Inferno Anthology (171 page)

I wanted him. Whatever I told myself about healthy and unhealthy relationships, it didn’t matter. I was already in this with him. If there was a point of attachment that would lead me to obsession, I’d already passed it. And admitting that made me sorry I’d ever tried to be anything different with him.

Hudson’s hands ran around my waist, meeting above my navel. Then while one hand traveled up to fondle my breast, the other moved under the band of my thong. I stepped my legs apart, an invitation for him to find my swollen bud. His lip twitched the slightest bit as he slid his fingers through my slick desire, parting the folds of my sex, and releasing the musky aroma of my lust. In that moment, he knew how much I longed for him, embarrassingly wet as I was.

He continued to plump my breast that was suddenly heavy and tender as he flicked his thumb across my raised nipple. The attention he gave to my bosom magnified the action below, his pad returning to tease my clit, and I let out a breathy moan. He stretched his arm over my torso, supporting me as I weakened from pleasure and I closed my eyes to relish in the nearness of climax.

“Alayna, watch.” Hudson’s thick voice at my ear startled my eyes open. “See how beautiful you are when you come.”

My sexual history had not been comprehensive. Dark rooms with half-drunk partners and clumsy fumbling hands. Keeping my eyes open during only ever happened on accident. Mirrors and public places were never on my fantasy list. But I watched his hand moving at my core, his thumb circling my sensitive nub, his finger dipping into my wet center. He was right—it was beautiful. It was beautiful how he stroked me, how he knew what to do to make me feel the way I wanted to feel, how my skin flushed and my back arched. It was beautiful how he held me when I jolted in his arms, my orgasm moving through me in one long eruption.

“Put your palms on the mirror.” His husky command and the anticipation of knowing what he was about to do sparked a new wave of arousal, even more intense than before.

Still shaking, I reached my hands out in front of me, his arms leaving me as soon as I had managed to support myself. Behind me, I heard his zipper, the sound raising my level of excitement, knowing his cock was released and seconds away from being inside of me. The four-inch heels I still wore put me right at his level, and he pushed easily into my moist channel with a groan. “Fuck, Alayna!”

Our eyes met in the mirror, the connection between us frighteningly intense, and a panic rushed through me. He saw it, or sensed it, and he coaxed me through it, telling me he was with me, assuring me he’d take care of me, promising me he felt it too.

I bit my lip to suppress the moans that threatened to escape, aware that only a door stood between us and Stacy—Stacy who likely rehung and folded the discarded outfits I’d tried on earlier as I was gloriously fucked by the man she lusted after. But when I came this time I didn’t hold back my cry, desperate to let Hudson know what he’d done to me.

I was still whimpering when his own orgasm took him, his weight heavy on my back as he leaned into his release.

And if I wondered that the whole act was a display for his sister’s assistant, his whisper in my ear said otherwise. “
This
, precious. This is for real.”

Hudson let me choose the majority of clothes and shoes he purchased for me. In the end, it was a generous pile. I purposefully didn’t listen to the total cost as Stacy read it off for him, afraid that I’d feel like I had a sugar daddy or, worse, that I was his whore.

We ate a nice dinner in an Italian restaurant in the Village then Hudson drove me to the club. Unusually lucky to find a curbside parking spot on the block, he took advantage and parked, letting the car idle.

“My mother’s charity fashion show starts at one tomorrow. I’ll need to pick you up at twelve-fifteen. I’m sorry you won’t get more sleep. You’re off at three this morning?”

“Yeah. I can handle it.”

“Jordan will be here to pick you up. I’ll make sure he has all your packages and that he helps you up to your apartment.” A sly grin crept onto his face. “Unless you’d rather I picked you up.”

Hudson take me home? Yes, I’d rather, but I needed to keep some boundaries. I’d already let him have me when I explicitly said I wouldn’t. “I’m afraid I’d get even less sleep that way.”

“Right. Probably not a good idea.”

We sat for several seconds, the sexual tension sparking in the silence. Should I kiss him goodbye? Would he kiss me goodbye? Did we have time to sneak into the coatroom for a quickie? I had cleaned up as well as I could in the restroom of the restaurant, but the smell of sex still hung in the air and it had me thinking dirty thoughts. I didn’t want to leave.

