“I’ll be down in a minute,” I singsong into speaker.
“No rush, Gee,” Hudson answers, his voice only serving to make my heart beat faster.
Locking the door behind myself, I throw the key into the depths of my handbag and hightail it down the stairs.
With his hands resting down by his sides, and not shoved nervously into his pockets, Hudson looks every inch of the confident man I’ve come to know him to be.
I take a step forward as he takes a step towards me, closing the distance between us until he can leisurely press his lips against mine.
“Mh,” he hums. “You smell good.”
Reaching upwards, I brush the pad of my thumb over his plush lips, wiping away the slight sheen of gloss I’ve left behind. “So do you. You look very handsome.”
Dressed in a pair of fitted black slacks and a matching black button down, it’s hard not to let slip just how much of an attractive sex god Hudson Millen is.
Especially now I’ve seen what he’s packing.
And he’s standing in front of me.
He’s mine.
All mine.
“I’ve got nothing on you,” Hudson praises, taking a hold of my fingertips gently. “Spin around for me.”
I do as he asks with a grin to my face, relishing in the way his eyes cascade over my figure, eyes darkening and hooding over with desire.
All I’ve ever wanted is to feel desired – mind, body and soul – and Hudson… Hudson makes me feel exactly that way. He doesn’t make me feel wanted just for my body, he makes me feel desired as a whole.
A whole person.
“Good enough to fucking eat.” Hudson’s voice drops an octave lower than before, pulling me into his body, his hands resting just above the curve of my arse.
I scrunch up my nose playfully. “Maybe later… if you’re good.”
Hudson’s brows raise an inch or two, before he laughs, tucking his head into the crook of my neck, sucking a kiss there. “You’re wicked, you know that?”
“I do know that,” I say, taking his hand and leading him out onto the freezing street beyond. “But I’m pretty sure you can handle it.”
We take the underground to a part of Soho I don’t frequent often, walking along hand in hand as the nightlife of London streams out into the street.
I read the names of bar after bar, but Hudson doesn’t appear to be guiding me inside any one of them, so I keep walking, trying to ignore the cold biting away at my exposed toes in my peep toe stilettos.
But it does no good.
Hudson must notice me shivering, for he unwraps his scarf from around his neck, instead winding it around mine, even as I protest.
“I’m fine! Really, Hudson!”
“You’re cold,” he argues, bringing the edge of the scarf upwards to cover my chin. I can smell the scent of his citrusy aftershave still clinging to the material. “It’s only a few more minutes’ walk away, but I’m not having you be freezing cold, Gee.”
I squeeze his hand in gratitude, continuing to follow Hudson’s lead as he urges me to the left of him so he can be the one standing closer to the curb and the edge of the busy road.
We walk along past piles of slushy grey snow, dodging patches of ice covering the pavement, until Hudson pulls me into a doorway much less crowded than the other bars we’d passed.
It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the lighting, blinking away the flashes of silver coating my vision, to make out the dark bar lining the back wall, a mirror behind it reflecting the rest of the space.
I expect to see tables – some tucked away into secret corners, others with high bar stools framing their edges – but instead I see…
