by Fall, Carly
Unable to stop herself, she let her gaze travel down his body. She let her eyes roam down the massive wall of a chest covered in a dark brown silk shirt and long, thick, strong legs covered in jeans. Good God, the guy was built like nothing she had ever seen before.
Their eyes locked for a brief moment, and she felt her body warm, her belly coil in an excitement she had never felt. He gave her the same small smile from the night before, and then looked away. She watched as he glanced around the bar, his eyes landing on the two women she had been watching.
She went back to her drink and decided that she needed some food. In the mirror behind the bar, she saw the big guy approach the table with the two women. He obviously said something funny as both burst out laughing, and the brunette patted the seat next to her. He slid into the booth, ordered more wine for the women and a scotch for himself. Beverly ordered a steak and fries and watched the trio in the mirror above the bar.
The guy oozed raw, unrelenting sex. There was no other way to describe him. Sure, he had it going on in the looks department and he carried himself with the confidence of someone who knew it, but there was also an undercurrent about him that made her knees weak. He just gave off a vibe that said, “Fuck me,” and judging by the way the two women were eyeing him, they would be obliging him.
Her sexual experiences were so limited. She had lost her virginity at seventeen to the high school’s captain of the baseball team. Once she got into college, there had been very little time for anything, except school. However, she did go out and get drunk one night while clubbing with some friends and had a one-night stand. After college came her residency, where she didn’t have the time or energy to even think about sex, let alone participate in it. Before her mom’s suicide, she dated every now and then, bringing the total number of men she had slept with to a resounding four.
She found herself analyzing the way the big guy had looked at her. That small smile let her know that yes, he did find her attractive. The pain in his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to fight it, was there, which made her think of lost puppies. She thought back to the time she had toured a children’s cancer ward while in medical school. It had been beyond difficult to see those kids. They all had the look of pain on their faces as through they were hurting from the inside out trying to fight their terrible disease, yet their eyes showed the glow of a fighter. She had admired those kids so much, and she realized that was what she saw in this man. Pain, but beyond that, the glow that let her know he was fighting whatever was bringing on his pain.
All of a sudden, his eyes met hers in the mirror. She told herself to look away, but she couldn’t. That black stare seemed to make promises of unrelenting passion and unbridled ecstasy. The depth of his stare seemed to tilt her world on its axis, making her wonder what exactly she had been missing all these years in the bedroom, and she wondered why in the world she was thinking about sex with a complete stranger.
He smiled at her, and she realized she was staring. Quickly pulling her eyes away from him and making a promise to herself that she simply would not look at him, she eyed the massive, butt-exploding, stomach-expanding meal the bartender placed in front of her. She looked at the slab of meat and her mouth instantly got wet with anticipation. During her addiction and convalescence, she had lost a lot of weight and was happy that she needed to put some back on. She took a bite of steak and again glanced into the mirror. He was still staring at her, a small grin on his face. She stopped chewing and met his eyes. This time, she refused to give way. Their stare locked what seemed like hours, and finally, she won. His attention turned to the small brunette to his right, who seemed to talk at about a million words per minute.
Beverly turned back to her steak and took another huge bite. Instead of thinking about the big man in the mirror, she concentrated on how good it felt to eat and thought about when she would be leaving for California.
Chapter 7
Hudson watched the woman sitting at the bar. He had barely been able to tear his eyes away when their stares locked in the mirror. She had the most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen. Hell, everything about her was beautiful. She was a little too thin for him—he liked his women with a little meat on their bones, and for some reason he felt happy as she chowed down and enjoyed her steak as if it were the first meal she’d had in weeks.
And he’d been thinking about her all afternoon after seeing her at the spa that morning.
Walking into the bar this evening, Hudson knew what he wanted. He figured he would kill himself in the morning, so he wanted his last night to be something that he would enjoy. After catching an early dinner at the hotel’s four-star steak house, he decided that he was ready to drink some scotch, have some sex, and then he would put himself out of his misery tomorrow. He had been up most of the night cleaning his gun, thinking about Heaven, Hell, and whether taking a trip to those places was an option for his kind. He had been on Earth for a long time, but never had he aligned himself with one religion, yet he had studied all of them. Except for the ones that were a little out there, none of them said anything about God accepting an alien into His realm.
So what would happen to him? He didn’t really have a spirit as a human did. He had his SR44 form in this huge body, and that form had a spirit, but where would it go once his human body was dead?
Hudson kind of hoped for blackness. He was just plain tired of this whole ride called life, and he was ready to get off.
When he had walked into the bar, he had noticed the woman right away. Honestly, how could he not? Those big, green eyes, her clear, porcelain skin, her pretty, blonde hair that swirled around her shoulders. He looked over her jeans, red silk tank top, and sandals. Even in something so simple, she radiated elegance. He thought for a moment about making her his last conquest on Earth, and images swirled through his mind of her long legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into her. A small smile crept to his lips, and he actually took a step toward her, but then her eyes met his in the mirror in the back of the bar. He stopped, and a voice within him said, She deserves better than you.
Yes.
