting for me.

I don’t speak to her or acknowledge her in any way until after I’ve poured myself a mug and taken a long swig. I need the shot of caffeine to deal with her. I wish it were something stronger.

Glancing at the clock on the coffeepot, I say, “It’s barely eight.” I set my mug down. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence?”

Her voice meets my back. “I’m talking with Sophia about some redesign she wants me to do.”

Yes, that. Right. My mother had announced that the day before. Celia may legitimately be working for us, but I know her well enough to know that her visit was purposefully planned to coincide with my own visit.

I turn to face her, scanning the kitchen for signs of others. “Where is she then? My mother.”

Celia shrugs. “She went to go get some magazine with a picture she’d like to use as inspiration.” She props her elbows on the counter and rests her chin on her clasped hands. “What about you? Why are you up and dressed for business during your Hampton vacation?”

“An emergency at work. My vacation is over.”

“Oh, Hudson, I’m sorry to hear that.” My mother sashays into the room, a stack of magazine clippings in one hand and an orange juice in the other. “Are you and Alayna both leaving?”

I eye her drink as she takes a sip. My mother never drinks OJ pure. “No. I didn’t want to wake her.” I throw a glance at Celia. She can take that as she’d like—it doesn’t really matter at the moment.

If she thinks anything of it, she doesn’t let on.

“I’ll leave my car for her to take back to the city if she’d like,” I say to my mother. Though, I’m not exactly sure Alayna drives. “If she’d prefer a cab, you can give her this for fare.” I pull out my wallet and hand my mother a hundred. She has money she could give Alayna as well, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she claimed she had no cash just to give Alayna a hard time.

“Okay.” She takes the cash with a pucker of irritation in her brow that says that she hates to be bothered. “How are you getting to the city?”

I stick my billfold back in my jacket. “I need to get to the East Hampton airport actually. My plane is already set to meet me there. I just need Martin to take me, if you don’t mind.”

“He’s not here until later, I’m sorry to say.” She isn’t sorry. Her smile is too sweet, the sparkle in her eye too bright. She loves it when she’s in control of a situation. Loves it when other people’s plans don’t work out the way they’d like.

Not for the first time I wonder, did she teach me? Or did I teach her?

But I don’t dwell on the question. I don’t have the energy or the mood to cogitate this morning.

“I’ll take you,” Celia offers.

My jaw tenses. I can sense the trap I’m about to be caught in. “That’s not necessary,” I say, as politely as I can. “You have a meeting with my mother. I’ll take one of the other cars.”

I nod a goodbye and start to leave.

My mother steps in front of me, stopping me. “Don’t be silly, Hudson. Let her take you. Our business isn’t a rush. We can meet later. Can’t we, Celia?”

“Of course.” Celia’s grin makes me ill.

I run a hand through my hair. Between the lack of sleep, the tension surrounding Celia’s presence, my mother’s early morning drinking, and my inner turmoil regarding Alayna, I don’t have the strength to argue. “Fine.”

Besides, leaving Alayna alone with my mother is bad enough. Leaving her with Celia as well would be very unwise.

We’re ready to leave within ten minutes. At the door, my mother makes a show of saying goodbye, even though there’s no one to watch as Celia’s already waiting outside. Then she excuses herself to the kitchen, likely to refill her drink.

Mirabelle descends the stairs just before I depart. “Where are you going?”

I don’t have time to explain the whole situation, but I’m fearful of my mother’s version, so I get Mirabelle up to speed as succinctly as possible.

When I’ve finished, she doesn’t seem happy. “But you aren’t even going to say goodbye to Laynie?”

I shake my head. “I’m in a rush.”

She puts a fist on her round hip. “It will take you two minutes. Get the eff upstairs and tell your girlfriend what’s going on.”

“Mirabelle, I don’t have time for this.” I pull my shades from my briefcase pocket and put them on. I don’t need my sister peering into my eyes right now. I’m not sure what she’ll see.

“Hudson, this is…” She searches for what she thinks this is. “It’s terrible, is what it is. I’m usually on your side, and you know that, but I’m rather ashamed of you at the moment.”

You’re not the only one, I think. There’s nothing to say, so I start to go. The air feels tight leaving like this though, so I say over my shoulder, “Make sure Alayna…” I pause. I don’t know how to finish the statement. “Make sure she gets home okay.”

I escape before she has a chance to respond.

Celia’s waiting in the driveway. After setting my briefcase in the back, I get in the passenger seat and buckle my belt. The feel of it across my chest is confining. I release it again and try to convince myself that I’m better now, as though the small width of material is responsible for my inability to get a good breath. My stomach lurches as Celia’s car pulls down the long drive to the main road. I don’t glance back. I feel shitty enough as it is. This isn’t how I wanted to leave Alayna—with Celia, driving away without even a goodbye.

The thought gives me pause—is that what I’ve decided then? That I’m leaving her?

It’s unbearable, but it’s possible that it’s inevitable.

Only a few minutes have passed after Celia turns onto the highway before she speaks. “How long are you going to keep me waiting?”

I scrub my face with my hands. “What do you want to know, Celia?”

“Don’t be a fucking dick, Hudson.” Her glare is apparent even behind her dark sunglasses. “You know what I want.”