“Is everything okay with work?” It was an excuse to linger, but I also was genuinely interested in his series of texts and calls at the store.

“I can handle it,” he said repeating my earlier words.

I’d hoped he’d tell me more, but he hadn’t shared any business with me since I’d known him. There was no reason to believe he would now. I gazed at him for a bit, until it made me feel funny, my stomach flip-flopping as if I were descending on a Ferris wheel. Then I looked out the front window. Liesl strolled down the street, her purple hair making her easy to spot. It gave me an idea. Another excuse, actually. This time to get the physical contact I longed for.

“Since the ruse is on, we’d better make it official.” I gestured toward Liesl, and Hudson nodded in understanding.

“Excellent idea.” He paused, waiting for Liesl to get a little closer, ensuring she got a good show. Then he got out of the car and crossed to my door, opening it to let me out. He brushed his thumb down my cheek. “Ready?”

I was never ready, but I tilted my chin up so my mouth could meet his. Our lips joined, our tongues flitting around each other. My knees buckled, but his hands were around my back, supporting me. I gripped his shirt, wanting desperately to tangle my fingers in his hair, knowing that would only fuel my lust. Seriously, it had only been a couple of hours since our adventure in the dressing room, and yet it felt like I hadn’t gotten any in months.

He pulled away and stole a glance at Liesl. “She saw,” he said softly.

“Oh.” I’d already forgotten our PDA had been meant for her. “Good.” I swallowed. “Thank you,” I whispered, still breathless. “For today.” For buying me pretty clothes, for ignoring my request to keep the day sex-free, for taking the air out of my lungs with a kiss on Columbus Circle.

“Tomorrow, Alayna.”

I managed to pull myself away from him, only looking back once as he got in the car. Liesl folded her arms across her chest, leaning against the door, holding it open for me. “Time for details,” she said as I passed her.

And I delivered, telling her all about Hudson and Alayna, the happy couple, interweaving truth with fiction. I told her we’d met at Stern and that he’d bought the club to be near me, but not to tell that to David. I told her we spent all our free time together, that we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, that we were madly in love.

The lies came easily and they felt good. They felt believable. Not because I knew Liesl believed them, which she did, but because I almost could too.

***

It was nearly four when Jordan and I had finished unloading all my packages into my apartment, but I wasn’t tired yet. For a moment I had a pang of regret, wishing I’d let Hudson take me home instead. Thoughts of him had clung to me all night—I couldn’t count the number of times I’d started and deleted a text to him—and my sex felt swollen and aching with want of him.

I’d been strong in the car, recognizing the unhealthiness of filling all my time with the man. Now, alone and needy, I weakened. Instead of heading straight to bed, as I should have done, I turned on my computer and allowed myself to do the one thing I’d tried so hard not to do: I cyber-stalked.

I told myself I needed to find information about Hudson so I’d be prepared. What if his mother made a comment about his college background? I’d want to know he studied at Harvard. Or what if someone asked me about my thoughts on Hudson’s philanthropic investments? It benefitted me to know he was a major benefactor of the Lincoln Center and that he funded a private scholarship at Julliard.

And his exes. I needed to know about them, too. Though, I didn’t find much in that department. Mostly pictures of Hudson with a variety of women. I gasped when I recognized one of the women as Stacy from Mirabelle’s shop. She’d been on at least one date with Hudson. No wonder she had animosity toward me.

Not one face repeated except for Celia Werner’s, the thin, pretty blonde his family wanted him to marry. They never actually appeared “together” together, but she did have a look of adoration in her eyes that caused me to doubt that she would be completely unhappy with an arranged marriage with him. But, then again, I couldn’t believe anyone would be unhappy with Hudson.

I found out a great deal about my supposed boyfriend in those hours, but, truthfully, my Internet search had little to do with being prepared for Hudson’s family and friends. I searched because I felt compelled to understand the man who affected me so completely. I read article after article because I wanted to know the silly little trivia that only a true fan or intimate friend knew. I sat behind my computer until my eyes were blurry, soaking up every bit of Hudson Pierce enlightenment I could find, because I couldn’t
not
do it.

