When I peer up through my lashes, it’s to find Giselle smiling down at me, sated and content. Her eyes have fallen to half mast, her blinks twice as slow as they are normally. She looks drunk on endorphins.
“I’m drunk on you,” she corrects, having heard my words out loud.
“That’s a dangerous thing to be, don’t you think?”
She nods. “I know.”
Without saying another word, I slip my fingers from Giselle as gently as possible, drawing a wet line along the centre of her naked body, past her tense abdomen, between the valley of her perky tits, up to her plump lips.
I rest my fingertips there, waiting for Giselle to make the next move.
Wrapping her small digits around my thick wrist, she guides the two fingers I’ve had inside her pussy, inside her mouth, licking a stripe from palm to tip and suckling.
I’m barely able to stop my eyes from rolling back in their sockets, imagining how good that fucking unpredictable mouth of hers will feel around my cock. I’m so hard, I ache, my balls heavy and pulsing, but the sleepy look still dancing across Giselle’s face tells me we won’t be doing anything else tonight other than sleeping.
I can’t pretend I’m not a selfish prick, though, so I press down on Giselle’s tongue, just to hear her gag oh so prettily.
I’m wondering if Giselle is regretting her decision when she told me to just be myself – ungentlemanly, jealous and a little bit of a tease – but then she bites down on my fingers. Hard. And I know she doesn’t regret a thing, not a single fucking thing.
Pulling my fingers free, I suck them into my own mouth, releasing them a moment later with apop, before bringing my face close to hers.
“We can both be drunk together, then,” I say, my heart picking up speed at my admission. “Because I’ve been fucking intoxicated with you since the moment you almost got me thrown out of the gym all those weeks ago.”
Chapter 25
Giselle
Ifeel a strong set of arms band behind my knees and my shoulder blades, lifting me up from wherever I’ve fallen asleep, cradling me.
A sound of protest slips from the back of my throat, but it soon disappears, replaced by the warm feel of Hudson’s muscular body against mine.
With me in his arms, he walks steadily, careful not to jolt me, but I don’t peel open my eyes to see where he’s taking me. I can’t. I’m too tired, and he’s so warm and comfortable, keeping me safe and—
“Will you be warm enough, Gee? Or do you want to sleep in one of my shirts?”
My brain is only just registering his question, before it has to register another sensation; something firm, with just enough give to be perfect, beneath me.
His bed.
Smacking my lips together, I curl up on my side, head resting on the worlds’ most comfortable pillow. God, what the hell is this thing made of?
I want to ask Hudson, but I can’t make my lips move. I think I hear him laugh quietly, followed by the rustle of something andthen he’s sliding into bed beside me, a bite of air nipping at my bare skin as he grabs a corner of the blanket.
“Goodnight, Gee.” He presses his lips to my forehead and then to the cold ring on my finger.
I’m too tired, worn out and sated from the two orgasms he coaxed from me, to ask Hudson what he’s thinking, so instead I sink further into the safety of his strong arms, hoping I’ll remember my train of thought in the morning.
The space beside me is empty when I wake, lashes sticky with left over mascara, stretching my hand out across the creased sheets to feel for him, for the warm solidness of his body.
Instead, cool cotton material kisses my fingertips, but the comforting sound of a kettle boiling from somewhere within Hudson’s flat, tells me he hasn’t gone too far.
Slipping out of bed, I scoop up Hudson’s discarded shirt from last night, shoving my arms through the sleeves and buttoning it up haphazardly.
Even in the middle of winter, his flat is so much warmer than mine, allowing me to wander into his kitchen without needing to bundle up in layers.
I find Hudson pouring a generous amount of boiling water into a mug while he sips a protein shake. I have to close my mouth to stop myself from potentially drooling as I take in the sight of his naked back; muscles corded and honed after years upon years of training in the gym on a daily basis.
Time has been especially kind to Hudson Millen, and I’m not mad about it.
