Page 46 of The Ex Project (The Heartwood #3)

WREN

Hudson reaches over and places his hand on my lap, one hand still on the steering wheel. His calloused fingers brush over the soft, fleshy part of my thighs, and a ripple of warmth goes through me from my core and settles low in my belly.

I glance over at him, soft sandy blond waves framing his tanned face, and past him, out the driver’s-side window, the endless expanse of blue ocean comes into view. He rolls down the window and the familiar sharp tang of briny sea air hits me instantly, cool and refreshing.

I glance down at the display on the dashboard, and the ripple of warmth at the sensation of Hudson’s hand on my thigh is replaced by a flutter of excitement and nerves when I see the gallery is only fifteen minutes away.

“You okay?” Hudson asks, his eyes flicking to where my knee is bouncing under his hand. There’s no point in pretending with him anymore.

“A little nervous,” I admit. We’re on our way to drop off the paintings I promised Gwen, the curator, when she e-mailed.

As it turns out, VanTek was going to work on her gallery in the beginning stages, but she got smarmy vibes from Rick and fired the company.

I like her already. Not just because she loves my work—and hates Rick as much as I do—but because she wants to feature Canadian artists.

And I also like the idea of partnering with other creative women.

It feels like the right amount of fuck you to Rick and Brody and all the other men who constantly made me feel incapable, less than.

Tonight, my painting will be front and centre at her opening, and the whole trip feels surreal, like serendipity. By closing the door on something that wasn’t meant for me, something I was trying to force, I opened up all this space for new opportunities.

I rediscovered who I was, not who others wanted me to be, and it allowed me to find my own path. It’s a dream. Not only did I never think I could be here, showing my art at a gallery, but I never would have envisioned doing it with Hudson.

“I’m right here with you, Miller.” He gives my thigh a squeeze, and my heart squeezes in response.

We talked about the logistics of the trip late into the night last week and ironed out all the details.

He said he had flexibility with work to be able to take time off—the arts centre project is coming together and we’re only waiting to break ground.

I assured him we would be back in time for the groundbreaking ceremony, so there was nothing standing in the way of us going to the gallery.

As an official couple. Who does life together, who chases dreams together.

When we arrive at the gallery, Hudson gets out and rounds the truck to get my paintings from the bed. They’ve been carefully wrapped in a layer of shrink wrap, bubble wrap, and cardboard. I thought it was overkill, but Hudson insisted they be thoroughly protected.

A male coordinator dressed in all black and wearing a walkie-talkie on his waist takes the paintings from Hudson, and he holds onto them like he’s having a hard time letting go. I remember what he said to me in the wildflower field.

I kept all the drawings you gave me, Miller. Every single one.

I approach Hudson from behind and slide my hand down his forearm, twining my fingers through his to let him know handing over my paintings doesn’t mean he’s letting go of me.

The coordinator thanks us for the paintings and disappears into the gallery again, leaving Hudson and I alone out front. He turns to face me, never breaking his hand from mine.

“Should we go check into the hotel?” I ask. Hudson’s dimple pops when he looks down at me. He dips his face next to mine, and his warm breath on my ear sends goosebumps scattering across my skin.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he murmurs. “I have a lot of fun things planned for when we get to our room.”

“And when did you have time to make these plans?”

“On the drive, tracing the spot on your inner thigh and thinking about all the places I wanted to put my mouth instead.”

“Almost ready?” Hudson says from behind me as I finish swiping on my red lipstick. I straighten my shoulders when I’m done and brush my hands down the front of my dress, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles.

“Now I am.” I take a deep breath and turn towards him.

He’s leaning against the bathroom door frame with his arms crossed.

He looks like James Bond in the tux he has on.

This version of Hudson is new to me—he swapped out his paint-splattered T-shirt for a crisp white collared one, replaced his work boots with shiny black leather shoes, and a sliver of his socked ankle peeks out the top—it’s all very sexy.

I’m so attracted to this man, even his ankles seem sexy to me right now.

His eyes linger on me, raking over my body. I chose a figure-hugging deep red halter-neck gown for the occasion. The back dips low, and ruffles edge the slit that ends high on my thigh. “Do I look okay?”

Hudson’s expression falls flat, and he flashes me a get real look.

“You’re gorgeous, Miller.” He stands up straight and closes the distance between us. “You’re so out of my league, you and that red lipstick.”

He brushes my hair off my shoulder and kisses it lightly, the touch of his lips sending goosebumps scattering down my arm.

I turn back to the mirror to assess how we look together, with Hudson behind me.

But he’s not looking at the mirror—at us—his eyes are still fixed on me, his gaze full of admiration and love.

Hudson runs his hands down my sides, down my hips, and in the reflection, I can see his eyelids go heavy.

It’s like time moves in slow motion, as he dips his head down to my neck.

I reach my hand up to his cheek, running it up through his hair.

My head tilts back into him, and the warmth of his breath on the shell of my ear sends blood rushing between my legs.

