Page 21 of His to Command

"Men like me don't exist," he says with such certainty I have to look up. "And neither do women like you. This—" he gestures between us, "—has never happened to me before. Never."

"Hudson—"

"No. Listen to me." His hands come up to frame my face, gentle despite the fierceness in his eyes. "I've never wanted anyone the way I want you. Never reorganized my life around someone else's presence. Never missed someone's voice when they've been gone for only hours. Whatever this is, it's not temporary. It's not a game."

The sincerity in his voice, in his touch, makes my eyes sting with unshed tears. "I'm scared," I whisper, finally admitting the truth.

"Good," he murmurs, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. "So am I."

The confession of vulnerability from this titan of industry, this man who seems to bend reality to his will, undoes me completely. I lean into his touch, letting my forehead rest against his chest. His arms come around me, strong and sure.

"Stay," I whisper, not even sure what I'm asking for.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promises against my hair. "Not tonight. Not ever."

We stand there in my tiny kitchen, food forgotten, the world outside fading away. And I realize what terrifies me most isn't Hudson's intensity or his possessiveness or even the speed of whatever is happening between us.

It's that for the first time in my life, I want to be possessed. Want to be seen. Want to belong to someone else so completely that the boundaries between us blur into nothingness.

And that—that surrender of self—is the most frightening thing of all.

eight

. . .

Hudson

I watchRobin sleep beside me in her small bed, her body curled toward mine like she's seeking warmth even in unconsciousness. Her dark hair spills across the pillow we share, one strand caught in the corner of her parted lips. I want to touch her—to trace the soft curve of her cheek, to brush that strand away, to wake her with my mouth on hers—but for once in my life, I restrain myself. Let her rest. Tomorrow, everything changes. Tomorrow, I lay waste to the last of her defenses.

Sleep eludes me. Has since the moment I saw her in that boardroom, looking up at me with those gold-flecked eyes. I've built empires on less sleep than I've had this week, but this exhaustion feels different—bone-deep, exhilarating, necessary. The price of revelation. The cost of finding something I never knew I was searching for.

Robin makes a small sound in her sleep, shifts closer to me. Her apartment is cold—the heating unreliable, the windows drafty. Tomorrow she moves in with me. She doesn't know ityet, but this will be her last night in this shoebox. I've already instructed my staff to prepare for her arrival.

But first, I need her to understand. To believe. To surrender not just her body but her doubts.

The gray light of dawn filters through her cheap blinds, painting stripes across her sleeping form. She wears an oversized t-shirt, cotton panties—nothing like the lingerie women usually don for me. The sight of her natural, unadorned beauty tightens something in my chest that has nothing to do with lust and everything to do with possession.

Mine. The word pulses with my heartbeat. Not just a desire anymore. A fact. A law of nature as immutable as gravity.

Her eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, then widening as she registers my presence. "You stayed," she whispers, voice rough with sleep.

"I told you I would." I finally give in to the urge to touch her, brushing that wayward strand from her lips. "I keep my promises, Robin."

She sits up, drawing the blanket around her like armor. Even now, even after everything, she tries to hide from me. That ends today.

"Do you want coffee?" she asks, a transparent attempt at normalcy.

"No." I sit up beside her, my back against her headboard. "I want to talk."

Wariness enters her eyes. "About?"

"Everything. No more games. No more corporate pretense." I take her hand, feeling the slight tremor in her fingers. "Just truth."

She nods, uncertain but willing. This courage of hers—this willingness to face what terrifies her—is part of what makes her mine.

"I've never wanted anyone before you," I begin, the words tasting strange on my tongue. I don't explain myself to people. Don't justify my desires. But Robin needs this, and so I give it to her. "I've had women. Used them. Discarded them when I grew bored. Sex was a physical release, nothing more."

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn't look away. Progress.

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