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I breathed in shakily. That cynical side of me knew it was just talk, just something he wanted to say in the moment, but the gullible side of me wanted to believe it. I wanted to take it and run, to put it in my pocket and keep it with me always. “Hudson,” I whispered, not entirely sure what I wanted to say but knowing I had to say something.
“I mean that.”
No, you don’t.
His fingers slid down, two of them breaking past my entrance, curling up at the tips as he buried them inside of me. His thumb took over against my clit, rubbing so precisely that my mind fogged over once again. Head empty, no thoughts, just him and what he was doing to me and how he made me feel. At that moment, it felt like everything.
Another finger, and he bit down against my nipple before soothing the ache with his tongue. I could feel the orgasm building, could tell he wasn’t going to let up, but I wasn’t ready yet. I wanted more, I wanted all of him inside of me. I wanted him to kiss me again, to say he needed me again, to hold me while he fucked me as if he really meant it.
“God, look at you,” he breathed, relinquishing my nipple as he pulled back, his eyes tracking every inch of me as I squirmed in his grip. “So fucking beautiful. I love that face you make.”
I tipped my head back, pleasure spreading through my veins like wildfire as I got closer. He was making me rapidly approach the brink, and I didn’t want to go over it yet. “What…” I breathed in, my breasts rising with my chest, and couldn’t hold back the moan that ripped through me as he quickened his pace. “W-what face?”
“The face you make when you’re about to come for me.”
That was all it took. I did a swan dive over the ledge, my orgasm shattering through me. I didn’t bother holding back my moans of pleasure—for once, I didn’t have to. There wasn’t a child in the next room that I could wake, there wasn’t a single soul within these walls apart from us. His fingers dragged me through the rolling tide, and as my eyes closed from the sheer bliss of it, his mouth met mine far more gently than I thought him capable of. I kissed him back hungrily, far too caught up in my own ecstasy to be able to concentrate, and as he slowly dragged his fingers out of me and replaced them with what I really wanted, he took my face in both of his hands, lifting my back from the table.
I could feel my own dampness against my cheek. He deepened the kiss as the last shudders of the climax faded, and finally at least slightly in control of my own body, I kissed him back just as eagerly. How he swapped from rough to tender so easily was beyond me, but something about it made my chest ache, made me long for more of it.
Slowly, he began to shift his hips, and the stretching feeling that normally made me wince was nowhere to be found. Instead, it was only pleasure, only ripples as his hips met mine. He grunted into my mouth as he pushed my hair back from my cheeks and forehead, each restrained thrust more for me than for him. In the afterglow of my orgasm, it was too much, too real, too gentle. It had never been like this between us before, and I knew that after experiencing this, it would be all I ever wanted from him.
I broke the kiss, pulling back just a hair, blinking through the fog and searching for some hint of disingenuousness on his face. Anything, anything at all just to kill what I knew was blooming inside of me. If my feelings for him grew, all of this would be too hard, too heartbreaking, and I knew I couldn’t do it.
Soft eyes met mine, and I knew I was done for.
His thumbs slid back and forth along my cheekbones, holding me so softly as if he thought I’d break into a million pieces. I felt like I might. Each thrust of his hips was swift, precise, and easy. He breathed through his mouth, his gaze searching mine for something, anything. “Sophie,” he whispered.
I wanted to speak. Truly. But the lump building in my throat, the burning at the backs of my eyes prevented anything other than whimpers and moans. His hooks were sunk so deep within me I didn’t think I’d ever surface.
“Fuck,” he breathed, and in one quick motion, he pulled me toward him, burying my head in the crook of his neck. I could feel his breath in my hair, could feel the movement of one hand holding me to him as the other slid down between our bodies. I couldn’t think, I could hardly breathe. All I could hear were the sounds of our grunts and moans and the steady, fast beating of his heart.
His fingers found my clit again, sinking me further into bliss, distracting me enough to pull me back into the moment.
“There we go,” he said, the words feeling flat, the veil back on. “Fuck, the way you clench for me feels like heaven.”
My head was swimming. This unexpected version of him, the back and forth, the hot and cold was like a match to gasoline within me. I dug my fingernails into the flesh of his chest, gripping on for dear life as his pace quickened. I knew I could come again, and he knew damn well how to get me there.
He just had to stop fucking with my head first.
I tilted my hips further, getting him to penetrate deeper. He moaned his thanks against the top of my head, pressing a little kiss against my hair before resting his chin on it. Every thrust, every circle of his fingers forced the buildup to begin again deep within my gut, making my muscles tense. “You’re too much,” he said, his voice breaking in the middle. He cleared his throat immediately after as if attempting to cover it, but there it was, clear as day.
Stop reading into things.
I couldn’t fight back the sounds crawling out of my throat, the gasps for air as I got closer and closer. “That’s it, angel,” he cooed, his hand smoothing out the hair on the back of my head. “Come for me again. Come with me.”
His thrusts grew reckless, desperate, less well-timed and more erratic. His hand kept its pace though, weathering the storm, and as I felt myself tipping over the edge and falling into that euphoric oblivion again, Hudson’s hips stuttered. The sounds I was making were incomprehensible and I could hardly hear a thing over the thrum of his heartbeat, but I was sure I’d said his name, was sure I’d dug my nails so deep I might’ve drawn blood. I could feel his heat seeping out inside of me, could feel the trickle of it onto the table beneath me, and as we started to come down from the high I could feel his lips press a kiss to the top of my head.
The word that slipped from my mouth was muffled, eaten by the rigidity of his chest.
“Hmm?” He pulled my head back, soft eyes meeting mine, glassy in their crash back into reality. “What did you say?”
“Again,” I breathed, forcing my way back to him, clawing my hands up his chest and wrapping them tightly around his neck. In the fog, I didn’t care how obvious it was becoming that I craved him, that I wasn’t done yet. I didn’t want this to end, I needed it, lived off of it. “Again.”
Effortlessly, he lifted me from the table, his cock sliding out of me as he kissed the side of my face multiple times. “Again,” he mumbled, almost as if reassuring me. His hand held me firmly to his chest, my legs wrapped tightly around him, and wordlessly, he made his way up the stairs toward my room, following what I could only assume was the layout he imagined when he saw me looking through my window weeks ago.
————
The warmth on my face from the late morning sun was what eventually woke me. Every part of my body felt heavy, thick with sleep and the leftover heat from the night before, the intensity of our time together. I hadn’t even closed my blinds—Hudson and I had fallen asleep moments after the action had ended, naked and sweaty beneath the covers, his arms around me and my back against his chest.
