Page 22 of The Sweetest Cruelty: Hudson (A Sawyer Brothers Story #1)

What would I do if he ripped my shirt apart, bared my bra to his eyes? A frantic ache suddenly bursts through my core. It was that thought alone that made warmth pool between my legs. Every cell in my body felt raw with sexual hunger. How could I want this boy so badly when I hardly knew him?

The whole situation should have been awkward, but it wasn’t. It felt natural and unforced. The air sizzled between us.

As Hudson undid the last button I had fastened in my haste, my shirt gaped. Raising his chin, his eyes tangled with mine. I could see he was aroused; his face was slightly flushed, and his lips were parted.

My chest moved up and down with each breath I took, and I was speechless as he lowered his gaze and carefully opened my school shirt, exposing my lace-covered breasts.

I loved nice underwear and never went for the plain stuff.

The one I had worn that day pushed my breasts up, making them appear larger than they were.

The material was slightly see-through, showing the outline of my nipples.

His intake of breath said it all, and his gaze became hooded as he drank in my half-naked torso, examining me with a heated expression.

“So beautiful,” he whispered in a deep, almost proud voice, like I was his to be admired, and I had pleased him somehow.

And. I. Loved. It.

My pulse took off as he released the parted fabric and raised one hand, slowly tracing his fingertips across my collarbone. Goose bumps blossomed across my entire body.

Hudson’s head tilted to one side as he studied me like I was the most precious thing he had ever seen .

My heart started to thump against my chest. I wanted him to continue to unwrap me, like I was a gift for his eyes only.

What are you doing? Close your shirt, tell him to back the hell off!

I glanced down to watch the journey his fingers were making across my skin as Hudson dropped his hand to the swell of my breasts above my bra.

Lust crashed against my pelvis as his thumb skirted along the edge of the lace there.

It would be so easy for him to peel my bra down and touch me there, but he didn’t.

His fingers just lingered, moving back and forth, barely touching me.

Was this part of his game, the waiting, the anticipation?

My skin felt super sensitive, and he must have been able to see how hard my nipples were as they pushed against my bra, almost begging for his touch.

Hudson stood tall and proud, and from the look on his face, he was as turned on as I was.

“I bet you taste so sweet,” Hudson drawled, and my heart skipped. “Are you wet for me, English?”

“No,” I husked, trying to fight the attraction.

“Liar.” The fingers of one hand started to trail between the valley of my breasts and down my stomach. They stopped as they reached the waistband of my skirt, and I held my breath. “I wonder what I would find if I slipped my hand inside your panties? I bet you’d be soaking.”

“Yes,” I whispered, closing my eyes.

BANG!

Wait what? My eyes shot open in shock.

Something had CRASHED against the side of the building, causing me to jump and knocking Hudson out of his sensual trance. Our eyes met, and he dared to grin at me. It broke the spell, and I went to push his hand away, but he shook his head.

“Easy,” he warned, his tone firm but soothing.

I was dumbfounded and reeling from his sexual comments. Had he really said those things to me, or had I imagined it?

“I can do it,” I panted, but he took control, knocking away my fingers and tugging the fabric back over my chest. Hudson worked the buttons into their holes quickly and efficiently. I imagined he’d be used to dressing girls and undressing them. The thought left a bad taste in my mouth .

Once he was done, he tucked the shirt into the waistband of my skirt. His rough movements jerked my body back and forth.

“There,” he said, admiring his handywork with a smug expression.

“That was fast,” I panted, flipping my unruly hair back and glancing down at my body. My shirt was now back covering me and was fully rebuttoned, in the right holes this time.

Hudson scratched a hand over his strong jaw and quirked me a look. “It’s not my first rodeo.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Buttoning in general or specifically women’s clothing?”

Another smirk appeared, and boy, even that was sexy. “I think we both know it’s the latter.” I felt a surge of jealousy.

Hiding my response, I rolled my eyes and turned to grab my tie, holding it out to him, but he raised his hands in surrender, “You’ll have to deal with that . I can only do myself.”

I ignored his blatant innuendo and felt like saying. Ha, so there is at least something you can’t do.

Hudson took a step back but continued to watch me as I re-did my school tie, suddenly feeling hot and bothered. He was so calm and cool, I felt like I was about to melt into a puddle.

