Page 63 of What About Us
So, this morning, I’d woken up as Finnley Hayes. Well, not legally, as this stuff takes time. But as soon as I can file the paperwork, it will be official. My smile has been so wide all day that my cheeks hurt. Hudson was so cute, reminding me to call my doctor to get an appointment first thing, which I did.
That’s why I let out a discontented sigh when I pull into the garage, finding it empty. It feels weird. In a very short time, I’ve already become accustomed to coming home to a house full of laughter, the sound of the TV on in the background, and the two of them at the counter while working on a puzzle, or Hudson making dinner while Paige colors nearby.
He’s had dinner ready when I come home almost every night since moving back, with the exception of two nights. While it’s usually somethingeasy, and I know he’s just taking care of his daughter, he always makes sure there is enough for me, too. Even the night when he had dinner with Erin at the ranch, he not only brought home my cornbread, but leftover roast and potatoes, as well as a slice of Emily’s homemade apple pie.
I’m still a little wary about the extra expense he’s accruing, but because he already has a family insurance plan, the premiums won’t go up that much. He also agreed to let me pay half of the copays. Even though he’s helped me with money in the past—even offering to pay for my mama’s cremation, which I refused—I realized it’s not about that. Not really.
It’s not about the tires for my car, and it’s not about the fridge he insisted on having a repair man come out and look at when my mama died. I mean, it is. I hate being needy, and while I love the spirit of his generosity, I dislike that I always seem to be on the receiving end of it.
But mostly, it bothers me because I’ll never be able to repay him. I’ll never be able to thank him enough, and no amount of money would ever make up for the things this man has given me. A shoulder to cry on, a voice of reason, a best friend who literally gave me his last name so that I could stop struggling. If someone were to ask me to name a better man than Hudson Hayes, I don’t think I could.
That thought alone has a damp heat breaking out over my neck. It’s like every move he makes causes some new, heightened awareness in my body. My cheeks burn with heat when I think about how I fantasized about having an actual wedding night with my best friend. It didn’t happen, of course, but my inability to stop thinking about it probably has something to do with the fact that we fell asleep together on the couch last night. When I woke up some time around three, I could feel the hard length of his cock pressed against my back.
It was very reminiscent of that night in his apartment all those months ago, when he melted my brain and my panties with one kiss. He’d been hardthat time, too. And even though we’d both been in sweats as I straddled him, I’d felt every delicious inch.
I’d only meant to run into Tiber Haven for a few minutes but ended up spending a couple of hours there. I’ve been burning the candle at both ends the last few months. Between that and yesterday, I could use a nap.
I have a mountain of laundry to catch up on, when all I really want to do is sit on the couch and dissect every little feeling I’m having for my best friend, while bingeing the current season ofThe Bachelorand wolfing down half a rotisserie chicken straight from the container. But I’m on my second day of backup period underwear, and they arenotattractive. They’re those pairs that I don’t mind ruining and are a size too big, so they are nice and comfy when the cramps hit. Definitely not sexy panties. Not that I plan on anyone seeing them, but still.
The house is quiet when I step inside, except for the whir of the ceiling fan above the dining table. I drop my things in the kitchen and pop in my AirPods to continue listening to the audiobook I started this morning while cleaning rooms at the B&B. It’s a mafia romance and it’s so hot that I’ve been slightly turned on all day. I’d like to say it’s been a great distraction, but it’s probably only adding fuel to my already horny fire. I haven’t had sex in months, and I can’t say I even have any prospects at this point. Thank God for vibrators.
Heading up the stairs, I open the doors to the hallway laundry closet and lift the lid on the ancient, top-load machine I picked up at an estate sale when I moved back to town. I strip my shirt off over my head and throw it in the washer, then check the dryer.
Inside, a load of Hudson’s clothes and three towels are mixed together in a knot. It makes me laugh because, as particular as he is about most things, laundry isn’t one of them. Without Judith, his housekeeper, he doesn’t seem to care if he washes lights with darks, or towels or sheets, so long as things are clean.
The sultry tone of the Italian voice actor fills my earbuds. “You are my wife, and as such, you will do as you’re told. I don’t give a damn what you did before coming to live with me, but you will come when I say you come, and not a minute sooner. Do you understand me, carina?”
Withheld orgasms and nicknames in another language? Yes, please. Quickly separating out the clothes from the towels, I chuck his things into a basket, then fold and stack the towels on top. I grab it all and make my way to his room. The door is open, and I almost trip over a pair of running shoes on my way to deposit the basket on the bed. After setting it down, I grab his towels and push open the bathroom door.
“That’s right, rub that beautiful pussy for me, and don’t stop until I tell you to,”croons the Italian voice in my ears.
Steam hits me in the face exactly point two seconds before my eyes land on a very naked, very wet, Hudson on the other side of the glass shower door. The low tone of the audiobook in my ears completely masks the sound of the shower, and the shower thankfully masks the light gasp I let out at seeing my best friend completely naked for the first time ever.
And goddamn,is it a sight.
His back is to me, which I should be glad for. Except, all I can do is stare at his perfectly sculpted ass, strong legs, and defined back. Hudson is lean, with a runner’s build, but he’s got an incredible body, and I can’t look away. I suddenly feel the urge to undress and climb into the shower behind him.
My palms itch with the need to run my hands over him. Around his waist from behind, and up over his abs and chest. To run my tongue along the wet skin of his neck.
“Now, take out my cock and—”
I claw my right AirPod out of my ear—which effectively shuts off the filthy whispers of the audiobook—and clutch the towels to my chest. Heat prickles along my scalp and my nipples harden in my sports bra.
This isn’t happening.Move, Finnley! Mayday, get the hell out of dodge!
The internal scream telling me to move my ass and stop checking out my best friend echoes in my mind, but it isn’t enough to make me tear my eyes away, turn my feet or make me move in the opposite direction. In fact, it’s like I’ve been turned to stone after looking into the eyes of Medusa—or, in this case, Hudson’s beautiful ass.
Well, except for the heat flushing my chest and neck as my eyes roam over every inch of his skin, or the pounding of my pulse in my ears and a slow throb starts between my legs. Perfectly toned muscles glisten with soap and water. When my eyes trail up to his arm, he turns slightly, and oh, sweet baby Jesus, his hand is on his dick, and he’s—
Oh, shit.
I try to move, fumbling for the doorknob to gently pull it closed, but before I can, his movements pick up. My eyes drop back to the steady rhythm of his hand on his cock. Hisperfectcock.
I only catch glimpses of the length of it as he slides it through his hand—the tip a delicious, reddish purple as he grips it. But it’s enough. The veins in his forearms stand out as he works himself over. His chest—sprinkled with dark hair—rises and falls in the same rhythm, before he slides his thumb over the tip and back down again. I’m practically salivating.
His head is tipped down, so I can’t see his face. But the movement of his bicep as he jerks himself and the tight grip he’s using make my heart rate kick up and my panties so wet, that soon, it will be uncomfortable.
I tell myself I should go; that I shouldn’t stand here, watching my best friend on the verge of making himself come. But I can’t. I realize Iwantto be here. Iwantto see what he looks like, and what’s more, I want to know what he’s thinking about when he falls apart.
