“We’re leaving for Montauk in a few days,” he says a few minutes later.
“I thought we weren’t going until the end of the month?”
“My mother called and wanted to move everything up. Apparently she’s in full planning mode for our engagement party and there’s a little beach club with a party room available this Saturday.”
“That’s nice of her to throw us a party.” I fork a small broccoli spear. “She doesn’t have to do that.”
“Helena Rutherford will use any excuse she can find to throw a party. She lives for this.”
“Do you always call your mother by her full name?” I chuckle.
He pauses. “Now that you mention it, I do tend to do that, don’t I?”
I nod.
“I guess, growing up, she was never really just … Mother … she was always this larger-than-life commanding presence,” he says. “She was simply … Helena Rutherford.”
“Or maybe calling her by her full name helped you to detach?” I shrug. “I’m sure part of you felt abandoned by her growing up.”
“Anyway.” He takes another bite before reaching for his wine glass and taking two swigs.
“So tell me about Montauk,” I say. “Who’s going to be there? What are we going to do? What’s the house like? What can I expect?”
“My parents will be there, of course,” he says. “And the Sheffields. Some aunts and uncles will drop in certain weekends. Maybe some cousins. Neighbor friends. There are constantly people coming and going. You’ll never be bored. The house is a work of art that’s been in the family for generations. You won’t be disappointed.”
“What do you do for fun there?”
“There are beaches. Magnificent restaurants. We sail. Water-ski. Listen to live music. Host cook-outs. Go yachting. Parasailing. Horseback riding. Hold bonfires. You can do anything your little heart desires, Mari.”
“How long are we staying, again?”
“Four weeks, give or take.” He takes another sip before glancing out the window toward the city. The lack of sunshine casts dark shadows on the buildings, and street lights begin to flicker and glow. “It’ll go by quickly though. It always does.”
After we finish dinner, we take our dishes to the kitchen, and he places his next to the sink before walking off. I flick the water on and grab a bottle of dish soap from a lower cabinet, filling the stainless steel basin with soapy water.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I lift a brow. “Cleaning up.”
“Marta can handle it in the morning.” He waves his hand, walking away, and without thinking, I reach for the sprayer nozzle and douse his back.
Hudson startles when the cold water hits him, spinning on his heel and barreling toward me.
“Oh, yeah? You want to play games?” he says, laughing and wrangling the sprayer out of my hands. Turning it toward me, he soaks my white blouse until very little is left to the imagination.
“What was that for?” I pretend to be pissed, but I’m actually digging this playful side of him.
“I was just getting you back.”
“I sprayed you because you were acting like a spoiled brat.” I glance at the water still streaming from the tap and then quickly cup my hands, filling them. Tossing a handful of warm water at his face, he ducks and it lands with a slick plop all over the marble tile floor.
Hudson does the same, only when I try to duck, I slip and fall on my ass, landing in a small puddle. He falls to his knees, coming toward me.
I’m giggling, breathless, completely in the moment as he gets closer, reaching his hands up my outer thighs and pulling me toward him. My hair sticks to my face and my shirt clings to my skin. I want to rip it off, I want to go change, but I also want to stay here. Right here. With him.
He’s laughing. I’m laughing.
And before I know it, he’s hovering over top of me. Our stares lock. Our smiles fade. I close my eyes only for a moment, and then I feel the rushed heat of his lips crushing mine, the slick of his velvet tongue, the unapologetic hardness between his hips as he grinds against me.
My hands reach for his face, sliding past his chiseled jaw and hooking at the nape of his neck, fingers tracing his drenched, dark hair.
I let him kiss me.
I don’t ask him to stop.
I go with it, knowing full well it’s probably not going to end well when this is all said and done, but it feels too good to quit.
His hips press harder against mine, the graze of his cock sending shivers through my body.
Hudson’s hand tugs at the hem of my top, pulling it up until my damp skin is exposed to the cool air. My stomach caves at his touch, and a rush of blood floods my senses as his fingers travel higher, slipping beneath my bra.
His palm glides over my hardened buds, my chest rising and falling in quick succession.
I can’t breathe.
And I kind of love it …
He kisses me again, harder this time, and his free hand snakes down my right thigh, pulling it closer against his side as he grinds into me.
A rogue moan escapes my lips, my body and mind succumbing to this experience, my heart just along for the ride.
I want to tell myself that I can do this.
I’ve done one-night stands before.
I’ve had no-strings sex.
I’ve sought physical pleasure for the sake of a decent orgasm or two without so much as a second thought.
It’s not a foreign concept to me.
Hudson sits back, his eyes poring over me before he rises to his feet. Leaning down, he helps me up. My body shakes and shivers. It’s cold without his touch to keep me warm.
“Hudson, what are we—”
“Shh …” He pulls me against him, his hands circling my waist as he kisses me again. His lips are soft, but his kisses are greedy, powerful.
Tugging my shirt over my head, he trails his fingers down my collarbone before pressing a kiss into my damp skin. Pulling the satin straps of my bra down my shoulders, he then unclasps the back, letting it fall to the floor and leaving me completely exposed.
“God, you’re beautiful, Mari,” he says, cupping the round fullness of my swollen breasts in his generous hands. It feels good to be touched like this, to be wanted and craved. Desired. “You have no fucking idea how badly I want you.”
I bite my bottom lip to stifle a smile.
“This is coming from the man who, just a few weeks ago, berated me in front of an entire conference room of co-workers for getting his coffee order wrong,” I say, voice soft.
“You did it on purpose.”
“I know.”
He squeezes my ass, pulling me closer before lifting me against him. My legs slide around his hips, grazing his hardness once more and sending a feverish gallop to my heart.
I know what comes next.
It would take an ungodly amount of self-restraint to put a stop to all of this, and unfortunately I’m only human.
I’m a horny, pregnant human.
Hudson carries me down the hall, to his suite, and deposits me in the center of his bed before yanking at his belt and unzipping his fly. He watches me as he works each button of his starched white shirt before pulling it off his shoulders. Sitting up, I reach for his waistband, tugging until his cock is free and his slacks fall at his feet.