I smile, lamely feeling special that I’ve convinced such a macho man to do this with me. He’s beginning to surprise me more with every minute we spend together. I can feel him dragging me into his world, and I have a nervous feeling that if I get swept up, I’ll never want to let go.
It’s the calm before the storm.
It’s going to happen, and I don’t know how bad the devastation will be when it ends.
His mind is like a mystery book I want to read every page of.
Has he changed his opinion about me?
Does he think I’m a creep for hitting on him all the time?
Does he consider it sexual harassment?
Is he going to sue my ass because I want to get a piece of his?
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, experimented 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 him.
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 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 yoga 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 hoped 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. “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 the French doors leading, 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 was the first time I’d ever been on my own. I went from living with my mom to moving straight in with him when I turned eighteen. It’s exciting to have something that only belonged to me. Having my own home gives me a sense of pride.
The backyard is what made me fall in love with the property. 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 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. She’s in her late forties but has the body of a woman 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 turn down 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?”
I smirk. “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 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 dripping 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 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 at me, and we make eye contact as he shoots me a playful grin that nearly causes me to fall. Yolanda 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 sparking between us.
Our connection is snapped loose a few minutes later when Yolanda has us move into the last position, and we finish our session.
Hudson stands and starts picking 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 of my house 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. “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 you two. A spark that wants its final connection. The way your expressions altered while watching each other move into the next pose told me everything I need to know. There will be more. I can promise you that.”<
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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 out pheromones, dopamine, and all that good stuff, right?
It’s never happened 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.
“What did you think?” I ask, leaning into the island. “Are you ready to be the next yoga enthusiast?”
He wipes his forehead 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 involved.”
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 my water.
I was 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. I enjoyed watching you.”
A moment of silence passes through the air as we stare at each other. His breathing quickens, his chest moving in and out rapidly, and 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 on his face. He cups the back of my neck and pulls me to him, our lips meeting, and nearly knocks the air from my lungs. My water bottle falls to the floor.
His lips are softer than I imagined. I’d watched him, studied the way he talked, laughed, and even grimaced, and wondered how they’d feel against mine if he ever gave into temptation. He yanks me closer, his free arm curving around my waist, and gives me what I’ve been begging for.
Our breathing collides when his tongue slides against mine, and 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 cheek tomorrow and am hoping it’ll also be between my legs.
My heart plummets when he pulls away. I squeeze my eyes shut, expecting him to stop, but he cradles my cheeks in his palms. I slowly open my eyes.
I’m panting. He’s panting.
My back straightens while he holds me in place, and I wait for him to make the next move. It’s taking forever.
“Look at me, Stella,” he demands.
I stare into his eyes as 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. “You’ve probably been told that millions of times, but there’s no superior word to describe you.”
It’s my turn to initiate a kiss.
This time, we kiss with no hesitancy.
I suck on the tip of his tongue and savor the taste of him.
I wrap my legs around his waist when he picks me up and carries me to the living room. My hands shake when he carefully deposits me on the couch. Excitement shoots through me when he drops to his knees and tugs on my yoga pants. I lift my legs, assisting him in getting the job done faster, and my lungs are burning from breathing so hard.
My pants get tossed to the side, and he settles between my legs.
This isn’t a fair fight.
He’s calling the shots.
And surprisingly, I have no problem with it.
“Fuck, these are sexy,” he says, tracing the edge of my panties where the lace meets my thigh. I throb between my legs when he skates his finger back and forth torturously. I push my hips up, a silent plea for more, and he takes the hint by hooking his fingers through the sides of my panties and rips them down my legs.
“Is this what you want?” he asks. “Tell me this is what you want.”
Did he get fucking dementia?
I’ve been begging for this.
I decide against tell him that. Throwing around attitude when a man you’re sure knows what he’s doing is about to pleasure you isn’t a smart idea.
“It’s everything I want,” I answer. “You’re everything I want, Hudson.”
