Sunday Night
Iwished I’d stayed for dinner Friday night. The idea of not seeing him for a week sat heavy like a rock inside of my stomach, and not for a second did I think it was worry over the possibility of something going wrong. I was fairly confident in my body taking care of things, and now that I knew I could get pregnant, the idea of losing it was less daunting. Still a horrible feeling, and I’d mourn the loss every second of the rest of my life, but I knew now that I could try again.
I had to admit that part of me wanted ‘again,’ no matter what that looked like, to be with Hudson.
Trash television played from the screen in my living room as I fed fabric through my sewing machine, the pressure on the foot pedal so soft it was barely moving. I had to be careful with each stitch, and I should have hand-sewn it, but I was falling behind on orders. I had to finish it quickly.
A knock at the door nearly threw me out of rhythm, but I lifted my foot off the pedal before I fucked something up again. I was learning.
I hurried to the door, not bothering to check who was on the other side before opening it. It was either Lisa or a delivery man—no chance of it being Hudson, not when he’d mentioned over text that he was going to bed early to make his five-thirty a.m. flight. He had dropped Jamey off at his mom’s earlier so it wasn’t entirely impossible…
Needless to say, however, I was still taken aback when the aforementioned man stood on my doorstep, his dark hair pushed back from his face and his form clad in pajamas. I hated those gray sweatpants. They showed far too much, made me want to stare. “Uh, hi?” I muttered, dragging my gaze back up to a far more appropriate spot on his body.
He took a step toward me and I stepped back, letting him through. What the fuck was going on? “Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled, and I glanced back at the time blinking at me on my stove. It was only nine.
“So you came here?” I asked, turning back to him as I shut the door. “You should just take some melatonin or something.”
The way he looked down at me stopped me mid-sentence. There was a hunger there behind his eyes, painting every feature of his face with hard lines and sharp edges. If he had come over simply to get his fucking dick wet and call it a mistake again, he could leave the way he came in.
“Hudson,” I said slowly, narrowing my gaze at him.
He moved too quickly for me to react, closing the distance between us. He placed one hand at the small of my back, planting his other hand firmly against my cheek, then pressed his lips against mine. I felt the swarm of stupid, mindless butterflies taking flight in my gut, the warmth spreading across my face, and this time, the way he held me was different. It wasn’t that same greediness of before, the cock-brained zombie getting what he could. No. This was soft, gentle, almost desperate.
I hated how easily I melted for him.
I parted my lips, granting him access to far more than just my mouth. The hand around my waist fisted my shirt, gripping me to him, and slowly but surely he walked me backward, back toward the door, until my spine pressed firmly against it.
His lips left mine, gently grazing the edge of my mouth, and he rested his forehead against my own. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, the heat of his breath spreading across my cheeks. “Tell me to stop, Sophia.”
“Why?” I breathed. My hands fell to his chest, the warmth of his skin seeping through his shirt, the thudding of his heart shaking my palms.
“Because I can’t come back from this.” The way he said it felt so final, so defeated, as if he’d been holding back far too much for far too long. I wanted to know what was beneath his words, what lurked in the depth of his mind. I needed to know. I needed it like I needed air, like I needed the life growing inside of me.
“You can,” I said softly, not sure if those were the words he needed to hear. The fabric beneath my fingertips felt like far too much of a barrier.
He exhaled a quick breath, the warm air filling the space between us. “I can’t.” His hand slid down the small of my waist, over the crest of my ass then down further, along the outside edge of my thigh. He wrapped his fingers around it, lifting until my knee hooked around his hip. “I didn’t even fucking come here for this,” he muttered, the ghost of his lips pressing barely-there kisses along my cheek. “I thought maybe we could chat, that I could have a glass of wine and we could talk about appointments and telling your family. But this… I should have known I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.”
I inhaled a shaky breath as his lips moved against my skin, each word bringing him closer to my ear, to the soft spot beneath it that he knew damn well I liked him to kiss. “I don’t… I don’t want this if you’re just going to tell me it’s a mistake.”
“It wouldn’t be a mistake, angel,” he breathed, his fingers pressing harder into my skin, unwilling to let me go. “Nothing with you has ever been a mistake.”
His words felt like a punch in the gut. I knew damn well that he’d thought I was a mistake before, but the way he was touching me, the gentleness with which he was speaking to me was too much. I was too soft for this, too soft for him. I hated it. But I couldn’t stop myself, either.
