The Art of You

I assumed the silence in the bedroom was my cue to open the door.

Hudson was quietly standing there waiting for me—quite literally a heartbeat away—his good arm up, hand braced against the doorframe, his other hidden inside the pocket of his sweatpants.

“How much did you hear?”

I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around his waist as my answer. All of it. Every painful word. I waited for him to hug me back. And when he finally did, I cried out between sniffles, “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

One hand lazily stroked up and down my back as he tried to soothe me. It should’ve been the other way around. But he was always taking care of me, protecting me, making sure I was comforted.

“I’m okay, I promise.” With his other hand, he reached between us for my chin, commanding my eyes up. “I’m tough. Don’t you worry about me.”

“Don’t ask me to do the impossible.” I whispered the same words he’d said to me in the hospital.

His eyes were red but not glossy from unshed tears. “And what’s that?” he asked, turning my question back on me.

“To not worry about you,” I murmured.

He brought my face back to his chest, both strong arms firmly snug around my body. The human version of my Rugby bear.

He cupped my head, shushing me. Calming me. That was supposed to be my job. I had to stop ugly crying. My tears wouldn’t help ease his pain any more than they’d solve world peace.

Giving myself only a minute to let go, I forced myself to zip up my emotions. I’d save them for tonight, when I was alone in bed. “I never would’ve come to your room like this had I known there was so much weighing on your mind.”

He pulled away, searching for my face again. His hands rested comfortably on my hips as we stood in the doorway. “Remind me what your intentions were again.”

Oh, he remembered, but for some reason he wanted me to repeat them. My gaze fell to the barrier between the two rooms. His feet were on the other side, mine still in the bathroom. The wood threshold between us felt like a fragile barrier I refused to examine. “To tease you,” I relented. “I’m sorry.”

Cradling my chin again, his silent demand for my eyes overwhelmed me, and I submitted. The shivering from my sadness morphed into a different kind. His hard jaw strained like a blade of steel covered in sexy scruff. “No apology needed.”

Why’d I feel like that wasn’t what he’d planned to say, but he’d chosen the safer route?

“We should probably go. Your brothers have news.”

“Right.” The whisper floated between us like a secret. “He knows.” That I was in here, I finished my words in my head.

“He does.” The firm grit of his tone signaled he wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Same. I wanted to believe Constantine would stop acting like my dad and let me date who I wanted, but I also believed in Santa until I was in the sixth grade, so I didn’t quite trust my judgment when it came to men. “So, um, we’re going out there now?”

He was still holding me captive. Blocking my path with his muscular frame. Cupping my chin with his big hand. Blue eyes laying siege to my heart. I was met with a nod and a terse look, but he didn’t budge.

We remained quietly staring at each other for a little longer before I stated what I hoped he already knew, “I’m here for you. Always.”

He released my chin, dragging his knuckles along my jawline and up the side of my face, simply staring at me as he dropped a husky “Ditto” on me.

That word sent me back to the theater room, to cuddling with him as we watched Ghost. Ditto . . . if you know, you know.

His hand blazed a new trail, his eyes following the path down the column of my throat before sweeping to my shoulder. His touch became gentler when moving to the purple welt the seat belt had left there.

He frowned as he shifted the sleeve farther down my arm, then bent forward, kissing the bruise. His lips pressed gently against the tender spot, keeping hold of my hip with the other hand.

He slowly lifted his head, adjusted my sleeve back in place, and found my eyes. “Better?”

“Mmmhmm,” was the best I could manage. I wasn’t sure how I’d gone from crying to turned on so fast. I searched for that wicked emotion known as guilt, recognizing I shouldn’t be feeling like this now of all times, but that contrition escaped me.

He guided me around so my back pressed against the doorframe, and he set his hand over my head. There was something so masculine and sexy about a man standing in such a dominant position. He was leaning so close our noses nearly touched. Close enough our breaths tangled as one.

“I don’t think I want to face reality yet.” The gruff underlying quality of his tone had my nipples hardening. Thankfully, my dark shirt probably concealed the desire I had no business having.

He’d told me he couldn’t be with me before Constantine interrupted us. And now I better understood those demons he’d been fighting for so long. He’d been to hell and back, and he’d chosen to take that walk alone instead of letting any of us support him.

Then his past came hurtling back in the form of ugly words on the internet. A ruthless attempt to try and knock him down again.

Yet, there I was, the mental chaos of his confession still swirling like the debris from a building implosion, wondering if this man might say, Fuck it, and kiss me.

“Airport rules.”

Those two words from him blocked the train wreck happening in my head and pried my lips open. “A distraction you need before we go out there? Or is this something more?”

He closed his eyes.

Thinking

Considering.

Shredding my sanity with the longest pause of my life.

Blues back on me, his voice hoarse, he finally shared, “It’ll always be something more with you.”

The “flutters,” as my sister used to call them, erupted in my stomach, and I silently thanked the doorframe for continuing to do its job of keeping me upright.

“What’s changed?” A better question: What’s wrong with me? The answer: I’m unable to shut up and take what I asked for.