“Anyway, thank you. I guess,” I said, once I was ready.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, saying, “For what?”

Smoothing my skirt down, I drew in a breath and continued, “For being a gentleman, I suppose.” Bearing in mind, he could have done much more, and I probably would have let him. Irrespective of the thought of him as a coordinator of sexual favours for the football team.

Hudson raised a hand and pushed some hair behind my ear, a gesture he had done in the library. That was the only move he had made that felt like it came from the boy I met at the beginning of the week. This version of Hudson felt much meaner and more dangerous.

My lips parted as he stepped into my space. Again, I thought he was going to kiss me, but he spoke against the cuff of my ear.

“I’m no gentleman, English. You should remember that.”

“If you say so,” I replied, clearing my throat .

“American men are nothing like the feeble equivalent you have in Britain. We’re an entirely different breed, but you’ll get used to us, eventually. Women’s thirst for equality knocked chivalry on its ass years ago. But I will give you some advice. Which isn’t like me at all.”

Hudson turned to glance towards the doors that led to the field.

“What?” The word surged from my mouth like a blizzard.

There was a beat of silence as he did a back-and-forth thing with his head between me and the door to the field. Worry snaked up my spine as his expression suggested he was contemplating something.

But what?

“Hudson, please?” I nearly begged. My palms were sweating.

He lifted his hand and ran his thumb across his plump bottom lip. “It doesn’t work that way. First, you must give me something,” he said.

I was puzzled, “But surely I just did.” The words left my mouth like vapour.

“Doubtful. It’s not like I copped a feel, is it?”

Heat crawled up my neck. “No, but you saw me,” I pointed out.

“And what a pretty prize that was, but I was doing you a favour,” Hudson said with a wolfish look and a wink.

“How so?” Yes, doing me a favour by making me hot and bothered and desperate for him to touch me. When had I turned into such a tart?

“I was repairing your wardrobe malfunction.”

“You still got an eye full,” I shot back.

Hudson’s smirk switched to a grin before he eventually said, “And while that will stay with me for quite some time. It isn’t enough. Give me your phone.” My nose scrunched as I eyed his raised hand warily.

“Why?”

His nostrils flared his impatience. “Do it, Molly.” That tone of voice brooked no argument, and I turned and slid my iPhone from my bag.

He snatched it from my fingers, threaded one hand into my hair, the strands wrapping around his fist and then he tugged.

“Ouch,” I said as he angled my head forward. I lifted my arm and wrapped my fingers around his wrist, trying to pull his hand away.

“Hold still,” he instructed, his fingers tightening. Hudson then raised my phone, angling the screen, and successfully unlocking it via the facial ID setting .

“Thank you,” he chuckled as he released my hair and pulled his wrist out of my hand.

I used my fingers, massaging my head to ease the burning there.

Hudson glanced briefly to see what I was doing, an unimpressed expression on his face.

“Don’t be a baby, I didn’t hurt you.”

He then turned away, gripping my iPhone in his hand. I felt annoyed that I hadn’t fought back more; he probably thought I was a weakling now.

I watched silently as he thumbed something into my phone. A second later, I heard his phone ring from his pocket. He was swapping our numbers. Great. Now, he could torture me from afar. I wondered why he wanted it if he disliked me so much.

I snatched the phone as he handed it back to me, saying, “And this pearl of wisdom you're supposed to share with me?” I snarked.

“This what?” He looked confused.

“You said you were going to give me some advice,” I reminded him, crossing my arms over my chest.

My snotty tone forced a genuine smile to tug at his lips. It was quick, but it was there. Hudson then glanced down at my bag, sitting behind me on the bench. “My advice is to leave. While you still can.”

My fingers tightened around my phone, and I dropped my arms, a sliver of adrenaline seeping into my veins.

“What, why?”

I noticed the large chunky watch on one of his strong wrists as he glanced at the time.

As he raised his head, those dark, whisky coloured eyes drilled into mine.

“Because you’re about to have company. So, grab your shit and high tail it out of here before half of the football team comes in and catches you.

The boys get horny after practice and with the rumours going around about you, they’ll assume you’ve come here looking for some action. ”

My brow furrowed as I cast a glance at where he’d motioned.

“Action?” I croaked.

