Page 72 of The Ex Project
I rediscovered who I was, not who others wanted me to be, and it allowed me to find my own path. It’s a dream. Not only did I never think I could be here, showing my art at a gallery, but I never would have envisioned doing it with Hudson.
“I’m right here with you, Miller.” He gives my thigh a squeeze, and my heart squeezes in response.
We talked about the logistics of the trip late into the night last week and ironed out all the details. He said he had flexibility with work to be able to take time off—the arts centre project is coming together and we’re only waiting to break ground. I assured him we would be back in time for the groundbreaking ceremony, so there was nothing standing in the way of us going to the gallery. As an official couple. Who does life together, who chases dreamstogether.
When we arrive at the gallery, Hudson gets out and rounds the truck to get my paintings from the bed. They’ve been carefully wrapped in a layer of shrink wrap, bubble wrap, and cardboard. I thought it was overkill, but Hudson insisted they be thoroughly protected.
A male coordinator dressed in all black and wearing a walkie-talkie on his waist takes the paintings from Hudson, and he holds onto them like he’s having a hard time letting go. I remember what he said to me in the wildflower field.
I kept all the drawings you gave me, Miller. Every single one.
I approach Hudson from behind and slide my hand down his forearm, twining my fingers through his to let him know handing over my paintings doesn’t mean he’s letting go of me.
The coordinator thanks us for the paintings and disappears into the gallery again, leaving Hudson and I alone out front. He turns to face me, never breaking his hand from mine.
“Should we go check into the hotel?” I ask. Hudson’s dimple pops when he looks down at me. He dips his face next to mine, and his warm breath on my ear sends goosebumps scattering across my skin.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he murmurs. “I have a lot of fun things planned for when we get to our room.”
“And when did you have time to make these plans?”
“On the drive, tracing the spot on your inner thigh and thinking about all the places I wanted to put my mouth instead.”
“Almost ready?”Hudson says from behind me as I finish swiping on my red lipstick. I straighten my shoulders when I’m done and brush my hands down the front of my dress, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles.
“Now I am.” I take a deep breath and turn towards him. He’s leaning against the bathroom door frame with his arms crossed. He looks like James Bond in the tux he has on. This version of Hudson is new to me—he swapped out his paint-splattered T-shirt for a crisp white collared one, replaced his work boots with shiny black leather shoes, and a sliver of his socked ankle peeks out the top—it’s all very sexy. I’m so attracted to this man, even his ankles seem sexy to me right now.
His eyes linger on me, raking over my body. I chose a figure-hugging deep red halter-neck gown for the occasion. The back dips low, and ruffles edge the slit that ends high on my thigh. “Do I look okay?”
Hudson’s expression falls flat, and he flashes me aget reallook.
“You’re gorgeous, Miller.” He stands up straight and closes the distance between us. “You’re so out of my league, you and that red lipstick.”
He brushes my hair off my shoulder and kisses it lightly, the touch of his lips sending goosebumps scattering down my arm. I turn back to the mirror to assess how we look together, with Hudson behind me. But he’s not looking atthe mirror—at us—his eyes are still fixed on me, his gaze full of admiration and love.
Hudson runs his hands down my sides, down my hips, and in the reflection, I can see his eyelids go heavy. It’s like time moves in slow motion, as he dips his head down to my neck. I reach my hand up to his cheek, running it up through his hair. My head tilts back into him, and the warmth of his breath on the shell of my ear sends blood rushing between my legs. I squeeze my thighs together at the sensation, and Hudson must feel my body tense, my physical response to him.
“Already horny again, Miller?” He murmurs the question next to my ear, and all I can do is nod, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip. Even though all we’ve done since we checked into the hotel is fuck like rabbits, I still want more.
My body has developed a dependency on Hudson, having been deprived of him for so long. I crave him like I’ve been starved of him.
His hand finds my hips and wraps around the crest, tugging me back into him. His hard length presses into my backside, and my mind goes blank. There’s nothing in my head except the thought of getting him inside me, of our bodies melding together again. They’ve hardly been apart for the last few days, but it will never be enough. One hand splays out between my shoulder blades and gently pushes me down.
“Bending me over another counter, Landry?” I tease, but I love it. I’m already wet when he reaches down and slides the skirt of my dress up my thighs, bunching it around my waist.Wrinkles be damned. “I thought you wanted to look me in the eyes the next time you fuck me.”
“I’m going to,” he says, and his belt buckle clicks as he undoes it. My eyes flick up to the mirror and find his sharp, ice blue gaze trained on me. He doesn’t break eye contact when he slides my thong to the side. “Don’t look away.”
My stare is set on him, and I’m transfixed by the look on his face as he slides into me, stretching me from behind. He buries himself slowly, inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside me, and then he slowly slides back out. It’s almost torturous, how slowly he pulls back. Torturous and delicious, the friction agonizing and exquisite at the same time. My eyelids flicker closed, my head drops, as he languorously pushes back into me.
“What did I say, Miller?” His fist wraps around the tresses of my hair, gently tugging and pulling my head back. “Eyes on me.”
His expression in the mirror is focused, pinning me in place. In my peripheral vision, I see my own expression, mouth open, eyebrows knitted together, the pleasure taking over every one of my features.
“That’s it. Keep looking at me,” he says, voice ragged and breathless, his hand still gripping my hair in a ponytail. “Right here, baby. It’s you and me, and you’re mine, alright?”
I give a slight nod back at him in the mirror.
“I want you to say it. Say you’re mine,” he grits out, holding himself back from coming, and clearly struggling.
