Found in You

by Laurelin Paige

  The roof was practically abandoned, so I knew the sound of the door shutting behind me was Hudson. Still I kept on, rushing through the gardens and leisure seating arranged across the building top, trying to find a spot where I could be alone, where I could breathe, where I could sort out my paranoia from the legitimacy of the situation.

  At the corner wall, I stopped. I leaned over the edge of the cement enclosure, gulping in huge lungfuls of air. Deep breathing was the only thing keeping me from breaking down into sobs.

  His footsteps were quiet behind me, but I still heard them, as if I was hyper-attuned to his movements. He stopped before he got to me, reaching out to me with speech instead of his body. “The Werners are practically family.”

  At least he was smart enough to know why I’d run. And brave enough to not pretend otherwise. He deserved credit for that.

  But I couldn’t give him anything but disbelief. “Right. Uh-huh.” I didn’t turn toward him. I didn’t want to see his face as he explained. If his expression said I was being ridiculous—it would break me.

  “What, do you think I didn’t tell you on purpose?” His voice was calm despite his words.

  I spit out a harsh laugh. “You don’t want to know what I’m thinking.”

  “Actually, I do.”

  I spun around. “No, you don’t.” I backed up until the high corner wall met my back. He didn’t get it. Chances were that my feelings were magnified—I had no way to judge their validity when I was this upset. Experience and counseling taught me to not deal with these situations until I calmed down. I needed time to get calm.

  “Trust me when I tell you I do.”

  “Hudson, you can’t say that when you don’t know what I want to say. It’s not good. In fact, you need to leave me alone. Or I’m going to blame you for things. Things I’m probably overreacting about and you’re going to be offended. And I’m going to lose you.”

  That was the only thing I knew for sure. That whatever I said, whatever I felt, it would drive him away. My intense emotions had never failed to scare off the men in my life. Even my own brother had grown tired of dealing.

  “You aren’t going to lose me.” He took one step toward me. Not cautious, but completely sure. As if to say he had complete control of the situation. As if to say, just try to back me down.

  I pressed harder against the cement behind me, wishing I could disappear inside it. I didn’t want him to witness me like this. “You haven’t seen this side of me, Hudson. You don’t know.”

  “Then I need to stay. I need to see every side of you.”

  He was so calm. I shook my head and bit my lip, fighting off the tears that threatened. Fuck, I couldn’t cry. Eventually I’d have to go back to that restaurant and I didn’t want to be tear-stained.

  But if Hudson stayed, if he pressed me, I didn’t think I could keep it together.

  Or maybe I could tell him. If we were going to share things, then shouldn’t this be one of them? Shouldn’t he be the one person whom I could go to about anything? He’d always brought me peace in the past, when I’d explained what was going on in my head.

  “Go ahead. Ask me.”

  “It won’t be asking; it will be accusing.” I continued to fight, but my defense was weaker.

  And underneath all the accusations rolling in my mind, one thought kept repeating: It wasn’t fair. Not fucking fair. None of it—my parent’s dying, my father’s drinking, my past obsessions, whatever led to now when my history of crazy made it impossible to determine whether or not what I was feeling at the moment was valid. Whether I should be laying into Hudson over his deceit or whether I should be apologizing for running out.

  “Do it. I want to hear it. I need to know what you’re thinking. Trust me.”

  Trust me. It always came to that. I either trusted him, or I didn’t.

  And the simple fact was that I did. Trust him.

  I swallowed. “You didn’t invite me tonight because you knew she’d be here.” It was barely a whisper, but he heard me.

  He nodded once, saying he understood. “That’s not true. I told you why I didn’t invite you. And I did invite you in the end. You’re here.”

  “But you didn’t want to at first.” I stared at my shoes, but my voice strengthened as I fell into the accusations waiting on my tongue. “That’s probably why you had to doll me up. To show up Celia, whatever your game with her is. It wasn’t about your mother at all.”