Before I could even form a response in my quickly fogging mind, Hudson’s mouth crashed into mine again, igniting that stupidly easily influenced flame inside of me and pushing aside my better judgment. His lips moved as if they held silent words, filling my mouth with his tongue and the whispers of whatever he held inside.
This was a different Hudson.
In the span of a second, he lifted me, holding my weight with his arms as he stepped us away from the door. I wrapped my arms around his neck for stability, keeping our lips and our upper bodies firmly in contact. My nipples rubbed against the fabric of my white shirt, bra lost to the gods of discomfort last night and abandoned since, and I knew damn well if he looked down he’d see them poking through.
Hudson’s knee hit the edge of the couch and he cursed under his breath. The cockiness he had in his own home was absent here—he didn’t know the layout as well, didn’t know where every little thing was, didn’t keep a running tab of toys strewn across the floor so he wouldn’t trip. Slowly, eagerly, he dropped my weight onto the large table where I cut my fabric. At the far end was my sewing machine, sitting still with thin, woolen fibers stuck beneath the needle.
“I need you,” Hudson breathed, the words escaping between our lips in little gasps.
“You have me.” The words felt too real as they slipped from my mouth, but there was no going back now. I had to own them.
He didn’t say another word as his hands began to roam, gently lifting the hem of my shirt, fingers splaying out against the bare skin of my stomach. His other hand lazily dragged down along my thigh, over the smooth skin left exposed from my shorts and the curves of my muscle. Each movement felt like memorization, like a caress, not hasty and desperate but wanting and needing. He needed me, but he wanted to take his time. He needed me, but he wanted to savor every second of it. He needed me, but he needed me to need him more.
I was already starting to.
I turned my head to the side, giving myself room to breathe as he moved to my neck, devouring the softest spots that sent shivers up my spine. “We can move to the bedroom if you want,” I breathed, gasping in air as his fingers moved gently across the curve of my breast.
“No,” he rasped, and as I waited with bated breath for him to elaborate, he gave me nothing but warm touches and butterflies. Slowly, carefully, he lifted my shirt higher, bearing my chest to him but holding the fabric just above my collarbone as if he couldn’t bear to part with the skin of my throat just yet to remove it.
I leaned back, forcing a little bit of distance, and lifted the bunched-up shirt over my head. The way he looked at me, his eyes heavy-lidded and his lips damp, told me he wasn’t ready for that space. He didn’t want to let go of me. He wanted to keep me as close as he could, and dear god, that made my heart jump.
“Come here,” he mumbled, wrapping one hand around the base of the back of my neck and pulling me gently toward him. I followed his lead, pressing my lips against the slope of his jaw, the rounded edge of his chin. He heartily hummed his approval, the vibration in his neck tickling my lips, and as his hands began to explore every inch of my chest, I could feel myself warming to him. Every touch felt less like ice, less like anger. He couldn’t possibly think it was a mistake this time.
He didn’t seem bothered by his own clothing, but with every passing second, I was. I fisted the front of his shirt, tugging it upward, higher and higher until it was bunched beneath my lips. I understood how he felt just seconds ago—I didn’t want to pull away, either.
Biting the bullet, I pulled back just an inch, lifting it up and over his head. In the small amount of space between us, I could see his cock pressing dangerously against the tightness of his sweatpants, threatening to rip the seams and take me down with it. I lowered my hand, planting kisses along his neck as I pulled him to me. My fingertips dragged against every ripple of muscle in his chest, making him shiver, his sharp intake of breath making me feel far more powerful than I had the right to feel.
I wrapped my fingers around his length over the cover of fabric, feeling just how hard his pulse thrummed inside. He groaned, tightening his grip on me, and I could happily stay right where I was forever.
Unable to resist temptation, I shoved my hand beneath the elastic hem of his sweats. They hung so low on his hips that I could see the corded muscle, pointing down toward where I held him like an arrow. “I want to be gentle with you,” he said, his hand wrapping around the base of my skull and pulling my head back. He met my gaze, his darkened eyes wild beneath lowered lashes. “You’re making it incredibly difficult.”
“You’re making me impatient,” I mumbled, heat rising in my cheeks. I squeezed his shaft and it twitched for me in response. I knew the moment he explored beneath my shorts, he’d find a similar measure of my enjoyment.
“Then lean back, Sophia.”
