Hudson's Luck (Forever Wilde 4)

“Holy fuck!” I cried, tensing up every single muscle in my body and damned near jackknifing on the bed.

“I told you not to move, Hudson,” he reminded me. “If I want to rim you, you’ll bloody well sit still for it.”

Something in the back of my head pinged with the knowledge he was making these demands as a way of giving me permission to accept the pleasure. If he demanded me to stay still while he pleasured me, I’d be doing it for him. It was his way of making me feel less indulgent, less selfish. His aggression in bed was his way of forcing me to let go and feel.

So I did.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on relaxing and enjoying the feel of his hands and mouth on me. Charlie sucked and licked and nibbled on my ass until I was one giant ball of ass nerves clenching and begging for release.

“Please,” I gasped over and over until the only thing I knew was stimulation and need. “Please.”

Charlie didn’t say a word, just kept torturing me with his tongue and lips until he added a slick finger to the mix. The plaintive wail in the room came from me. I was so desperate, I was on the verge of sobbing, and when Charlie added a second finger inside of me and pulled them both against my gland while simultaneously sucking my dick again, I finally couldn’t hold it any longer.

I came with a sudden cry of relief. My body clamped down on his fingers as cum shot into the tight warmth of his throat.

“Fucking hell, Charlie,” I choked out.

He lurched up and kissed me deeply, and I finally took the risk of moving my hands down to hold him tightly against me. We kissed for several moments until I pulled away from his lips to tuck my face into his neck and catch my breath.

If that was how it felt to be fingered with multiple digits, how the hell would it feel to take his cock?

Amazing, that’s how. Thirty minutes later Charlie rocked my fucking world.

36

Charlie

Charlie’s Words To Live By:

If you ever have the chance to fuck Hudson Wilde, don’t pass it up. Wait, scratch that. Stay the hell away from him. He’s terrible in bed.

He was so damned beautiful when he let go. Those bedroom eyes watched me with reverence bordering on awe. After bringing him off the first time, he was anxious to return the favor.

“No. Stop,” I told him. “Lie still.”

“But you—”

“I’m not coming until I’m deep inside you, Hudson. Please stop arguing with me.”

His mouth rounded into an O, and his eyebrows lifted into his hairline. “You’re still going to fuck me?”

“Do you have an objection to that?”

“Oh hell no. But I want to do something that feels good to you too,” he said in earnest.

I broke down laughing, and he looked wounded. When I finally caught my breath, I leaned up to kiss him softly. “Dear one, I promise your body wrapped around my cock will feel fairly good to me.”

He seemed to realize what he’d said and blushed accordingly. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

I settled on his shoulder and ran a hand along his side. “Yes, I do. And I will let you do all sorts of things to me another time. But tonight I’d like you to stay relaxed and happy because that will also feel good to me. For now, just recover.”

We lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, our legs intertwined in the jumble of the sheets and our hands smoothing along each other’s skin like Roombas left to roam on their own forever. I felt the warmth of Hudson’s breath in my hair and had almost dozed off when he spoke up.

“How was work today? Did Max finalize the menu so we can finally have it printed?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said with a grumble. The chef they’d hired wasn’t exactly my favorite person in the world.

“What’d he do?” Hudson asked.

“If you must know, he added a patty melt to the menu as well as something called fried cheese.” I said that last bit with disdain.

Hudson snorted. “Those are fairly popular bar-and-grill menu items around here.”

“Mm,” I sniffed.

Hudson flipped me onto my back and loomed above me with a grin. “Is the American cuisine offending your Irish sensibilities?”

“Is it an American pub or an Irish one, hm?”

“Did he take any of the Murray recipes off?”

I ran my fingers through the longer hair on top of his head that was usually styled but was currently flopping over every which way. “Yes. He removed the boxty. Needless to say, we had words.”

“Did he say why? I like your dad’s boxty.”

The fact Hudson knew that it was my dad’s recipe hit me right in the gut. I cleared my throat. “Said we already had too many potatoes on the menu. As if there’s such a thing as too many potatoes coming out of an Irish kitchen.”