Page 48
Outside, a bird launched into a noisy argument with another bird. Saturday had apparently begun whether we approved or not. I could see pale light around the curtains, but the recording pages waiting down the hall had no claim on me for another little while.
“We should probably get up soon,” I said, making no effort to do so.
“We’ve got time.” Hudson tucked the quilt around my shoulder. “How are you feeling this morning?”
I knew what he meant. I liked that he’d asked, and that he was waiting for a real answer.
“A little tender,” I admitted. “But good. Very good, actually.” I lifted my head to look at him. “How about you?”
“Pretty damn happy.”
He said it while looking straight at me, and I found myself smiling before I leaned in to kiss him. I intended it to be a perfectly respectable good-morning kiss, the sort that lasted a few seconds before we discussed coffee and toast.
That wasn’t how it went.
When I finally drew back, Hudson was still close, with one hand resting warmly against my back.
“On second thought,” I said, “I’d like to stay right here for a while.”
He smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
His hand drifted down my spine and came to rest at the small of my back, in no hurry at all. I kissed the edge of his jaw, then the corner of his mouth, and he made a low, contented sound that I felt in my own ribs.
“I should disclose that I haven’t brushed my teeth,” I said against his cheek.
“Noted. I’m not in a position to complain.” His thumb traced a slow line over my hip. “You said you were tender, though. If you’d rather stay here and kiss until the coffee wins, I’m happy with that.”
I considered the offer for about as long as it took his stubble to scrape along my throat.
“I’d rather not only kiss,” I said. “But I’d like to go slowly, and I’d like you to believe me when I tell you what’s comfortable.”
“Always.” He kissed the spot beneath my ear. “Tell me how you want to start.”
The honest answer was that I wanted to be warm and unhurried and thoroughly held, so I rolled over, took his arm, and drew it across me until my back fit against his chest. The quilt came with us. His breath stirred my hair, and something firm and unmistakable pressed against the base of my spine.
“Well,” I said. “Part of you woke up before the rest.”
“That part has no discipline.” He laughed quietly, and I felt it through my shoulder blades. “I can ignore it if you’d like.”
“Please don’t.” I pushed back against him, slowly, and his laugh turned into a very satisfying breath. “I’m being thorough, not careless.”
“That’s a hell of a distinction at this hour.”
He kissed my shoulder, then the back of my neck, where my hair was still tangled from sleep. One of his hands cupped my breast, his thumb brushing my nipple until it tightened, while the other slid down over my stomach and between my thighs. He stopped there with his fingers resting lightly against me, waiting.
“Lighter than you think,” I told him. “And slower. Yes, just like that.”
He followed my directions as though they were the most interesting instructions he’d received all week, and I stopped giving them after a minute or two because he had already learned what I’d told him on Friday. His fingers moved in lazy circles that built pleasure so gradually that I couldn’t have said when it began. A bird started up outside the window again. Somewhere on the porch, the furious squirrel was shouting about something, and I found I had no objection to any of it.
I reached behind me and found him with my hand. He was hot and hard and smooth at the tip, and when I stroked him the way he’d shown me, firm along the length with a little twist near the top, his forehead dropped against my shoulder and he swore under his breath.
“You remembered,” he said, sounding unsteady.
“I take excellent notes.”
“Peyton.” He kissed my neck, openmouthed. “I want to be inside you. Slowly, if that’s all right. Tell me if it isn’t.”
“It’s all right. It’s exactly what I want.” I lifted my top leg back over his hip and guided him to me. “Shallow at first, please. I’m still a little sensitive.”
