“Bend over. Let me show you exactly what this means to me,” he growls, and all I can do is obey. I push plates aside so I can lean on the counter, the cold granite seeping through the cotton and making my nipples even harder. Hudson kneels on the ground behind me and forces my legs apart with his hands, making me grip the counter to steady myself. My heart flutters in anticipation, imagining what it will feel like to have his mouth on me again. He was so fucking good with his mouth. “Look at this perfect little cunt. Ever since I got a taste of it on my fingers last night, all I’ve thought about is devouring it.”
And yet, he doesn’t devour it. He takes a long, languidlick as if he’s savouring me, trailing his tongue from front to back.
“Fuck, Miller. You taste so good.” He teases my clit with his fingers, making my hips buck against them. “I thought I might be able to tease you, make you squirm, but I won’t be able to hold back.”
“Don’t hold back” I manage to get out. I grip the counter until my knuckles turn white.
“Grip the counter, baby,” Hudson grits out before he closes his mouth over my clit, his fingers having more than warmed me up. He sucks it in between his teeth, making my knees buckle. Okay, so he meantgripthe counter. His tongue rolls around the sensitive bundle of nerves, and as the coil within me winds tighter, threatening to snap, he changes the rhythm. The slick, wet tip of his tongue flicks against me. His fingers find my opening, and he slides two inside, the friction driving me wild.
“Oh God, Hudson.Oh God.” My legs are shaking, my fingers find purchase again on the counter, somehow holding me in this bent-over position. And then the coil snaps. Hudson’s tongue flicks faster, and waves of pleasure surge through my body, through my limbs. Every muscle contracts, tightens, seizes, and then gives out. I slide down from the counter and Hudson catches my weight, pulling me into his lap. His thick arms wrap around me, cradling me against him.
And I feel safe. I feel held.
There’s something tugging at the back of my mind. A feeling of déjà vu. I’ve been here before. The last time I felt safe with Hudson was right before it blew up in my face. Buthe quiets the noise by nuzzling his face into my neck, planting soft kisses under my jaw.
“You know I can’t let you beat me for number of orgasms given, right?” I murmur, and Hudson smiles against my neck.
“Not everything has to be a competition.”
“This can be. This is a good competition. I like this kind of game.” Hudson pulls back now and meets my gaze. “It’s the kind where everyone wins, in some way,” I say.
“Then you’re going to have to get used to losing for now, baby.” Hudson kisses me on the forehead, then lifts me so I have to stand, rising with me.
“Millers don’t lose. I don’t know if you’re aware,” I remind him, and he wraps his hands around my hips, cupping the curve of my ass in his hands.
“I’m aware. If you’re not first, you’re last.” Hudson recites it because he heard it enough being in my home growing up. “And Millers are never last.”
“Millers are never last,” I repeat, a hint of pride in my voice, but somehow even I don’t believe it.
“Do you ever wonder,” Hudson starts, and I can almost finish his sentence for him, “if your dad’s saying is part of the reason for the panic attack you had last night?”
I glance off to the side of him, trying to evade eye contact. Because I’ve only just accepted that it was a panic attack. I don’t know how I missed it for so long. If I’m truthful, I’ve always known it somewhere deep down. It was easier to think I was having some strange health issue that would spontaneously resolve if I distracted myself well enough.
Sensing my discomfort, Hudson cups my jaw and gentlypulls my face back so I’m peering up at him. His expression is soft, open, no ounce of judgement evident on his face.
“At some point we should talk about it,” he says softly. “It was intense. And it wasn’t the first time it happened.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Like the night of the public forum?” Hudson asks hesitantly.
“Like the night of the public forum,” I confirm. “But how did you know?”
“Emma told me,” he admits. “After you got in the truck. I guess she knows someone who has panic attacks and said what you went through was textbook.”
“Ah.” I nod and turn away, taking a step back from him.
“She didn’t mean anything by telling me. She was worried about you.”
“And let me guess, you were too.”
“Yes! I was worried sick about you. I didn’t want to leave you home alone in that state.”
“Then why did you?”
“What?” Hudson sounds exasperated.
“Why did you leave me alone? If you were so worried.” I prod him, the little voice inside me telling me to seek out any evidence that Hudson might leave me again, that he’s the same teenager who only thinks about himself.
