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And I’ve never been more terrified in my life.

Sixteen

Willow

I’ve been thinking about the leftover banana pudding Jade tucked into my hands as we left Briar’s house hours ago.

And when my stomach rumbled just after midnight, I gave in.

There’s no one in this house who’ll judge me for a midnight snack.

No one in this house who’ll hurt me.

Hell, if Hudson hears me, he’ll likely join me.

I tug my robe on over my simple pajama set of cotton shorts and a flowy tank, tie the sash and slip downstairs, not missing the sliver of light shining beneath Hudson’s closed door as I go.

It’s that bit of illumination that has me grabbing two spoons and the container of banana pudding. It’s that soft glow that has me climbing the stairs and walking down the hall…then pausing outside Hudson’s door.

I lift my hand to knock, but the moment my fist makes contact with the wood, the panel floats in.

Not completely closed I realize belatedly.

And that’s the last thing I comprehend.

Because all my focus is on the bed.

Hudson is on the bed.

Hudson is naked on the bed and?—

He groans, head dropping back onto the pillows, the chords of his neck standing out in sharp relief, his hips bucking, the squares of his ab muscles so defined as he strokes himself, it’s almost like something out of a dirty magazine.

I’m awestruck.

I’m barely able to stay on my feet.

I want to be the one stroking. I want to trace the ridges of his abs. I want to kiss each and every muscle. I want?—

“Christ, Willow,” he rasps out, hand moving faster.

Christ.

Willow?

The banana pudding and spoons slip from my hand, the utensils clattering to the floor, the container dropping with a thunk, its lid popping off, the pudding landing with a plop on the hardwood.

Maybe later I’ll mourn the loss of that delicious dessert.

Just…not in this moment.

Because the sight in front of me is so glorious that delicious midnight snacks are the last thing on my mind—or at least, delicious midnight snacks of the banana pudding variety.

Hudson is still, head lifted from the pillow, eyes wide as they lock onto mine. His hand is still wrapped around his thick, hard cock, paused mid-stroke.

Don’t stop on my account, I want to say.

But, although I’m coming back to myself, or maybe finally beginning to understand the woman I want to become, I don’t quite have the courage to go that far yet.