Page 140 of Bridesmaid By Chance
I’ve never been so attracted to one single human before in my entire life, but here I am, becoming addicted to someone I have no right becoming addicted to.
The girl has curves, fucking gorgeous curves. She’s not stick thin like other women I’ve dated. She has some meat on her bones—places I can hold on to. Her pussy is bare between her legs, her hips swell in the perfect way, and her tits, fuck me, they are gorgeous. Not perfectly round, just more than a handful with darker nipples that are hard as shit. Puckered, begging for my mouth.
I don’t know how I’ve allowed this to happen, how she’s so freely naked around me, but I’m finding it really hard to tell her to put some clothes on.
“Thank you for getting breakfast,” she says as she smooths her hand over my chest before leaning over the table to check on the food.
This is going to require some epically strong willpower.
Like really fucking strong.
I take a seat in my chair and focus on the eggs in front of me—that isuntil she takes a seat on the table next to my plate, then my eyes shoot straight to her breasts.
Christ, they’re so fucking perfect.
“Are you sure you want that for breakfast?” she asks. “Because I thought that maybe you would want something else.” Then she slides my plate to the side and props her legs up on my shoulders, giving me a full view of her…
“Hudson. Hey, your phone is ringing.”
“What?” I snap awake, feeling completely disoriented as I look around the bedroom, Sloane next to me in a T-shirt, me in my briefs. “What’s happening?”
“Your phone is ringing,” she says.
I look over my shoulder to my nightstand where my phone’s lit up, Hardy’s name scrolling across the screen. “Jesus, what time is it?”
“Three,” Sloane mumbles and then flops back down on her pillow.
I grab my phone and answer it. “What?” I say, feeling like the wind has been snatched right from under me.
Christ, that dream. It felt so goddamn real.
“Hudson, we got the papers.”
“What?” I ask, rubbing my eye with my palm as I get out of the bed and head into the living room, closing the bedroom door behind me.
“We’ve been served.”
“Served what?”
“The lawsuit, Hudson. Jesus. From Dad.”
That wakes me up. “Wait, seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously. And it’s—fuck, it’s not looking good.”
“What do you mean it’s not looking good? He has no leg to stand on. We didn’t do anything wrong.”
“That’s not what he thinks. Apparently, there’s a clause in our trust funds that states he’s privileged to a percentage of income from anythingwe invest in while using our trust fund money. Meaning…the almond farm, Magical Moments by Maggie, and Brody’s storefronts.”
I feel all the blood drain from my face. “That can’t be right.”
“There is documentation that has been provided that says otherwise,” Hardy says.
“So what the fuck does that mean?”
“It means he’s suing us for negligence to pay and charging interest. He’s also claiming rights to each business because we didn’t discuss our investments with him first.”
“He can’t fucking do that,” I nearly roar and then push my hand through my hair.
