Roughing It

27. Hudson

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

hudson

As the sun sets, I think about our first time hiking this same path, that disastrous first day where Blakely had a fit over sore, aching feet. Feet I rubbed and soothed without even thinking of why I was doing it. Already captivated by her. Then I think about the second hike, the sunrise she didn’t film, the one that will always belong to us no matter what else happens.

And then, her asking me to come with her plays in my mind. I asked her to stay, and she countered. But I can’t leave. I can’t. I’ll never be happy in Austin, but if she gives it a chance, Blakely can be happy here. Maybe that makes me a pompous, delusional asshole, but she belongs in Trail Creek. She belongs with me.

More frustrating than all of it, though, is her refusal to talk. To make a decision. She pushed it off, and I let her.

I hold her—watching her watch the sky change. There will never be a sunset or sunrise, a star-strewn sky, that holds a candle to Blakely. New shades dance across her skin, bright orange fading to hot pink and burning to rich violet. I’m struck once again by her beauty. My body reacts on instinct, lips sweeping over the sensitive spot behind her ear, along her jaw, down her shoulders. Blakely’s fingers lace with mine, pulling my arms around her waist. When the final bits of gold disappear I help her to her feet, and we return to the place we’ve shared and made a home for the past month.

The moment she burst into my black-and-white world, a beautiful, bratty, pretend princess, Blakely changed me. She brought color and joy and things I didn’t know I was missing. But I never thought I’d long for her to stay or of how empty my life will be without her loud, frustrating, life-altering presence.

How did this happen? How did I fall head over heels for a woman like Blakely Bradshaw? A woman never meant to be mine. But the thought of her leaving makes me want to tie her to our bed with knots so intricate she can’t break free. I draw her closer, her breath hitching as I brush my hands up her back and down her sides.

“It’s your last night. Tomorrow you leave. No more tiny one-room cabin for you, Princess. Unless?—”

She silences my attempt at bringing up the looming threat of tomorrow, pressing her fingers to my lips. The shudder she gives when I nip at the pads makes my dick twitch. But when she stays quiet, I frown—willing her to say something. Anything.

Kissing her knuckles, I pull her hand away. “I’ve tried to figure out how to make you stop talking for the last month, and now you go silent on me?”

“Don’t call me Princess.”

There she is—my Spitfire.

She unbuttons my shirt. Her lips travel from my neck to my collarbone, before stopping over my heart. Can she hear my desire, my love, with every beat? It’s ridiculous, the effect this woman has on me.

Her hands travel lower, skimming my thighs with the tips of her fingers. When she ghosts over my cock, I stop her. It’s my turn. I take my time. I want her scent, her flavor, her touch burned in my brain.

But more than that, I want her to be mine. Forever.

“Stay,” I mumble against her neck between open mouth kisses.

“It’s not fair to say that while your hands and lips are on my body, Bear.” She deflects my attempt to talk about tomorrow, and instead, pulls me to our bed. The place where I’ve come to know her inside and out over the last month.

I can’t wait another second. My hunger for her overwhelms me, and I crush my lips to hers in a bruising kiss. I swallow her moans, my tongue coiling with hers. Breathlessly, I pull away before blazing a path down her jaw to her neck, the rough edges of my teeth scraping against her skin, eliciting shudders from her body.

My mouth moves lower, down her sternum, nipping at the skin between the valley of her breasts before taking one of those perfect pink nipples and working it with my tongue and teeth until she’s arching up from the bed. I know the signs of her body, how much is too much. I have a motherfucking PhD in Blakely Bradshaw.

“Fuck me, Blakely, you have the best tits.” Cupping her breasts reverently in my rough hands, I push them together before nuzzling my face against her hard nipples, worshiping her body as befitting a goddess.

I push a knee between her legs, teasing her before pulling away. “So eager. We have all night. Need you to be patient.”

Like a petulant child, she shakes her head and pouts. “My bratty Blakely, you better watch that lip, or someone’s gonna bite it.”

At my words, she pushes her bottom lip out further and stomps her foot into the mattress for good measure. Oh, she’s getting a spanking. I nip her plump lip and give her inner thigh a sharp slap.