I did as I was told on instinct, letting go of him and leaning back onto the table, resting on my elbows. He followed me, looming over top of me, his mouth closing around my freckled left nipple. His fingers hooked the waistband of my shorts, and using my knees around his waist as support, I lifted myself so he could pull them down.
Hudson’s tongue began its magic against the sensitive bud of my breast, coaxing out a whimper as his fingers ghosted down my inner thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The moment he made contact with my clit, it was as if my body had a mind of its own. I dropped all the way down, my head hitting the wood tabletop, cushioned by Hudson’s other hand.
“So eager for me,” he mumbled, his fingers sliding in little circles. I moaned as I buried my hands in his hair, my hips lifting to meet his strokes, my legs pulling him closer. “I could do this forever, Sophia.”
I breathed in shakily. That cynical side of me knew it was just talk, just something he wanted to say in the moment, but the gullible side of me wanted to believe it. I wanted to take it and run, to put it in my pocket and keep it with me always. “Hudson,” I whispered, not entirely sure what I wanted to say but knowing I had to say something.
“I mean that.”
No, you don’t.
His fingers slid down, two of them breaking past my entrance, curling up at the tips as he buried them inside of me. His thumb took over against my clit, rubbing so precisely that my mind fogged over once again. Head empty, no thoughts, just him and what he was doing to me and how he made me feel. At that moment, it felt like everything.
Another finger, and he bit down against my nipple before soothing the ache with his tongue. I could feel the orgasm building, could tell he wasn’t going to let up, but I wasn’t ready yet. I wanted more, I wanted all of him inside of me. I wanted him to kiss me again, to say he needed me again, to hold me while he fucked me as if he really meant it.
“God, look at you,” he breathed, relinquishing my nipple as he pulled back, his eyes tracking every inch of me as I squirmed in his grip. “So fucking beautiful. I love that face you make.”
I tipped my head back, pleasure spreading through my veins like wildfire as I got closer. He was making me rapidly approach the brink, and I didn’t want to go over it yet. “What…” I breathed in, my breasts rising with my chest, and couldn’t hold back the moan that ripped through me as he quickened his pace. “W-what face?”
“The face you make when you’re about to come for me.”
That was all it took. I did a swan dive over the ledge, my orgasm shattering through me. I didn’t bother holding back my moans of pleasure—for once, I didn’t have to. There wasn’t a child in the next room that I could wake, there wasn’t a single soul within these walls apart from us. His fingers dragged me through the rolling tide, and as my eyes closed from the sheer bliss of it, his mouth met mine far more gently than I thought him capable of. I kissed him back hungrily, far too caught up in my own ecstasy to be able to concentrate, and as he slowly dragged his fingers out of me and replaced them with what I really wanted, he took my face in both of his hands, lifting my back from the table.
I could feel my own dampness against my cheek. He deepened the kiss as the last shudders of the climax faded, and finally at least slightly in control of my own body, I kissed him back just as eagerly. How he swapped from rough to tender so easily was beyond me, but something about it made my chest ache, made me long for more of it.
Slowly, he began to shift his hips, and the stretching feeling that normally made me wince was nowhere to be found. Instead, it was only pleasure, only ripples as his hips met mine. He grunted into my mouth as he pushed my hair back from my cheeks and forehead, each restrained thrust more for me than for him. In the afterglow of my orgasm, it was too much, too real, too gentle. It had never been like this between us before, and I knew that after experiencing this, it would be all I ever wanted from him.
I broke the kiss, pulling back just a hair, blinking through the fog and searching for some hint of disingenuousness on his face. Anything, anything at all just to kill what I knew was blooming inside of me. If my feelings for him grew, all of this would be too hard, too heartbreaking, and I knew I couldn’t do it.
Soft eyes met mine, and I knew I was done for.
His thumbs slid back and forth along my cheekbones, holding me so softly as if he thought I’d break into a million pieces. I felt like I might. Each thrust of his hips was swift, precise, and easy. He breathed through his mouth, his gaze searching mine for something, anything. “Sophie,” he whispered.
I wanted to speak. Truly. But the lump building in my throat, the burning at the backs of my eyes prevented anything other than whimpers and moans. His hooks were sunk so deep within me I didn’t think I’d ever surface.
