Page 97 of Hate You Later
Hudson pulls them away, and in the next moment, without hesitation, he pins me to the wall, plunging his tongue into my folds, kissing, teasing, and tasting me.
My legs are shaking and I’m so close … so close I don’t want him to stop. But I also don’t want to come like this. I want him inside me.
“I need to feel you, Hudson.” He pauses and looks up at me, dreamy-eyed.
“How would you like to feel me, Georgia?”
“On top of me, inside of me.” I slide down the headboard and reach forward to touch the part of him that appears to be in complete agreement. His skin feels like silk under my fingertips. Like something fine and magnificent. The firm length of him strains against my grip.
“There’s a condom in the bottom drawer,” I say.
I lean forward to lavish his tip with butterfly kisses, and he moans.
“I’m torn because I don’t want you to stop,” he says. “But I also don’t want this to end.” He reaches out sideways to dig in my bottom drawer and retrieves a foil packet.
“Found it.” He walks to the foot of the bed and slowly unrolls the condom onto himself as I watch.
“On second thought, I think I’m with you on wanting to be inside you, Georgia. In fact, I don’t think I can wait.”
He leans down, grabs my ankles, and pulls me away from the headboard, all the way down to the foot of the bed till I am seated there, and then he sinks to his knees. His eyes are half-closed and his lips parted. A thick lock of blond hair has fallen forward across his forehead.
“I’m going to take you now.” His tongue flicks the sensitive spot behind my ear, and he bites my lobe. He parts my legs with his hand and then reaches down to slide a finger inside me, then over my swollen bud. I’m so wet, so ready. I arch forward.
“Please,” I beg. I don’t ever think I’ve said that word in bed before. But at the moment, I may as well be begging for my life. If I don’t feel him inside me, and soon, I might actually die.
“As you wish,” he says, thrusting long and hard, and we both moan together because it feels so good. The sweet relief of it.
But that relief doesn’t last. It’s a moment, and then we are rocking together, at sea. The storm is gaining momentum with every thrust, the waves threatening to overtake us.
The power of it takes my breath away.
It’s not like I’ve never had sex before. But never like this. Never in the middle of an ocean so deep, with a thirst so great.
“I want to feel you come, Georgia. Come with me,” he rumbles. His fingers lace with mine and pin my outstretched arms to the bed. It’s all the invitation I need. The boat is tipping. We are flung together into that boundless abyss.
hudson
I am tangledin the sheets, and there is a large dog sleeping curled up beside me. It takes a moment for me to remember where I am.
I’m in Georgia’s bed. I spent the night in her house. We had sex. More than that. Sex doesn’t seem like the right word to describe it. I’ve had sex before. I’ve never had that.
This isn’t a normal, “just got laid” feeling. This is a sort of soul satisfaction that has opened up a whole other level of being for me. Clear skies. Birds are singing. Heaven? Oh shit, I really am a cliché.
My stomach is growling. Somewhere downstairs, I smell coffee brewing. I use the bathroom and pull on my boxers and jeans. I’m holding off on the makeup-stained tee for now.
Georgia’s en suite bathroom is charming and spacious for an older home. Light spills through a large window lined with plants, and a prism casts rainbows all around the mosaic-tiled floor. Her slipper tub is massive, big enough for two. I’m definitely filing that detail away for later.
Wait, what? What am I thinking? Why am I even still here? I stare at myself in the mirror. Stubbled and satisfied, but not completely sated. The sight of the scratches on my back and the memory of what happened last night—all three times—has me more than ready to go again. I can’t seem to get enough of her. I have an overwhelming need to do it all over again, to beat my own high score, to commit every curve and sigh to memory. As if I even could. When it comes to winding me up, she’s gone pro. I can’t predict what she’ll do or say next. But I’m dying to know.
Normally, at this point in a hookup scenario, I’d be waking in my own bed. No unnecessary overnights. That’s always been my rule. I wouldn’t be waking up spooning a girl, and certainly not her dog.
“You’re in so much trouble, man.” I speak to my reflection and head downstairs.
Georgia is in the kitchen, wearing an oversize tee and little else.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” she says. “How do you take your coffee? Sorry it’s not egg coffee, just regular pod stuff.” She looks at me and blushes. “Oh my God! Your back …”
“I better not let Oliver see those. I’m not sure he’d approve.” I kiss her sweet and salty neck and take the mug from her hand. “Black is fine. Good morning, by the way.”