“Hudson. I need you.”

“And I told you to be patient. If you’re a bad girl, I’ll keep you right on the edge, aching to come, dripping and desperate until the sun comes up.”

Her panted pleas for more drive me lower. She’s writhing and mewling as I nibble the back of her knees and my fingers creep up her thighs. When my fingers ghost over her pulsing pussy, she bucks her hips.

With a smirk, I pin her to the bed, locking her beneath me. A piece of me longs to draw this out, to make her beg, but another part wants nothing more than to give in. To spend the night buried in her, tasting her, fucking her, pleasing her until we’re both too tired to worry about what dawn will bring.

“I plan on savoring you. Especially if this is our last night together.” The pain of that thought tempers my lust briefly before it comes roaring back.

“Please, Bear. I need you.” The power she has over me should be disturbing. There’s still so much we don’t know about each other, but there’ll never be another for me.

“Open your legs, Spitfire. I promise I’ll give you what you want. Let me take care of you.”

One finger turns to two, stroking the heat between her legs, stroking the craving within me. More. I need more. To watch her come undone with my fingers and my mouth. To relish her flavor on my tongue. To savor her delicate scent. To feel her—the throb and quiver of her cunt around my fingers. The coat of juicy slick on her thighs as she grows wetter and wetter. With a groan from me and a choked sob of my name from her, two fingers become three.

My hunger: ravenous. My thirst: unsated. “I’d bathe in this pussy forever if you let me. You gonna make a mess, baby? Give me a shower?”

“Hudson, wh-when you say things like that. Oh, fuck me. Pl-please keep going.”

“Moan for me, Blakely. Give me those noises.”

She falls, and I feast while fighting to keep from coming against the blanket. Her cries curl in my ears, but I continue caressing her insides, lapping at her pink pussy, only stopping when she whimpers no more . I’m aching to sink my cock into her, for her to come again, to gorge myself on her ecstasy, but she swirls her finger in the air. With a hungry growl, I flip us, guiding her spread legs over my hips.

She’s a queen on her throne, staring down at me. Everything about Blakely calls to me. Like a dying man to water, I’m in her thrall.

“Fuck. You are a thing of wonder. I need to be in you. Now.”

My greed for her overtakes me, and in one fluid snap of my hips, I’m seated inside her. Every inch of me buried.

“God, Hudson, you feel so good.” Her whimper has me swelling inside her.

“You were made for me, Blakely. This hungry pussy is where I belong. I have to stuff my dirty girl. Isn’t that right? Your greedy cunt needs my cock.”

“Y-yes!”

“Tell me. Say you need my cock.”

“I need it!”

I slam her down as I thrust upward. “I said, say you need my cock. Word for word, Blakely. Say your greedy cunt needs my cock.” Fuck, I have to hear her say it.

“My greedy c-cunt needs your cock. Give it to me, Bear!”

Fucking hell. She tightens around my cock, her hips rocking frantically. Her walls tighten around me, pulling me somehow even deeper .

I brush my thumbs over her nipples before my hands wander lower, going to her hips and guiding our connection. My eyes fasten on where our bodies join, watching Blakely ride me. I need to cement this moment in my mind.

Goddamn, I love the way her skin flushes, the way her wild, tousled hair falls, framing her gorgeous face. I close my eyes, focusing all my other senses on her. The indescribable pressure of her wet cunt gripping my cock. The refrain of her breathy moans. The smell of sweat, of sex, raw and unbridled. When I open my eyes, it’s to Blakely staring at me, passion, desire, and something deeper written in her gaze.

Overcome with the desire to touch more of her, I sit up, capturing her earlobe between my teeth before burying my head into her neck—my breathing ragged. Fingers claw my back and shoulders, and I’ll wear those marks with pride. I snake my hand between our bodies, my fingers dropping to her clit, knowing my touch will bring her to the edge.

I starve without her pleasure. Only her pussy clenching around my cock, the heated rush of her release spilling onto my thighs, the wanton cry of my name from her lips can sate me. It’s a banquet—a bounty.

But then her tears spill onto my shoulders, and the drive to comfort her takes over.