Yes, she did. She was a high-class lady, and he was some shmuck who would be dead by this time tomorrow. As she looked away, he was certain she deserved better than him.
He turned and looked at the other patrons in the bar. He saw two women—a brunette and a woman with blonde hair drinking red wine and chatting.
One of them, or maybe both if they swung that way, would be his last conquest. They were nice looking, but had a bit of an edge about them. They weren’t refined and upscale as the beauty at the bar. They were more on his level.
As he chatted with the two women, he knew that the little brunette was going to drive him crazy if he didn’t make his move quickly. She must have been from the East Coast, as she talked a mile a minute with a grating accent and pitch in her voice that reminded him of cats fighting. He easily tuned her out and hoped he was nodding or smiling in all the right places, and found his eyes wandering to the woman at the bar again. Once more, their eyes locked in the mirror. The air in the room seemed to get really thin, and there wasn’t enough of it because he felt like his lungs were collapsing. His chest got tight, and his stomach curled. The green stare made him physically uncomfortable, but yet he found it hard to look away.
And dammit, she seemed determined to stare him down. A fucking game of chicken. Which of course, reminded him that next month was Chicken Month, and he wondered what Faith would come up with.
His next response startled him.
The front of his pants began to get tight.
Frankly, even though he had a lot of sex, getting himself riled up for it took some work. Yet this woman was accomplishing that with a simple look, and the eye contact wasn’t even face-to-face. Yes, he had looked at her when he bumped into her on the path, but there hadn’t been this type of eye contact. He would probably be destroyed if he met her gaze for any amount of time face-to-face.
Who was this woman, and
what the hell was she doing to him? And why wouldn’t she look away?
He knew that if the connection were broken, he would be able to breathe and wouldn’t feel as though he had a semi resting on his chest. He could also then go about his business of getting laid and killing himself.
“Whatchya lookin’ at, Hudson?” the little brunette asked.
The grating voice was just what he needed to disengage. You win, sweetheart, he thought. Gobble, gobble.
Shit.
That was a turkey.
He couldn’t even get a chicken sound right.
He looked down at the brunette beside him and smiled. “Nothing, honey. I just thought I knew someone at the bar.”
Chapter 8
Beverly stepped out of the ladies room and took a brief glimpse at where the big guy had been sitting with the two women. She felt a flash of disappointment when she saw the table was empty.
She charged the meal to her room, then went outside. In August, the nighttime air was still hot in Phoenix, and she guessed it was around ninety-five degrees. Even though it was warm and muggy, Beverly wasn’t quite ready to head back to her room. She decided to take a stroll around the grounds, thinking that she would leave tomorrow afternoon for California.
Her and her mom had rarely traveled. They had been to Disneyland once and to New Orleans once. She had always wanted to explore the west coast, and maybe she would find a nice, little town and settle down and get a job. What type of job, she had no idea. What type of job would an ex-doctor get? She doubted there would be a pharmaceutical company that would hire her—they’d probably be afraid she would consume the samples, and it was also a bad environment for an ex-junkie. Maybe she could find work with a private firm, or find someone looking for a personal physician. But then again, she didn’t have the MD behind her name any longer; she had Ex-MD. So what did an ex-doctor junkie do for a living?
Realizing she was almost back at her room, she happened to glance in the room to her left. She stopped cold in her tracks as something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.
She gasped.
The curtains were parted just about a foot. The dim light inside revealed the big man from the bar and the brunette.
The brunette was laid out on the bedspread, her hands cuffed to the bedposts in furry, black clasps. Beverly always thought that people who used things like handcuffs engaged in rough sex, but not in this case. The woman was panting as the man lifted his face from in between her legs.
He traveled up her body, his movements smooth, like a jungle cat. His tendons and muscles rippled beneath his skin as his tongue explored the woman’s stomach, her hip, and then his mouth latched on to a breast, his long, thick sex jutting out from his hips. The woman began pulling at the cuffs, swinging her head from right to left, her eyes screwed tightly shut.
Beverly felt her hand travel to her neck as she watched, her breath coming in short spurts. The big man let go of the nipple, poised himself between the woman’s legs, and slowly pushed his hips forward. The woman pulled harder on the cuffs as her back bowed. His hips retreated, and he pushed again, this time with a little more force. He reached up to the cuffs, flicked a switch, and the woman took the opportunity of freedom to grab onto his chiseled arms.
Feeling heat pool between her legs, Beverly knew she should just start moving. She had no business watching these two people have sex, but she was transfixed, unable to put one foot in front of the other. She wrapped her other hand around her waist, as if she had a stomachache, while the other remained at her neck.
If she thought he was beautiful before, she now stood in stunned silence as she watched him. She felt as if she were watching some sort of erotic dance, not two people having sex. Actually, she couldn’t have cared less about the woman—she wasn’t what held Beverly’s attention. As his hips thrust and retreated, the muscles and tendons beneath his skin rolled. A shimmer of sweat covered his body, and her mouth went dry. She heard the muffled cries as the woman’s body contracted and writhed in pleasure.