My truth shocks the shit out of us both.
It also excites him.
His fingers dig into my hips, and he pulls me closer to his mouth. My legs are spread wide before he runs his tongue deep inside me.
The first lick has me craving more.
He uses the tip of his tongue to play with my clit and then shoves a finger deep inside me. My back arches as I moan, and he pumps his finger in and out of me, his tongue still working on driving me wild.
Fucking hell!
His tongue has me writing my vows.
Imagine what he can do with his cock.
He mercilessly adds another finger. I buck against his touch, my pussy walls tightening around his fingers like a glove, and he doesn’t stop until I’m writhing against the couch while pleasure explodes through me.
“Let go, Stella,” he says. “Let me see you get off.”
I come alive and cry out as my orgasm shakes through me while he tells me how sexy I look. My legs shake 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.
He gives me one last lick before pulling away. I stare at him nervously while waiting for his next move. His jaw is tight, and he looks at me like he’s on the edge of losing control. My head is level with his waist when he stands, and I take in the view of his erection showing through his shorts.
It would be so easy to reach out and touch him, but I resist. I need that same validation he wanted from me. I want him to tell me he’s craving to have me as much as I am him.
He makes eye contact and peels off his shirt. I take in the sight of his chest and even though I’ve seen it before, it doesn’t fail to turn me on.
“Drop them,” I demand, my voice filled with authority.
He drops his shorts, and my pulse races.
His perfect cock twitches in front of me. It’s swollen, thick, and I moan at the thought of how amazing it will feel sliding inside me. He doesn’t waste another second before grabbing his erection at the base, and we both take a deep breath when he situates himself at my entrance.
I throw my head back when he slowly inserts the head.
Then, I look back at him at the feel of him pulling away.
No! Why?
“Fuck,” he hisses. “I don’t have a condom.”
Neither do I.
Since I was under the impression I wouldn’t need them, I stupidly didn’t bother restocking when I ran out.
“I’m on the pill,” I blurt out, most likely sounding desperate.
Don’t stop.
Don’t walk away from this.
“I don’t fuck without a condom.” He scrubs a hand over his face and takes a step back.
A step that stomps on my heart.
I put my hands between my legs to cover myself and suddenly feel too exposed. “You never screwed your ex-fiancé without a condom?”
He snatches my pants from the floor and hands them to me before putting his shirt on. “Yes, on occasions.”
“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.”
He’s never had sex with a stranger, period. His insult makes me feel dirty in a way. Even though he’s being responsible,
I’m not a stranger. I’m not some chick he met in the club ten minutes ago.
“But you’ll lick their vagina?” I argue.
He clenches his jaw. “Please don’t take it the wrong way, Stella. It’s not a diss to you.”
How do I handle this situation?
What do I do now?
Do I shake his hand, thank him for his time, and then chat about the weather?
Storm Stella is about to roll through and punch him in the balls.
“Are you scared that you’ll catch something from me?”
He winces. “Fuck no.”
“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 rings, and I roughly pull my pants up and rush into the kitchen to hide my embarrassment.
My shame.
My fucking stupidity.
I hold up my phone. “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.”
“Just stop, okay?”
Why did I attempt to screw my bodyguard out of all people?
The guy who has to follow me and be around at all times.
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 and rushed out of the room like she couldn’t stand to look at me for a second longer.
Not that I can blame her.
I’m a disgrace to men right now.
A disgrace to everything I stand for.
I was careless and only thinking with my dick, not what would happen if we crossed that line.
So much for keeping our relationship professional.
The way I ate her pussy was far from that.
The hunger to taste her everywhere was tormenting me, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. Stopping us from having sex was one of the hardest decisions I’ve had to make.
I’m an asshole. I used the same mouth I pleasured her with to insult her. The words came out wrong. I could barely stutter out a decent excuse, and then she accused me of being scared she’d give me a damn STD.
Just a Fling Page 9