Hudson motioned towards my body with a flick of his hand. “Yes, action, which loosely translates to you, on your knees, sucking cock. You’ve already deprived them of Sasha’s services. So, they will be looking for a substitute. ”

A sick taste appeared in my stomach, and my face must have shown my disgust at his harsh words. He just looked amused by my reaction.

“You’re hateful.”

I saw a flicker of discomfort at my words before he masked it and choked out, “Hate away, the feelings mutual.”

The boy hardly knew me, so he had to be lying, but I went with, “I don’t understand what I’ve done to upset you.”

And then he delivered his reasoning, confirming what I had suspected.

“It isn’t what you’ve done, English, it’s who you are.”

“Because of my father.” My words came out like a statement.

“That about sums it up, yes.”

Hudson then added with a head tilt, “Now I’m going to take a piss and when I get back, you won’t be here. You might want to work on your gag reflex before you take on the whole team.” Hudson's smirk turned into a suggestive grin. He was warning me of what was to come if I stayed there.

The doors rattling forced my hand, and I grabbed my backpack, shoved my sports kit into it and bent down to pull on my socks and shoes.

I felt momentarily aware of my head so near Hudson’s crotch, but I didn’t look up.

I glared at his feet as I yanked my ballet flats on.

I was surprised he didn’t say: while you’re down there .

I then stood, grabbed my shit, and pushed past him. I knew he’d allowed me to do that, and I ran from that room like a murderer was on my heels.

All I could hear as I left through the doors into the corridor was faint chanting from the football players, doors banging, football shoes against the floor and the distinctive sound of Hudson’s laughter.

And then his words echoed around my head.

It isn’t what you’ve done, sunshine, it’s who you are .

I wondered why I hadn’t heard the name Sasha up there with the school bike title that appeared to be growing around me.

The thought of me as a slut was borderline ridiculous.

I was a virgin. I could write what I knew about sex on a postage stamp. Hudson’s comment about how I would taste came floating back into my thoughts, doing all sorts of crazy things to my insides.

The boy is messing with you .

I shook off the chaos of my thoughts and went to the nurse’s office to lie about a case of the monthlies. Lily had explained that it was the only thing that got you out of gym. Since I had missed the entire first half of the lesson, there was no way I would join them now.

I decided to shelve my thoughts about what went on in the boys' locker rooms and to keep them away from that one boy for the rest of that day.

*****

On Friday night, I spent time with my father watching a movie and gave myself a pat on the back for finishing my first week at school without throwing up or crying.

I’d managed to keep my shit together, in the day anyway.

The nights were the same, and my dreams were filled with fond memories of my time with my mother.

Sometimes, they turned into nightmares. I saw my mother’s lifeless body trapped in the twisted metal of her car and woke up, the sheets heavy with sweat.

Mostly, I saw fond memories from our past together.

Harbor Heights High was the one thing that distracted me from my misery. Due to that, I knew I had to make it work. Rumours be damned.

Yes, I was new and a duck out of water, but I had a lot going for me. I was bright, intelligent, a nice girl and decent-looking. Most of the problems I’d had with bullying at school had been down to the boyfriends of girls fancying me.

Maybe I needed to use my looks to my advantage for once instead of shying away from them?

No matter what, I would not let them win. I owed it to my mother’s memory to make it work there.

After checking my schedule for the following week, which was classed as Schedule B or Week B, dread hit me as I saw I had swimming on Monday, first period. Great.

I found my swimsuit and spent some time in our pool. I just needed to get my confidence back in the water.

My father joined me on Sunday afternoon. I told him I couldn’t swim, and he started to teach me. He was tall and strong, and I felt safe in the water with him. My mother hadn’t been able to swim either, so we always used to stay in the shallow end when we went to the spa .

I also met Martha. She was a friend of my father’s and lived a few doors down. She was nice and friendly and appeared genuinely interested in me as a person. I didn’t get the vibe that she and my dad were interested in each other romantically, but what did I know? I was sixteen.

As I went to bed that Sunday evening, it was the first time I hadn’t dreamt of my mother. My mind was focused on my coming week. Thoughts of swim class loomed.

I had already decided to explain to the teacher that I wasn’t a strong swimmer, I just needed to be sure I wasn’t overheard.

If I didn’t get the chance, I’d stay in the shallow end.

I would be in school, under the tutelage of a skilled teacher. So, what’s the worst that could happen?