Tired of pretending I didn't want him. Tired of denying the fire that had been building between us since the moment he'd walked back into my life. Tired of being alone.
"Kiss me," I said.
Something flared in his eyes.
"Thank fuck," he growled, and then his mouth was on mine.
The kiss was nothing like I remembered.
When we were young, Hudson's kisses had been sweet. Eager. Full of youthful passion but tempered with uncertainty, both of us still learning each other's bodies, still figuring out how to fit together.
This kiss was different.
This kiss was a man who knew exactly what he wanted and wasn't afraid to take it. His mouth claimed mine with a ferocity that stole my breath, his tongue sweeping between my lips like he was trying to devour me. One hand fisted in my hair, tilting my head to give him better access, while the other gripped my hip hard enough to bruise.
I moaned into his mouth, and the sound seemed to unleash something in him.
He flipped us in one smooth motion, pressing me into the couch cushions, his body covering mine. The weight of him,the heat of him, it was overwhelming. Intoxicating. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only feel.
His mouth left mine to trail down my jaw, my neck, finding that spot behind my ear that made me gasp.
"God, I've missed this," he groaned against my skin. "Missed you. Every single day for ten years, Betty. Every single day."
I arched into him, my hands clawing at his back, pulling at his shirt. I needed to feel his skin. To touch him. I needed more.
He seemed to read my mind. In one fluid motion, he reared back and stripped his shirt over his head, and then he was on me again, and oh God, the feel of his bare chest against my thin tank top was almost too much.
"Your turn," he said, his fingers toying with the hem of my shirt. "Can I?"
I nodded, beyond words, and he peeled my tank top off slowly, like he was unwrapping something precious. His eyes swept over me, taking in the swell of my breasts, the lace of my bra, and the look on his face made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.
"Jesus, Betty." His voice was wrecked. "You're even more gorgeous than I remembered."
He kissed me again, softer this time, his hands roaming over my bare skin like he was trying to memorize every inch. His fingers traced my collarbone, skimmed down my sternum, circled around the edges of my bra.
"I want to see all of you," he murmured against my lips. "I want to touch every part of you. I want to make you come so hard you forget your own name."
A whimper escaped me. I couldn't help it.
"Please," I breathed.
He reached behind me, and with one practiced motion, unhooked my bra and pulled it away. For a moment, he just looked at me, his chest heaving, his eyes dark with desire.
Then his mouth was on my breast, and I stopped thinking entirely.
He sucked my nipple between his lips, rolling it with his tongue, and I cried out, my back arching off the couch. His hand found my other breast, kneading, pinching, while his mouth worked magic on me.
"Hudson. Oh God. Hudson."
He switched sides, giving equal attention to my other breast, and I felt myself floating. Just from this. Just from his mouth on my breasts and his hands on my body.
"So responsive still," he murmured against my skin. "So fucking perfect."
His hand trailed lower, across my stomach, and I felt my muscles clench in anticipation. His fingers found the waistband of my sleep shorts and paused.
"Yes or no, Betty." His voice was strained, barely controlled. "We can stop here. We can go as slow as you need. But I need you to tell me what you want."
I grabbed his hand and pushed it lower, past the elastic of my shorts, past the thin cotton of my panties.