  “You’re right.”

  My head whipped up.

  “You’re right that it wasn’t about my mother. It was about you. I wanted everyone to see how beautiful you are. How beautiful the woman who loves me is.”

  His statement stirred up my fury. Was he turning my love into a trophy? Into a weapon against her?

  It sure felt as such.

  “Celia,” I spit her name. “You wanted to show Celia, you mean.”

  He shook his head again.

  “She’s here, Hudson!” I didn’t care that I was shouting. The few people on the roof could enjoy the scene. I didn’t even notice if anyone’s head turned, I was so wrapped up in my anger. “She’s here with free rein and I had to beg to be here. And you told me you wouldn’t see her without me. What is she to you?”

  “Nothing. An old friend.”

  “Bullshit.” My voice cracked, but, so far, the tears were staying in my eyes. “Otherwise you would have told me about this dinner from the beginning. You were hiding it from me.” I pointed a shaky finger at him. “Because you knew she would be here too.”

  “I didn’t know.” His lids closed in a long blink as he took a breath. “I suspected,” he conceded. “But she’s not here because of me. Her mother is my mother’s best friend. You know that.”

  “Fuck that. She’s twenty-eight years old. She’s old enough to not go to every goddamn function with her mother. She’s here for you.”

  “And I’m here with you.” His tone was solid, unwavering. Such a contrast to mine.

  “She’s still in love with you.”

  “And I’m with you.”

  He closed the gap between us, and I secretly sighed in relief, placing my palms against the wall for support. He braced his arms on either side of me, caging me in. “I’m with you.”

  My fingers curled inward, trying to hold onto something. Having no success against the cement, they flew forward and gripped onto his jacket instead.

  He took that as an invitation to move closer. Or he just moved closer, not caring if he was invited or not. He pressed his body against mine, and I couldn’t help but press back into him, soaking in his warmth. I’d feared my words would scare him off, and even though my doubts hadn’t yet been stilled, he hadn’t gone anywhere. He was there.

  There and wanting.

  His erection pressed against my belly.

  My eyes flew to his, surprised. He was turned on? How did…why was…did my doubts do that? Did my messed up anxiety make him want me more?

  “I’m hard for you and only you.” He spoke low, his words gritty with desire. “It’s you that I adore.” He lowered his mouth to kiss along my neck, and I let my head fall to the side, granting him access. I moaned as his lips met my skin.

  Then, with simply his touch, I relaxed, melting into him. This was all I needed—his mouth on me, his body against me. Who cared about the why? I only cared that he was there.

  I threw my arms around his neck, and his mouth crushed into mine, hard. His tongue plunged inside, stroking and caressing—I went wet wanting him inside me in the same way.

  He pulled my lower lip between his teeth then let it go. “I’m with you,” he said again as his hands gathered the material of my dress up around my waist, tucking it in to the band of my underwear. And again, as his fingers slipped inside my panties.

  His fingers circled against my nub, and I bucked forward wit
h a moan.

  “That’s it.” He continued his expert caressing, kissing me and encouraging me. “Relax. Let me be with you.”

  I whimpered as fingers slid along the length of my slit and found the center of my heat. But instead of entering me as I so desired—so needed—Hudson dropped to his knees and pulled my panties down to my ankles.

  Before I could protest the loss of his hands on my core, he licked along the lips of my vagina. “It’s you that I’m about to go down on.” He spoke between long strokes with his tongue. “It’s you I’m going to make come with my mouth so that when we go back down there and you start to feel insecure, you will still be wet and you’ll remember my lips were on you and no one else.”

  I was about to come from his words alone, so turned on by his possessiveness, by his demand for me to know that I was his.

  He lifted one foot out of my panties and threw my leg over his shoulder. Then he returned full force, sucking my clit into his mouth. His fingers jabbed into my hole—I have no idea how many he used—but he bent them and stroked me until I was writhing. I clutched my hands into his hair for support as my orgasm exploded through me, rocking me against his hand, against his mouth.

