Outside, thunder rolls farther away now. Layla lifts one hand and lays it against my bare chest. Her fingers are cool. My skin burns under them.
“Hudson.”
Just my name. But it sounds like yes. I lower my head slowly. This time, nothing interrupts. No child on the dock. No excuses. Only Layla. Only choice. I pause, close enough to feel her breath on my lips.
“Tell me no,” I say, “and I stop.”
Her hand curls against my chest.
“I don’t want you to stop.”
I kiss her. The first touch of her mouth is soft, almost shy. The second isn’t. She rises onto her toes and kisses me back with quiet desperation. My hand slides into her damp hair, tilting her head so I can take more. She opens for me with a small, broken sound that goes straight through my brain and travels to my groin.
I walk her backward until the backs of her thighs meet the narrow workbench. Without breaking the kiss, I lift her onto it. She gasps against my mouth as I step between her knees, crowding close. The sweatshirt rides up her thighs. My hands find her waist beneath the heavy fabric, thumbs stroking warm skin.
She tastes like rain and something sweeter. Her fingers slide up my chest, over my shoulders, then into my hair, tugging hard enough to make me groan. I kiss her deeper -- slow, thorough, hungry. Our tongues meet and the heat between us flares hotter.
Her legs wrap around my hips, pulling me in until there’s no space left. The hard ridge of my cock presses against the thin fabric of her bathing suit through my shorts. She whimpers into the kiss and rocks against me once, instinctively. I answer by grinding forward, letting her feel exactly how badly I want her.
One of my hands stays at her waist while the other slides up under the sweatshirt. My palm spans the curve of her ribs, then higher, cupping her breast over the damp bathing suit. Her nipple is tight beneath my thumb. I rub slow circles and she arches into my touch with a soft moan that I swallow.
I kiss down the line of her jaw to her throat, tasting rain on her skin. She tilts her head back, offering more. My teeth graze the sensitive spot below her ear and she shivers hard, nails digging into my shoulders.
“Hudson…”
It comes out half plea, half warning. I lift my head just enough to look at her. Her lips are larger, eyes dark with need, cheeks flushed. The sweatshirt has slipped further off one shoulder. She looks wrecked already and we’ve barely started.
“You okay?” I ask, voice rough.
She nods, then shakes her head, then nods again. “I don’t know how to do this halfway.”
“Good.”
I kiss her again, slower but no less intense, pouring everything I’ve been holding back into it. My hand stays on her breast, thumb teasing her nipple while I rock my hips against her in a steady rhythm that has her gasping into my mouth.
The bench creaks beneath us. Rain still drums on the roof, but it feels far away now. All I can focus on is the way she moves with me, the soft sounds she makes when I suck gently on her lower lip, the way her thighs tighten around my waist like she never wants to let go.
I want to strip the sweatshirt off her. I want to peel that black bathing suit down and taste every inch of her. I want to lay her back on this bench and bury myself so deep she’ll feel me for days.
Layla’s trembling again, but it’s not from cold. I force myself to slow down, to give her room to breathe even while my bodyscreams for more. Resting my forehead against hers, both of us breathe hard.
“Layla,” I murmur. “We can stop. Or we can keep going. Your call.”
Her hands frame my face. Her green eyes are glassy but clear.
“I don’t want to stop,” she whispers. “But I’m scared of how much I don’t want to stop.”
I kiss her again -- gentler this time, but still deep -- then rest my hands on her thighs, thumbs stroking soothing circles.
“Then we go as far as you want,” I say against her lips. “And we stop the second you say the word. No pressure. Just this.”
She searches my face for a long moment, then nods and pulls me back down into another kiss. This one is slower, sweeter, but no less hungry. Her tongue slides against mine as her hips roll forward again, seeking that friction we both need.
I groan and meet her movement, grinding against her in a way that makes us both shudder. My hand stays at her breast while the other grips her hip, guiding her rhythm as the kiss deepens into something hotter, wetter, more desperate. The storm outside can rage all it wants. Inside this tiny cabin, the only thing that matters is the woman in my arms and the way she’s coming apart against me, one slow, perfect roll of her hips at a time. And I’m right there with her -- losing every last reason I ever had to stay away.
Chapter 9
Layla
