“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” I say, squeezing again and allowing a smirk on my face.
He laughs. “We can both play like that.” He thrusts in again, and I’m thoroughly silenced.
Hudson’s grip on my thighs tightens, and he builds up his speed again until he reaches that same frenzied pace. And with my legs spread wide, he grinds down onto my clit so that every roll of his hips has an added burst of pleasure. God, I never thought I’d be so grateful for friction. Hudson’s breath is coming in guttural gasps, and I know he’s close. He closes his eyes, and I can see a sheen of sweat on his skin. I want him to come. I want to be the reason he feels the same kind of pleasure that he gave me. I squeeze down on him hard, and he groans, driving into me even deeper.
This orgasm doesn’t give me any warning, seizing me and making me lose my breath while light bursts behind my eyes. I cry out, and I feel Hudson come too. He’s buried to the hilt inside me, cock jerking while he groans. I manage to suck in a breath. “Fuck.”
Hudson has collapsed onto his arms over me, and he’s searching my face. “Fantasy number three.”
“That was a good one.”
A smirk appears on his perfect, kissable mouth. “I thought you might like it.”
He slips out to clean up, and then he’s back, lifting me up off the table and back to the couch where he settles me next to him, my legs across his lap. “So, did that help?” he asks.
“Help what?” I notice that two more champagne glasses have magically appeared on the table. The staff here are so well trained that they’re almost ninjas.
“Help you think of some of your own fantasies.”
I blush despite the fact that he was just inside me and I was just screaming. Somehow it feels like sex is one thing, sharing intimate fantasies is another. “It might have,” I admit, reaching out for a glass.
His arms are longer than mine, and he manages to pour each of us a glass of the delicious bubbly while still keeping me held close. “Are you going to tell me what they are?” It’s a gentle prod.
“I think that might be better saved for next time,” I say. Then I hold my breath. I don’t anticipate him saying no, but I’m not sure what the protocol is here in terms of repeat engagements.
Hudson smirks again, “If that’s what you want. But when is next time?”
“Do you have nights when you’re here?” I counter.
“Give me your phone number and I’ll text you my schedule.” He presses a soft, flirtatious kiss to my lips.
I take a sip of the champagne. “Smooth.”
“I thought so.”
His hand is wandering up and down my side, and I find that I’m distracted by the little shivers he’s sending across my skin. “I’ll give it to you when you have something to write it down on.”
“Fair enough.”
As good as it is, I don’t have another glass of the champagne. As it is I need to let the first wear off before I leave and drive home. Hudson and I sit, and we kiss, and we talk. I enjoy the sensation of being pressed up against someone, skin to skin, and he enjoys touching that skin, drawing patterns and playing with my breasts. I let myself fall into the trap of his lips. It’s been a long time since I’ve done any of this, but to just sit and kiss like we have all the time in the world is nice.
When I begin to feel tired and sober, I know I should go home. I pull back. Hudson is hard again, and I smile. He sees me looking, “I’m going to be hard until I see you again.”
“Really?”
“After that?” he says. “Yes.” He pulls on his pants and helps me back into my clothes. His fingers skim my skin, stealing sweet touches when he helps adjust my bra and drape my robe around my shoulders. “Let me walk you to the door, and I’ll make sure to get your phone number.”
“I thought you might have forgotten.”
“Christine,” he says, pulling me through the curtain and towards the main club. “There is nothing about you that I’m going to forget.”
As we enter the club the music gets louder and I can’t hear him anymore. I let him guide me across the dance floor to the stairs that lead to the outside. He stops, pulling me close and kissing me again. I smile against his lips. “What are you going to remember the most?”
“I think,” he says. “I’m going to remember each one of your five orgasms.”
“Four.”
Hudson smirks. “See, that’s the thing.” He pulls me over against the wall in a dark corner near the stairs. “Here at Club Deep, we have a policy that first time visitors can’t leave until they’ve had at least five orgasms.”
“Is that right?”
“It is.” His hand snakes down below my robe, pushing aside the fabric of my panties and wasting no time sinking two fingers into my pussy. “So you see, I can’t let you go until I make you come again.”
My breathing is already ragged, his fingers curling against that spot that makes my eyes roll back and my whole body shudder. “That’s very generous of you.” My last word pitches higher as he thrusts his hands in a little deeper, using his fingers to massage that spot. Any tiredness I had is entirely gone. I’m clinging to his arms for dear life because I’m not sure that my legs will be able to hold me in a few seconds. The pleasure is making them feel like jelly. Hudson’s thumb finds my clit, and suddenly my world goes white. I nearly collapse, letting him hold me up as my orgasm flows through me, and runs out over his hand and down my legs. He keeps going, his hand moving in a cyclic rhythm that hits every spot I need it too.
The pleasure is sharp and focused, searing through me like laser up my spine and through my chest and fizzling outward. His hand slows, milking the last bits of pleasure from me before he slips out, gently replacing my panties. He lifts his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean. “Fantasy number four.”
Arousal flares through me. This wild thing that’s burning between us is both amazing and terrifying. I’m not sure I know exactly what to do with it. I know that I need to leave though, because if I don’t, then I’m never going to stop.
Hudson lets me lean on him and I make my way up the stairs on shaky legs. I get my coat, and he gets a piece of paper. “Now, about that phone number.”
6
When I got home from Club Deep, I swore that I wouldn’t go back for at least a week. Everything that happened between Hudson and me was so intense and so amazing that I told myself to take time to process it all. Hudson texted me his schedule—which put him at the club nearly every night—and told me that whenever I came, just to tell the doorman I was there for him, and he would be there.
I really thought I could do a week, too. I could power through the ache between my legs reminding me of how he pleasured me relentlessly. I could survive Sandra waggling her eyebrows at me and subtly prying for details about the party. I dodge phone calls from my mother and sister because after what happened I’m unwilling to talk about Keith Overton and what they view as my lack of relationship possibilities. And every time they call I’m reminded of Hudson and everything that happened. It was amazing. But it wasn’t just the sex. I became someone else. Someone powerful and beautiful and confident, and I loved it. And along with wanting Hudson to share more of his fantasies with me, I wanted that freedom again. It’s perfect this way. He never has to know the real me that spends her time in front of a computer darkening shadows on images. That kind of person wouldn’t captivate someone as fascinating as him. So I’ll keep being that woman he met at the party—confident and together and mysterious. And that will be enough. But not for another week.
The phone calls from my family pile up until it feels like I can’t go an hour without hearing their ringtone. On what I think might be the hundredth call I roll my eyes and pick up a call from Catherine. She doesn’t even give me the chance to speak.
“You’re a real bitch, you know that?”