like I’ve never been in the driving seat before, but this is Blake Hudson, control freak extraordinaire. The man who has everything scheduled and organized; filed, sorted and color-coded, right down to his ridiculously expensive silk socks. For him to give up control like this, to lie back and enjoy the ride as I make us both feel good in whatever way I think best – it excites me.
I begin to move, a little clumsily at first until I find the right angle and rhythm, then suddenly it clicks into place and I’m riding him smoothly and evenly. I sit up, throwing my head back and feeling the burn in the backs of my thighs as I take him deep inside me then withdraw, over and over again, letting the pressure build.
Blake runs his hands over my breasts and belly. He holds my hips, loosely, not to control my movements but to feel their roll and cant. I roll my head on my neck so I can watch his face. His lips are slightly parted, his eyes half closed and glittering. His breaths are deep and uneven, and the skin on his high cheekbones is flushed. I can see he’s close to coming, and the realization makes my pussy clench hard around him.
He gasps. “Oh God…”
I ride him harder, rolling my pelvis each time our hips meet, squeezing with my inner muscles as I withdraw, and his fingers dig into my hips.
“Oh God…”
I feel my own crisis building and I know I have to slow down or I’ll totally lose it, and I want to get him off – need to get him off. But I can’t stop, it’s too much—
I bite my lip to muffle my cries as pleasure jolts through my body, locking every muscle and arching my spine like a bow. It’s enough to send him tumbling too, and his hips jerk up against mine as he comes in shockingly hard muscular pulses that I can feel deep inside. He doesn’t groan or shout. He comes so hard his breath locks in his chest and he just shudders, his mouth open on an unvoiced cry.
Afterwards, we lie together in a happy state of limp exhaustion. Well – mostly limp. I can already feel a certain part of Blake stirring against my thigh.
“Already?” I murmur into his ear. “You’re insatiable.”
“I think that’s one of the nicest things you’ve called me.” His laugh is rich and warm. He kisses my shoulder. “Hello, number thirty-eight,” he says.
“You do not remember the individual number of every single freckle!” I laugh.
“Try me.”
“Some other time. I should go before it gets too late. I’ve got stuff to do around the apartment.” I sit up with a sigh. I don’t want to tear myself away, but I’m still afraid to let myself get too used to this. Blake could too easily become a need, a constant craving, and he could just as easily vanish again and never come back.
“Can’t be done,” Blake says, guiding my hand to his burgeoning erection. “My limo driver has the rest of the day off, the subways are shut down for repairs, and all the taxi drivers are on strike.”
“You don’t say.” I let him draw me back down onto the couch with him. It’s not like I put up much of a fight. “I can’t believe I missed that news. Of course, there’s always walking.”
“Not if I screw you until your legs don’t work anymore.” He moves down to kiss my neck. “Number eleven.”
“You’re making that up! You do not remember the individual locations of a hundred and seventeen freckles!” I laugh. He groans when I give his hardening length a playful squeeze. “You should stay over,” he says hoarsely. “Let’s go to work together tomorrow. Make it official.”
“We are not making this official yet. We didn’t even survive our first week together.”
“Number forty-one.” He kisses my stomach. “Number forty-two.”
He keeps kissing his way down, and I’m soon too breathless for a snappy comeback.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Blake
“My eyes,” Winona says, blinking dazedly into a supernova of exploding paparazzi flashbulbs. We’re standing on a temporary podium by the front entrance of Hudson’s, next to Alice and my uncle. It makes a good photo op to have the Hudson heirs up on stage, even if the feelings between us and Uncle Bill are more homicidal than huggy. There’s a five-block-long line to get into the store on the first day of the Popup Palooza – in the mid-morning August heat.