His unpredictability is killing me.
It’s also what’s drawing me to him.
He’s different. He hasn’t tried to sleep with me, even when I handed him my vagina on a silver platter. He doesn’t only have a conversation with me in hopes it ends with my lips around his cock. The roles are reversed from anything I’ve ever experienced. I’m the chaser this time, the beggar, the one who’s throwing her panties at him and insisting he fuck me sideways – long ways – hell, any way, for that matter.
I want him. His cock. His tongue. His fingers. His touch.
Anything he’s willing to give – just as long as it’s him.
I’m a strong supporter of orgasms. I was always open to trying new things with Knox. We did the whole foreplay fun, experimenting with our tongues and fingers for over a year before finally losing our virginities to each other. What’s surprising me is that I’ve never coveted someone’s touch so powerfully before as I do with Hudson. I’ve never felt myself grow wet between my legs, or had my heart rage out of control when I’m at the receiving end of someone’s smile.
But I do with Hudson.
I jump when the doorbell rings, and it takes away the opportunity for me to drill him on why he has clothes on. I’m wondering when I became this sex-crazed maniac as I spin around on my heels to answer the door.
I open the door and let Yolanda in. “Good morning, sunshine,” she sings out in her Dutch accent, strutting in with her yoga mat strapped around her shoulder. She gives me a peck on each cheek. “I saw the new movie. Fabulous! Absolutely fabulous.”
Yolanda is the best instructor in LA. She makes a killing off house calls because she’s like some yogi expert. I met her when I attended one of her sessions at a friend’s home about a year ago and was instantly hooked. I was still healing from my breakup with Knox and felt like a sad loser. She turned my depression into something positive. I walked out with a different perspective on life and hired her to come over two days a week when I’m in the city.
“Thank you,” I say, leading her into the house.
“Are we doing in or out?” she asks.
“The weather is perfect, so outside.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. Your view is one of my favorites. If you ever need someone to house-sit, I’m your girl.”
“My bodyguard is also going to join us today.”
Hudson steps forward at the mention of him when we reach the kitchen. “I’m a newbie,” he says, shooting her a polite grin. “So be easy on me.” He winks, and I swear to God, Yolanda almost melts right in front of us. Let’s add charmer to the list of Hudson hot qualities.
“Of course,” Yolanda answers. “What made you decide to join us?”
“It wasn’t my idea.” He points to me. “This one is hard to say no to.”
Yolanda looks back at me with an arched brow and what I’m certain is a, “You’re so fucking him,” look.
If only.
I open up the French doors, taking in the refreshing scent of chlorine, and walk outside to the patio by the pool in my backyard. I bought this house after my breakup with Knox. It’s the first time I’ve ever been on my own. I’d gone from living with my mom then straight to Knox’s, so it was exciting to have something that belonged to only me. It gave me a sense of pride.
The backyard is what made me fall in love with the home. I put in an offer the same day of the showing. The infinity pool stretches out to the hills, there’s a fire pit and a hot tub, and enough seating to entertain fifty people, even though I’ve only had company like that a few times.
Yolanda strips off her shirt, showing off her black sports bra and a six-pack I’d kill for, and sets her mat down on the concrete a few feet away from the pool. She’s in her late forties but has the body of someone my age.
I peek down at my stomach. It’s flat, but my hips have a little too much handle in the love handle department. I’m not skinny, but I wouldn’t say I’m overweight. I like to refer to myself as full of tits and ass. I inherited my mother’s wide hips and large bust, but I try to keep my body in as good as shape as I can. That doesn’t mean I’ll deny tacos.
I bend down to set my mat on the ground and hand Hudson my extra one.
He holds it up, raising a brow. “Pink?” he questions.
I smirk. “I think it brings out the color in your eyes.”
He chuckles. “Good to know.”
Yolanda starts us out in Child’s Pose when we get ourselves situated and begins her mantra.
