A blare of trumpets signaled the start of Tchaikovsky’s fourth symphony, and a hush fell over the crowd. Hudson inclined his head toward hers ever so slightly. “Put your wrap over your legs,” he told her in a low, raspy voice.

Her eyes flashed to his and found them alight with some wicked thought. She hesitated, his words both exciting and terrifying. The balcony wall shielded them from prying eyes, but still . . .

“Do it,” he mouthed.

Allie’s heartbeat quickened as she pulled the wrap from her shoulders and arranged it carefully across her lap. Her body hummed with anticipation as he casually lowered his hand to his own right thigh, now pressed tightly to her left. She waited with bated breath for . . . nothing. The first movement ended as it began, with Hudson paying rapt attention to the tuxedo-clad musicians and Allie squirming, untouched, in her seat.

Perplexed, she exhaled and crossed her legs, right over left. His movement was so subtle that she never even noticed his hand leave his thigh. Instead she felt it. His fingers slipped under her cashmere wrap and brushed lightly over her calf. Allie startled and his fingers stilled. When she relaxed he continued, stroking and caressing as he slowly worked his way higher. He paused to draw lazy circles around her kneecap before letting his fingers drift back down her calf, only to start the tortuous circuit all over again. He continued the same pattern, stroking up, then back down, while Allie tried desperately to keep her erratic breathing under control.

The music swelled and his hand dropped to the back of her knee, gently nudging it. Her wide hazel eyes met the silent entreaty of his blazing blues, and she slowly uncrossed her legs.

His fingers parted the slit of her dress. The wide pashmina covered him, but still Allie adjusted it. Her heart pounded as he stroked her bare skin, going higher and higher with each brush of his hand. Back and forth. Back and forth. The steady rhythm perfectly matched the music of the second movement, and as the conductor transitioned to the third, so did Hudson. Without warning, his hand delved between her thighs. His fingers slipped beneath her panties, and she heard a faint hiss when he discovered the evidence of her desire.

The music slowed to a hush as he brushed his fingers right where she was wet and aching for his touch. Then a long note from a flute penetrated the hushed room and two thick fingers pushed deep inside her. Her eyes darted to his and he held her gaze, his unmoving fingers filling her, stretching her. Slowly, he began to move in deliberate, even strokes, careful not to draw attention with any sudden or repetitive movements that could be seen above the balcony wall. With a flick of his wrist his fingers twisted, expertly finding that sweet spot that had her melting in his hand.

Allie stifled a moan as his thumb suddenly skimmed the top of her sex, moving in rhythmic circles while his fingers continued their provocative caress. Her gaze swept the crowd below, but all eyes were following the conductor’s mad gestures, completely oblivious to the explosion building in the private box above them.

She felt the weight of his stare, watching her reactions. She knew from the heat of her cheeks that her face was flushed. But could he see her heart hammering against her chest? Had he noticed the wild racing of her pulse? Or the way her lips had parted on a silent gasp? Her hands gripped the velvet armrests as she tried to quell the riotous feelings inside her, but it was no use. The ache between her legs was becoming unbearable as he pushed her closer and closer to losing all control.

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.