  Hudson didn’t wait for me to calm before he stood, pressing his pelvis against me, urging me to give his cock attention. I cupped his length—God, he was so hard.

  “Take it out,” he commanded.

  Laughter drew my eyes across the roof to a group of people lounging in the sitting area. How long had they been there? “We’re not alone.”

  “Take it out. I don’t care about anyone or anything but being inside you right now. I have to be inside you.”

  And really, I didn’t care either. Not in the least.

  I undid his belt and unzipped his pants. He lowered his clothing enough to release his cock. Immediately I circled my hands around it. He was so hard that his veins protruded from the soft skin of his shaft.

  He didn’t let me fondle him as long as I would have liked. Instead, he lifted me, my back still against the wall, and pushed into me, hard.

  “Goddamn, your pussy is so good.” He drove into me with rapid, staccato thrusts. “Do you hear me? Your pussy makes me this hard. No one else’s.”

  I admired his ability to talk, to be able to speak to me with such coherence while I was a puddle beneath him. And his words—his amazing words—they melted me even more. I soaked them up as I clutched onto him, as he undid me again and again.

  His voice strained as he neared his climax, but still he spoke. “When we go back down to dinner, I will smell like you and you will smell like me. And you’ll remember that we are together. I am with you.”

  We came together, me biting into his shoulder to suppress the scream that threatened to escape my lips, him grunting, “No one but you.”

  No one but you.

  I wrapped the sentiment around me like a child’s favorite blanket. If I could stay like that, stay embraced in the knowledge that I was there for him, then I could dismiss all the doubts that crept into my heart. I could forget about Stacy and her wild claims of proof. I could believe that Celia was merely a friend.

  If I could believe that one statement, Hudson and I would be just fine.

  Chapter Twelve

  Amazingly, the calm Hudson gave me on the rooftop continued as we made our way back to the restaurant. Even Sophia’s peeved glare didn’t fluster me as the waiter pulled out my chair for me.

  Sophia took a sip of the brown liquid in her hand. “It’s about time you returned.”

  I remembered what Hudson had said as we’d left—that I’d forgotten something in the car—and I started to apologize, using that as the basis of my excuse.

  But Hudson beat me to answering. “We got distracted.” He squeezed my hand before relinquishing his hold on me, letting me sit in my chair. As soon as I sat, he took my hand again under the table. I couldn’t think of another time that I’d been so publicly claimed. And after his private appropriation of my body minutes before, relaxing into a comfortable doubt-free place with Hudson seemed like a real possibility.

  Not just a possibility but a reality.

  “Laynie!” Mira seemed about to burst out of her chair. “I’m so glad you made it!”

  The last time I’d seen her, she’d been worried I was done with her brother. My presence was a declaration otherwise.

  “Me, too.” I smiled back at her and passed the same grin on to the others at the table, including Chandler’s head that was bent over his iPhone and the Werners. But I didn’t look Celia in the eye as I did. I could feel her trying to catch my gaze, but I wasn’t interested. She hadn’t told me about the dinner either and that made me suspicious. Perhaps wrongly so, but suspicious all the same.

  “Me, three,” Jack said, winking at me.

  Maybe it was my imagination, but Hudson seemed to snarl at his father’s statement. His protectiveness of me was silly at times, yet it also warmed me.

  Sophia finished off her glass and set it on the table with an attention getting thunk. “Well, we already ordered.”

  “That’s fine. We’ll catch up.” Hudson signaled the waiter, who hastened over. He ordered for us both, in beautiful French that made me slick between my thighs. Or, rather, slicker.

  “And while you’re here, I’ll have another of these.” Sophia held up her empty glass to the waiter, and I saw Mira and Hudson exchange a glance. I could relate all too well to what they were feeling—the dread of having an alcoholic parent, the questions and worries that occupied every moment. Would she drink too much tonight? Would she make a fool of herself? Of us?