We’re thirty minutes into yoga, and I’m not feeling my Zen self, per usual. I’m not following along with any of Yolanda’s instructions … because I’m turned on.
She directs us to go into Downward Facing Dog, but I’m only catching onto bits and pieces of what she’s saying. Her words are like background noise while I focus all of my attention on Hudson, who is now shirtless and following Yolanda’s orders.
He goes into the pose, his back arched and ass sticking up in the air, and I do the same. Sweat is starting to drip off the base of his forehead and chest.
Is it gross that I want to wipe him clean with my tongue?
I shake my head in a failed attempt to focus on the task of getting my shit together, but my knees are trembling. My elbows are wobbly. I clench my fingers and toes, certain I’m about to fail in at this pose, even though I’ve done it dozens of times.
Think about peaceful shit, for god’s sake.
You’re in fucking yoga class.
Buddha.
Gandhi.
Not Hudson’s penis.
Penis is not Zen.
No Zen is flowing through me right now.
No namaste bitches here.
I peel my attention away from Hudson when Yolanda gets up to adjust his pose. He glances over, and we make eye contact as he shoots me a playful grin that nearly causes me to fall on my ass. She comes my way next, most likely confused on why I’m fumbling around like a two-year-old who finally discovered she has legs.
My eyes don’t leave his as Yolanda quickly corrects me and then goes back to her mat. Hudson’s intense gaze impales mine, his rustic honey eyes drinking me in, and I can’t look away. This only ratifies that I’m not the only one feeling this connection, this chemistry that’s sparking between us.
Our connection is snapped loose a few minutes later when Yolanda has us move into the last position, and we finish off our session. Hudson stands and starts to pick up our mats while I walk Yolanda to the front door, my feet slowly sliding along the Travertine tile. A part of me wants to push her out the door and race over to Hudson. The other part of me wants to beg her to stay because I don’t know what’s going to happen when she leaves.
She turns around and hugs me when we reach the door. “He seems like a keeper, that one.”
“He’s only my bodyguard,” I say, trying to convince us both. “Nothing more.”
“Nothing more yet, but I have a feeling there will be. I’m an instructor, which means I’m trained to watch. I saw the chemistry bleeding between the two of you. That spark that wants its final connection. The way your expressions altered while watching each other move into the next position told me everything I needed to know. There will be more between the two of you. I can promise you that.”
She gives me a final wave and disappears out the door.
I sigh. I’m usually relaxed when she leaves, but that’s not the case today.
I’m on edge.
Is yoga supposed to trigger sexual arousal?
It brings pheromones and all that good crap, right?
It’s never happened to me before, but I’ve also never done it with Hudson.
Never done it with a shirtless and sweaty Hudson.
I find him in the kitchen. He has his shirt back on and is pulling out two bottles of water from the fridge. I smile when he hands one to me. “So what did you think?” I ask, leaning into the island. “Are you ready to be the next yoga enthusiast?”
He wipes his fore
head with the back of his arm. “It wasn’t that bad.” I snort. “Fine, it’s not exactly my preferred type of exercise.”
I lift my chin slightly. “What is your preferred type of exercise?”
“High-intensity shit. Loud music. Definitely no fucking chanting.”
His answer doesn’t surprise me. “There has to be something you liked about it.”
He smiles. “You’re right. I enjoyed watching you.”
Whoa. I almost drop the water.
That answer does surprise me.
I’d been on course of settling my hormones down, but that response charges them back through, accelerator on high.
I straighten my stance, feeling brave. “What a coincidence. So was mine.”
A moment of silence passes through the air as we stare at each other. His breathing quickens, his chest moving in and out rapidly. I prepare myself for rejection again.
“Fuck it,” he mutters.
I’m too stunned to move as I watch him advance around the island with determination set on his face. He cups the back of my neck and pushes his lips to mine, nearly knocking the air out of my lungs. I drop the water bottle this time but give two fucks when it crashes to the floor. It could explode right now and I’d still ignore it.
