7. Ember

7

EMBER

H oly. Shit.

He’s pulling me on the stage. He is pulling me on the stage.

Wide-eyed, I glance back at Suzy and the girls, void of an external freak out, conflicting what is actually happening inside my head. Unsure if it’s because the dancer, known as Kilo, is pulling me on stage or the fact that Hudson is here?

Why is he here?

My head is already fuzzy, and I’m confused as to why a group of guys would be watching male strippers. Unless his bachelor party is for a gay groom? Maybe that’s the case.

The guy with the dirty blonde hair and huge smile is certainly happy to be here. Maybe that’s the groom. Two other guys are toasting a shot to each other, and they are far too handsome for their own good, as well. Although the area is dim, I can see one of them, with his razor sharp jawline and gorgeous smile that would make any woman’s ovaries scream. The other is some kind of an exotic mix and absolutely breathtaking .

Jesus. Hudson travels in a pack of hunky men.

Regardless, none of this should be happening. Hudson should, most definitely, not be on the opposite side of this stripper stage, and I, most definitely, should not be in the middle of it.

Somewhere between the vodka shot and my shocked, hypnotic gaze at Hudson, a chair was placed in the middle of the stage, which I’m now sitting at.

The dancer, with his chest of steel and washboard abs, circles the chair like a vulture. If eye fucking was a real thing, that is happening right now.

I steal a glance at Hudson. His jaw is clenched, and he looks angry. Nothing like the easygoing, playful man I met on the plane.

Another shadow appears in my periphery as a second chair scraps along the stage, the legs screeching over the music. I look down at the empty chair and my eyes slowly roam up to see a second dancer, larger—much larger than the first—staring down at me.

Oh. My. God.

My eyes bulge and my jaw drops.

This man is huge. His skin is smooth and dark, and really, really oily. His legs are the size of tree trunks, and his midsection the width of a goddamn refrigerator. Every inch of his body is hard ropes of muscles, in areas I had no idea muscles were supposed to be. He is wearing a neon green g-string that covers nothing. Nothing. It’s like a mini sock for his not-so-mini penis.

Holy shit.

Holy. Shit.

When I am finally able to tear my eyes away from his body and look at his face, I’m stunned to discover he has the kindest baby face I have ever seen, contrasting his hard body. In the background, the music fades and a loud booming voice introduces the man as Bear.

Fitting .

Nerves get the best of me, and I whiplash my face to the floor. I stare down at the ground to avoid looking at him. There is a crumpled one-dollar bill that has caught my attention and I hyperfocus on it. I wonder if you shine a UV light on it, if it would light up like Times Square.

Bear’s foot lands on top of the poor abused dollar bill. As it splays out under his foot, a small corner peeks out from underneath his big toe. I’m too focused on that to notice Bear’s crooked finger touch my collarbone and trail upward to my chin, lifting it slowly. His hips are at the exact level of my face, so I have a front and center view of his crotch. All I see is green. Bright, bumpy, and blinding neon green.

Mortified, I cover my face with my hands to create a barrier between his monstrosity of an appendage. But because I’m human, and can’t look away from a pending car crash, I spread my fingers and peek through the slits to see Kilo come up to my left and Bear step ever so slightly to my right.

Oh. God.

I can’t handle one of these guys, much less two. Letting my hands slip from my face, I lean my neck back to look at the girls and point to the chair next to me, mouthing ‘Get your ass in the chair.’

They are drunk. Screaming drunk. Laughing and happy as can be, waving their hands in the air, egging on the dancers.

I am going to kill them.

Dana’s face scrunches up as she ducks to look in between one of the dancer’s rooted legs, which catches my attention, forcing me to follow her line of sight.

Opposite the stage is Hudson. His body language is frantic, and his arms are flailing all over the place as he talks to his dark-haired friend, who looks like he could murder someone with his pinky finger. The dark-haired friend shakes his head, grabs Hudson’s bicep with one hand, then splays out his other hand toward the alcohol table. Hudson clearly hates whatever idea he’s suggesting because, instead, he plants his hands on the stage, pushing himself up onto it.

What is he doing?

As his feet touch the stage, his shoe lands on another stray one-dollar bill. His foot slips from underneath him, slamming his chest and chin into the stage. His face scrunches up, and I can’t help but wince and do the same, because Jesus, that looked painful.

Ouch .

