Page 10 of The Agent’s Curvy Seduction

He doesn’t do any of that.

Hudson drops to his knees right there on the kitchen floor.

His hands settle on my hips, big and warm and sure, and he leans in until his mouth presses against the first raised line of scar tissue on my ribs. The contact is so gentle it makes my breath catch. He kisses the next one. Then the next. Slow. Deliberate. Like he’s memorizing every inch.

“These don’t make you less,” he says against my skin, voice rough enough to scrape. “They’re proof you fought. Proof you survived when they tried to take everything from you. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, and I want every fucking inch of you. Scars included.”

My hands find his shoulders because I need something to hold onto. My fingers dig into the solid muscle there as he keeps going, mouth moving lower over my hip, tracing the worst of the damage with a care that makes my eyes sting.

“Hudson—”

He looks up at me from his knees, blue-gray eyes dark and completely certain. “I’m not going anywhere. You can show me every mark, every fear, every reason you think I should walk away. I’m still staying.”

Something inside me snaps.

I don’t know who moves first. One second I’m standing there with my shirt still lifted and his mouth on my scars. The next his hand is in my hair and he’s rising to his feet and his mouth crashes into mine.

The kiss is not gentle.

It’s hungry and filthy, and months of loneliness poured into one desperate connection. He tastes like coffee and heat. His tongue slides against mine, and I make a sound I’ve never made before. His free hand grips my hip hard enough to bruise, and I want more of it. I want everything.

He lifts me like I weigh nothing and sets me on the counter. The cold granite against the backs of my thighs makes me gasp into his mouth. He steps between my legs, spreads them wider with his hips, and kisses me deeper. One of his hands slides under my shirt and finds bare skin. The other stays locked in my curls, holding me exactly where he wants me.

“Fuck, Willow,” he groans against my lips. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

I should tell him it’s only been one night. I should tell him this is moving too fast. Instead, I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer, needing the solid heat of him pressed against me.

His mouth leaves mine and trails down my neck, open and wet and claiming. I tip my head back to give him more access and feel him smile against my throat like I’ve just given him everything he wanted. His hands find the hem of my shirt and pull it up and off in one smooth motion. Cool air hits my skin, then his hands, then his mouth again.

He cups my breasts through my bra like he’s been starving for them. When he tugs the cups down and takes one nipple into his mouth, I cry out, loud and shameless. He doesn’t ease up. He sucks harder, teeth grazing just enough to make me arch into him, while his free hand works the button of my jeans open.

“Hudson—please⁠—”

“I’ve got you.” His voice is pure gravel. “I’m going to take care of you. Going to make you feel so fucking good you forget every reason you ever had to be scared.”

He gets my jeans and underwear down my legs somehow without ever fully stepping away. Then he’s back between my thighs, looking down at me spread open on his kitchen counter like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. The hunger in his eyes should embarrass me. It doesn’t. It makes me wetter.

He drops to his knees again.

This time there’s nothing soft about it. He hooks my legs over his shoulders and puts his mouth on me like he’s been thinking about it since the second he walked into that bakery. The first stroke of his tongue makes me shout. The second makes my head fall back against the upper cabinets. He doesn’t tease. He doesn’t ease me into it. He licks and sucks and works two thick fingers inside me until I’m shaking and begging and completely gone.

I come hard, thighs clamped around his head, fingers buried in his blond hair. He stays with me through every wave, slow and relentless, until I push at his shoulders because it’s too much.

He rises, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and looks at me with pure possession.

“I’m not done with you.”

“Good,” I manage, still breathless. “Because I’m not done either.”

He shoves his jeans down just far enough. I get a glimpse of thick, hard cock before he's lining himself up.

"I'm clean," he says, voice rough. "Tested two weeks ago."

"Me too." I'm breathing hard, already anticipating. "And I'm on birth control."

He nods once, like that's all the permission he needs, and pushes inside me in one long, slow thrust that steals whatever air I had left. The stretch is intense. Perfect. He holds still once he's buried to the hilt, forehead against mine, breathing hard.

"You feel that?" he rasps. "That's me inside you. That's where I belong."