Sinner(205)

“Chet is none of your business, actually.” I say, almost unable to hide my smirk. Is he jealous?

“I’m just curious that’s all.” Hudson passes me a clean, dripping wet coffee cup.

“Oh what, for security purposes?” I say sarcastically as I reach for the mug.

“No I’m just curious for me actually.” I freeze with my hand on the lip of the coffee cup he’s holding in his hand, suddenly very curious where he’s going to go with this.

Hudson grins, as if seeing right through the casual face I’m doing my best to maintain and seeing the eagerness within. “I’m honestly just wondering who could put up with you long enough to date, that’s all.”

I roll my eyes, suddenly angry with myself for being such a weirdo about all of this. “Oh shut up.”

Hudson laughs. “Oh I’m just kidding Red, jeez lighten up.” He casually reaches over and wraps his arm around my waist, and I freeze.

“Stop.”

“What?”

I can feel the strength in his arms, and the heat in his fingers as they circle around my waist, drawing me closer to his body and I can feel the shiver run up my spine.

“Just- don’t touch me like that.” I’m saying no because I need him to, not because I want him to. In fact, I desperately want him to keep touching me.

Hudson frowns. “Jesus, Reagan, like what?” He drops his arm and steps back from me, and I’m instantly missing the heat of his body and the heat my body feels when he’s that close to me. “Ok, fine.”

I swallow heavily. “Fine.” I know my cheeks are bright red, and the heated, needy desire pouring through my body and dampening my panties scream that I want anything but him to stop touching me, but I force myself to turn away from him.

I gasp when he reaches out and grabs my arm, and my heart leaps into my throat as I feel him spin me around and press me up against the refrigerator. I’m flush against his body, feeling every ripple of his muscles, every inch of his skin on mine, and I let out the tiniest of moans in spite of myself. I can feel his hardness pressing hotly against me as his hands push my arms back against the cool metal of the fridge, and he leans down until I can feel his breath teasing across my lips.

“Just so you know, I’m betting I could have you right here, right now, Princess. I’d only have to ask.”

“Oh is that a fact, huh?” I give him my most defiant, carefree look, but I know by the way he grins that he can see right through that. And I know by the way my face is flushed and the way I know he can feel the heat between my legs on his thigh that neither of us are fooled by my little act.

“Yeah, that’s a fact.” He growls, leaning closer still until his lips are barely millimeters away from mine.

“Then why don’t you then.” My voice is breathy, and I hear the words muted as if I’m speaking underwater. I’m willing him to kiss me. Willing him to lean down press that mouth to mine and take me right here in the kitchen. Right up against the refrigerator.

Please, please, please I beg inside my head, biting my lip and staring deep into his deep blue eyes and wanting nothing more than to feel him slide inside of me.

I’m so wet and I can feel my heart just racing as we stare at each other. But I need him to make the move first. I’m running for a seat on the State Senate for crying out loud, I can’t be throwing myself at my bodyguard - or my campaign financier, or both, or whatever the hell Hudson is. I just can’t, and for that singular reason, every fiber of my being and every thudding beat of my pulse in my veins wants him to tear my panties off and fuck me right here.

But he doesn’t, and the moment passes, and we both know it. Hudson moves away from me suddenly, his own chest rising quickly with his breath as he stares at me hungrily with a look I can’t quite read.

“Like you said, Reagan. It’s nothing.”





Chapter Twelve





Reagan




P A S T



“Are you drinking?” My older sister’s eyes are narrowed, red-rimmed as they are as she leans down to sniff the cup of soda she’s snatched out of my hands.

“N-no.” I mumble out, fairly confident that there’s no way she’s going to smell the white wine I’ve dosed my diet-cola with. Yeah, I’m drinking white wine with coke. I was a very special breed of eighteen year old rebel.

Quinn swears at me, even though I know damn well she’s had a few herself. “It’s a wake, Reagan, not an open bar,” she hisses. Always the one in charge, especially now.

“It’s not a wake. It’s a memorial vigil,” I say tensely through gritted teeth.