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He catches me with his arms wrapped around me, and our lips meet in an ardent kiss.
Our foreheads rest together. “I love you so much, Frenchie.”
One of the beautiful things about marrying your best friend is that you’ve already seen each other cry and carry on, long before the falling in love part.
So it never shocks me or makes me feel uncomfortable when his eyes leak as they do now. And he knows better than to feel embarrassed. I’m so proud to have a man who knows how to show emotion.
His eyes sparkle with tears. “I don’t deserve you.”
I wag my finger at him playfully. “Don’t talk that way about my bestie.”
A slow smile spreads across Hudson’s face while his rough hands palm the small of my back under my flouncy top. “They open in an hour, huh?”
The delicious sensation of his calloused hands scraping my sensitive curves makes it challenging to play coy. I can’t even pretend to not know what he’s hinting at. I just need those rough hands to shred my clothes and. I want those work-worn fingers in my mouth. In my pussy. In my back door.
“Yes, an hour,” I answer.
In ten years, Hudson still has not lost that animalistic speed when it comes to shedding my clothes and taking what he wants.
Make no mistake: Hudson might take what’s his, but when he does, it’s a gift to me.
Case in point: When he hoists me onto the kitchen island, I don’t have time to protest. The maple syrup bottle clatters to the floor. His passion at the moment opens the floodgates. Mess? What mess? The only mess I detect here is inside my soaked undies.
Hudson has deftly pulled those undies to the side and is sliding his thick digit through my wetness.
“That feels so, so good, Hudson.” Still feels good after all these years to have this amazing man all to myself. His skills with my body have only gotten better. Our lovemaking has only become more satisfying, more fulfilling, because our hearts have expanded and opened to all the possibilities.
“You are my whole world, Frenchie. I would be lost without you.”
Hudson dapples my face with kisses while he works his fingers in and out of my pussy. The delicious, deep strokes build heat so fast. I’m nearly exploding by the time he rotates inside me, hitting that spot that makes me scream.
“Hudson!” I rasp, my body jerking wildly. My legs tremble through my orgasm as I continue crying out his name.
It feels so lovely to be as loud as I want out here in the woods. No more worrying about shift-working neighbors who need their sleep. No more tourists being loud and drunk the next slip over.
Hudson slips one digit into my slack mouth, and I wrap my lips around it. My eyes roll back in my head as I taste my own juice, sucking Hudson’s thick finger while he stretches my panties more.
His long cock slides in, and I moan around his finger. No matter how much he prepares my cunt, there’s no getting ready for that fat cock. There’s always more to stretch. Even after two babies and ten years of lovemaking? Absolutely. Every time with Hudson feels like the first time, and yet totally familiar and cozy, all wrapped up into one perfect package.
That magical slide of his dick in and out of me never fails.
The only thing missing is his kiss. I crave his lips so much.
He knows that look in my eye, and he knows when I start playing with his hair that I want his lips. Ever generous, my Hudson slips his finger out of my mouth and sweetly replaces it with his tongue.
I could kiss this man all day and all night and never get tired of it.
The man who protects my heart still somehow steals it every day. My romantic little heart still pounds a million beats per minute when he’s close to me. His passionate kiss is a drug that never lets me down.
“How is it that you still fit me like a glove, still so tight it makes me ready to explode as soon as I’m close to you?”
“Is that a literal or rhetorical question? Kegel exercises.”
He grunts as I grip him tightly. “Don’t keep it a mystery or anything.”
He pulls out but quickly, hungrily, nests back inside me, where he belongs. “Then don’t ask those kinds of questions.”
This time he pulls out slowly, torturing me with the sensation. “I love your sassy butt, Frenchie.”
