Page 73 of Tough Love

“God, more.” The words are a growl, and his hands tighten around my hips, rough.

I changed my mind—I don’t want slow like last night. I want him to slam into me. Rough me up, claim me as his. Because as of last night, I am ruined for anyone else.

Utterly wrecked.

“Harder, rougher, Hudson. Take what you need. I’m yours.”

“Jesus, you are mine, Addy. Don’t you ever forget it.”

“Never, Huddy. Now, harder, deeper.”

He pulls out and slams in so damn hard that I meet the tile with my face. I have never been so full. And every time he pulls out agonizingly slow, he thunders back into me. And I crawl higher and higher with every rough, damning inch of my Hudson.

“I’m almost there. Jesus, Addy.”

“Take me with you,” I beg. His fingers find my apex and sweep frantically as he pumps into me, and I tighten more and more. When he slams a hand beside my head, I grip his fingers with a hand and cry through the biggest orgasm I have ever had. It steals my breath. My fingers and toes tingle. I gasp for air, choking through sobs of pure pleasure. He growls beside me, and his seed spills inside me, hot and fast.

Hudson Rawlins, you are the undoing of me.

Chapter Twenty-One

HUDSON

The winter winds and chilly days are officially here. And Addy is late for her Tuesday lesson. I flip my phone out of my back pocket on my way over to the barn to saddle up Sergeant. No texts. No calls. I barely use my phone, and Addy is the only one who has been lighting up my phone since the party. And it’s deathly quiet.

My gut sinks like a stone in stagnant water. Addy isn’t the fickle type—if she hasn’t arrived by now, she has good reason. Or good reason has her caught up.

With that thought, I stalk back to the house and call her phone. It goes to voicemail.

“Fuck.”

“Huddy, can you come here?” Ma calls from the study.

I pull off my hat and drop it on the kitchen table and make my way to the study. Ma sits at the computer. A video is paused on the screen. When she turns back to me, her eyes are narrow, her mouth is a little gap, and her hands are on her glasses.

“What is it, Ma?”

“It’s . . . It’s Addy.”

“What?” Heat floods my insides when I glance back at the screen. A video of Addy riding. Show jumping, by the looks of thecolorful setup in the blurred background. “She’s riding; let’s see it.”

Ma doesn’t say anything. She swivels the chair back around and drags the little black dot on the bottom of the video back to the start. “I had to watch it a few times to make certain it was her,” she whispers.

Why is she whispering?

A stone develops in my throat. I move to stand next to her. She tilts the screen up and glances at me with an agonized expression. Her finger slowly clicks the mouse, and the video starts. Addy sits on an Arabian-type horse. She’s stunning. A real competition horse. Shiny, bay, her hooves polished.

Addy leans forward on her mare when the buzzer sounds, and Jewls takes off toward the first jump. They clear the first half of the course easily. She turns the mare to the hedge jump. And it’s like watching a car accident in slow motion, knowing what comes next.

Ma grabs my arm, her grip tight. I grind my jaw tight as they sail over the hedge. Jewls flinches. Addy heads her toward the next jump and they sail over it, but the mare shakes her head, faltering a little. The triple comes up.

I can’t help the choking sound that steals the air from my lungs with every breath. Ma hides her face with her other hand. Helplessness gutters through me. Jewls goes down, crashing into the jump. Addy screams for her. Poles fly from their cradles. The ruckus is too loud.

I grip the edge of the desk in horror as the horse falls. Addy’s hands fly above her. Her head bounces on the sand. The horse jerks and rolls again, squashing Addy under her. She screams and stills. That must be the moment her hips were smashed. Bile crawls up my throat.

Ma’s shoulders shake and I slam my eyes shut, trying to block out the god-awful sight of the woman I would sell my soul for being thrown around like a rag doll.

Sick to my stomach, I groan, low and heady. “Turn it off, Ma.”

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