“Fuck, Blakely, are you okay?” My hands go to her hips, guiding her to stop and easing my frantic thrusts.

“Yes, don’t stop.”

I hate myself, but I don’t argue with her. Fuck. I’m so damn close. She squeezes her pussy muscles and moves her body in tandem with my faltering rhythm, even as tears land on me in salty splats. All it takes is one more powerful clench around my cock, and I spill myself inside her.

“What happened?” I ask. Concern she’s hurt has me searching her over. When I don’t see any physical signs besides the tears, I wipe them away.

“I-I’m embarrassed.” She tries to turn away, but I tighten my grip on her chin and tilt her head so her eyes fix on mine.

“What do you mean? After all we’ve been through and learned about each other? We’ve seen each other in ways neither of us expected.” My voice drops. “I’ve touched every inch of you, licked every inch of you. Seen you vom?—”

She gives me a death glare, and I smirk. “Why are you embarrassed?”

“ Iloveyou. ” Her eyes close, as if that can make her disappear.

She loves me. She loves me . This isn’t a sleep-and-sick-induced confession. No. This is her declaring it.

“Open your fucking gorgeous ocean eyes and look at me. I love you too, you beautifully infuriating creature.”

With her admission, those three words, I find myself hard again, hungry again. When she falls forward, her lips crashing into mine, I roll us and bury myself in her. This is no frantic fuck. This is slow, purposeful. Each thrust deeper than the one before. My goal? To fill her completely. To meld my soul to hers.

This time is different for more reasons than I can count.

When I come, I whisper how much I love her in her ear and hold her, not ready to pull out, to lose the physical connection or the emotional one. We lay like that, bodies locked together, sweat, breath, and cum mixing until finally, I press my forehead to hers and repeat my single plea. “Stay.”

“Hudson, I…”

At the welling of tears, I hold her tighter. I inhale, filling my lungs. She’s the sweetest scent I’ve ever known, and tonight has been just about perfect. The sunset, making love to her, telling her I love her. But it’s still not enough .

This conversation has been haunting us for weeks. And here it is. There are no more tomorrows. No more hiding from the truth. No more running. There’s only now. Yet, I can’t bring myself to continue despite my insistence on our need to talk. Not tonight. Not after she admitted she loves me.

She’s everything I never expected to find. A partner to share my life, to love, whose strength and spirit keep me from being so alone. With her, I can just be. Grumpy, direct. Content with my lot in life. She sees me and loves me.

Though I’m reluctant to let her go, I slip out of bed, grabbing a washcloth to clean her up. Then I gather a few blankets, and we make our way to the porch. She loves me; I love her. The choice should be easy. Right?

She curls up in my arms as though she’s always known them. I stroke her hair, let my fingers walk the curves of her body, and hold her.

Can I give up my life here? My family, my business, Trail Creek? Can I leave my home of the last fifteen years and go with her on a new adventure? I’ve answered that question with myself time and time again, but fuck if the idea of being with her doesn’t have me asking it again.

Or can she? Can she give up the city, money, bright lights, and bustle and be happy with me? Am I enough? Old doubts resurface.

“Rest.” My lips brush against her ear.

She deserves more. More than me. More than Trail Creek. But I’m a selfish bastard. And I can promise she’ll never find someone who loves her more.

Neither of us speaks; the only noises in the air are the rustling of trees and our breathing. Eventually, with a content sigh of my name, Blakely relaxes, the heavy tow of sleep too much for her to resist.

I stay awake hoping I can somehow will the earth to slow its spin for a night—however, time marches on, heedless of my plea. With a sigh, I let my head fall back on the swing. There’s no point in sitting on the porch all night. No. I’ll spend tonight in our bed, tangled in her glorious grasp.

Carefully, I pick her up and carry her inside, laying her on the bed we’ve shared for a month. I slip my fingers into her silky hair, smirking as I think about how she pouted and shouted her way into the bed after our first night. How our days were full of bickering, but somehow, each morning, we woke wrapped around each other. How she somehow wormed her way into every aspect of my life. This infuriating, petulant, wondrous woman.

And though it pains me, shatters me, I know. Deep down, I’ve always known what the morning will bring.