He glanced at the closed bedroom door before returning those bold blues to my face. “I don’t know if it has changed. I truly don’t know yet.”

Too soon. Too fast. I got that. He’d only just shared the truths he’d kept bottled up for fifteen years. He’d been tethered to one way of thinking for so long, change would take time. I supposed I could relate.

“I probably have decades of bad habits I have to see if I can undo first.” That was one of the most honest things I’d ever heard a man say to me. “But I don’t know if I’ll survive leaving this room if I don’t feel your lips on mine.”

He nailed me to the floor with those words. With those hooded eyes. That clenched jaw of what was left of his restraint.

“There are much worse things I can think of to be haunted by,” I admitted, remembering what he’d said. “If this is the last time, or merely one of many, I’m willing to risk it if you are.”

He frowned. Not the most encouraging sign. I should’ve just fisted his shirt and kissed him, never giving him a chance to doubt anything.

“I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to change, but⁠—”

“There are no guarantees in life, I know that.” I reached between us and set both hands on his chest. His heart was flying even faster than mine.

“Five seconds,” he offered through barely parted teeth.

“Five Mississippi seconds?” I arched my brow.

“I reckon that’s the only way to count, isn’t it?”

His raspy tease had me bunching his shirt. I was on the verge of losing it if he didn’t kiss me soon. I was trying to be ladylike and let this man take the lead, but so help me . . .

Remaining in the doorway as we held each other’s eyes felt like we were caught between two directions of where things may go with us.

This image burned into my head like a sketch happening in real time. I could see my hand racing over the canvas. His body. Mine. The two of us existing here as living art, neither talking nor moving, just existing.

This was my blank canvas coming to life. My fresh start. I just had to take it.

“Ready for me?” Those three words had been a lifetime in the making.

I nodded, and he took his sweet, Southern time. Mouth hovering before mine. And then he did it. Claimed me.

The second our lips touched, the picture in my mind of us in the doorway went from black and white to full-blown color. And when his tongue licked at the seam of my lips, seeking permission to further send me over the edge, I gave it to him.

He groaned as I parted for him, and he swallowed my breathy cry.

Arching into him, I let go of his shirt to slide my hands under the material. Desperate, achy need had me running my fingers over the ridges of muscle, and his abdomen flexed beneath my touch.

Deepening the kiss, turning it from gentlemanly to fucking my mouth with his tongue, he rolled his hips forward. His hard-on strained against his sweatpants. His free hand went to my side, thumbing down the waistband of my shorts, simply smoothing his fingers over my skin there.

The kiss had taken on a life of its own. His hand wandered up my silhouette beneath my loose tee, and he cupped my breast. When he rolled my nipple between his finger and thumb, I tipped my chin back, gasping for air.

“Oh, God,” I whispered before he dropped his mouth over mine, as if already missing it.

I was greedy for more. For his hands and lips to explore every inch of my body.

He removed his hand from my shirt and trailed his fingers along my collarbone. When his mouth left mine, I opened my eyes to find him locking his hand around the column of my throat. He was gently holding me, both of us breathing hard while staring into each other’s eyes.

Holy hell.

He growled out a curse or two and hissed, “I need five more seconds.”

I opted not to share we’d definitely already sailed beyond those first five at least thirty seconds ago.

He let go of my neck and set his mouth along my jaw. Trailing kisses in a path to the shell of my ear as he squeezed my ass. His other hand was no longer on the doorframe but on my other ass cheek. He sunk his fingertips into my flesh, drawing me flush against his cock, and I rotated my hips, grinding against him.

“Tell me to stop,” he demanded in my ear.

“Don’t stop,” I begged instead, grasping the back of his neck, desperate for the barriers of our clothes to be gone.

“You’re killing me.” He seized hold of my wrist and guided me to the vanity, lifting me up onto the counter. Scooting me closer to the edge, he hooked my legs around his waist, and growled, “Five more seconds,” before slanting his mouth over mine.

I dug my fingertips into his back as I continued to rock against his crotch, ignoring the fabric between us. I could come from his expert tongue guiding mine and the friction between us alone.

He thrusted right back, as if his cock was already inside me, holding my face hostage between his big hands. As he devoured me, the colors continued to explode all around us.

He let go of my face and dragged his lips over to my ear. “If you don’t stop me,” he pleaded in a low, guttural tone, “I will fuck you right here on this counter. I don’t want that happening.”

Oh, I do. But he was right, maybe not for our first time. “Oh-okay,” I whispered—more like whimpered—as I fought to catch my breath and return to reality.

My legs remained locked around him as he straightened to find my eyes. “What the hell was that?” His brows tightened as he eyed me with apprehension, both of us breathing hard.

“I think it was art.”

I was about to explain what I meant, but he distracted me by tracing the pad of his thumb along the line of my lips, and I caught his flesh with my tongue.

“Such a bad girl.” He unwrapped my legs from his waist and stepped back.

I set my feet against the cabinet doors for support while studying him. He had no idea how naughty I could be for him. How long I’d waited for this, never thinking it’d happen. But the images I’d conjured up to keep me warm at night were explicit and erotic.

