Laurelin Paige - Hudson

Panic streaks down my spine. How much digging until she discovers the truth?

“That’s right. I’ve been through all of the books Celia sent. I’ve been to see Stacy. And Norma. I’m collecting my own facts. Don’t you think it would be better to tell me your secrets than have me find them out on my own?”

“Alayna, stop digging.” I step toward her. She’s a smart woman. If she tries hard enough, she’ll figure it out. And it will destroy her.

“You’re protecting Celia again, aren’t you?”

Is she so blind to not see? “Celia’s not who I’m protecting.”

“Who then? Yourself? Me?”

I’m close now to telling her—telling her everything. Because I hate that she doesn’t understand. How can she not understand how much my past will hurt her? How I want to save her. And, God, I don’t think I can.

She has to go. For her own good. Before she pushes me too far. I grab her at the elbow. “You need to leave, now.”

Alayna winces like she’s just gotten the wind knocked out of her. Like I’ve just knocked the wind out of her. It’s unbearable to see her like this, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Shutting me out again. Like you always do. Hiding behind your thick walls.” Her pain is palpable. “What’s the point of me even fighting for you if you’re never, never going to let me in? Who are you protecting, Hudson? Who?”

It’s the end of my rope. I can’t let her believe that I’m not fighting just as hard. For her. “Yes, you, dammit! I’m protecting you. Always you.”

Then, because I can never tell her in words the way I feel, I have to tell her with my body. I crush my lips against hers, tasting her, devouring her. I’m so goddamn desperate for her kiss—because I have to tell her how I feel. Because I need to feel how she feels about me.

It’s only meant to be a kiss. Or it’s not meant to be anything because there’s no thought involved. But when she wraps a leg around mine, when she tilts her hips against me, rubbing against my hard cock, then I have no choice but to continue. She’s like a roller coaster ride. Once you get on, you’re there for the whole ride.

And so I ride.

I spin her toward the couch and remove her panties. My fingers stroke inside her cunt. Christ, she’s wet. She’s always so fucking ready for me. I have my pants down and my cock out before I have a chance to second-guess myself. With my fingers gripped around her hips, I thrust in. Hard.

I drive into her, over and over, chasing not only my orgasm but the answers to our shitty situation. Her back is to me, her face hidden. I can’t watch her like this. I close my eyes. It’s reminiscent of so many other fucks with so many random women. This used to be my favorite position. It’s so wrong to be with her this way. But I’m too vulnerable right now. I can’t be with her in any other way without losing every semblance of control.

Except Alayna won’t let me simply use her. She knows what we need better than I do. At least, she does in this moment. Or maybe she’s just stronger than I am, more willing to be that vulnerable, that exposed.

She twists toward me, clutching onto my shirt. At her touch, my eyes pop open. She locks her gaze on mine, and that’s all it takes to bring me back. Back to her. I steady my drive, and her pussy clenches around me. Then I’m coming with her, crying her name like it’s an S.O.S. Hoping beyond hope that she can save me. Save us.

I collapse on top of her, holding her, breathing with her in unison. They’re short minutes that pass, every second of them precious. I don’t think I can ever let her go.

Eventually, I try. I step back, pulling out of her. But immediately, she’s in my arms, and my lips are pressed against hers. I hold her in place, our mouths sealed in an immobile kiss. This is it, I know. My decision is about to be made, and even though my stubborn walls won’t let it be made solid with words and declarations, it’s forming in the center of my mind, sitting on the edge of my tongue.

I can’t lose her.

When we break apart, Alayna wraps her hands around my neck, seemingly as desperate to hold onto me as I am to her. “Oh god, I miss you. I miss you so much.”

“Précieux…mon amour…ma chérie…” I run my hands down her face, memorizing the touch of her skin, the curve of her jaw. Will this be the last time?

It can’t be the last time.

“When are you coming home?” she asks, bringing us back to reality, back to the things we have to deal with.

I lean my forehead against hers. I’m exhausted. So tired of this game. “I have to go to L.A. for the weekend.” I check my watch. “I’m set to leave in about twenty minutes, in fact.”

“Part of your big business thing? With Norma?” There’s no hint of jealousy in her question. Just a need to know.

I slide my nose along hers. “Yes, with Norma. And after this, if all goes well, we’ll be done.” I want to invite her to come with me, but it’s too risky. If Celia were to follow us across the country…

No, I have to keep her here. Safe from ruining this deal that’s almost done. Then, after this, after I know I’ve gotten Celia off Alayna’s back. Then…

I can’t even say it in my mind. Because once I voice the decision, I know there’ll be no going back. This first, this deal. And then…that.

With strength I didn’t know I had, I push her away. I dress and face her, my fist on my hip. Already the distance is beginning to span between us, and I think of Mirabelle’s words. The lie that grows and separates and builds walls. I see it. It’s here now between us, forming before my eyes.

And I know I can’t let it grow any wider. I can’t wait any longer to begin. I can’t lose her, and I only have one shot at keeping her. The choice forms into words in my head. I’ll tell her. I have to tell her. Everything. All of it. Starting with this.

I reach for her, pulling her back to me with all that I am. “God, Alayna, I can’t do this anymore.” It’s a relief saying this. A burden unleashed. “I can’t bear to be apart from you. I miss you so terribly.”

“You do?” She leans back to look into my eyes.

