Page 42 of Dump Tackle My Heart
The kiss lingers too.
Soft. Sweet.
"Kissing you’s addictive, isn’t it? So fucking sweet. Can’t get enough, Dani," he murmurs, voice thick with meaning.
My breath catches.
“You really know how to flatter a girl,” I try to joke, but it comes out too soft, too full of longing.
“Not flattery,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. “Just facts.”
Then I feel it—the sudden cool drizzle of whipped cream against my inner thigh.
I squeal.
“Hudson!”
He grins, wicked and boyish, eyes alight with mischief.
“Ooh, I’m sorry, love. Lemme kiss it better.”
And he does.
Not in the way I expected. Slower. Tender.
A brush of his lips that sends sparks dancing up my spine.
His hands skim my sides, and every point of contact feels like fire meeting snow—melting me from the inside out.
“Hudson,” I whisper, unable to stop the way my fingers slide into his hair.
His hands are busy, tugging on the tie around my waist, unwrapping me from my dress like a belated Thanksgiving present.
He groans his appreciation at the simply cotton panties and bra he unveils, and coasts his hands over my overheated body, making me wet with longing.
“Easy, Sweetheart. I got you. Just wanna take care of you,” he murmurs into my skin, stripping me as he goes.
Then he’s kneeling, peeling off the t-shirt covering his body from me, and my mouth drops open.
He’s built like a work of art, but that’s not what’s shocking.
It’s the way he’s looking at me.
Me.
Like he might think I’m a work of art, too.
“So fucking beautiful, Dani.”
“Hudson, please,” I try to pull him down to me, but he smirks and shakes his head.
“Not yet. You work so hard. Always doing everything for everyone else. Let me in. Let me do this just for you. Trust me, Dani.”
And God help me, I let him. I trust him.
I let him worship me with his hands and his mouth, let myself unravel under the intensity of his attention.
There’s laughter. Moans.