  Except in my life the she’s were replaced by he’s. It was my father who had been the alcoholic, the one who had caused me anxiety. Was that where I had first learned to worry? Maybe something I should talk to a therapist about sometime. Or, since I wasn’t seeing a therapist anymore, then maybe my counselor at the group I attended on a somewhat regular basis.

  The thought was interrupted by Hudson leaning in to whisper in my ear. “I hope you don’t mind that I ordered for you.” The feel of his breath on my earlobe caused my hair to stand on end.

  I didn’t. It saved me the trouble of having to decipher the menu. And listening to him speak in a foreign language….I sighed as the smooth lilt of his words lingered in my memory. “As long as my dish doesn’t have mushrooms, I’m happy.”

  “No,” he chuckled, the sound sending an electric spark through my body. “I wouldn’t want you gagging at my mother’s birthday dinner.”

  “Quite the opposite.” I leaned toward his ear now, so that only he could hear me. “The way you ordered, I’m salivating. I didn’t know you could speak French.”

  “Fluently.”

  My eyes widened. “Say something else?” We were flirting, something we didn’t do often in front of others, and it came so naturally that I let myself be carried where it took us.

  “Oui. Plus tard, quand tu es enveloppée dans mes bras, je vais en parler jusqu’à ce que tu en frissonnes de plaisir”

  His husky tone combined with the return of the accent drove me mad. “What did you say?” I was breathless.

  He moved his arm around me, pulling me closer before speaking again. “I said, ‘Yes. Later, when you’re wrapped around me, I’ll speak it until you shudder with delight.’”

  My face blazed with heat.

  “You know there are other people at this table, Hudson,” Sophia chided.

  I hoped those other people didn’t understand French better than I did. And that his translation had truly been quiet enough for only me to hear. But the darting eyes of Madge Werner across the table from me made me think Hudson had been heard.

  Oh, well.

  Mira rolled her eyes. “Mother, leave them alone.” Usually Mirabelle had endless patience for Sophia. Perhaps she was becoming more short-tempered as
her pregnancy proceeded. “Can’t you see they’re in love?”

  Hudson turned his head to smile at me. We were still so unused to the word—it felt odd hearing it being said about us. And it also felt apropos. Obvious, even. Like, duh. How could anyone not see it?

  Sophia couldn’t. “Or they’re working awfully hard to make me believe that.” She smoothed her hair, which was so stiff that the movement did nothing.

  Mira leaned back in her chair and rested her hands on her baby bump. “Why on earth would they want to fake a relationship?”

  I kept my eyes on my plate, worried my expression would give something away. Why would Sophia jump to that conclusion? We had indeed tried to fake our relationship. I even had the feeling that Mirabelle suspected as much. But she also knew I loved her brother, and she’d never tell that to her mother. Mira was the type of person that hung everything on love. An any-obstacle-could-be-overcome-if-there-was-love type of person.

  For the first time ever, I didn’t want to laugh at that idea.

  Sophia took her refill from the waiter, not even bothering to let him set it down before indulging in a long sip. “Beats me. Why does Hudson like to do any of the shitty things he does to people? I long ago gave up trying to figure it out.”

  Celia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but her parents showed no reaction. Which confirmed that Hudson’s past was common knowledge to everyone at the table. No wonder he’d referred to the Werners as family. If they knew his dark secrets, then they practically were.

  Then again, how could they not know his secrets? Their own daughter had been his victim, even though it wasn’t to the extent that they thought. He hadn’t knocked her up, anyway. Whatever he’d done to her head—well, we’d all had people that shaped us for better or worse. Blaming another person for our own actions was selfish. We had to be responsible for our own actions. I’d learned that the hard way.

  Sophia was responsible for her bitchy comments now, no matter what hard-knock story formed her. Her cattiness was disgusting and unforgivable.