The light. Her brilliant light overtakes me. And now that the decision’s been made, the confessions spill easily. “Of course, I do, precious. You’re my everything. I love you. I love you so much.”

Finally, I’m free.

I didn’t think it was possible, but her light, it grows brighter.

“W-w-what?” She’s unbelieving.

I’m ridiculously in love. “You heard me.”

“I want to hear it again.”

“I love you.” It’s easy now. Like I always knew it would be. It’s only the beginning of my confessions, and the rest will be so much harder. But I won’t think about that now. I’ll let this declaration have its own moment in the sun.

“You love me?”

I brush my lips over hers. “I love you, precious. I’ve always loved you. From the moment I first saw you. I knew before you did, I think.” I tilt her chin to meet my eyes. “But there are things—things in my past—that have kept me from being able to tell you. And now…I have to do this…this thing. Finish this deal. Then, when I get back, we’ll talk.”

“We’ll talk?” She’s glowing. God, how I wish I didn’t have to steal her happiness.

But I’m committed now. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. And if you still want me, I’ll come home.”

“Yes, I want you home. Of course I do. We belong there together. There’s nothing you could say that would make me stop loving you. Nothing. I stick, remember?”

I cling to her words, holding them like a lifeline. “Oh, precious. I hope that’s true.”

“It is.”

But I know she can’t make that promise. I won’t hold her to it.

“Say it again.”

“You’re such a spoiled girl.” I circle my nose around hers. “And I love…spoiling you.”

She smacks me playfully.

“And I love you.” I’ll tell her as many times as she wants to hear it. As many times as she lets me say it. And though this may be the last time I hold her like this, the last time I get to bask in her sun, I know I’ll never stop saying the words that have rested so deeply in me for so long. “I love you, I love you. I love you.”

Before

Therapy, it turned out, was quite helpful. My life didn’t change in the course of a session or two or even five, but little by little I began to understand things about myself that I’d thought could never be understood. And though I still felt primarily numb, I also felt something else. A lightening of sorts. Like the weight on my shoulders had somehow been decreased. I was still skeptical about progress, but I was willing to give it a try.

I managed to avoid Celia for more than a month after I began my rehabilitation. I got pretty good at excuses—business, travel, family obligations. She called and showed up at the loft, and I dodged.

Eventually, I had to face her. Dr. Alberts required it. Or encouraged it, rather. He insisted that as long as I kept the option to “game” open, then I could never completely leave it. He was right, of course. Only problem was that I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to completely leave the game. Actually, I was entirely sure that I didn’t want to.

It was at a session in my office that I finally admitted that. “It’s not that I miss playing. Well, not only that I miss playing.” Strangely, I didn’t miss it as much as I had imagined. There were other things, it turned out, that filled my time just as easily. I enjoyed the arts—the symphony, the ballet, the opera. So much so that I arranged a number of scholarship and charitable contributions that benefited these newfound interests. And work was a more than suitable substitute. The manipulative strategies I’d perfected proved useful in the boardroom. It even gave the same rush that I’d found from my experiments.

“Then what is it that keeps you from letting go?” Dr. Alberts’ approach was always kind and understanding. Never pushy or judgmental.

“I don’t know.” I did know. Saying it was difficult. “It’s just…who am I without the game?” It was a silly crisis of identity, really. Everyone knew who Hudson Pierce was. I could do an internet search and find several biographies that summed up my life more succinctly than I could ever hope to. I expected Dr. Alberts to give me his own list of my accomplishments and curriculum vitae.

He didn’t. Instead, he said, “That’s what we have to figure out, Hudson. Luckily, you’re young and healthy. You have plenty of time to figure it out.”

There was something about his words that attracted me. He’d phrased it like a challenge—on purpose, most likely—and that was all it took to catch my attention. I’d never backed away from a challenge. And what a fitting replacement self-discovery was for the experiments of my past. Rather than study the effects of certain situations on others, I could study the effects on myself.

“But,” there was always a but with Dr. Alberts, “you will never be able to fully explore the future you if you are still firmly anchored in the past.”

Everything kept me anchored in the past. My mother, who constantly brought up Celia’s pregnancy.My father, who I couldn’t look at without remembering his betrayal to his wife, to me. My sister, who always looked at me with innocent eyes, yet, as it turned out, knew more than anyone about who I truly was.

But that wasn’t what—who—Dr. Alberts was referring to.

“Celia.” It was hard to even say her name anymore. There was no one who anchored me more than her. And, since I was ready to set sail, I had to let her go. “I’ll take care of it.”

It was easier said than done. Though I could clearly define the steps in my mind of what needed to be done, what needed to be said, the truth was that I’d never broken up with anyone. And wasn’t that exactly what this would be? The ultimate breakup? I’d studied breakups with other couples, of course. I’d been the cause of quite a few. I knew what to expect from them—crying, yelling. Sometimes they were less emotional.

But what would it be like with Celia? Would there be a passionate display? If she still felt things as deeply as she once had, she hadn’t shown me for quite some time.

As for me, I’d thought I was immune to the whole feelings thing. Dr. Alberts corrected me there. “If you were truly incapable of affection, then how did your sister manage to convince you to see me? Was it not because of affection for her that you agreed?”

So I wasn’t completely devoid of emotion, though I still believed that the typical levels of love and devotion expressed by most people were not within my reach. And what I felt for Mirabelle…well, she was surely an exception. But there was something between me and Celia. Even if it was simply a shared affinity for the same pastime, it was a strong bond.