Page 107 of Bridesmaid By Chance
Hudson releases my hand and walks up to the racks of clothing. He pulls out a brown dress with polka dots and hands it to Lorraine.
“No,” he says and then snags a few more. He picks up a short cocktaildress and says, “We need this in a different color. Something that will make her eyes pop.”Oh, well…thank you.“And this, another color. These pants, I want them in black. No prints.” He moves over to the lingerie, and I half expect him to pluck it all and tell Lorraine to remove it, but instead, he says, “I want her in ice-blue lingerie, as it will look perfect against her skin.”
“Of course,” Lorraine says, arms full of clothes. “I’ll be right back.”
“Please knock before coming back,” Hudson says, his eyes on me, and yup, I know I’m in a whole lot of trouble. I might have had my fun earlier, but now it’s time for Hudson to have his fun.
Lorraine shuts the door behind her, and Hudson takes a seat on the settee. With a nod, he says one single word. “Strip.”
I clear my throat, feeling weary. “Um, what’s that?”
“You heard me,” he replies, that dark tone almost menacing. “Strip.”
I set my purse down and say, “I know that you’re a little?—”
“I said strip, Sloane. We don’t have all fucking day.”
Yikes. Okay. So he’s angry. I get that. I mean, I did just hog-tie him and play with his ass crack in front of a woman wielding a riding crop. So maybe I need to just do as he says.
I walk up to him, turn around, and ask, “Can you unzip me?”
He stands and moves behind me, his body so close that I can feel the heat pouring off every inch of him. He takes the zipper and slowly pulls it down my back until the dress is loose. Then he pushes the straps from my shoulders, revealing my white push-up bra underneath. He sends the dress to the floor, and I step out of it before bending over and giving him a view of my lacy briefs as I pick up the dress.
“Turn around, Sloane,” he growls.
I turn around and set the dress on the settee next to him. His eyes feast on me, devouring me inch by inch as he takes me in, slowly making his way up and down my body until his eyes find mine again.
Legs spread, he says, “On your knees.”
“What?”
“On. Your. Knees.”
A shiver races up my spine as my body gets sucked in by his command. I lower to my knees in front of him, waiting.
Then he says, “Hands on my thighs.”
I slide my hands over his thighs and scoot in a little more. He lifts his hand to my cheek and runs his thumb just under my eye. “Submit to me.”
He can’t be serious.
Back there, at the class, that was kind of a joke.
But right now, here, this feels nothing like a laughing matter.
This feels real.
“Sloane, as my wife, you will submit to me.”
“Hudson.”
“Submit,” he says, sitting up now and leaning forward so our faces are nearly nose to nose. “I need you to remember who calls the shots here. Not you. Not your little quips or your sarcasm and wit. Me. I’m the one in fucking charge, so this is a reminder, one that you’re not going to forget. Fucking submit…now.”
If I weren’t so turned on, I might actually be terrified.
And this possessive behavior is what I was looking for from Hudson when it comes to intimacy, that I knew was deep within him—that I knew wanted to come out. Between this side of Hudson and the fun-loving side of him that I saw in Bora Bora, it’s hard not to get wrapped up in him.
Eyes on him, I say, “I’m here to service you.”
