“No,” he argues immediately.
I almost smile at us bickering, even about this.
Neither of us moves.
I let out a shaky laugh. “We should talk about it.”
“We should,” he agrees, his eyes roaming over my face.
Still, he doesn’t let me go. I look up at him,reallylook at him, and my chest tightens. He’s not just intense; he’s nervous, like this matters to him, likeImatter to him.
That realization hits me harder than anything else.
“Later,” I say softly.
His eyebrows draw together. “Later?”
“We’ll argue later.” I clarify, reaching up to touch his face. “I don’t want to ruin this.”
His expression softens. “You’re not going to ruin it.”
“I could,” I murmur.
A slow smile tugs at his mouth, the one I’m starting to love. The one I’ve been chasing for months.
One point for me.
I don’t say it out loud because this doesn’t feel like a game anymore. It feels like something much, much bigger.
His hand slides into mine, his grip firm and certain. “Then we’ll talk later.”
“Later,” I agree.
But when he leans in to kiss me again, I know that “later” is going to be very, very hard to get to.
I don’t want to talk. I like having his hands and mouth on me too much. I love how he can’t seem to control himself around me. It’s as if I’m the only one who can get to him, who can break him like this, and for the first time in maybe ever, I feel powerful.
I kiss him back, my tongue tangling with his as he lifts me onto the kitchen counter and settles his hips between my legs.
Hudson kisses me like he’s trying to consume me. Slowly at first, then deep and searching, his mouth moving against mine with an intensity that makes my head spin. My fingers tighten in his shirt as he steps closer between my knees, his hands sliding up my thighs until I shiver beneath his touch.
“Hazel,” he murmurs against my lips, like saying my name is something that hurts him.
I swear I’ve never heard anything so desperate. My heart pounds wildly as his forehead rests against mine for a second. We’re both breathing hard already, and we’ve barely done anything.
This man does something to me.
Something dangerous.
Something addictive.
“You keep looking at me like that,” I whisper shakily, “and I’m never going to think clearly again.”
“Good,” he says immediately.
I laugh softly, but the sound catches when his mouth trails down my jaw to my neck.
Oh.
