Mari lies back, and my fingers skim the soft flesh between her knees, rising higher until I reach the apex. Sliding a finger between her slick folds, I lower my mouth to her glistening pussy to taste her arousal.
Soft moans leave her lips as I slip my tongue between her seam and circle her tender clit. Sliding my left hand up her soft belly toward her swollen breasts, I feel her quiver as I help myself to a handful.
Her body, her heart … it all belongs to me now.
And mine to her.
Rising over her fevered body, my eyes catch the wanton gaze in hers, and I position the tip of my cock at her wet pussy, pushing myself inside her with one fell thrust.
Mari lifts her arms above her head, sighing and wrapping her legs around my sides. Her hips rock as I thrust, settling into the perfect rhythm.
Slowing down, I take my time so we can both enjoy this. Too many times over the years, I’ve taken my greedy fill and shown the woman the door the second it was over, biding my time until my next lay. I always needed to be the one to say goodbye, the one to cut the ties first. It was an assembly line void of emotion, with just enough satisfaction to meet my feral needs.
But it’s different now.
I want this to last.
And I want it to last forever.
“I love you, Mari,” I whisper, our eyes meeting. I said it to her outside her house earlier, but she never said it back. Granted, we were both a bit worked up, but I think she needs to hear it again. And I want to tell her. I want to tell her how special she is to me. “You’re the second woman I’ve ever said that to, but this is the first time I’ve ever meant it. And I know that because you’ve shown me what it means to look into the eyes of a woman who doesn’t want anything from me but … me.”
With a slow, gentle smile, she cups my face in her hands. “I love you too.”
She loves me.
Maribel Collins … loves me.
Forty-Five
Mari
* * *
“Oh, shit.” I wake to the sensation of warm sun on my face as it bakes through the painter’s cloths covering the prairie-style windows of the master bedroom.
“What?” Hudson stirs awake, rolling to his side and throwing his arm over me.
“I forgot to tell my parents I wasn’t coming home last night.”
He chuckles. “What are you? Seventeen?”
Scrambling up from the mattress, I gather my clothes from the floor, tugging them on and yanking them into place as I fluff my hair.
“They worry,” I say. “I’m the only kid they’ve got, so …”
“Yeah,” he says, sitting up. “Not that I can relate, but I get it.”
“I’m going to have to explain this, you know. I’ve been cursing your name for weeks,” I say. “Anyway, care to join me? Maybe we can get that little apology thing out of the way while we’re at it?”
I toss him a wink. He’s not getting out of this.
Smirking, he sits up, rubbing his eyes. The blanket rests at his waist and I enjoy the view of his tan, muscled arms and shoulders as I replay last night in my mind.
“Just let me grab a shower,” he says, “then we’ll go.”
Twenty minutes later, we stroll hand-in-hand down the block and around the corner. My parents are generally forgiving people, but this situation might very well be the exception … we won’t find out until we get there.
I open the front door a few minutes later, glancing up the split foyer toward the kitchen table where my mother rises as if I’ve startled her.
“Abel, she’s home,” she calls.
My father’s slow yet thunderous footsteps trail from the upstairs hallway and I brace myself, squeezing Hudson’s hand tight.
“I’m sorry,” I say to them, searching their faces for any indication of how this is going to go.
I’m prepared for a lecture. If my pregnant daughter—grown adult or not—went for a walk and failed to return home without so much as a call, I’d let her have it.
“Next time, call.” Mom sighs, heading to the kitchen sink and rinsing some plates before starting a load of dishes in the dishwasher.
Hudson and I exchange looks before climbing the stairs to the main level and taking a seat at the kitchen island.
“I hope I didn’t keep you up all night,” I say. “You were probably worried.”
“We knew where you were,” my dad says.
“You did?” I half-laugh.
“Where else would you be?” Mom tsk-tsks. “All you talk about is Hudson, Hudson, Hudson. We knew he was in town. You went for a walk; we saw you head that way. We figured it out.”
“You have to give us more credit than that,” Dad adds.
Sitting up straight, I glance at Hudson again. He shrugs.
“We had a serious talk last night,” Hudson begins, turning toward my father. “We’ve each apologized for the hurt we caused one another. And we’ve realized we want to make this work. We’re going to make this work.”
He turns to my mother.
“I love your daughter,” he says. “And I’m sorry for what I put you through—for misleading you. I promise I’ll never hurt her again. She’s got me—all of me—for the rest of her days.”
My parents are quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in, and then my mom comes around the island, throwing her arms around his shoulders.
“Welcome back,” she says, her tone warm and her smile gracious.
My father approaches Hudson like a quiet storm, apprehensive at first and then aggressively coming in for a handshake.
“You get one more chance,” he says. “Don’t blow it.”
Hudson meets his hand and they lock eyes. “I won’t, sir.”
Forty-Six
Mari
* * *
Three weeks later …
* * *
I didn’t think I’d be showing this soon, but I swear there’s a bump there.
Or maybe it’s last night’s five course dinner at Tavern on the Green …
Rolling over in Hudson’s bed, I’m greeted with an early morning Manhattan skyline and a reminder of how much I’ve missed it these last several weeks.
I came back with him this week because with everything going on, I forgot to transfer my medical records from Dr. Gupta’s office to one in Orchard Hill, and since I already had my twelve-week ultrasound scheduled, it was easier just to come here.
“Your appointment’s in an hour.” Hudson takes a seat on the edge of his bed, a plush gray towel wrapped around his narrow waist and a blue toothbrush sticking out of his perfect mouth. The scent of aftershave and clean soap permeates the air, and I close my eyes, dragging it into my lungs. I wish I could bottle up this moment, keeping it on standby every time I miss him.
I’ll be flying home solo this week while he stays and gets caught up at the office. He’s bringing on a partner soon, on a temporary basis, to lighten the load as he finishes the Frank Lloyd Wright house, but I have a feeling the further along the pregnancy goes, the more he’ll want to spend his time in the Midwest.