Kilo and Bear hear the collision and turn around just in time to see Hudson recovering as he pushes himself upright in forward momentum. His legs roadrunner in front of him, stumbling over each other, before plopping down in the seat next to mine.

Concern, confusion, and relief are mixed into one all-encompassing facial expression as I turn to look at him. By instinct, my hand lands on top of his thigh, which feels like a comfort for both of us at this point. He glances down at my hand before his gaze meets mine.

“What are you doing?” I scream at him over the music.

He leans in closer to me, sliding his hand over the top of mine.

“If anyone is touching you tonight, it’s me.”

Then shifts forward in his seat, facing the crowd with his spine ramrod straight, still holding his hand over mine.

Bear appraises us. Looking down at our connected hands, then to our faces that are still staring straight ahead, avoiding all eye contact with anything, then back at Kilo in a systematic routine. He steps back, pulling Kilo with him, whispering something.

The alcohol is starting to kick in, as the sounds around us aren’t nearly as overwhelming as they were before. I know there are a ton of people in the crowd tonight, but from the lit up stage, it’s hard to see everyone clearly. Or maybe that’s the alcohol too.

At least I’m not feeling as nervous as I was earlier. Actually, that is probably the alcohol as well.

Kilo grabs a microphone from someone at the side of the stage and pauses, giving the crowd a bit of a tease. Putting it to his mouth, then pulling it down, smiling before repeating. The crowd is screaming and way too excited and I wish I had any clue as to what they are doing. I’m assuming we are both getting lap dances, on stage, in front of everyone, which brings another heatwave to my cheeks, making them blush further. They will probably hold nothing back, especially with Hudson.

Dana slides two full shot glasses across the stage that stop just shy of my left foot. Pulling my hand from Hudson’s tight grasp, I lean down, pick them up, and then pass one to him.

This is the most liquor I’ve ever had in my entire life. But if people are watching me get a lap dance from either one of these men, I’ll need to drink the rest of that bottle to get through it.

We stare at each other for a brief moment, neither one of us believing this is actually happening, and for some reason, neither one of us can hold back a genuine smile. We clink our glasses together with a silent toast before shooting back the clear liquid. The burn doesn’t feel so bad anymore. Not surprising, since my entire body is already on fire, thanks to the man sitting next to me.

I snag the empty glass from him, toss both back to Dana, then sit upright and face forward. Hudson does the same, except reaches over and grabs the top of my hand, interlaces his fingers between mine, then places it back on top of his leg.

Just then, Kilo screams into the mic. “Amateur Night!” Accentuating the word ‘night’ into a long, breathy word .

And our faces drop. Hudson’s eyes widen, as he gives himself a neck fracture, turning to look at the dancers, who are throwing their hands up and down in the air, trying to get the crowd even rowdier than they already are.

Placing his fingers on his forehead, he massages the area before running his palm down his face. Over his eyes, his nose, then landing on his mouth. He’s deep in thought, his eyes bouncing between the crowd, the dancers, his friends, then me.

And he just stares at me.

Into me.

Through me.

This desire deepens in his chocolate pools, turning nearly black with flashing emotions of fear and lust. A determination that wasn’t there before shines through.

The lights dim and Anywhere by 112 begins to play throughout the open space.

Suddenly, he stands up, kicking his chair, and it goes flying back toward the side of the stage. He wraps his arms around me, gripping the back of my chair, swinging it around so I’m facing the back of the stage.

Radiant colors stream from the small sources of light that remain, bouncing off the small windows, and I can see the glass vibrating with the beat of the music. The slow sensual sound makes my pulse raise and heart bump harder than the rumbling of the bass.

I quickly realize that my strapless pantsuit was the best outfit choice tonight as opposed to the skirt that Sara wanted me to wear, because Hudson pulls my hands away from the tight grip they had on the chair before sliding his face… into my lap. Then he places my hands on the back of his head as he spreads my legs open and nuzzles into my center. Although the back of my head is facing the crowd, I can’t help but tear my hands away from his hair to cover my face.

“Oh, no you don’t, little red. ”

He looks up at me, taking a hold of my wrists, then pulls my hands back down. A playful smile crosses his face, and as he drags my hands down, his body, slowly—so sexually—transcends up. His lips are now a whisper away from mine. There’s a hefty pause as the music beats through us and his eyes flicker down to my lips.

My heart manages a flutter, somehow, between the heavy thumping against my ribcage.