“Fuck,” he breathed, and in one quick motion, he pulled me toward him, burying my head in the crook of his neck. I could feel his breath in my hair, could feel the movement of one hand holding me to him as the other slid down between our bodies. I couldn’t think, I could hardly breathe. All I could hear were the sounds of our grunts and moans and the steady, fast beating of his heart.
His fingers found my clit again, sinking me further into bliss, distracting me enough to pull me back into the moment.
“There we go,” he said, the words feeling flat, the veil back on. “Fuck, the way you clench for me feels like heaven.”
My head was swimming. This unexpected version of him, the back and forth, the hot and cold was like a match to gasoline within me. I dug my fingernails into the flesh of his chest, gripping on for dear life as his pace quickened. I knew I could come again, and he knew damn well how to get me there.
He just had to stop fucking with my head first.
I tilted my hips further, getting him to penetrate deeper. He moaned his thanks against the top of my head, pressing a little kiss against my hair before resting his chin on it. Every thrust, every circle of his fingers forced the buildup to begin again deep within my gut, making my muscles tense. “You’re too much,” he said, his voice breaking in the middle. He cleared his throat immediately after as if attempting to cover it, but there it was, clear as day.
Stop reading into things.
I couldn’t fight back the sounds crawling out of my throat, the gasps for air as I got closer and closer. “That’s it, angel,” he cooed, his hand smoothing out the hair on the back of my head. “Come for me again. Come with me.”
His thrusts grew reckless, desperate, less well-timed and more erratic. His hand kept its pace though, weathering the storm, and as I felt myself tipping over the edge and falling into that euphoric oblivion again, Hudson’s hips stuttered. The sounds I was making were incomprehensible and I could hardly hear a thing over the thrum of his heartbeat, but I was sure I’d said his name, was sure I’d dug my nails so deep I might’ve drawn blood. I could feel his heat seeping out inside of me, could feel the trickle of it onto the table beneath me, and as we started to come down from the high I could feel his lips press a kiss to the top of my head.
The word that slipped from my mouth was muffled, eaten by the rigidity of his chest.
“Hmm?” He pulled my head back, soft eyes meeting mine, glassy in their crash back into reality. “What did you say?”
“Again,” I breathed, forcing my way back to him, clawing my hands up his chest and wrapping them tightly around his neck. In the fog, I didn’t care how obvious it was becoming that I craved him, that I wasn’t done yet. I didn’t want this to end, I needed it, lived off of it. “Again.”
Effortlessly, he lifted me from the table, his cock sliding out of me as he kissed the side of my face multiple times. “Again,” he mumbled, almost as if reassuring me. His hand held me firmly to his chest, my legs wrapped tightly around him, and wordlessly, he made his way up the stairs toward my room, following what I could only assume was the layout he imagined when he saw me looking through my window weeks ago.
————
The warmth on my face from the late morning sun was what eventually woke me. Every part of my body felt heavy, thick with sleep and the leftover heat from the night before, the intensity of our time together. I hadn’t even closed my blinds—Hudson and I had fallen asleep moments after the action had ended, naked and sweaty beneath the covers, his arms around me and my back against his chest.
Hudson.
Hastily, I grabbed my phone, checking the time. Eleven-twenty a.m. “Shit, shit, shit, Hudson, your flight—”
I rolled, the clang of my phone hitting the floor only elevating the stress, but as I reached out to touch him, I found only cold sheets and fluffed pillows.
I blinked away the sleep from my eyes as I stared at the empty space next to me. “Hudson?” I called, pushing myself up on one elbow, looking toward the ensuite in case he’d woken just before me.
No answer. Had he left when I’d fallen asleep? The ache in my chest spread at the idea of being abandoned after everything last night, but as I looked back at the spot he’d occupied, I noticed a little piece of paper sticking out from under his, my pillow.
Sophie,
I’m sorry for not waking you up. You look so peaceful when you’re sleeping, and I thought you deserved a little more rest after everything. I’m also sorry that you’ll wake up without me. If I hadn’t had to make my annoyingly early flight, I would have stayed. I mean that.
Please don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything. No matter how small or insignificant, I’ll answer.
I’ll see you soon.
Hudson
I stared at the words in my hand, reading them over and over until they sunk in. I would have stayed. I would have stayed. I would have stayed.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough to satiate me for the time being. And after everything that had happened last night, the words he’d said, the way he touched me as if he would lose his mind if he ever had to let go… I was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, the idea of him actually having feelings for me wasn’t so insane after all.
