Her face is anguished, disbelieving. “You haven’t seen this side of me, Hudson. You don’t know.”

I don’t know what she’s like, what she can be like. I’ve seen glimpses of her obsessive tendencies, but nothing substantial. She’s been so strong, hiding her weaknesses from me.

I’m selfish because, even though I won’t show her all my darkness, I want to witness hers. “Then I need to stay. I need to see every side of you.”

Because I’ll love her through it all.

She shakes her head and bites her sexy red-painted lip, and I can tell she’s fighting tears.

But she’s also considering. I see it in her eyes. So I press her. “Go ahead. Ask me.”

“It won’t be asking; it will be accusing.” Her voice is smaller, and I can tell her resolve is weakening. It won’t take much to coax her thoughts out of her.

Am I a bully because I’m pressing her like this? Am I a masochist because I’m eager to hear what she has to say? Her accusations won’t be accurate, but I deserve to be questioned and grilled. I deserve to have to fight for her.

That’s not why I push her. I push her because I can’t live without her, and that means all of her, even this. “Do it,” I say. “I want to hear it. I need to know what you’re thinking. Trust me.”

She lets go. “You didn’t invite me tonight because you knew she’d be here.” It’s barely a whisper.

I nod in understanding. It’s not the reason I didn’t invite her, but if I’d known this morning that Alayna didn’t have to work this evening, I don’t know if I would have invited her then, either. And Celia would be the reason.

That admission would lead to things I don’t want to talk about, things I don’t want to face, and so I say, “That’s not true. I told you why I didn’t invite you. And I did invite you in the end. You’re here.”

“But you didn’t want to at first.” Though she won’t meet my eyes, her posture is stronger. “That’s probably why you had to doll me up. To show up Celia, whatever your game with her is. It wasn’t about your mother at all.”

This punches me in the gut. “You’re right.”

Her head whips up.

“You’re right that it wasn’t about my mother. It was about you. I wanted everyone to see how beautiful you are. How beautiful the woman who loves me is.” It’s hard for me to even say these words because I know that she really does love me and I don’t deserve it.

Worse, she doesn’t understand how much her affection means to me.

“Celia. You wanted to show Celia, you mean.”

I shake my head, not knowing how to get through to her.

“She’s here, Hudson!” she shouts. “She’s here with free rein, and I had to beg to be here. And you told me you wouldn’t see her without me. What is she to you?”

“Nothing. An old friend.” An enemy, maybe, depending on how things play out.

“Bullshit.” Her voice cracks. “Otherwise you would have told me about this dinner from the beginning. You were hiding it from me.” She points an accusing finger at me. “Because you knew she would be here too.”

“I didn’t know.” I close my eyes and take a breath. Will I always have to live like this? Skirting the truth? Dodging the past?

My only hope is to give as much honesty as I can. “I suspected,” I admit. “But she’s not here because of me. Her mother is my mother’s best friend. You know that.”

“Fuck that. She’s twenty-eight years old. She’s old enough to not go to every goddamn function with her mother. She’s here for you.”

There’s truth to this. Though our relationship hasn’t ever been romantic—not really—we’ve clung to each other like two orphaned hatchlings, birds of a feather. Our circles always entwined. If it were her mother’s birthday, I’d be there. I’d called it friendship. Now I see it for what it really is—habit. And obligation. And fear.

That ends now. It doesn’t matter if Celia’s here for me. It only matters who I’m here with. “And I’m here with you,” I tell Alayna. It’s raw. It’s honest. It’s the most important thing I’ve said to anyone in quite some time.

“She’s still in love with you.” Her jealousy and fears are evidence of her claim on me.

It turns me on.

“And I’m with you.” I can’t stand our distance anymore. Not literally or figuratively. I need her. I need her to obsess about me, to love me so deeply that it rocks her world, because it’s how I love her. I cross to her, bracing my arms on either side of her. “I’m with you.”

Her hands reach for my jacket as I move closer. I press into her, and she responds by leaning into me. She notices my erection, and her eyes spark with questioning want.

“I’m hard for you and only you. It’s you that I adore.” I kiss along her neck. She moans, and my cock jumps.

This isn’t about me, though. This conversation is about her—about soothing her, pleasing her, showing her that she owns me in every way.

I crash my lips to hers, stroking and caressing her mouth with my tongue. I kiss her in a way that I know will make her wet. Make her drip with her desire.

“I’m with you,” I say again when I break the kiss. I repeat it to her over and over like a mantra, like a soundtrack to the love scene we’re performing. A love scene that’s about to get fucking hot.

I gather the skirt of her dress up and tuck it into her panties, slipping my fingers inside. The smell of her cunt drifts up, and my dick turns to stone. The faint laughter in the background reminds me that there are people nearby, but I can’t stop myself. In fact, their nearness fuels my lust.

Alayna doesn’t seem bothered by them either. I rub against her clit, massaging her in the ways I’ve learned she likes. Her hips buck into my hand.

“That’s it,” I coax her between kisses, my fingers working her. “Relax. Let me be with you.”

My hand moves down her pussy, and I slide two fingers into her hole. She’s warm and tight and wet. The sounds she makes as I fuck her with my fingers—whimpers and breathy little moans—drives me mad. My cock is throbbing, begging for release.

But I have more to say. More I need to tell her. I drop to my knees and pull her panties to her ankles. I leisurely drag my tongue down the length of her cunt. “It’s you that I’m about to go down on,” I tell her. “It’s you I’m going to make come with my mouth, so that when we go back down there and you start to feel insecure, you will still be wet and you’ll remember my lips were on you and no one else.”

My words alone make her squirm. Now I’m going to make her writhe.

I lift her foot from her panties and toss her leg over my shoulder. Then I go down on her in earnest. I suck and lick and nip at her clit, thrusting three fingers into her hole. I bend a finger, rubbing against the spot that I know will make her come. And she does. She rocks forward as she gushes over my hand, into my mouth. God, she tastes so good.

She’s still coming when I stand and press my erection against her hand. “Take it out,” I demand. Even if I could manage to settle down enough to return to dinner with my family, I’d still have to fuck her first. This is a crucial part of what I have to say to her. I’m here with her—I told her that with my mouth and my hands—but she’s also here with me. This I’m going to tell her with my cock.

“We’re not alone.” She’s just noticed.

If I wasn’t so goddamned hard, I’d take a moment to savor the knowledge that I’d sucked her into oblivion.

But I’m pulsing with need. “Take it out. I don’t care about anyone or anything but being inside you right now. I have to be inside you.”

She does as I’ve asked. I lower my pants only enough to free my dick. Then I lift her, bracing her against the wall, and thrust into her cunt. Hard.

“Goddamn, your pussy is so good.” I move in and out of her with quick jabs. “Do you hear me? Your pussy makes me this hard. No one else’s.”

Her whimpers move in time to my drives. It’s so hot, and I’m about ready to explode, but I keep reminding her as I continue to pound into her. Keep reassuring her. “When we go back down to dinner, I will smell like you and you will smell like me. And you’ll remember that we are together. I am with you.”