Hudson(63)

I love her reaction, and I have to have more. I slip my hand under her panties and swipe across her clit, through her folds until I find the opening of her *. “You’re already so wet, precious.” I lick across her peaked nipple, and she shudders. I’m about to shove my fingers into her hole when I remember she’s in the driver’s seat. So I urge her to drive. “Shall I put my fingers inside you? Tell me.”

“I want your cock inside me.” She’s tentative with her request, and it only makes me harder.

There’s nothing more I want than to bury myself in her warm cunt, yet I force myself to hold back. I suck on her other breast until she moans. “But you aren’t ready for me, precious.”

“I’m ready enough.” She’s demanding. “I want to ride you.”

That’s all it takes. I rip the sides of her flimsy panties open and throw them aside. She grasps my cock, and I jerk in her hand. She balances over me. I’m so close to being lost inside her.

“I can’t imagine why I deserve this,” I say, palming her breasts. I know from our times before how it will be, how I’m going to feel when her * clenches around me. Not just physically but emotionally.

And I spook.

So I say something shitty as a reminder to both of us that none of this can be real. “I should be rewarding you for your very believable girlfriend act today.”

She stills, and I realize instantly that I’ve hurt her. And the implications of why that statement would hurt her tell me what I didn’t necessarily want to know—she is feeling it too. All of it.

I’m not sure how to deal with that knowledge. A bubble of euphoria has burst in my chest and spreads through my limbs. But my brain tries to halt it. She can’t fall for me, it says. She cannot. Because if she does, it’s going to hurt her more when all this comes to an end, and it has to come to an end. And that will destroy me.

I just don’t know what will destroy me more—that it ends or that she’s hurt. Shit, I’m so f**ked.

Her eyes seem to recognize everything going through my mind. Then, with a defiance that almost makes me proud, she lifts her chin and slides down on my cock. She’s tight and raw. She wiggles, trying to work me in deeper. It’s a metaphor, I think, how she’s trying to slip further into my life and how she meets resistance from me time and again.

Though there’s nothing to be done about the metaphor, I can help her with the literal. I place my hand on her belly, pushing her back slightly until she opens up and glides down until I’m buried completely.

“Fuck,” I groan. “You’re so tight, Alayna. So good.” They’re sex words, but in my head, the meaning is hazy. Is it her clenched wet cunt that feels so good? Or is it everything else about her that feels so f**king good?

Or is it all of it?

She lifts up and down my length. I try to command the tempo, but she maintains her steady pace, sliding up and down. Up and down. It’s the most erotic sight, and my inability to direct any of it makes me restless. My hands wander over her body, touching her, caressing her, finally settling my thumb on her clit where at least here I can take some control.

“God, oh, god,” she cries, squeezing my cock with her *. She’s close, and I’m caught up in the way she writhes and squirms on top of me. Her skin glistens with sweat, and her cheeks are flushed so beautifully.

She talks as she rides me, her words mixed with broken moans. “I’m happy, Hudson. You’ve made me happy.” She’s not usually a talker, and I absorb every single sound she makes, every sentiment she shares.

All of it heightens the confusion of desires within me. I don’t want to hear these things. I want her to say more.

She does say more. “And I’ve made you happy too.” I want her to stop. I want her to go on. “We’re falling in love. This is us, falling in love.”

Those words are the death of me. They’re beautiful poison, and I can’t listen anymore.

“Enough.” Instantly, I flip her underneath me. I bend her legs and push them back while I pound into her with a rebellious force. I drive to silence her words that still echo in my head—in love, we’re falling in love. She shouldn’t have said that. I thrust into her, punishing her for voicing the ridiculous thoughts. If there’s any truth to it, I refuse to acknowledge it.

But I know. As Alayna comes undone underneath me, as I spurt my own release into her with long, hot pulses, I know that she’s right. That this can’t be thrashed out of our systems with desperate, frantic sex. That this can’t be forgotten or buried or ignored. There is emotion between us, and if that’s what it’s called—if it is actually love—it isn’t going away.

And what the f**k do I do with that?

I roll off her and fall onto the bed. As much as I want to be, I’m not angry with Alayna. I’m angry with myself. And Celia. Angry that she has any part of my relationship with Alayna, of what might be the most genuine moment of my entire life.

Most of all, I’m affected. When I’ve never been affected by anyone, and that means I’m also confused and maybe a little afraid. Or maybe a lot afraid.

Not knowing what else to do, I pull Alayna into the crook of my arm, close my eyes and pretend to sleep. I wish that I could fall into the bliss of unconsciousness, where thoughts and feelings can’t bite and nip at me as they do as I lie here wide awake. It’s not like there’s anything new to dwell on. The same thoughts recycle through my mind: We’re falling in love. Can I actually be in love? I have to end this game. I have to tell her everything. But then I’ll lose her. And won’t I lose her anyway? Eventually doesn’t all love end?