“Did I say I was sorry yet?” I whisper, kissing the spot below his ear.
His breaths are heavy and rapid, and as I kiss his neck, I feel his pulse racing.
“No,” he says, his voice like melted butter. “Not enough.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, trailing my lips down his neck. I pull the collar of his polo so I can bite the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. I kiss and bite and suck, eliciting more of those sounds from him, the ones that have my dick throbbing. His hands go straight for the open buttons on my shirt and slide between the opening. I nearly jump from the sudden touch of his fingers on my skin. I think he’s going to push me away. That he’s going to wake up and realize this isn’t a good idea.
Problem is, I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want him to push me away, not now when I have him here, in my hotel room and history is repeating itself. I have read enough self-help books to know that sex doesn’t fix problems, but I’ve also slept with enough people to know that make-up sex is hot as fuck. All that aggression and bitterness, all the fury… it makes everything so much more intense. His fingers move fast and deliberately as he unfastens one button and then two and…
I break away. For a split second, he looks at me with that familiar glaze of panic, of concern, like he’s done something wrong. Like he’s waiting for me to tell him to stop. There is one clear thought in my mind amidst all the lust-glazed ones.
We should talk about this.
But those aren’t the words that fall out of my mouth. Not by a long shot.
“Let me make it up to you.” I lean my forehead against his, imploring his amber gaze with my own pleading one. “It doesn’t have to mean anything else.” Even as I hear the words in the space between us, I know it’s a lie. Because it feels like more. At least, on my part. But life is full of lies, right?
What’s a little white lie between friends?
He slowly toys with the next button on my shirt.
The air between us is charged, full of tension like a pot about to boil over. Problem is I don’t know if that’s a boil like…the pasta is ready or it’s been overcooked and we’re fucked.
Hudson’s gaze drifts to my mouth, then to my chest. He presses one palm against the open expanse of my skin, resting it right over my heart. He stands still, just like that, and I realize how fast my heart is beating.
His gaze flashes up to me. I panic, bracing for the “stop” or the “we can’t do this,” or the “I have to leave.”
But he doesn’t speak. He slides his hand down my chest slowly. His fingers trace the outline of my pecs and my abs. His touch is soft, but not hesitant. It’s almost methodical—like he’s thought about this. I stand there, my dick throbbing in my pants as he traces lines and patterns across my skin. His thumb and forefinger tug on my left nipple, and I can’t help but let out a high-pitched squeal of surprise because I wasnotexpecting that. I’ve always been sensitive when it comes to my nipples, which is why I guide peopleawayfrom them, especially during sex. It’s worse than being tickled, and I’m ticklish as fuck.
He looks at me with a darkness in his eyes that makes my dick jump. Moisture kisses the inside of my briefs, and I let out a heavy breath. He thrusts his dick against mine and grins.
“Say it again,” he says, his voice deeper, darker. “Say you’re sorry.”
“I’m—” His thumb flicks my nipple again, and I yelp, my body twitching from the touch. I suck in a breath. “Sorry.”
My voice is raspy from kissing him. Hudson looks up at me, but the look isn’t one of surrender. In that one look, I know exactly who has the upper hand. He holds my gaze in challenge.
“Make it up to me, then.”
I blink, unsure I heard him correctly. He must sense my hesitation, because a second later there’s a popping sound and a clatter, and then he lets go of my shirt, sliding his hand down the expanse of my chest, and I realize what the noise was.
My remaining three buttons.
“Prove how sorry you are,” he says, his hardness throbbing against mine. He doesn’t thrust or grind against me, but he does pinch my nipple this time, and I curse. A dark chuckle escapes his throat, but it’s not friendly. It’s smooth and sexy, and makes my dick strain against my pants. Hudson may be beneath me, but I am at his complete mercy. Just as I feel like I can breathe, he moves forward, placing a slow, warm kiss over my nipple, his tongue flicking the sensitive area, and I can’t help but groan. Another bloom of precum forms, kissing the inside of my briefs.
“Oh, fuck…” I breathe, my heart racing a mile a minute. This isn’t forgiveness. This is fucking punishment.
But I don’t hate it.
Hudson’s fingers find my other nipple, and he pinches it whilesuckingon the one in his mouth, and I cry out as my balls tighten up.
“Hudson…” I try to keep my voice steady, but it cracks. A myriad of emotions and thoughts go through my mind. I’mconfused. I’m turned on. I’m a little bit scared, I won’t lie. I’ve never been in this position before.
“What?” His dark whisper comes like a thief in the night.
“How?” I ask, my voice damn near breathless as I try to find the words to speak. It’s difficult when he keeps touching me like this. I’m so hard it hurts. This sweet yet sort of sadistic form of sensual torture is exactly what he wants.
“Tell me…” I grind against him, needing the friction, the motion. I’m so close already, and he’s barely touched me. My entire body feels like an overloaded circuit about to blow.
