“God. Please do that.” He laughed at me, kissed away my smile and laughter, and soon, I didn’t find anything funny.
Hudson kissed me, ran his hand along my lower stomach, warming my already heated skin until his fingers finally pressed below my waistband and into my underwear. Where he found me hot and soaked for him.
“Damn,” he whispered against my mouth right as his finger expertly found my center, that bundle of nerves at the top. He played with me, drew out noises I wasn’t certain I’d ever made before he pressed a finger inside me, slowly.
“Oh.” I pushed my head back into the pillow, arching into him. He watched my every response to the way he touched me while he slid kisses to my neck, to the sensitive area behind my ears.
“Okay?” he asked.
I could only nod. This felt so incredible. His body. What he was doing to mine. So much better than my own self-ministrations I’d become so accustomed to. “More. Please.”
He kissed me while he added another finger, swallowed the pleasured sounds bursting from my throat while other sensations were igniting down lower. My body was on fire. My thighs shaking and there was a tightness in my belly that seemed to grew with every brush and flick of his fingers.
“Hudson,” I gasped, as that tightness uncoiled and unraveled. It sparked and sizzled, and I yanked my mouth from his right as my climax pulled me under. I rode every glorious wave of pleasure he gave me, until I returned to his bed, to the same universe as him and stupidly, grinned up at him.
“Wow,” I breathed. “That was… that was nice.”
He laughed, sliding his hand back up my stomach to my side. “Nice?”
“Really nice.”
“I’ll take nice.” He kissed me again and then rolled to his side, where the proof of his need was hard at my thigh. “Thank you,” he said, and there wasn’t a single joking tone in his voice. “For giving that to me. Trusting me with it.”
I wound my arms with his where he’d settled his over my stomach and hips and squeezed. “I do trust you.”
31
Hudson
Thanksgiving weekend was what I considered hell week. While the city threw up decorations on what felt like every storefront and restaurant, every light pole and building entrance, I fought to resist the burning desire to tear it all down with my bare hands.
Joyful Christmas carols blared in every store and gas station, and sometimes straight onto the streets. I hadn’t considered this year would hit me as hard as the previous two. I was falling in love with Lilly, a woman was giving me everything, slowly, in pieces wrapped with her trust and all the while, I felt the weight of that responsibility pressing down on my shoulders, almost pummeling me straight through the cement.
And then there was how this time of year hit us to begin with.
Melissa died the night before Thanksgiving Day two years ago, at home, cold and frail and reeking of medicines that couldn’t save her and barely muted her pain. She passed away squeezing Dad’s hand in one of hers and mine in the other, her grip so weak and her body so thin, I had been too terrified to squeeze back for fear of breaking bones in her hand.
We toiled through that first year, burying her and grieving her as we should have and then when last year rolled around, that was when Dad spent all of his free hours, and many of his working and sleeping ones, researching Lilly’s story, her history, trying to figure out any way he could fulfill Melissa’s wish.
And now I had her, in my arms at night, in my life during the day. I’d fought the pull of her for so long, before I ever stepped foot into Judith’s that night and now there was no more fight left in me. Lilly had all of me. She made me want to wrap her in bubble wrap even if I knew she’d punch through it and tell me to fuck off for protecting her.
She made me laugh, truly laugh for the first time in years.
Which was why I felt like a complete dick, walking home with her from work because she wanted to enjoy the warmer night and listen to the sounds of Christmas coming from the restaurant’s outdoor speakers as we passed them.
It made me want to jab forks in my ears, but I would do it for her. Even if I was completely lost in my own throughs while she talked about her workday, how nice it’d been to have a week off of school.
“Are you even listening to me?” Her hip bumped into mine, jolting me back to the present.
“What?”
Lilly rolled her eyes and scrunched her nose. She had her plaid scarf wrapped heavily around her throat, a gray fluffy hat with a ball on top pulled down low over her ears. I flicked the ball, and we came to a stop at an intersection.
“You weren’t listening, were you?”
“You were talking about work.”
“No… I was wondering what I should get Jenna for a wedding gift.”
“Sorry.” I scrubbed my chin. I must have zoned out far more than I thought. Shaking my head to clear all the thoughts running through it, I then shrugged. “Jenna and Brandon don’t need anything.”
“I know, but I want to get them something. Do they have a registry?”
“A what?”
“Never mind.” She sighed playfully. “I’ll ask Jenna tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Right.
“Are you okay?” she asked me, peering up at me. Only the area between her eyes and mouth were visible, those freckles of hers on bright display against the pink in her cheeks.
No. I wasn’t okay. Not at all.
I shoved my gloved hands into my coat pockets. “Yeah. I’m good.”
“Because for the last few days you’ve been quiet. Broody.”
“Broody?”
The light changed and we walked with the small crowd gathering around us.
“Yeah, I don’t know. Like you’re sad or have a lot on your mind. You can talk to me you know.”
I could. Someday I’d tell her every single thought I had, but today wasn’t that day.
And since it wasn’t, I needed to work on not having my shitty mood affect her, too.
“Just distracted with work I guess and making sure Dad doesn’t screw up the meal tomorrow.” It was Thanksgiving. Where we’d all gather around the table and spread lies as thick and rich as the pumpkin pie would be.
“Is it possible for David to do that?”
“Once or twice it’s happened.” In reality, it never happened. I think the last time turkey was ruined was when my mom tried to cook one. She had talents for days but cooking wasn’t one of them. Thank God for Dad. We would have survived on macaroni and cheese and cut up hot dogs if Mom had been in charge of meals.
“I’m sure it’ll be perfect. Are you still heading over there tonight?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there late, probably.” Not because of the dinner though, although we’d probably make pies while we tried to keep our emotions in check.
“Are you sure I can’t come? I only served Judith’s pies and didn’t bake them but maybe some of her talent rubbed off by osmosis or something.”
She grinned at me, so bright and playful, and yet there was a lingering sadness in her eyes. She wasn’t dumb.
It was nearly impossible to hide the way I’d pulled back over the last few days. I gave her an orgasm with my fingers a week ago and since then we haven’t done more than kiss. My fault, my issue. It was obvious it was causing her to doubt what was between us.