His lips are softer than what I’d imagined. I’ve been watching him, studying them when he talked, laughed, and grimaced. I’d wondered what they’d feel like against mine if he ever buckled under temptation and gave in. He yanks me in closer, his free arm curving around my waist, and gives me what I’ve been begging for.
Our breaths mingle when he slides his tongue against mine. I stand on my tiptoes to better meet his mouth. His scruff brushes over my cheek, something I’ve never experienced before. Most men I’ve kissed have been clean cut. I’m positive I’ll have beard burn on my cheeks tomorrow, and I’m only hoping I have it between my legs too.
My heart plummets when he pulls away. I squeeze my eyes shut, expecting him to walk away, but they fly open when he cradles my cheeks in his palms. My breathing shakes in front of him, my face red, and I’m scared of this being the end – that this is the time he comes to his senses and walks away.
I’m panting. He’s panting. My back straightens as he holds me in place. I stay still; waiting on his next move that seems like is taking forever. I close my eyes again, still anticipating the shame of rejection, because that’s all I’ve ever known from him.
“Look at me, Stella,” he demands. I do as I’m told, staring into his mocha colored eyes, and he looks at me with a tenderness I’ve never experienced before. He lowers his voice. “You’re beautiful.” He traces my lips with his finger. “I’m sure you’ve been told that millions of times, but there’s no superior word to describe you.”
It’s my turn to initiate a kiss. Our lips meet again, no hesitancy this time. I suck on the tip of his tongue, savoring the taste of him. Our lips don’t part when he picks me up, or when I wrap my legs around his waist while he moves into the living room and carefully settles me down on the couch.
I groan at the loss of him, but excitement shoots through me seconds later when he gets down on his knees and tugs at the bottoms of my yoga pants. I lift my shaking legs, assisting him in getting the job done faster, and my lungs are burning from working so hard when he tosses the pants behind him.
He settles in-between my legs. This isn’t a fair fight. He’s calling all of the shots. And surprisingly, I have no problem with it. I’m putting up my white flag, surrendering to whatever he’s willing to give.
“Fuck, these are sexy,” he rasps out, tracing the edge of my panties where the red lace meets my thighs.
I’m throbbing between my legs, moisture building at my core, as he skates his finger back and forth torturously. I thrust my hips up, a silent plea for more, and he takes the hint by hooking his fingers around the sides and ripping them down my legs.
“Tell me this is what you want,” he demands. “Tell me you’re sure about this.”
Did he get fucking dementia?
I’ve been throwing hints about wanting this to happen for days.
I decide against yelling that to him. Throwing around attitude when you’re about to have your pussy licked by a man you’re sure knows exactly what he’s doing isn’t a smart idea.
“This is everything I want,” I verify, surprised words are even coming to me. “You’re everything I want, Hudson.”
My truth shocks the shit out of the both of us.
It also excites him.
“I’m sorry I’m not paying attention to your tits right now,” he says, sliding his face between my thighs. “But I’m starving for you.”
He digs his fingers into my hips, pulling me closer to his mouth, and spreads my legs wide before slowly running his tongue deep inside of me. Just one lick has me craving more.
I get that and more when he uses the tip of his tongue to play with my clit and shoves a finger deep inside of me. I yell out, my back arching off the couch, as he pumps his finger in and out of me, his tongue still at work at driving me wild.
Fucking hell!
His tongue has me writing my vows.
I can’t even imagine the amazing things he can do with his cock.
He’s merciless as he adds another finger. I’m bucking against his hand, my pussy walls tightening around his fingers like a glove, and he doesn’t let up until I’m writhing underneath him, pleasure exploding through me.
He instructs me to let go, and I come alive and cry out as my orgasm shakes through me. It intensifies, pounding harder into me, when he tells me how sexy I look. My legs quiver as I sink my nails into the throw pillow next to me and try to catch my breath.