If I was obsessing, I didn’t care. Hudson drew me to him with magnetic force. And while I knew that my behavior could only be allowed as a one-time lapse, I relished the high of fixating on the man who had already clearly stated he would never be mine.

***

I fiddled with the beads on the bodice of my purplish gray Valentino dress as the limousine pulled up to the Manhattan Center at a quarter to one the next day. I was nervous, yes, but also, I felt confined in the corset I wore underneath my dress as a surprise for Hudson—the one he’d chastised me for wearing in public.

“Stop fidgeting,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”

I took a deep breath as Jordan opened the limo door. Hudson was closest to the curb, and began to step out when I stopped him. “Wait.”

He raised a cautious brow. “Another request for a sex-free afternoon?”

I blushed. “No. I’ve given up on that.”

He smirked, not at all bothering to hide his pleasure in my declaration.

“Anyway…” I peeked up at him under my heavily mascaraed lashes. “I just wanted to say…you look hot.” And whoa, did he. The charity fashion show called for semi-formal attire, and Hudson rocked the look wearing a fitted John Varvatos gray suit with a muted purple dress shirt that coordinated perfectly with my outfit. He’d decided to go sans tie, leaving the top buttons undone, exposing only enough skin to drive me crazy. “Really hot.”

He eyed me for a moment then shook his head before stepping out of the car. He reached back to help me out, his face still plagued with a curious expression.

“What?” I asked, wondering if I’d said something wrong.

“Alayna,” he sighed. “There’s so many things I want to do to you right now. But we’re on-duty, and so I’ll have to settle for this.” He pulled me in for a kiss that, while not chaste, felt restrained, lacking the usual passion he poured into his kisses. This kiss was for the onlookers, the handful of photographers that surrounded the doors of the Hammerstein Ballroom.

When he broke our embrace, he took my hand, his fingers lightly crossing the rubber band I wore at my wrist. “What’s this?” he asked as he led me inside the double doors of the venue.

“It’s to remind me to buy coffee,” I lied. Actually, I’d worn it to remind me to not think about him. I’d learned the technique in counseling. Whenever an unwelcome or unhealthy thought entered my head I was supposed to snap it and the sting would help curb the behavior.

Yeah, right. Like the snap of an elastic band could stop the thoughts that Hudson elicited—thoughts of us together, naked, all night long. And those weren’t even the thoughts that worried me. Fantasies that we could be together beyond our little sham, beyond the bedroom—those were the ones that worried me, and I hadn’t had them. Yet. But after my Internet adventure earlier that morning, I felt the need for a safety net. The elastic band was all I could come up with.

“You must really need to buy coffee.”

“You haven’t seen me go….” My words trailed off when I recognized more than a few of the people chatting in the lobby as celebrities. I don’t know why it surprised me. The Pierce Annual Autism Awareness Fashion Show was a huge event and always drew the rich and famous. Really, I hadn’t thought about it.

Hudson grinned at my stunned expression as he guided me past the ushers—the ushers who didn’t even ask him for a ticket like the couple next to us who, I’m pretty sure, were the mayor and his wife. Um, yeah, Hudson was a lot cooler than I had comprehended.

We passed the bar and walked into the main doors of the ballroom. “If you’d like a drink, you can get something inside. My mother will be anxious to meet you.” We stopped near the doorway, Hudson scanning the room.

I took in our surroundings. The place was extravagant—an old century opera house that had been infused with modern technology. The central focus was the runway, which extended from a low stage. A complex lighting system that seemed more appropriate for a rock concert than a fashion show hung above. Chairs lined the runway on both sides, and, beyond that, white clothed tables circled the room. Three levels of ornate balconies climbed the walls to the seventy-plus foot ceilings.

“Hudson! Laynie!” I turned to the sound of the familiar voice and saw Mira moving toward us as quickly as her round belly would allow. “Wow, you look incredible!” she said to me. “This dress looks so great paired with those shoes. And Huds matches you! How sweet!”

Hudson’s arm tightened at my waist, the only indication he gave that his sister annoyed him. “You aren’t the only one in the family who has fashion sense, Mirabelle.”

“Of course not. Chandler’s also very savvy. You, though, are generally too stiff to be considered anything at all creative.”