I don’t have a ton of experience with men, but I know he wants to kiss me.

He releases a long breath before abandoning that idea.

“Hold on to me.” He swings my arms on either side of his head, and I grip his shoulders and neck. Grabbing my hips, he easily draws me up to him, and naturally, my legs wrap around his waist. His touch is gentle, yet assertive, and when he pulls me flush against him, I instantly feel his hard length.

My eyes widen as does his smile, and then he freaking hip bumps me with a wink.

Spinning us around, he sits down on the chair that still faces away from the crowd, forcing me to straddle him. Fortunately, it’s still dark, and as I peer over his head, I can’t see faces, just silhouettes of people. So many people.

“Now, ride me,” he growls in my ear.

Squeezing my eyes shut, urgently shaking my head as I nuzzle into his neck, feeling shy and exposed. “I can’t,” I whisper.

Removing his hands from my hips, he places them over each of my ears, stifling the noise, causing me to open my eyes and pull back to look at him.

“Ignore them. It’s just me and you.” I peer into his passionate, lustful eyes as they swallow me whole. “It’s just us,” he whispers over my lips before crashing them together.

Oh, God. He tastes like cinnamon, cranberries, and sin. I moan into his mouth at both the taste and the touch of his tongue running over mine. My hips take on a mind of their own, rolling into him, back and forth, circling in a punishing rhythm.

“Fuck, yes. Keep going,” he moans into my mouth.

Jesus, this pantsuit was far too expensive for the fabric to be so goddamn thin.

I feel everything .

The bulge in his pants is even larger than before, as my hips rock back and forth over the denim covering his length, creating friction between my legs that feels far too good for me to stop.

In my defense, I keep telling myself to stop. But I can’t. Instead, I just circle my hips deeper and harder, rewarding me with a guttural groan from Hudson that spurs me to grip his hair and retreat away from his kiss so I can see his face.

Desire, passion, and desperation engulf his face, and, Jesus, it’s so sexy.

His hands inch back behind my head, pulling my hair back, exposing my neckline to him. His tongue finds my pulse point and massages my skin as he trails kisses to my jawline back toward my ear.

“I want to be buried inside you. To feel you flutter around me as you scream my name.”

“Holy shit.” The breathy whisper comes out as I moan.

“Hold on to me,” he demands, as he presses into his feet, standing us upright. My arms and legs tighten their hold as he takes a few steps away from the chair. Kneeling, he plants one knee down, followed by the hand that’s not wrapped around me. His strong body holds me, as I cling to him, before he gently lays me on the ground.

He’s hovering over me, his broad frame covering almost everything in my line of sight. He lowers himself, crashing our lips together, and now it’s his turn to roll his hips into mine. Encroaching between my legs, he nips and sucks at my ear, neck, mouth, and I feel him in places he’s not even touching.

The tingling sensation in my core is building with every touch, and I’m confused as to how we’re both still fully clothed and yet he’s making me feel more aroused than I’ve ever been in my entire life.

He looks at me behind hooded eyes, licking his bottom lip, and a gaze as punishing as the rolling of his hips.

“Hudson...” I whimper, desperate for more.

He throws his head back, closing his eyes before dipping his chin to look back at me.

The determination in his eyes is unwavering. He leans back and begins to unbutton his shirt, and I see the ink lines that decorate the top of his chest. I reach up to trace the lines with my finger when the music fades, and the entire building erupts in hollering.

We’re ripped out of the bubble we were in, as I see money flying over us and next to us. The lights are flashing and people are screaming. I’m shocked that my sheer focus was purely Hudson, and his for me.

Without lifting my head off the ground, I turn to face the crowd, seeing my friends combined with his friends, high-fiving and fist pumping each other.

Hudson leans down and whispers in my ear. “I’m not done with you yet, little red.”

He pushes himself up, taking my hand with him, as he helps me to my feet. I sway, instantly lightheaded, and fall into his arms, grabbing his unusually large bicep to steady myself.

“Come on.” He kisses the top of my head before leading us off the stage and toward the elevators.

Our collective group of friends are still cheering as the elevator chimes to allow us entrance.

I remember bracing myself on the elevator wall before Hudson collided his lips into mine. I recall the power behind his kiss and the ache in my core. Followed by the faint sounds of music, the voice of Elvis overlapping with ringing bells and the promises of, “I do”, just before the taste of cranberries and cinnamon hits my lips.