Page 96 of Hate You Later
“Yes,” I answer, and I realize that I’m trembling. This is just so surreal. I cannot believe that I have this giant man in my bathroom right now.
Hudson kneels down in front of me and sits back on his heels. He gently wipes away at the layers of puppy-dog makeup the girls and the makeup artist piled onto me. He tosses wipe after wipe into the already overflowing trash can. Then he stops to admire his progress.
“So, this is what you look like without makeup.” He smiles. “I like it.”
“I don’t usually wear a lot of makeup, just lipstick,” I object.
“Then I guess I just like your face,” he says, leaning in to plant light kisses at the corners of my eyes, the tip of my nose, my lips, and down my jawline. “But I think you better take off your tank top so I can get the rest of the makeup off your neck and shoulders here.” He traces a finger along my collarbone. “May I do the honors?”
“Please.” I nod.
Hudson peels my tank away and leans back, taking in my lacy, red, balconette bra, which is barely covering my suddenly pebbled nipples. He runs a finger under one of the straps to move it aside as he strokes me with one of the wipes, and then his eyes look up to question mine. I nod, and he reaches one hand around to unhook me. I inhale deeply as he does, reveling in the warmth and clean, manly scent radiating from him. So close.
As the bra falls away, I sigh and lean back slightly. Hudson takes a sharp breath and moves his hands to my waist before bending forward and burying his head in my chest. He takes his time moving from left to right, giving each of my aching nipples ample and generous attention before moving to the other.
“Eyes up here.” I run my fingernails through his hair and tilt his head up toward my face.
He gathers me in his arms, standing with me, kissing me urgently now. His tongue is doing things to mine, moving in circles that seem to be controlling my hips. With each tantalizing swirl, I’m gyrating, wet heat building, my need growing against his.
“Are we really doing this?” he asks.
“I sure hope we are. I don’t know how much more I can take of your teasing,” I say.
“You’re calling me a tease, now? Shall I show you how I’d like to tease you?” Hudson kicks the door to my bedroom open with his foot and pauses in the doorway.
“Are you trying to torture me?” I ask, willing him to continue walking toward the bed. The bed is an island and I am at sea. I want nothing more than to reach it with him, to be laid down on it, to be stripped bare, to feel his weight on top of me.
“I’d say it’s the other way around, Georgia. From the moment you slammed into me outside The Onion, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. You’ve done something to me.”
“Bed,” I say, sinking my nails into his back. “Now.”
He takes three long steps and drops me onto the bed. “Your wish is my command.”
“For the record,” I say, sitting up to undo his jeans, “I wanted you too. From the moment you strode into my store, acting like you owned the place, which, technically speaking, makes a lot more sense now.” He groans as I undo his zip, pulling his pants down and freeing him. “My Ragnar.” I kiss a trail around his inner thighs and groin, delighting in the way it makes him strain.
“Jesus, Georgia.”
“If you could just stand there for a moment?” I request. “I want to look at you. I’ve never had a real-life, naked Viking in my room.”
“Undress yourself, then.” Hudson tips his chin out and gestures at my leggings. “I’ll stay here and watch.”
“Okay.” I stand on the bed and roll down my tights, taking my time, watching him and his obvious reaction to me. His eyes skate across my body, leaving every nerve ending alive and crackling, aching for contact. I’m down to nothing but my G-string.
“Hudson?”
“Yes, Georgia?”
“Did you ever picture me when we were chatting as our pets?”
“I didn’t dare picture you. But I hoped, Georgia. I really hoped it was you.”
“I hoped it was you too,” I whisper.
And then in a single step, a lunge, he’s moving toward me, on the bed on his knees, walking me back up against the headboard. He uses his teeth to pull the front of my G-string down, lingering for a moment to torture me with his hot breath.
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted—no, needed—someone so much.
“Take them off.” My breath comes out ragged, my words separated by gasps.
