The Fixed Trilogy: Fixed on You(22)

And then his fingers were on me, pushing aside the thin material of my panties, reaching for the sensitive bud at my core. I moaned at his touch, his thumb circling the bundle of nerves with a skilled mixture of deep and gentle pressure. Feather light sweeps followed measured rubs. I was already writhing when he dipped a finger into my hot opening. I gasped, lifting my hips to meet his probe, out of my mind with the desire to come.

He murmured against my mouth. “Christ, Alayna, you’re wet. Ah, so wet. You’re driving me crazy with your sounds and how wet you are for me.” He dragged my juice up and over my clit, then rammed two fingers inside me, luring a series of whimpers from my body. One more brush of my clit and I was over the edge, my orgasm spurring me to convulsions.

But even as I came over his hand, Hudson didn’t stop his assault. “God, you come so easily.” His voice betrayed his amazement and his own longing. “I have to make you do that again.”

He slipped off my panties while I still shuddered. “Lean your elbows back on the counter,” he commanded.

I did, grateful for the support it gave me. Then Hudson put his hands on my knees and spread my legs apart, opening me further. Before I realized what was happening, his fingers returned to my hole—three of them now—and his tongue was on my clit.

“Fuck!” I cried, unable to bear another climax, unable to live without it.

His skilled fingers f*cked me, plunging in and pulling out in long, steady strokes as he sucked and licked at my cleft. I clutched the end of the counter behind me as I felt the ripple of another orgasm overtake me, all my muscles tightening, my core clenching around his fingers.

Still, he fed on me, lapping up the evidence of my ecstasy, caressing my tender nerves with his tongue with endless devotion. It was so much—too much. A third climax tore through me, right on the heels of the last. I threw my head back, trembling violently and cried out—a curse, maybe, or his name or unintelligible sounds, too mindless to identify the details of my cry.

When my vision cleared and my brain returned, I found Hudson holding me, whispering at my ear, my scent wafting off his lips. “You’re so sexy, precious. So f*cking sexy and soon I’m going to come with you just like that.”

My fingers clutched at tufts of his hair.

“Soon,” he promised. “And often.”





Chapter Seven


When I’d recovered enough to sit without support, Hudson left me, returning with a wet washcloth. I watched as he wiped the insides of my legs and my sex, the warmth of the cloth and the intimacy of the action transfixing me.

“Thank you,” I said when he met my gaze, my gratitude extending beyond the cleansing.

He kissed me, my taste clinging to his tongue. Though sated, arousal began anew at the touch of his lips and the awareness of the bulge in his suit pants.

Too soon he pulled away. “You’re welcome.”

I followed him with my eyes as he walked to the bedroom and threw the washcloth in a tall, black laundry basket. When he looked back, he caught me staring and winked.

I blushed. The new familiarity he had with my body made me feel awkward. Scrambling to compose myself, I fumbled with the buttons of my dress. Then I slid off the barstool, found my underwear on the floor and stuffed them into my purse.

He raised a questioning brow as he straightened his tie.

“My panties are, um, soaked.” I noted his expression of satisfaction. “I can’t wear them.”

A frown replaced his smile. “You can’t work without them. Your dress is too short.”

“I’ll be careful. I don’t mind.”


“I do.” Hudson approached me, putting his hands on my upper arms. “Alayna, you not wearing panties is very sexy. When I’m with you. I definitely don’t think it’s sexy knowing you’re bare and surrounded by a bunch of grabby drunk customers.” He was stern, as though he were reprimanding a wayward child. “In fact, it makes me very unhappy.”

Well, well. Hudson had a jealous streak. Could he be any hotter?

But I couldn’t have him infiltrating all aspects of my life. He’d already insisted on a driver. And weighed in on my wardrobe choices. I stood my ground. “I can take care of myself.”

He folded his arms over his chest.

I mirrored him. “I’m not putting on soaking wet panties. I’ll smell like sex all night and let me tell you what that does to a bunch of grabby drunk customers.”

He scowled. “Leave them then. I can at least have them laundered.”

I held out my panties for him. “If you wanted a memento all you had to do was ask.”

He took them, his expression still tight. “I’m not keeping them. Excuse me a moment and I’ll be ready to go.” He disappeared into the bathroom, leaving the door open.

“You’ll be ‘ready to go?’” I hadn’t expected him to be going with me. He didn’t respond, though, or I didn’t hear his answer over the sounds of water running.

“Did you say something?” he asked when he returned. He put on his suit jacket and held his hand out to me.

I took his hand, realizing he no longer smelled like me, his hands washed and his teeth freshly brushed. It was practical, but I deflated as he officially distanced himself from the passionate scene of moments before. “I hadn’t realized you were going to the club.”