Page 43 of Truth or Dare

I smirked, brushing my lips along her collarbone, savoring the warmth of her skin. “Would it make me an ass if I told you I want you to sit on my face?” I murmured against her neck. “I want to taste you, Presley… have you come for me again.”

Her wide eyes met mine, her lips parted in a soft gasp. When she didn’t answer right away, I leaned close, my voice a low whisper. “You did say you wanted it, didn’t you? And trust me, it’s not just for you. I want to taste you.”

A low groan escaped her lips. “Hudson…”

I pulled back, watching her face. “Come to my room,” I said, my hand resting against her cheek. But even as I held her close, I saw her eyes shift, that flicker of doubt starting to creep in. I leaned back, easing away.

“Or…” I suggested, softer now. “Maybe we just watch a movie. Whatever you want.”

She bit her lip, nodding slowly, a bit of color returning to her cheeks. “Titanic?” she asked, almost shyly.

I grinned, pulling her up with me. “Titanic it is.” I led her toward the media room, its cozy stadium seats and soft lighting giving the perfect escape. Presley pressed a soft kiss to my mouth before curling up in one of the front seats, her hand still entwined with mine. Her fingers brushed my knuckles as wesettled in, the warmth between us lingering even as I dimmed the lights and set up the movie.

As the credits rolled, she brought my hand to her lips, letting her mouth linger there before giving my hand a light squeeze and resting it back down, her head nestled close to my shoulder.

And as the scenes played out before us, I let myself settle into the quiet, just holding her close, knowing that tonight, whatever happened next, was enough.

She stared ahead at the screen and snuggled in deeper against the seat, leaning toward me.

“Hudson?” Presley’s voice cut through the dim glow of the TV, her gaze still fixed on the scene where Kate Winslet arrived on the Titanic, complaining about the ship’s size.

“Yes?” I kept my eyes on her, waiting.

She took a deep breath. “Can I stay here tonight?”

My pulse quickened as her words hung in the still air. I turned, studying her face for any hint, but she kept her eyes averted.

“Here?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“In your bed.” She shifted, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “My parents are in the city for the weekend, and Neil is with his friends. The house is empty… and I hate being there alone. It creaks.” She shuddered, laughing nervously.

I smirked, leaning toward her. “It’s the ghosts,” I teased. “They know you’re alone.”

She gasped, mouth falling open as she swatted my arm. “You’re such an ass! Now I’m definitely not going back there alone.”

Laughing, I reached for her hand, pulling it to my lips. I let her index finger slip between them, gently licking the tip. She inhaled sharply, her eyes widening, and before I knew it, she was climbing over the arm of the chair, curling up into my lap. She rested her head against my chest, and I wrapped my armsaround her, my fingers tracing slow circles on her back. This felt right—so painfully right—but we hadn’t defined what “this” even was.

Presley let out a soft sigh as I traced my fingertips along her spine, and she melted into me, curling her fingers into my shirt. The movie played on, forgotten, the quiet hum of it underscoring the heat building between us. Her lips brushed my neck, lingering just below my ear.

“I like this,” she whispered, barely audible.

“I do too, Pres,” I murmured, holding her closer. “I missed you.”

She nestled deeper into my chest. “I never stopped thinking about you. You know I told you things I never told anyone else.” She paused, as if caught between past and present.

The memories were still vivid—the closeness and what felt like love, the letters. She’d been my first kiss, the first girl I ever held hands with. But when my dad died, I pulled away, convinced I’d never see her again. The letters stopped. I didn’t realize until now how much that hurt her.

“I was an idiot,” I said quietly, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I should’ve kept writing.”

Her fingers drifted down my chest, lingering over my heart. “I kept writing to you, you know,” she whispered.

I tilted my head back to look at her. “You… you did?”

She nodded, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I just never sent them. My mom gave me this pink stationery with gold monograms on my birthday when I was thirteen. I thought it was so cool.”

A grin tugged at my lips. “I’d like to see them someday.”

She laughed softly. “I stopped writing last year. It started to feel pointless.”

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