“Well, I don’t,” he continues, riling me up on purpose. “I thought I was getting a show—”
With fire bubbling in the pit of my stomach, I check the door is locked and the blind down, before I return to standing in front of Hudson.
It takes but a flick of my finger to scroll through my carefully curated music playlist hidden away on my phone, finding a familiar song with a heavy beat I can move my hips to.
Sinking to my knees, I brace my hands on the corded muscle of Hudson’s thighs. His skin is warm against mine, hard and toned where his lean muscles lay beneath.
“I-I… Giselle—” His words come out in a stuttered breath, and I have to press my lips together to hide the giggle wanting to burst free. I can’t believe I have a man like Hudson Millen stuttering and whimpering in my hands, throwing his head back, completely at my mercy.
Startling green eyes clash with mine for a heartbeat, his abs crunching to lean forward.
I press my pointer finger against his lips. “Kisses are extra.”
“Extra what?”
“Extra payment.”
“And how exactly,” he raises a dark eyebrow, “would you like me to pay you, Giselle?”
I shrug. “However you deem fit, I suppose.”
With that, I turn around and bend deeply, gifting Hudson a pretty view of my arse before I move into the splits.
His barely contained groan which kisses my ears, only adds fuel to the fire burning in my veins, lighting up a fire in my lower stomach and core.
The heat of his gaze follows me as I fall into a familiar rhythm with the music, bending and twisting, my hands gliding along the length of my body until I’m soaked between my thighs.
I blame it entirely on Hudson’s presence.
Ignoring the ache in my knees, I drag myself along the floor as the song begins to loop back around, facing forward to rest my hands once again on Hudson’s upper legs. I use his body as leverage, straightening up and then throwing my leg over his waist, settling myself on his lap.
My hips move of their own accord, grinding against the large tent in his shorts, burrowing my head in the warm space between his neck and shoulder, my arms banding around the nape of his skull, when I find that spot just to the left-hand side of my clit which drives me insane.
Hudson’s hands grip my arse, coaxing, urging me to move against him, just like he did on that particular Sunday morning, except this time there’s no space for him to flip me over and claim control.
My idea of torturing Hudson with a lap dance flies straight out of the window, replaced with the sudden need to come.
Inhaling raggedly the scent of his familiar citrusy aftershave, I snap my hips faster, harder.
The muscles in my stomach tighten up, my core flutters, the backs of my thighs burn, knees protesting at being stuck in between either side of the wooden chair arms, but I don’t stop,I can’t, chasing a release I didn’t know I needed until a handful of minutes ago.
“That’s it. Use me,” Hudson whispers, voice low and gruff, from beneath me. “Take what’s yours, Giselle. Fucking take it.”
Filthy honey dipped words dripping down my spine, I whimper, the balloon of pleasure in my stomach threatening to explode.
“Horny girl,” Hudson mutters, bringing his hand to my face, thumb and forefinger pressing into the fleshy part of my cheeks, squishing my lips together and then laying his lips on mine.
The way our bodies are moving – or should I say mine – isn’t sweet and slow, full of tenderness and care. No, I’m frantic, taking what I want, what I need, what’s mine according to Hudson. I’m full of pent-up adrenaline, a smidge of leftover anger which is quickly dissipating and more than a spoonful of courage.
This is my fucking body, and I can do with it what I please and right now…
Right now, I want to ride Hudson Millen into oblivion.
Panting, sweat collecting at my temples and the base of my spine, I sink the half moons of my nails into the supple feel of his skin, marking him.
Ignoring the rhythmicdragof the chair legs moving a couple of inches along the dance floor with every snap of my hips and the fact it’s sure to leave a tell-tale mark, I nip at Hudson’s earlobe with a husky whisper.
“My neck, Hudson. Kiss my neck. It’s… sensitive.”
