Showing him these one-dimensional men on the dating site only heightens my awareness that none of them measure up to the man seated beside me. He’s all I've ever wanted. He’s smart, kind, driven, and intuitive—once I get him away from my ornery brother, that is. Picking up on my moods and doing his best to cheer me up seems like more than most men would do. Especially for their friend’s kid sister. When he and my brother went off to college, I saw him less often. But he still found ways to make me feel like I mattered. He started leaving presents for me again on his visits home, as if he felt safer with some distance between us. A book under my pillow at Christmastime, another one for Easter.

But there were still the hard times. Like when he went to Mexico for spring break and I had to endure the dozens of photos on his social media pages, each with a blonde, busty sorority girl hanging off him like he was her own personal jungle gym. I hated seeing stuff like that. It was one thing to know they happened, but another to actually see the women I was sure he was sleeping with.

And then, of course, these last several years while I was in college and he and my brother were busy building their empire. I didn’t see much of him then, either. Which was just as well—I threw myself into my studies, earning dual degrees in architecture and structural engineering. It left very little time for dating, and because of that, I never really outgrew my secret Hudson Stone fantasies. But now that he’s here, in the flesh, those dreams feel so potent and dangerous.

“I just don't understand. Why do you want to do this? Really?” he asks, his voice tense.

Somehow I can’t help opening up. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe because it’s been a long and stressful week of work as I got acquainted with my new professional life. But mostly it’s the effect Hudson has on me. He’s like a truth serum.

“Because I...” I look down at my hands. “I’m tired of being a virgin and I just want to meet someone and get it over with.”

His hand slides under my jawline and he lifts my chin until my eyes are on his. What I see in those honey depths makes my breath catch in my throat.

“You were serious. What you said at the bar...you’ve never been with a man?” he asks, his voice tender.

Thankful for his sympathy, I shake my head. “No one.”

He suddenly looks angry, like he wants to punch something, and I don’t understand why. “How is that even possible?” he asks.

I shake my head again, mesmerized by his stare, because I’m really not sure how to answer that. I spent too much time studying? Too much time lusting after him? Neither of those are good answers.

“Then you shouldn’t just give it away to one of these random guys, Gracie. That’s not what you deserve.”

His hand remains at my jawline, his thumb lightly rubbing back and forth across my cheek. The rough pads of his calloused fingers on my skin feel amazing. I barely resist the temptation to lean into his touch.

“What do I deserve then, Hudson? Tell me.” I’m not sure when we started whispering, but I realize we’re both talking in hushed tones. Our faces hover just a few inches apart; I can feel the warmth of his breath on my lips. God, I wish he’d just kiss me.

“What if I could help you?” he suggests, his voice a strained whisper.

Stunned, I draw in a lungful of air. “What do you mean?”

 

 

Chapter Four

Hudson

“What if I could help you?”

I have no idea what the hell I was thinking. The words just leaped out of my mouth. Listening to Gracie talk about kicking off her granny panties and popping her cherry with some random Internet dick...I guess it drove me temporarily insane.

But there's no taking back the idea now. Gracie sucks in her breath, blinking wide-eyed. “What do you mean?” she asks.

What do I mean? Here I am, sitting next to the world's most beautiful girl—drowning in her eyes¸ her scent, the gentle puff of her breath on my mouth that begs me to close the distance. I know what I want, but I also know what will happen if I take it. My best friend will rip off my balls and feed them to me. And I'll probably deserve every second.

But sweet Jesus, I'm pretty sure Gracie wants this too, and that's enough to blow my better judgment to pieces. All I care about right now is making her feel better. In as many ways as possible. And if her slightly quickened breathing, blown pupils, and flushed cheeks are anything to go by...

As an experiment, I dart out the tip of my tongue to wet my lips. Her darkened eyes drop like a magnet yanked them. Yeah, bingo. Having a little black book as thick as the dictionary has its advantages. I know damn well how to tell when a woman wants me.

And it's become crystal clear that Gracie needs me, too. I've always been her friend, her confidant and cheerleader. This virginity thing is clearly weighing on her mind. I can't stand the thought of her feeling inadequate or ashamed about herself. And if she's half as horny for me as I am for her, this could add up to a lot of fun for the both of us.

“It's just a suggestion. Since you want to get more sexual experience, we could do something about it together.” As calmly as I can, I cross one leg over another to hide my lap. The mere thought of being the first man inside her has me rock-hard. Images pour through my mind … Her lush hair fanned out over the pillow as I slip in. Her big blue eyes widening with surprise at how good my cock feels. Her perky tits bouncing and soft fuckable mouth falling open as I start pumping in earnest. I try not to groan aloud.

“I...um...” Gracie's eyes skitter around the room, always returning to me. Her cheeks are furiously red now. But she doesn't draw back even an inch. “H-how would that work, exactly?”

That's a lot closer to a green light than I thought I'd get. “Nothing complicated. We'd meet up at my place—say, three times—and I'd teach you what I know.” Taking a chance, I add, “What makes you come best. How to please a man. Anything you want to learn.”

Her breath hitches. Just the tiniest possible noise, but I can hear it, and it makes me ache. She chews her lip in an internal struggle. I can see interest flickering in her and I wonder again if she's as aroused as I am.

“They wouldn't be real dates, if that's what you're worried about. I'd just be...like a tutor.”  I resist the urge to make a pun about showing you the ropes.  I have no intention of springing bondage on an inexperienced woman, but I don't want to push my luck and scare her off with some stupid joke.

She chuckles. “A sex tutor? I think the word for that is 'gigolo.'”

Hope sparks in me. If she's teasing me like usual, that means she's feeling comfortable. “Hey, I'd never charge money. I share my expertise for the benefit of the community,” I protest, putting my hand on my chest as if I've been mortally wounded.

“Pro bone-o,” she snorts.

I laugh out loud, and soon she's giggling behind her hand, too. But the sexual tension doesn't drain from the atmosphere—it just changes form, becoming playful instead of heavy and unspoken. Seeing her cute dimpled grin definitely doesn't help me get my boner under control.

“I'll have to think about it,” she says finally, and my stomach leaps hot with anticipation. “But I'm not sure how to explain this...thing to people.”

“You don't owe anyone an explanation. It could be our little secret. Nobody has to know.” Especially not your mother hen of a brother.

She stares into her wine for a minute. “When would we start?”

“I'm free tomorrow night if you want.” I know I sound eager, but damn it, I really am.

“No, I have dinner with Melanie on Saturdays.” She pauses just long enough to make me wonder if she's finally shooting me down. “But I can do Sunday night.”