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When his lips closed over one nipple, I let out a sound I barely recognized as mine. Oh—the thought fractured as pleasure sparked low in my belly. His tongue was gentle, almost worshipful, and the contrast between the careful heat of his mouth and the strength in the hands holding me made my head tip back.

We moved on the couch until I lay beneath him, the cushions dipping under our combined weight. Hudson took his time, kissing every new inch of skin he’d uncovered—my ribs, the curve of my hip, the inside of my thigh.

My leggings and panties joined the pile on the floor. I felt exposed but not vulnerable, not when he was looking at me like I was precious.

Not just wanted. Cherished.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured against my skin, his hand sliding up my leg. “Every part of you.” He paused, eyes searching mine. “Tell me if anything feels like too much. I mean it. I only want what you want.”

His fingers brushed between my thighs, gentle at first, exploring. I was already wet, aching for more, and when he circled my clit with his thumb, I bucked up into his hand.

He adjusted his touch based on my responses, learning me in real time. “Talk to me, Sloane. Does this feel right?”

“It does,” I managed, my hips moving in small circles. “A little faster—yes, like that.”

He followed my guidance perfectly, sliding a finger inside me, then another, curling them in a way that made my toes curl against the couch.

The stretch felt good, but it also reminded me how long it had been. I rocked against his hand, chasing the building pressure, and he kept up a steady stream of encouragement, telling me how beautiful I sounded, how much he loved watching me fall apart like this. “That’s it… just like that. God, look at you. You’re perfect, Sloane.” His free hand stroked my side in slow, soothing passes. “I’ve got you. Let go whenever you’re ready. There’s no wrong way to feel this.”

When the orgasm hit, it rolled through me in long waves, leaving me trembling and breathless. Safe, my mind whispered through the aftershocks. I’m safe.

Hudson stayed with me through it, kissing my neck and shoulders until I came down. Then he shifted lower, settling between my legs with clear intent. “I want to taste you,” he said, voice rough but controlled. “If that’s okay.”

I nodded quickly, heat flooding my face. “Please.”

He took his time there too, using his mouth with the same focused care he’d shown everywhere else. His tongue circled and licked, learning what made me gasp and what made me moan louder. “You’re so sweet,” he murmured against me, the word almost lost in the soft sounds he drew from me. “So goddamn sweet. I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long. Let me take care of you.”

One of his hands held my hip steady while the other stroked my thigh. I threaded my fingers through his hair, not guiding so much as anchoring myself.

He sounded almost overwhelmed, like it meant as much to him as it did to me.

The sensations built again, deeper this time, until another orgasm roared through me, his name falling from my lips.

Hudson moved back up my body, holding me close while my breathing evened out. We lay tangled together on the couch, skin to skin, and I traced the lines of muscle along his back. “I love how careful you are,” I whispered. “It makes me feel… safe. Wanted. All of it.”

He pressed a kiss to my temple. “You are wanted. Completely. I’ve never felt this sure about anyone.” We talked then, in the quiet interval, about our time apart and the fears we’d both carried.

He admitted the shifter side of himself still worried him sometimes—whether I could truly accept the wolf as part of the man. I told him I already did, that watching him lead his family and protect the kids had only made me love him more. The conversation wove through the physical closeness. His hands never stopped moving—gentle, grounding strokes along my spine, my hip, the soft skin of my outer thigh—as if he needed the contact to keep saying what words alone couldn’t.

Eventually, I stripped Hudson of his pants and stared at his body as he lay next to me.

His cock was huge—thicker and longer than I’d expected even after all the research I’d done on shifter anatomy. When he positioned himself at my entrance and began to push in slowly, the initial stretch burned.

I tensed, sucking in a breath. “Wait… give me a second. It’s been years, and you’re… a lot.”

He froze immediately, holding himself still above me. “We can stop. Or go slower. Tell me what you need.” His forehead rested against mine again, breath careful. “I mean it, Sloane. Nothing happens unless it feels right for you. You’re in control here.”

“Just stay there a minute. Let me adjust.” I breathed through it, focusing on the solid feel of his body, the way his arms bracketed me protectively.

He kissed me softly, then my jaw, my collarbone, murmuring how perfect I felt, how patient he could be, how he would wait all night if that’s what I wanted. “You’re doing so well,” he whispered. “Taking me like this… it’s everything. Just breathe with me. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

His words helped. The burn gradually eased into a deep, full pressure that started to feel good—really good. My eyes stung with something that wasn’t pain because he was waiting. He was choosing patience over his own pleasure.

“Okay,” I said after a while. “Move. Slowly.”

He did, rocking into me with careful thrusts that allowed my body to open to him bit by bit. Each thrust drew new sounds from me, pleasure overtaking the discomfort until I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him deeper.

We found a rhythm together, talking the whole time—asking, answering, laughing a little when we bumped elbows or had to reposition on the narrow couch. He praised every reaction I gave him. “Sloane… fuck, you feel like home. Tell me if you need me to change anything. Harder, softer—anything. I just want to make you feel good. Wanted. Loved.” His voice cracked on the last word, raw and honest. “I never want this to end.”