Page 41 of Must Have Been Love

“No,” I manage to pant. “Disney music. It always turns me on.”

This time he laughs. And damn, it makes my heart ache. There are crinkles around his eyes and his lips are curled up. His lips brush mine, and it feels almost tender.

I bite the inside of my cheek to remind myself that this isn’t about love, or emotion. He’s a man who wants what he wants, and for some reason he wants me.

When it’s over? He’s going to walk away. Because no matter how stupid the chemistry is between us, he’s an intelligent guy. A rich man. He already knows that we’re complete opposites. I wasn’t lying when I said Princess Di was the kind of woman he’d want in his life.

I’m always a dirty secret.

But then he starts kissing me again, pushing all those dark thoughts out of my brain. Replacing them with fireworks as he circles his finger against me, his mouth soft, his tongue teasing.

My breath comes in stutters as he pushes a finger inside of me, groaning as I tighten around him.

“Christ,” he mutters. “So fucking tight.”

I don’t bother telling him it’s been a while. Truthfully, I’m not sure my lips are able to form a sentence right now. He curls his finger inside of me, presses his thumb against the swollen part of me, and kisses me until I’m so breathless all I can do is cling onto him, my fingers digging into his arms as I feel the muscles flex beneath them, determined to make me feel good.

Then, right as I’m on the edge, he pulls my panties down my legs and throws them on the floor, before dropping to his knees and yanking my thighs apart. Before I can say a word his face is pushed between them.

He runs his tongue along the length of me, his face rough against my tender thighs. Every part of me feels exposed.

“I knew it,” he mutters. “I knew you’d taste this good.”

I open my mouth to respond, but then he pushes a finger inside of me again, at the same time as he flickers his tongue against me, and my head tips back in pleasure, because this man knows exactly what he’s doing.

I slide my hands through his thick hair, tugging it, scraping my nails. Making him groan louder as he continues his onslaught, with soft flickers and hard long licks.

“Please…” I manage to gasp out.

“What do you need?” he says, looking up at me. His eyes catching mine.

You. All the time. Like this.

“Don’t stop.”

His eyes crinkle. God, he’s so stupidly handsome it hurts. “Sweetheart, if you don’t want a man to stop, don’t interrupt his dinner.”

Before I can come up with a witty retort, his tongue traces me from my behind to the tip of me, then he pushes two fingers inside until my eyes roll back in my head.

And then I feel it. The explosion pulling me from the inside out. My thighs tighten around his head, my fingers scrape his scalp, and I convulse around his fingers so hard that I’m worried he’ll never be able to use them again.

Not that he seems to care. He’s too busy coaxing the pleasure from me, his fingers moving gently, his mouth kissing every aching part of me, as my body arches from the desk as I chant his name.

And then everything comes crashing down.

“Hudson?” a low voice calls out through the door. He looks up from between my thighs and our eyes lock in panic. For a moment neither of us breathe.

“You in here?” There’s a rap of knuckles at the door. And I’m so aware that I’m half-naked on his desk, my body still quivering from the best orgasm I’ve ever had.

“Just a minute,” he calls out to whoever’s on the other side of the door. His voice is so calm and controlled. He looks at me again, running his tongue along his bottom lip.

God, he’s tasting me. For some reason that sends my heart racing.

I sit up, pulling my leather bodice together. It took forever to lace up when I was getting ready earlier. There’s no way I can make myself respectable in time for Hudson to open the door. So instead I hold it over my boobs and slide off the desk, picking up my panties from the floor, then run around to the other side of the huge oak desk and slide underneath it.

There’s a rustle of sound, almost certainly Hudson pulling his jacket on, then the steady thud of footsteps as he walks toward the door.

I’m crouched under his desk in the space where his chair is usually, holding my legs to my chest so they don’t stick out. My head is pressed against the underside of the desktop. A minute ago I was screaming his name on his desk, now I’m hiding like some kind of bad secret.

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