He pulls away and I see the shock in his eyes. I’m glad he felt it too. “Wow.”
“Yeah.”
His hand slips around my neck and pulls me to him again, and I’m flush against him: lips and breasts and legs and I love the feeling of being this close. At the studio, I only politely touch people to show them how to pose, barely brushing them. My own work has no people in it. This closeness feels wild and freeing, like a lightning bolt straight to my brain and I want more. More. Hudson’s mouth opens and his tongue strokes across my lips, a silent request. I open for him, and oh god it’s so much better. He presses deeper into my mouth, his hand firm on the back of my neck, holding me in place while our tongues twist together.
I pull back from him just enough to reach between us, feeling for his buttons. I want a glimpse of what I saw this morning when the coffee spilled. There are abs under this shirt and I want to touch them. Hell, I think I might want to lick them. I undo the buttons, one by one, pushing the fabric aside and letting my fingers drift down his skin. Even with just my fingers, the way his skin feels on mine is intoxicating. I trace my way from his collar bone all the way to his stomach, memorizing him by touch because my eyes are closed.
He pulls back for a breath, and I drag my eyes open. Somehow it feels harder to breathe now that he’s not kissing me. Like now that I’ve started, I can’t stop.
“You never told me,” I say, “what your fantasy was.”
“That’s because it wasn’t just one,” he says, smiling. “In between this morning and now I think I imagined you and me a hundred different ways.”
Those words steal my breath in an entirely new way. I want to know every single way he thought about me. I want him to play out his imagination with my body. I never want him to stop. “Show me.”
“Okay.” He reaches out, behind the couch, and pulls a cord that had been hidden. A tiny bell sounds and that same gauzy back curtain falls in front of our alcove, and I see a girl dressed in black slip in to take our glasses just as Hudson kisses me again. I could get lost in these kisses, surrendering myself to them like a drug. But instead, I kiss him back. I push forward and climb into his lap, straddling his lap and kissing him harder. I can feel his cock between my legs, pressing right where I want it, separated by just a layers of fabric. That suddenly seems like a couple of layers too many. Hudson’s hands find the ties on my robe. “As sexy as you look in this, I can’t wait to see you without it.”
He pushes the robe off my shoulders and I let it fall to the floor behind me. Even though the robe was completely sheer, suddenly being without it feels ten times more intimate. My instinct is to pull away and hide, embarrassed. So I do the exact opposite, shrugging my shoulders out of the straps of my bra and dropping it next to the robe. Hudson’s eyes are locked on my breasts, and his hands slide up my ribs, not stopping until he has one in each hand. My nipples harden as he touches me, and the chill runs through the rest of me.
There’s a small smile on his face. “Look how perfect they are,” he says. “It’s like my hands were made to hold them.”
“They might have been made for your mouth too.”
He pulls me against him, a glint in his eye, and then his mouth is on me and I’m gasping. His lips are sinful fire. Every pull of his lips drops straight through my stomach and now I’m even wetter than before. My body is practically begging for him. He takes his time, sucking me in long, slow, pulls that make me moan. My nipple is flushed and swollen before he moves to the other one and gives it the same treatment. I’m out of breath when he decides that he’s finished. If this is what it feels like to have his lips on my breasts, I’m honestly not sure that I’ll survive the night. Because I know that we’re not stopping here. “Fantasy number one,” he whispers.
“You wanted to do that?”
“If I wasn’t dying to touch the rest of you, I’d keep going, see if I could make you come with just my lips and my hands on these.” He squeezes, running his thumbs over his handiwork, and it makes me moan. “I bet I could, couldn’t I?”