Page 74 of Pictures in Blue
The dogs are sprinting around the yard completely ignorant of my current state. They run around chasing each other in a few more circles before making their way to the house, five tongues lolling out the side, their pants filling the air. Avery opens the door for them before letting her gaze land on me again.
“You owe me,” I say.
“For what?” she says innocently, batting her eyelashes up at me.
“That has no effect on me,” I lie. She lowers her eyes to my lips, a small smile tugging at hers. Her hand wraps around the edge of the blanket and she unwraps it from around her and stands tall. “Thathas an effect on me though.”
Her honeyed hair rests on her chest almost reaching her nipples which are pebbled now that the warmth of the blanket is gone.
“Do I still owe you?” She whispers seductively. She lets out a gasp as I pick her up, resting her legs on my hips, my hands completely full of her from behind as I grip her tightly.
I wrap one hand around her lower back and place the other on the back of her neck just below her jaw. “You do, but I’ll worry about that later.”
“Taking me back to the couch to finish what we started earlier?”
“No. My first time with you is not going to be like teenagers who can’t control their hormones. We are going upstairs,” I kiss her throat, “to my bedroom,” I trail my tongue along her jaw, “where I can make sure it’s better than your last.” When my tongue reaches her lips, she pulls it in and tangles it with hers.
“But you were my last.”
“And you think that was all I had? Trust me, Sunshine, there’s way more we can do than what we did on that couch last night.”
“Show me.”
They’re all the words I need as I carry her upstairs and do exactly as she says.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
AVERY
“Show me,” I say, heart beating erratically in my chest, a hummingbird’s wings fluttering above a flower. Quick, but calm and steady. That’s how I feel in Hudson’s arms as he carries me up to his room. For the first time in a long time, the familiar anxiety I usually feel at the idea of having sex with a man isn’t present. Instead, it is replaced with the most delicious anticipation. It is the mouth-watering feeling of fulfilling a craving for fresh lemon bars, the first sip of fresh coffee in the morning, the inhale of fresh mountain air on a porch that overlooks a field of wildflowers.
When we cross the threshold to his room he kicks the door closed with his foot, hands never leaving their place, and lips never leaving mine. He lays me gently on the bed, our bodies fitting together like fractured pieces of a broken teacup. The chip in my cup is filled by him and I feel whole again.
My hands knot in his hair as he shuffles his hand around in his night stand. He pulls out a foil package and stares at it, hesitating.
His gaze settles on me and plants a quick kiss on my lips before pulling away from me.
“Are you sure?” he asks. My heart aches at the tenderness in his voice and the fact that he even bothered to ask at all. When I have been in this position before, a guy has never asked, he’s just taken.
“Yes,” I respond firmly, nodding my head and pulling his face back down to mine. I’m more than ready.
He wastes no time ripping open the package. He settles himself between my thighs and his gaze burns into mine as he enters me slowly. I gasp at the feeling of him, hard and full. I lift both arms over my head and he traps them in one hand, the other teasing my right breast.
My body is wound so tight, like it’s bound by a corset, squeezing my insides until I can’t breathe. Slowly, Hudson loosens the laces, air filling my lungs and I breathe him in. Our movements are frantic, desperate and filled with longing. His grunts fill the air and tangle with my moans. Each thrust comes quicker until we are spent and slick with sweat, each of us failing to catch our breath. And we cannot get enough of each other. Again and again.
We layon Hudson’s bed, tangled in each other and the sheets, watching the wind blow through the trees visible from his floor to ceiling window behind his bed. He doesn’t have a normal headboard or anything like that, but his mattress and box spring are placed on an adjustable metal frame that is close enough to the window, we can rest our feet against the glass if we want to. Hudson has his legs up and crossed at the ankles. I am afraid to leave behind prints, but I get the feeling he cleans the windows every night before bed given the state of the rest of his house.
Hudson isn’t like me. He is organization wrapped up in a neat little box, topped with a professional, tidy bow. Rain patters against the window, the perfect level of white noise to fall asleep to if I had any intention of doing so, my body deliciously tired from him. The sky has darkened during our time spent in bed and there is something about the sound of the rain mixed with the fading light that brings me back to our night in the woods. The feeling of “this stays here” creeps up on me and I want to spill my secrets to this man. Everything I have ever kept inside starts to crawl to the surface, fighting each other for which one will escape first.
“Tell me about the town,” I say instead.
“What do you want to know?” He asks, kissing the top of my head laying on his chest. His hand slides up and down my arm. Warm and comforting.
“Everything,” I say. Because I do. The more time I spend here, the more I want to know. I want to know about the people, what they do outside of their businesses. I want to know the quirks and personalities of each one, what makes them so interesting and likable.
“Well we have town meetings as you know.”
“With meddling townspeople,” my voice is muffled against his chest as I plant a kiss there.
