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I parted my lips, granting him access to far more than just my mouth. The hand around my waist fisted my shirt, gripping me to him, and slowly but surely he walked me backward, back toward the door, until my spine pressed firmly against it.
His lips left mine, gently grazing the edge of my mouth, and he rested his forehead against my own. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, the heat of his breath spreading across my cheeks. “Tell me to stop, Sophia.”
“Why?” I breathed. My hands fell to his chest, the warmth of his skin seeping through his shirt, the thudding of his heart shaking my palms.
“Because I can’t come back from this.” The way he said it felt so final, so defeated, as if he’d been holding back far too much for far too long. I wanted to know what was beneath his words, what lurked in the depth of his mind. I needed to know. I needed it like I needed air, like I needed the life growing inside of me.
“You can,” I said softly, not sure if those were the words he needed to hear. The fabric beneath my fingertips felt like far too much of a barrier.
He exhaled a quick breath, the warm air filling the space between us. “I can’t.” His hand slid down the small of my waist, over the crest of my ass then down further, along the outside edge of my thigh. He wrapped his fingers around it, lifting until my knee hooked around his hip. “I didn’t even fucking come here for this,” he muttered, the ghost of his lips pressing barely-there kisses along my cheek. “I thought maybe we could chat, that I could have a glass of wine and we could talk about appointments and telling your family. But this… I should have known I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.”
I inhaled a shaky breath as his lips moved against my skin, each word bringing him closer to my ear, to the soft spot beneath it that he knew damn well I liked him to kiss. “I don’t… I don’t want this if you’re just going to tell me it’s a mistake.”
“It wouldn’t be a mistake, angel,” he breathed, his fingers pressing harder into my skin, unwilling to let me go. “Nothing with you has ever been a mistake.”
His words felt like a punch in the gut. I knew damn well that he’d thought I was a mistake before, but the way he was touching me, the gentleness with which he was speaking to me was too much. I was too soft for this, too soft for him. I hated it. But I couldn’t stop myself, either.
Before I could even form a response in my quickly fogging mind, Hudson’s mouth crashed into mine again, igniting that stupidly easily influenced flame inside of me and pushing aside my better judgment. His lips moved as if they held silent words, filling my mouth with his tongue and the whispers of whatever he held inside.
This was a different Hudson.
In the span of a second, he lifted me, holding my weight with his arms as he stepped us away from the door. I wrapped my arms around his neck for stability, keeping our lips and our upper bodies firmly in contact. My nipples rubbed against the fabric of my white shirt, bra lost to the gods of discomfort last night and abandoned since, and I knew damn well if he looked down he’d see them poking through.
Hudson’s knee hit the edge of the couch and he cursed under his breath. The cockiness he had in his own home was absent here—he didn’t know the layout as well, didn’t know where every little thing was, didn’t keep a running tab of toys strewn across the floor so he wouldn’t trip. Slowly, eagerly, he dropped my weight onto the large table where I cut my fabric. At the far end was my sewing machine, sitting still with thin, woolen fibers stuck beneath the needle.
“I need you,” Hudson breathed, the words escaping between our lips in little gasps.
“You have me.” The words felt too real as they slipped from my mouth, but there was no going back now. I had to own them.
He didn’t say another word as his hands began to roam, gently lifting the hem of my shirt, fingers splaying out against the bare skin of my stomach. His other hand lazily dragged down along my thigh, over the smooth skin left exposed from my shorts and the curves of my muscle. Each movement felt like memorization, like a caress, not hasty and desperate but wanting and needing. He needed me, but he wanted to take his time. He needed me, but he wanted to savor every second of it. He needed me, but he needed me to need him more.
I was already starting to.
I turned my head to the side, giving myself room to breathe as he moved to my neck, devouring the softest spots that sent shivers up my spine. “We can move to the bedroom if you want,” I breathed, gasping in air as his fingers moved gently across the curve of my breast.
“No,” he rasped, and as I waited with bated breath for him to elaborate, he gave me nothing but warm touches and butterflies. Slowly, carefully, he lifted my shirt higher, bearing my chest to him but holding the fabric just above my collarbone as if he couldn’t bear to part with the skin of my throat just yet to remove it.
I leaned back, forcing a little bit of distance, and lifted the bunched-up shirt over my head. The way he looked at me, his eyes heavy-lidded and his lips damp, told me he wasn’t ready for that space. He didn’t want to let go of me. He wanted to keep me as close as he could, and dear god, that made my heart jump.
“Come here,” he mumbled, wrapping one hand around the base of the back of my neck and pulling me gently toward him. I followed his lead, pressing my lips against the slope of his jaw, the rounded edge of his chin. He heartily hummed his approval, the vibration in his neck tickling my lips, and as his hands began to explore every inch of my chest, I could feel myself warming to him. Every touch felt less like ice, less like anger. He couldn’t possibly think it was a mistake this time.
He didn’t seem bothered by his own clothing, but with every passing second, I was. I fisted the front of his shirt, tugging it upward, higher and higher until it was bunched beneath my lips. I understood how he felt just seconds ago—I didn’t want to pull away, either.
Biting the bullet, I pulled back just an inch, lifting it up and over his head. In the small amount of space between us, I could see his cock pressing dangerously against the tightness of his sweatpants, threatening to rip the seams and take me down with it. I lowered my hand, planting kisses along his neck as I pulled him to me. My fingertips dragged against every ripple of muscle in his chest, making him shiver, his sharp intake of breath making me feel far more powerful than I had the right to feel.
I wrapped my fingers around his length over the cover of fabric, feeling just how hard his pulse thrummed inside. He groaned, tightening his grip on me, and I could happily stay right where I was forever.
Unable to resist temptation, I shoved my hand beneath the elastic hem of his sweats. They hung so low on his hips that I could see the corded muscle, pointing down toward where I held him like an arrow. “I want to be gentle with you,” he said, his hand wrapping around the base of my skull and pulling my head back. He met my gaze, his darkened eyes wild beneath lowered lashes. “You’re making it incredibly difficult.”
“You’re making me impatient,” I mumbled, heat rising in my cheeks. I squeezed his shaft and it twitched for me in response. I knew the moment he explored beneath my shorts, he’d find a similar measure of my enjoyment.
“Then lean back, Sophia.”
I did as I was told on instinct, letting go of him and leaning back onto the table, resting on my elbows. He followed me, looming over top of me, his mouth closing around my freckled left nipple. His fingers hooked the waistband of my shorts, and using my knees around his waist as support, I lifted myself so he could pull them down.
Hudson’s tongue began its magic against the sensitive bud of my breast, coaxing out a whimper as his fingers ghosted down my inner thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The moment he made contact with my clit, it was as if my body had a mind of its own. I dropped all the way down, my head hitting the wood tabletop, cushioned by Hudson’s other hand.
“So eager for me,” he mumbled, his fingers sliding in little circles. I moaned as I buried my hands in his hair, my hips lifting to meet his strokes, my legs pulling him closer. “I could do this forever, Sophia.”
