And yet there he sat, seemingly unaffected.
As if reading her mind, Hudson took her hand and surreptitiously placed it on his lap, careful to shield her with his program.
“Touch me,” he whispered. “Feel how hard I am for you.”
His erection strained against the fabric of his suit pants, and with a slight shift of his hips, he flexed into her palm. He wanted her, and at any cost, it seemed. It was too much. She’d maintained a modicum of control up until then, resisting the urge to rock against his questing fingers. But feeling the hard evidence of his arousal, his blatant need and desire, shattered her sense of reason. In a bold move, her fingers curled around his length and squeezed. His eyes closed briefly, and when he opened them, they were burning with need.
“We’re leaving,” he said, as the fourth and final movement began. He stood, taking Allie by the hand and pulling her to her feet. He yanked the velvet curtain back, dragging her toward the door, but when he reached for the handle, the curtain fell back into place, shrouding them in near total darkness.
Hudson stopped and spun on his heel. In one swift move he lunged at her, pushing her against the wall of the box. Her mouth fell open on a gasp and he took full advantage, kissing her ferociously with long, deep sweeps of his tongue. His taut body pinned her, enveloped her, overwhelmed her, and she moaned with a desperate hunger as her hands raked into his hair.
“I can’t wait until we get home.” He moved away for a handful of seconds and she heard the faint clink of his belt buckle. “I’m going to fuck you. Here. Now.”
His erotic, untamed words thrilled her, and a surge of pure lust coursed through her veins.
“Someone could walk in,” she panted.
“I don’t care.”
And in that moment, neither did she. Not even a little. There were hundreds of people below them, all listening intently as Tchaikovsky’s fourth movement wafted through the symphony hall, and yet all she could think about was the how badly she needed to feel him inside her.
His hands shifted from his fly to between her thighs, lifting her dress higher until he found the soaked satin of her panties. He groaned as his fingertips brushed the wet material, and then his grip tightened around the edge. Allie felt a sharp tug as the delicate fabric was shredded from her body, and then a rush of cool air against her aching core.
She reached for him, pushing his pants just low enough to free him from his boxer briefs, and then he closed the distance between them, grinding his mouth against hers and pressing her between the wall and his hard, muscular body. She felt the throb of his erection straining hard and hot against her, and she shuddered. Once he was inside, she knew it was going to be a fast, fierce ride.
Hudson’s hand smoothed up the back of her thigh. He lifted her leg, spreading her, and hooked her knee around his hip. The heavy curtain afforded almost total darkness, but in the thin strip of light coming from beneath the door, she could see a haze of lust clouding his bright blue eyes. He bent his knees and pushed into her in one long thrust that had her sucking in a sharp, gasping breath. He pulled back and thrust again, forcing his way deeper until she was utterly impaled and it was impossible to tell where he ended and she began.
Her head fell back against the wall as he moved inside her in slick, relentless drives that had her moaning at how perfectly they fit together. No one had ever come close to igniting her passion the way Hudson did. He was what she needed, what she craved.
The sound of pounding drums surrounded them, a fiery rhythm pushing them higher and higher as his thrusts grew wilder and more desperate. Her fingers clutched the shoulders of his jacket, holding on tight as a white-hot rush threatened to consume her.
The music swelled to a crescendo and her entire body began to quake. Rippling tremors started in her core and then pulsed like waves throughout her body, in perfect time to the clashing symbols on the stage below. Drums pounded their way through the finale and Allie dropped her head, burying her face in Hudson’s neck to muffle the keening cry that escaped her lips. Her climax washed over her and her teeth sank into Hudson’s neck. He groaned as she marked him and his body jerked, driving to the hilt one last time as he came.
Once the tremors subsided, Hudson lowered her carefully back to her feet. She wobbled on her heels and he steadied her with an arm around her waist.
“I believe I’m starting to develop an appreciation for classical music,” he said.
Still short of breath, she managed a slight laugh. “I thought it all sounded the same to you?”
“This one is different.” His expression grew serious as he brushed the pad of his thumb over Allie’s swollen lips, but then he quickly flashed a wicked grin. “In fact, I need to go home and listen to it a few more times.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Allie pushed through the brass revolving doors of the Drake Hotel and hurried up the stairs. The concierge glanced up from his desk as she passed, but Allie didn’t need directions. She’d been to the Palm Court dozens of times over the years.
The harpist was at her post, same as she was every day during afternoon tea. Her carefully plucked notes wafted through the air in perfect harmony with the tranquil fountain at the center of the room. Chiffon-draped columns framed the scene and divided the restaurant into cozy seating areas of plush velvet couches and white linen chairs. Allie scanned the room and found her mother in one of the chairs, her back to the fountain as she set her china teacup on the white marble table in front of her.
“You’re late,” Victoria scolded. She tilted her head in invitation. Despite her aggravation, Allie obliged, careful not to smudge lipstick on her mother as she pressed her cheek to hers.
“I have a job, Mother. I can’t drop everything just because you leave a voice mail summoning me to tea.”
Her mother bristled. “You were not summoned to tea, Alessandra. I simply needed to discuss a few items with you and this seemed like the perfect venue.”
A tuxedo-clad waiter greeted her the moment she settled in on the dark brown sofa. “Welcome to the Palm Court,” he said. “What can I start you out with this afternoon?”
“I’ll take the Earl Grey. Decaf please. No cream or sugar, but I’d love some honey on the side.” As an afterthought, she added, “Oh, and an orange twist instead of lemon, if you have one.” The waiter backed away with a nod and Allie turned to her mother. “What was so urgent?”
“Elizabeth Prescott called me yesterday. She tells me Hillary asked you to be her doubles partner next summer.”
Allie dug her nails into the palm of her hand. Had her mother really interrupted her workday to talk about tennis? Even if she was somehow under the misconception Allie was interested in league play, the season was still a good six months away. “Mother, if you called me here to discuss—”
“She also invited me to be her guest at the symphony last night.” She gazed at Allie, her facial expression giving nothing away.
Allie tried to keep her voice level. “She did?”
“Yes, seems her husband had something come up rather last minute and she was kind enough to offer me the extra ticket. They were good seats, too. Main floor, center aisle.” Victoria lifted her teacup to her lips and took a small sip. “Of course, I would have preferred box seats.” She moved slowly and methodically, setting her cup and saucer back on the small table. Allie’s heart thudded in her chest, yet she held perfectly still, doing her best to remain impassive as her mother studied her face for any hint of a reaction. Her eyes never left Allie’s as she dabbed the corner of her mouth with a cloth napkin. When she was done, she folded it neatly and smoothed it across the lap of her mint-green St. John suit. “Did you enjoy the performance, Alessandra?”