“Fuck me now,” I order, coming down from the history-making orgasm but still not fulfilled. I’m ready to start calling the shots now. He gives me one last lick before pulling away. I gulp, looking at him nervously, awaiting his next move.
His jaw tightens with force, and he looks at me like he’s ready to lose all control. My head is level with his waist, and I take in the view of his erection underneath his thin shorts. It’d be so easy for me to reach out and touch him, but I resist because I need that same validation he wanted from me – to prove that he’s craving me as much as I am him.
Our eyes are locked, almost in a challenging way, and he responds by peeling off his shirt. I take in the sight of his chest, even though I’ve seen it before it’s still a turn-on. I chew on the edge of my fingernail, trying to control the urge of pouncing on him. If someone walked into my house right now, they’d see me spread eagle on my couch as Hudson stares down at me in contemplation.
“Drop ‘em,” I demand, giving my voice more authority this time. My eyes are wide, unblinking, while I wait, and what I get is worth it. He drops ‘em, and my pulse races.
His cock is perfection as it twitches in front of me. It’s swollen, thick, and I gulp just thinking about how amazing it’ll feel sliding inside of me. He erases the distance between us without wasting another second and grabs his erection at the base. We both take in a deep breath when he situates himself at my entrance.
I shut my eyes, throwing my head back, as he slowly inserts the head.
And then I swing forward at the loss of him when he pulls away.
No! No! Why?
“Fuck,” he snarls, his fists forming into tight balls. “I don’t have a condom.”
And neither do I. I was under the idiotic perception that if I didn’t have any of the means necessary for sex, it wouldn’t happen. Dumbass. The only necessary means are cocks and vaginas.
“I’m on the pill,” I rush out, sounding embarrassingly desperate. Please don’t stop. Please don’t walk away from this. From us.
“I don’t fuck without a condom.” He scrubs a hand over his face and takes another step away from me, stomping on my heart.
“You never screwed your ex-fiancé without a condom?” I bite out, settling my hands between my thighs, now feeling too exposed.
He grabs my pants from the floor and hands them to me before treading away again, like the thought of touching me now disgusts him. He snags his shirt and pulls it over his head. “Yes, on occasion,” he finally answers.
“So you do fuck without a condom.” I don’t know why I feel like this is a sucker punch to the stomach.
“I’ve never had sex with a stranger without a condom.”
That hurts. It’s responsible on his part, don’t get me wrong, but it makes me feel dirty in a way. I know we’ve only known each other a few days, but a stranger? Like I’m some chick he met at the bar ten minutes ago.
“But you’ll lick their vagina?” I argue.
He clenches his jaw. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, Stella.”
Is there a right way to take this situation? Should I shake his hand, thank him for his time, and then have a chat about the fucking weather? Today’s forecast? Hurricane Stella is going to roll through and punch him in the balls. “Are you scared that you’ll catch something from me?”
He winces. “Fuck no.”
I throw my arms up. “Then what? Do you still have a problem with my so-called fake hooking?”
“No,” he grits out. “Don’t fucking put words in my mouth.”
“Then correct me where I’m wrong.” My phone starts to go off, and I roughly pull my pants up and rush into the kitchen to hide my embarrassment. My shame. My fucking stupidity. I hold my phone up. “That’s my reminder alarm. We have to go to my audition.”
Yay. I get to spend an entire car ride with him.
He steps my way, putting his palms out in front of him. “Stella, please.”
I hold my hand up. “Just stop, okay?”
Why did I attempt to screw my bodyguard out of all people?
The guy who has to follow me around everywhere and be with me at all times?
Chapter Eighteen
Hudson
I sit down on the edge of my bed and rub my sweaty forehead. My cock is still hard as a rock. Stella said she was going to change for her audition before turning around and rushing up the stairs like she couldn’t stand to look at me for a second longer.
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