I do know. She wants a progress report, so to say. How can I answer? I’m still reeling from my recent self-discoveries. I’m lost. There’s nowhere I can turn in this maze without hitting a wall. I have no hope of escape. The question is—does Alayna?

I’m not an impulsive person, but I make a spur-of-the-moment decision. And though there is nothing ideal about it, I know it’s the best choice I can make. So I commit to it with everything I have. “It’s over, Celia,” I say. “The game is over.”

She groans. “Not this bullshit again.”

“No, not this bullshit. That’s not what I’m saying.” I turn my head to face her profile, letting her know the fullness of my sincerity. “I’m telling you that I’ve put my time in. Like you wanted. And now it’s over. There isn’t anything else that you need to complete your experiment.”

Her brow rises above the rim of her glasses. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” I hate myself for what I’m about to say—for sharing something so intimate and private between me and Alayna—but I’m familiar with self-loathing. I force the words. “I mean that she’s already emotionally invested in me. I don’t need to spend any more time with her. I can end the business arrangement I have with Alayna, and you’ll be able to study her reaction like you wanted to.”

Celia’s still skeptical. “Game over means all of it, Hudson. That means the personal too.”

“I know.” Just like that, I let go of every possibility of anything more with Alayna. I’m walking away.

My chest constricts, and it’s hard to breathe. It feels like I’ve been caught under a giant boulder. My limbs are numb, I can’t move, and the pain…it’s sharp and persistent. Crushing.

With the severity of my agony, it’s not easy to explain why I’m doing this, even to myself, but I try to reason through it anyway. Alayna says she’s in love with me, and while I’m wary that anyone could possibly feel any affection for me, I feel her love. It pulses through my veins as if she injected it into my body with her kiss, with her nails on my back, with her pussy when our fluids mingled in the heat of our lovemaking.

But the reality is that Alayna doesn’t really know me. Not all of me. And if she ever found out, not only would that love vanish, but she’d be hurt. I’m almost certain that would break her more than my abandonment now.

It’s a gamble, I suppose, but it’s the best chance she has. Her credit cards and student loans have already been paid for, and the confirmations will be sent tomorrow. It’s the perfect time to end the charade, and then I won’t see her again. I’ll let our private affair seemingly fade away. Perhaps I can spend some time working at our overseas headquarters. It will be a good excuse to be gone from her life. Then I’ll hope—pray, even, and I’m not a praying man—that she doesn’t fall into past behaviors.

And if she does, I’ll offer whatever support I can anonymously. Celia will win her experiment, but I won’t let Alayna be damaged permanently. She’ll recover. I’ll merely be a bump in her road.

Celia stares at me. She’s trying to read me, trying to identify my angle. Finally, she asks, “Are you su—”

I cut her off. “Do you doubt my experience in these matters?” It’s hard enough as it is to stick to this plan. I don’t have the conviction to convince Celia too.

Fortunately, she backs down. “No. I don’t doubt you. It’s just so soon. I had expected we’d need more time.”

She’s almost there. Just one more push from me ought to do it.

So I push. “It is soon. Alayna gives her heart easily, it seems.” I have to look out the passenger window at this. It’s a lie, and I know it. Alayna doesn’t give her heart easily—she gives it fully. She doesn’t fall for just anyone. When she does, it’s her everything. That’s the reason behind her obsessive tendencies. I’ve learned that about her.

I won’t let Celia know that though. I’ve betrayed Alayna enough.

“And you?” Celia’s question hits the back of my head, but I feel its blunt force.

And me…

I’ve given my heart as well, though Alayna can’t possibly know. She owns it, fully and completely. Each beat that it spends away from her is the cadence of a death march. If there was anything to my life before her, its substance has faded in my memory. This—leaving her—this is a darkness that I’ve never witnessed.

But why did Celia even ask? She’s always been fully aware that I lacked heart. Does she sense something’s changed? Does she know I’m no longer the man she used to play with?

Or is it simply another one of her tricks?

I pull out my phone and busy myself with flipping through my screens as I answer her. “I’m not sure what you’re implying. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t have time for this charade anymore. I have a business I’m trying to run and a subsidiary company that I’m on the verge of losing. If you don’t mind, I need to focus my attention on that right now and not this silly game.”

Knowing Celia will assume I’m doing something for work, I type out a text message to Alayna. It’s painfully brief—Plexis crisis. I’ll call as soon as I can.

I won’t call. I’ll see her again to end things more formally, but it won’t be by phone.

We ride in silence for several minutes before Celia says quietly, “Maybe I was wrong about you.”

Her cryptic statement pulls my attention from my morose thoughts. I spend a few seconds trying to track the source of her remark and come up empty-handed. “What does that mean?”

She shrugs. “You’re too grown-up to play, I guess.”

I don’t believe that’s what she meant, but I don’t push her. I’d rather capitalize on the opening she’s just given me. “Too grown-up because I have a life and responsibilities? Yes, I am too grown-up. These experiments don’t have a place in my life any longer.”

“I don’t know about that,” she says as we turn into the airport. “We’ll see.”

Her words are ominous, but I don’t let them in. I’m cold. I’m steel. I’ve put on my mask now, the one I’ve worn for as long as I can remember. I used to wear it to hide that I don’t feel. Now I wear it to hide that I do.