Free Web NovelChapter 74: Chapter 74 Caught Past Curfew Like a Teenager
Christina’s POV
I stumbled into the mansion, tipsy and giggling at some ridiculous meme Ysolde had just texted me.Something about a guy trying to deep-throat a corn dog and nearly dying for it.Pure comedy gold.
My laughter died instantly when I spotted Hudson. He sat dead center in the living room like the final boss in a video game, his eyes locked on the door, waiting. The intensity in those blue eyes made my heart skip several beats.
"Shit," Akira whimpered inside me.
"Drank way too much," I mumbled, pressing fingers against my temples. "Gonna crash now..."
I wobbled toward the stairs, clinging to the banister like it was my lifeline. Hudson’s eyes followed me, and I could feel his stare on my back. Each step felt heavy as he watched me.
The second my bedroom door closed behind me, I collapsed against it, breathing hard like I’d outrun a predator. Which, technically, I had.
"That was close," I whispered.
"Too close," Akira agreed. "He seemed angry."
I jumped into the shower, letting hot water wash away the bar smell. As steam filled the bathroom, my mind filled with images of Hudson that weren’t entirely appropriate.
"Damn you, Ysolde," I muttered, thudding my forehead against the shower tile.
Earlier tonight at the Cider & Smoke, Ysolde had interrogated me like I was on trial for "Crimes Against Getting Laid," questioning every sexless moment I’d spent under Hudson’s roof.
"So you’re telling me you haven’t slept with him?" Ysolde had asked, her martini halfway to her lips. "At all?"
I’d shifted uncomfortably. "Not since that one night at the hotel. Before the fake marriage."
She’d given me a look of pure disbelief. "What the actual fuck is wrong with you? You sleep in the same house as that walking sex dream and don’t jump him? Did your libido die?"
"I don’t sleep in his room," I’d corrected. "And my libido’s fine, thanks."
"Yeah, clearly." She’d rolled her eyes so hard I feared they might get stuck. "That’s why you’re living with a man who looks like sin personified and not riding him like you stole him. I’d be all over that before breakfast and again before bed, just for the cardio."
"I’m not you. And it’s all fake, remember?"
"Fake marriage doesn’t mean fake orgasms. Under normal circumstances, you’d have jumped him already. Admit it."
"Maybe," I’d conceded.
Technically, I already had.
"So what’s stopping you now?"
"I don’t want complications."
"You overthink everything. Chrissy, honey, I love you like pack, but you’re a total coward. You move slower than... what’s a really slow animal?"
"Tortoise?"
"Slower than a constipated tortoise. Life’s short. You like him, right?"
"’Like’ is stretching it—" freeweɓnøvel.com
"Fine. You like his body?"
"Well, yeah. I have functioning eyes."
"Are you hung up on anyone else?"
"No."
"Is he?"
"I haven’t asked."
"That means no. So what are you waiting for? Go home, rip his pants off, and ride him like you’re in the Kentucky Derby. And if you need pointers, I’ve got some videos—"
That’s when the bar’s speakers had crackled with an announcement they were closing early.
Now I flopped onto my bed in an oversized t-shirt, still hearing Ysolde’s advice echoing in my head.
"Damn you, Ysolde," I groaned into my pillow. "Could’ve at least sent me the instructional video."
My traitorous mind had already started creating its own movie starring Hudson Laurent.
A knock at my door nearly gave me a heart attack.
"Luna Christina," Geoffrey called softly. "I’ve brought lemon water and pain relievers in case you need hydration. May I come in?"
I quickly composed myself. "Thanks, Geoffrey. Door’s open."
When the door swung open, it wasn’t Geoffrey standing there. Hudson took the tray from the butler’s hands and strolled into my room like he owned it. Which, technically, he did.
Our eyes locked in silent combat. My phone slipped from my nerveless fingers and smacked me square in the face.
"Fuck," I muttered, rubbing my cheek. Perfect. A bruise to match my wounded dignity.
"Just put the tray down, please. I’ll drink it later."
No response.
I turned slowly to look at him.
Hudson remained standing there, two steps from my bed, his eyes intense and unreadable. He said absolutely nothing.
I rolled over and buried my face in the duvet. "Ugh, migraine. So tired. Passing out now."
Please leave. Please just go.
I lay motionless, barely breathing. The tray clinked as he set it on my nightstand, but I heard no footsteps walking away. Just silence. Terrible, weighted silence.
My heart hammered so loudly I was certain he could hear it. Each second stretched into eternity.
Nearly suffocating, I risked a peek in the wardrobe mirror.
His gaze was fixed firmly on my lower half. I suddenly remembered I was wearing only an oversized t-shirt. No underwear. And when I’d flopped onto the bed, the hem had ridden up to mid-thigh. Exactly where Hudson’s eyes were locked.
He wasn’t moving. Just watching. The intensity of his stare felt like actual hands caressing my exposed skin. I couldn’t fix my shirt without acknowledging I knew he was looking. That I cared.
So I played dead. A half-naked, mortified corpse.
After what felt like forever, he moved. I tensed, but all he did was step forward and gently pull my blanket up over me. He tucked me in like a child, though his lingering touch suggested anything but paternal feelings.
"Good night, Christina," he murmured, his voice low and rough.
Then he was gone.
I groaned into my pillow, my body on fire.
"You should have said something," Akira whined.
"Like what?" I muttered. "’Please stop looking at my ass’ or ’Want to join me?’"
"I vote for the second option," Akira replied cheekily.
I threw another pillow over my head, trying to smother both my embarrassment and the heat pooling low in my belly.
Sleep was going to be impossible tonight.