Suddenly, he turned his gaze to the window. She felt a flush come over her as their eyes locked. She wanted to move so badly, to get away from this terribly embarrassing situation, but she was transfixed, barely able to breathe let alone walk. After a long moment, he turned his head and closed his eyes. His hips began to move faster in long, confident strokes. A moment later, he threw his head back, gritting his teeth. He opened his eyes and looked at the brunette below him. Then his head slowly turned to the window, their eyes locking again. The expression on his face showed no emotion; it was as still as the air on a windless afternoon. The brunette said something, and he stared at Beverly for a heartbeat longer, then turned his attention to the woman. He got up from the bed and moved toward the window. Beverly inhaled sharply as he approached. As he stood at the window, gloriously naked, his sex still hard, his black hair streaming around his shoulders, he stared at her. He gave her a small smile, then shut the curtains all the way.
Beverly inhaled a deep breath and ran to her room.
Chapter 9
Hudson awoke the next morning feeling like a pile of dog shit scraped on the sidewalk. He had drank too much scotch and stayed up too late with the brunette. What was her name? Hell, who cared at this point. They had some good sex, and she left at the crack of dawn with promises of seeking him out later. Even if was going to be alive later, he would’ve changed rooms—no, hotels—so that later never happened. Her voice was enough to make him want to jam a screwdriver into his ears.
And the familiar pain that ravaged his body was present, which did nothing but exacerbate his hangover.
As he stared at the ceiling, he thought of the weird and erotic situation of last night. He had never been blatantly aware of someone watching him have sex, but with all the women he had bedded, in all the different places, he imagined he had been observed more than once. Movie theaters. Lots of clubs. Back alleys.
Hudson remembered the moment he knew he was being watched, and he remembered the second he knew who it was. He felt her piercing, green stare, as if she had been standing next to him, and he wondered what she would think if she knew that he envisioned her when he came. Maybe he should go seek her out. He knew her room was around here somewhere. But if he found her, what would he say? Did you enjoy the show? Would you care to participate? Why do I feel like you’re the only one who can see through the bullshit charade I have going on? How do you do that?
Nah, he didn’t need to know the answer to that. He needed to get back on track to killing himself.
He contemplated his next move.
According to his plan, he had done everything on his short bucket list. Stayed in a nice hotel? Yes. Good dinner? Check. Sex? Check. Time to eat the gun.
He got out of bed and pulled on his boxers, finding it somewhat amusing that he cared if he died with his junk hanging out. Hell, he was about to blow his brains all over the wall—he guessed the least of his worries should be if his cock was exposed. He went to his Louis Vuitton duffel bag and pulled out the papers and gun he had brought with him.
He looked over his final letter as he ran his hand through his black hair.
Dear Noah,
I have looked after Abby for many years, but now I know she’s safe with you. Take care of her and love her the best you can.
I’m counting on you not to fuck it up.
I don’t have much to live for now. I’ve never been able to get over the pain of losing Iris. I hurt, Noah. Every day. I can’t stand it anymore, and I’m sorry for leaving it up to you to make Abby understand what I’m going through. Imagine losing her, and then describe your feelings to her. Hopefully you will understand the pain, and you can make her understand it as well.
I know I should be there for Abby and for you, Cohen, Jovan, Rayner, and Talin. Please tell the boys that I care deeply about them, even if they are a bunch of assholes.
I just can’t deal anymore. I can’t keep up the charade that I’m solid, because
I’m not. I’m ruined. I have a fissure in my soul that I have held together as long as possible, and I can’t do it anymore. Not trying to be a whiner, just telling it like it is. You know I’d rather stab someone than listen to them whine.
So take care of Abby, and stay strong, my friend. If there is another side, I’ll see you there, my brother.
Hudson
Okay, well, he could see this flying about as well as an elephant with butterfly wings, but it was what it was, and people would have to deal. You couldn’t put a shine on horseshit.
He put the letter in the envelope, tucking the flap into the envelope instead of sealing it, and slid it in the side pocket of his bag. He called the concierge and told him he needed a mail pick-up in next half hour, and then he decided he would take a shower. Might as well die clean.
The hot jets relaxed him as they hit his skin. He slowly shampooed his hair and felt the bubbles run down his body. He wondered what his family would think if they could be here and know of his decision. Would his father understand if he told him how he felt? Hudson was sure he would, because any SR44 male who truly loved his mate would definitely get it. What about his brother? If Stretch could be here right now, would he be mated? Would he understand? Hudson didn’t know. He felt guilt wash through him as he thought of his mother. A female could never fully understand how an SR44 male felt about her. She couldn’t fully comprehend that once an SR44 male fell in love, the female was also his biggest Achilles. An SR44 male strived to do nothing but make his mate happy, and to love her and cherish her. He could imagine his mother’s tears at his decision to end his life, and a bit of guilt sliced through him.
Hudson had studied relationships between humans, and as far as he was concerned, human men knew absolutely nothing about loving their mates. He remembered the first time he had read of a domestic violence case. The shock and awe that went through him was something like a nuclear bomb exploding in his gut. How could a male hit a female? It was something beyond his comprehension. What he did understand was the anger that coursed through him when he thought about it, and the desire to give the guy a taste of his own medicine, and then lodge his balls in his throat.
