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As I fill the pot with milk and set it to heat, I can feel Hudson’s eyes on me, his gaze intense and filled with desire. I force myself to focus on the task at hand, stirring the milk slowly, ensuring it doesn’t scald. But it’s hard to ignore the way my pulse races, knowing he’s watching my every move.
“Any mini marshmallows?” I ask.
“Mini marshmallows?” he repeats.
“It’s not hot chocolate without them.”
“Let me see.”
I watch as Hudson rummages through the pantry, his toned arms reaching high above his head to search for the marshmallows. I can’t help but admire the way his biceps flex with each movement, and a shiver runs down my spine as I imagine those strong arms wrapping around me.
“Got ’em!” he announces triumphantly, waving a bag of regular-sized marshmallows in the air.
“Those?” I raise an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smirk. “The kids might beat you up for bringing those out. You know they’re all about the mini ones.”
“Hey, it’s what we’ve got,” he defends with a shrug, his lips curling into a playful smile. “Besides, size doesn’t always matter, right?”
“Uh-huh,” I retort, rolling my eyes at his innuendo. “You keep telling yourself that.”
Hudson’s laughter fills the air, a rich, warm sound that makes my heart skip a beat. I watch as his eyes crinkle in amusement, and I can’t help but smile in response. With a final stir, I finish making the hot chocolate, the rich aroma wafting through the kitchen.
“Alright, hot stuff,” I say playfully, “time for the taste test.” I pour a small amount of the steaming liquid into a mug and offer it to Hudson.
He takes the mug from me, his fingers brushing against mine with an electric charge. My breath hitches, and I force myself to focus on his reaction as he takes a slow sip of the hot chocolate. He closes his eyes, savoring the drink, and then opens them to lock onto mine.
“Harper,” he whispers, leaning in close so that his lips hover just inches from mine, “this tastes almost as good as you.”
A shiver runs down my spine at his words, and desire coils low in my stomach.Keep it together.You’re in the kitchen, and the kids are just a room away.I swallow hard, trying to regain control over my racing heartbeat.
“Did you ever decide what dessert you wanted from winning the snowman contest?”
“Oh, right.” He smirks. “My easy victory.”
“I still stand by my statement that the competition was rigged.” I shrug. “Let’s grab some more mugs,” I suggest, reaching for the cupboard. As I do, Hudson’s hand brushes against mine again, his touch sending sparks skittering across my skin. I remember what it feels like to have those hands explore my body, to have him taste me the way he tasted the hot chocolate.
“I know exactly what dessert I want for my prize.”
Suddenly, Hudson’s grip tightens around my wrist, pulling me close. His lips crash onto mine in an urgent, fiery kiss that leaves me breathless. He pushes me back against the kitchen island, his fingers deftly slipping beneath the waist of my sweatpants as he continues to ravage my mouth.
“Harper,” he growls against my lips, his voice thick with desire. “I can’t wait this time.”
My heart races and a thrill of anticipation courses through me. It’s reckless, it’s dangerous, but I can’t deny how much I want it too. I nod, unable to speak, as he pushes my panties to the side, his fingers finding their way to my core.
“God, you’re so wet for me,” he whispers, and I gasp as he gets on his knees, tugging my sweatpants and panties far enough down my hips for him to slip his tongue inside of me. The risk of being caught only adds to the excitement as he works his magic, bringing me closer and closer to the edge.
Antonio’s voice pierces through the haze of pleasure, and I bite my lip to suppress a moan. “Harper, do you want me to make a fire in the living room?”
“Y-yes,” I stammer, my voice barely more than a whisper as I try to maintain control. Hudson’s tongue is relentless, and I struggle to keep my composure. Sweat beads at my temples, and I grip the edge of the counter for support.
He’s not going to stop.
“Alright, I’ll get it started,” Antonio replies from the other room, his voice warm and inviting.
“Thanks, Antonio,” I manage to say, desperately hoping he doesn’t detect the tremor in my voice. Hudson continues to lap at my clit, his fingers curling inside me, and I feel my resolve crumbling.
“Give me a minute,” I tell Antonio, my voice strained with the effort to seem casual. “I’ll be there soon.”
“Take your time,” Antonio says, his tone light and carefree, completely oblivious to the illicit dance we’re engaged in behind the kitchen island.
