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“Whoa,” he says, his eyes ablaze with wonder.
“Yeah. Whoa,” I breathe.
He stammers, “We, we should probably talk about this. Have a conversation about what this means for our friendship.”
I nod. “Probably. And the fact that you’re leaving.”
He nods in response, but his brows come together in concern.
I thread my fingers through his and say, “But I don’t want to talk right now.”
He exhales a relieved laugh. “Thank god, I don’t want to talk either.”
“Kiss me again, Hudson.”
“Watch out, Frenchie, I’m going to kiss you plenty, and I’m not gonna stop. At all.”
“I don’t want you to stop, I—“
His mouth on mine stops me from saying anymore words.
Words? What are words?
Hudson has a mouth that can make a smart girl dumb.
I’ve moved past the reflection, the mind-blowing realization that my best friend is kissing me, to outright lust for him to keep going.
His mouth is both tender and affectionate but also pressing. I feel his tongue ease across the seam of my lips, sparking a full-body chemical reaction. The new sensation of his tongue causes my nipples to grow taut under the lace of my bra. The gentle, teasing swipe spikes the nudging feeling happening between my thighs. It’s a heat and a tug of need that wets my panties.
I open to his tongue, welcoming him to explore my mouth. He tastes as if he’s gone the extra mile with mouthwash and minty chewing gum in anticipation of this happening, and the thought of that is so sweet I could jump his bones right now.
Our tongues claim each other’s mouths with growing urgency. I need to deepen the kiss; this situation started out sweet, and now it’s serious. I want to touch him. Need to put my hands on all that tanned skin. And I need those capable, weather-worn hands on me. Everywhere.
Our fingers are still laced together, and I unlace them, resting my hand on his chest. Here, I can feel Hudson’s heart thudding against his ribcage; his heart races just like mine does at this moment.
His arm on the back of the sofa moves to my shoulders and pulls me in tighter to our energetic kissing while his other hand cups my face.
My hand on his chest moves across his pecs, rubbing his muscles that I know are tired after a long day at work. This elicits a groan from his mouth into mine. The noise is sexy and almost like a warning. I try to tease out another sexy noise by stroking the skin of his neck and sliding my fingers under his collar. But instead of a groan, he growls into my mouth, making me gasp, and amping up my need to feel and explore more of him. Take more of him. Let him take more of me.
With both hands working frantically through our urgent kissing, I unbutton the two top buttons of his shirt, smoothing my palms over his tight traps. I can’t help myself; when I feel how tight he is there, I massage.
He sighs into my mouth. “Frenchie. Always taking care of me. Damn, that feels good.”
I continue to massage his shoulders and look up at him, keeping my eyes trained on his while he sheds his shirt entirely until he’s down to a white tank undershirt.
I smile when I see the tank top. This is what I’m used to seeing from him. His tanned skin shining in the sun, his bare shoulders dotted in freckles.
“Wouldn’t be me if I didn’t,” I said.
He winks. “Tonight was supposed to be all about you.”
I lean forward and trace my tongue across his top lip and then his bottom, running my hands over his chest.
“It still is, I’m having a blast.”
My thumbs tease out his nipples, which provokes a more savage growl from Hudson’s throat.
He leans away just enough to remove the tank top. That sight of him—his arms in the air, exposing every ridge of masculine arms, revealing his hard chest and manly stomach, makes me want to shuck all of my clothes immediately. I know what this man looks like without a shirt. We’ve spent enough time together at the beach. But in this context, the look of his rugged planes and ridges does all sorts of new things to my body.
