Page 16

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.

I can’t stop staring, though.

And I can’t make my feet move, can’t find the strength to turn around and slip from the room, leaving him to his…private time.

And Hudson stares right back, eyes devouring me, dragging over the bare expanse of my legs, gliding up and I swear I feel phantom fingers parting the material of my robe, tracing between my thighs, over my belly, drifting along the hard buds of my nipples.

Then he seems to process what he’s doing.

What I’m doing (which, for the record, is staring at his powerfully muscled body like it’ll be even tastier than Jade’s dessert).

He releases his dick, reaches for a pillow.

“Don’t.”

The word is torn out of me, raspy and guttural and so filled with need that my pussy throbs, moisture gathering between my legs, soaking the gusset of my shorts.

That same need finally has my feet unsticking—spinning around.

But I don’t leave.

I close the door then spin back, watching his eyes flare at the soft snick.

He doesn’t speak as I shore up my courage, give in to what I want.

What I need.

He said my name.

He—

I stop thinking, can’t allow myself to think too deeply—otherwise, I’ll lose every bit of courage I’ve managed to cobble together.

I sidestep the mess, take a breath, and approach the bed. It’s only when I put one knee on the mattress that he seems to unstick.

“What are you doing, princess?” he murmurs as I straddle his thick thighs, his hands immediately settling on my hips.

They don’t push me away.

They hold me steady.

My heart pulses, need mixing with affection— holding me steady.

Why do I feel as though he’ll always do that?

Not hurting me. Not making me feel small. But, rather, supporting and bolstering and trusting in me and my decisions…even if they end up with a mess on the floor.

Then again, he doesn’t seem to mind a mess.

Or cleaning one up.

Banana pudding. Sprinkles and whipped cream.

Po- tay -to. Po- tah -to.

“What am I doing?” I ask, smoothing a hand down his chest.

“Yeah, princess.” His hands tighten slightly, and I shiver, the fabric of my robe parting.

His gaze drops to the triangle of flesh that’s been revealed and heat fills my belly, spreads out from my center.

I want him to touch me there.

I want him to touch me everywhere.

“I’m finally taking something I want,” I murmur, settling more heavily on top of him, feeling the hard length of his erection between my legs. I rock gently, pleasure spiking out from my center.

Too many layers of clothes between us.

But when I reach for the sash of my robe, warm fingers wrap around my wrist. “Princess,” he murmurs, “look at me.”

It’s hard to focus.

My heart is pounding and my lungs are tight, and it’s as though my skin has somehow become two sizes too small for my body. Am I really doing this? Am I going to do this with Hudson? Have I lost my mind?

What if he doesn’t want it?

“D-do you not want to?” I whisper, cold water suddenly dumped over my head.

He said?—

I assumed?—

But maybe this isn’t what he wants?

His face changes—heat warring with disbelief, humor with gentleness—and then he sits up carefully, abs doing wonderful things with the curl up, those sharp lines getting deeper, more impressive.

He keeps his hands on my waist as he moves, drawing me back with him as he settles against the headboard.

“Baby,” he murmurs. “You can feel my hard cock against that damp pussy?—”

Heat floods through me—and it’s not embarrassment.

It’s need eating away at the worry, need ratcheting up the ache between my legs, need that has me rocking against him again, ever so slightly.

He grins. “Yeah, princess. You can feel that. So, you know I want to be inside you?—”

More heat. More need. More desire.

“My only question is—” He waits until my eyes go back to his. “Is this what you want, Willow? Really, truly what you want?”

It would be easy to answer without hesitation.

To give in to the desire coursing through my veins and just say yes, just seek out this pleasure and not worry about any of the consequences.

But Hudson is a good man.

He deserves consideration.

Deserves to know that I’m not rushing into this without thinking.

That I want him , not just an orgasm.

So, I take that time, stop and consider all of what I’m feeling in this moment, and it’s not until I’ve sat in my emotions and processed them that I cup his jaw, stare deeply into his eyes, and tell him…

“Yes, this is what I really want.”