Page 108 of Bridesmaid By Chance
“Good…girl.” He tips my chin up with his finger and then places the softest of kisses right on my nose.
God, what I wouldn’t give to have that kiss anywhere else—my forehead, my cheek, my mouth, my body. Because I know the nose kiss means nothing. I know the nose kiss is his way of putting me in my place.
I hate the nose kiss.
Despise it.
There’s a knock on the door. “Mr. Hopper, I have that lingerie you asked for.”
Hudson stands from the settee and moves over to the door, where he cracks it open and takes the hangers from Lorraine.
“Thank you,” Hudson says and then shuts the door again. When his eyes meet mine, he commands, “On your feet, face the wall.”
I get up and walk over to the empty wall, turning to face it. He hangs the lingerie on one of the racks and walks up behind me where, to my surprise, he unclasps my bra.
“Don’t fucking move,” he says in his rich, velvety voice.
My heart rate increases as he slides my bra off my shoulders and lets it fall to the ground. His fingers play along my bare back before he lifts an ice-blue lace bra in front of me. With my back toward him, I’m not sure he can see anything, but if he could, he’d see exactly how hard my nipples are. How they’re begging for his touch, for his palm, for any amount of pressure from his dexterous fingers.
He slips my arms into the bra and brings the straps to my shoulders. “Adjust yourself,” he says.
Sad he’s not going to do it for me, I lift my breasts into the cups, and when they’re secure, he clasps the bra. Goose bumps spread across my skin as he slides his hands in my underwear and drags them down until they hit the floor. I step out of them, my ass on full display, and toe the underwear to the side. He then stands back up, trailing his fingers up my legs, over my rear, and to my back, where he grips my hips and speaks softly into my ear. “Don’t move.”
“I’m…I’m not,” I say as I feel myself start to get wet as a dull throb erupts between my legs.
This teasing, it feels like torture, but it also feels like everything I’ve been wanting—everything I’ve been asking for and needing when it comes to him.
He walks back over to the rack, and I hear him unclip something, a pair of underwear I’m assuming.
He then squats back down and says, “Step in.”
I look down to see a matching ice-blue G-string at my feet. Again, no price tag.Because this is personal shopping.I step into the leg holes and then he slides the soft material all the way up until it’s secure around my waist. “Turn around,” he commands.
I turn around to face him and watch as his eyes once again devour me. He wets his lips, his hunger clear in his eyes as he lightly pushes me against the wall. He takes both of my hands in his and pins them against the wall above me. Then with his other hand, he trails a finger over my collarbone, then across the swell of my breasts.
“You will not wear any color but this, understood?”
His finger travels between my cleavage, down my stomach, and right above the waistband of my G-string. My breathing becomes labored, my core so freaking wet and ready for him that if he doesn’t take me in this dressing room, if he doesn’t give me what I want, I very well might perish on the spot.
“Touch me,” I say.
“I am.”
“No,” I say. “Touch me where you know I want it.”
His teeth pull on the edge of his lip as he lowers his hand between my legs and hovers. He then sticks out one finger and lightly grazes my slit. “Here?”
My eyes roll in the back of my head as a quiet moan falls past my lips. “Jesus, yes.”
“Or…” His finger glides up my stomach to my breast, where it circles my nipple over the fabric of my bra. “Here?”
I pull at my pinned hands, but he doesn’t let them move.
“Answer the question, Sloane.”
“Both,” I say. “I want both. God, I’m so wet right now. Give me relief, Hudson.”
A sardonic smile passes over his lips. “You’re wet?”