I squeeze my thighs together at the sensation, and Hudson must feel my body tense, my physical response to him.

“Already horny again, Miller?” He murmurs the question next to my ear, and all I can do is nod, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip. Even though all we’ve done since we checked into the hotel is fuck like rabbits, I still want more.

My body has developed a dependency on Hudson, having been deprived of him for so long. I crave him like I’ve been starved of him.

His hand finds my hips and wraps around the crest, tugging me back into him.

His hard length presses into my backside, and my mind goes blank.

There’s nothing in my head except the thought of getting him inside me, of our bodies melding together again.

They’ve hardly been apart for the last few days, but it will never be enough.

One hand splays out between my shoulder blades and gently pushes me down.

“Bending me over another counter, Landry?” I tease, but I love it. I’m already wet when he reaches down and slides the skirt of my dress up my thighs, bunching it around my waist. Wrinkles be damned. “I thought you wanted to look me in the eyes the next time you fuck me.”

“I’m going to,” he says, and his belt buckle clicks as he undoes it. My eyes flick up to the mirror and find his sharp, ice blue gaze trained on me. He doesn’t break eye contact when he slides my thong to the side. “Don’t look away.”

My stare is set on him, and I’m transfixed by the look on his face as he slides into me, stretching me from behind.

He buries himself slowly, inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside me, and then he slowly slides back out.

It’s almost torturous, how slowly he pulls back.

Torturous and delicious, the friction agonizing and exquisite at the same time.

My eyelids flicker closed, my head drops, as he languorously pushes back into me.

“What did I say, Miller?” His fist wraps around the tresses of my hair, gently tugging and pulling my head back. “Eyes on me.”

His expression in the mirror is focused, pinning me in place. In my peripheral vision, I see my own expression, mouth open, eyebrows knitted together, the pleasure taking over every one of my features.

“That’s it. Keep looking at me,” he says, voice ragged and breathless, his hand still gripping my hair in a ponytail. “Right here, baby. It’s you and me, and you’re mine, alright?”

I give a slight nod back at him in the mirror.

“I want you to say it. Say you’re mine,” he grits out, holding himself back from coming, and clearly struggling.

“I’m yours,” I rasp. “I’m yours.”

“Good girl.” His praise is almost enough to make me come. He drives into me now, picking up his pace, and hitting the sweet spot on my anterior wall. “God, Wren, you’re so beautiful, taking my cock like this. I wish you could see yourself from where I am.”

My legs are shaking, hips twitching, but my gaze is locked in on Hudson, the sheen of sweat on his brow.

His thrusts are hard and deep and fast, and an electrifying tingle zips up my core, shooting out from my centre like lightning.

Pleasure crashes over me in waves, my walls clenching around Hudson’s girth.

“Holy shit,” I whimper as my body slumps onto the counter, every muscle giving out in the aftermath of my orgasm.

Hudson thrusts into me a few more times, and I feel him pump into me, finding his own release.

He groans as he fills me, and slumps over my bent frame, trailing feather-light kisses down my spine.

I shiver at the feeling of them, relishing the attention from him, the tenderness he shows me even now.

That’s the Hudson I’ve always loved. The man who plays with me, who gives me toe-curling orgasms, but who never fails to infuse everything with a soft, comfortable intimacy.

“Wait for a second,” he says, removing himself from me and turning to take a rolled up plush washcloth from a basket on the counter.

He soaks it in warm water and kneels behind me, cleaning me gently.

Once he’s done wiping me, he lets me stand, and I turn to face him, back against the counter.

The skirt of my dress falls like a cascading waterfall around my legs, down to my ankles. Hardly a wrinkle in sight.

“I like the way you claim me,” I say, an orgasm-drunk smile sliding lazily across my face. “It makes me want to claim you, too.”

Hudson dips his head to rest his forehead on mine. I run my hands up and down the silky lapels of his tux, letting myself wade in the cool blue of his eyes. They’re so much brighter, so much deeper, so much more nuanced than they were in the reflection of the mirror, the haze of lust clouding them.

Finding the corner of his shirt collar, crisp and bright white, I plant my lips right in the middle of it, leaving a perfect stamp of my red lipstick. “There. Now everyone at this gallery opening will know who you’re with.”

“Fuck, I love you so much.” Hearing those words from Hudson feels like warm honey. It feels like sunshine after a rainy day. It feels like I’ve fallen deeply, deeply in love with this man.

“I love you, too.”

“Are you ready to go kick some ass tonight?”

“I mean it’s not that kind of event …”

“That doesn’t sound like the Wren Miller I fell in love with.” He backs away from me, his hand sliding down my arm until he twines his fingers through mine. He leads me out of the bathroom, through the hotel room.

“Okay, yeah,” I say, following him out the door.

We’re already late—our car has probably been waiting out front for the last fifteen minutes while we’ve been …

otherwise occupied. A flush spreads up my cheeks and heats my face.

I have to put it out of my mind if I’m going to focus on the opening. “Let’s kick some ass.”