The wicked gleam in his eyes as he stared at me had me parting my knees and drawing a hand between my thighs. I wasn’t wearing panties, and I was ready to show him just how bad I’d truly been prepared to be when coming to his room tonight.

His gaze shot between my thighs, his hands going to his hips as if working to restrain himself. Chest puffing out. Nostrils flaring.

Leaning back on my elbows to remain in this position with my knees open, I nearly lost my balance.

He swooped in and bent forward, drawing his good arm behind my back. “You want me to touch you, do you?” It was more like a promise than a question falling between us, and I could only nod my affirmative. “You want me to feel how wet and ready you are? How swollen with need your beautiful cunt is for me?”

I let go of my shorts, needing both hands to brace at my sides now.

“Tell me, Bella. Tell me you want me to put my hand between your thighs and make you come. To slide my fingers inside your slick pussy and fuck you while you wish it’s my cock instead.”

Oh my God. Dirty talk from Hudson sent me over the edge. To the Land of Fairy Tales (not the Grimm ones), where I’d happily live every day. A place of miracles and unicorns. And even Santa Claus. Anything was possible with this man.

“Tell me. Use your words, darlin’.” He set his mouth against mine and demanded, “What. Do. You. Want. Me. To. Do?” How a man could punctuate each word and turn syllables into erotic harmonies was beyond me, but it was a thing, and he just did it.

I inhaled as his hand went to the inside of my thigh and traveled beneath my shorts, and I lifted my hips in expectation.

“Touch me, please.” It was one thing to think dirty things while getting myself off with my vibrator every night, it was quite another for me to stare into the eyes of a man I’d always considered off-limits and say them.

“I need more than that.” He started to pull his hand away, and I panicked.

“Fuck me with your hand while I imagine it’s your tongue on my clit,” I rushed out, not wanting to lose him. “And yes, I’ll be wishing it’s your cock inside me.”

A dark smile cut across his lips. It was one I’d never witnessed in my life and was grateful he’d saved it, gifting it to me during a moment like this.

With his other arm still around my back, keeping me in an arched position, he finally gave me what I wanted. He guided my shorts down to my thighs to give him better access, and he palmed my bare pussy like he was taking ownership of it. Staking his claim that it’d be his forever and no one else’s.

He captured my moan of relief at the contact and kissed me hard while dragging his knuckles along my wet sex.

He stroked me with his fingers. Then, moving them in and out, dragging my arousal over my sensitive flesh, he brought his mouth to my ear. “Do you know how badly I wanted to do this while you were at my apartment that weekend? I wanted to rip your bikini off with my teeth.” He stopped touching me, and it was pure torture waiting for more.

“What else did you want to do to me?”

“Pull your pussy to my face and feast on you all day long.” His fingers went to work again. Stroking. Soft and slow. In and out.

And I lost control. My stomach muscles nearly spasmed from trying to resist before I came hard, unable to contain my cries. “Oh, God. Yes, yes, yes.” I trembled against the heel of his hand as I climaxed, and he caught my last “Yes” with his lips as I about collapsed onto the counter.

I would’ve whacked my head against the glass if it wasn’t for Mr. Stealthy coming to my rescue. His hand flew up to cradle my skull, keeping me safe.

A few quiet, sated moments later, a devilish smile crossed his lips and he helped me off the counter before righting my shorts in place. He cocked a brow, eyeing me up and down, then went to the sink to wash the smell of sex from his hands. Good idea, because I just remembered where we were supposed to be.

We were no longer safe in the land of Make-Believe, but had returned to my parents’ house, thrust back to the reality of dealing with an unknown number of enemies with unknown motives.

He dried his hands, then faced me, resting his hip against the counter. And just like that, a mask of indifference moved over his face at lightning speed. The bulge in his sweatpants and my swollen lips were the only proof we’d taken a hell of a lot longer than five seconds of “airport” time.

“What now?”

“We talk to your brothers, and I think I need a word with Kit about her source.”

Not what I’d meant, but I supposed that was my fault for not being specific. I went ahead and rolled with it. Kit. A thorn in our sides. “Oh.”

“As for what happens between us, though . . .” He let his physical guard down, his arms dropping to his sides. “I don’t know.”

That was better than avoidance or rejection. “This just happened. It wasn’t planned, so we, um⁠—”

“Wasn’t planned, hmm?” A smile tugged at the edges of his lips. “Little Miss No Panties.”

“Right, well.” I fidgeted with the hem of my Metallica tee. I probably needed to change before heading to the kitchen, also put on some underwear and wash the smell of sex from between my legs.

He stepped forward and swept the pad of his thumb along the curve of my cheek. “We’ll talk about this at some point, okay?” His voice had switched from playful to serious.

I did my best to fasten my lips with some imaginary tape so I wouldn’t stumble into word-vomit territory like I was so good at.

“Are you okay?” His gaze worried its way up and down my body as if calculating whether or not he fucked up and did hurt me.

“I don’t regret what happened, if that’s what you’re asking.” I kept my tone as steady as possible once he met my eyes. “I only regret not doing more.”