Didn’t move.
I stayed buried inside him, and we just kissed.
Long, deep, aching kisses that felt like the kind you only saw in movies, because in reality, who had the time to kiss for that long? But when it’d been four fucking years, the kiss still felt too short.
Fuck him.
Fuck him for bringing back all the memories of how good we’d been together.
And the biggest fuck you to me for seeing the naked thorn but touching it anyway.
Hudson grabbed my hips and pulled me into him like he needed me stitched to his skin. I moved harder, grinding deep, but the pressure building in me hit a wall. That fucking condom. My body remembered what it was like without it. How he used to take me raw, how I used to fill him, then eat the cum out of his ass after.
The barrier felt all wrong. Foreign. My brain locked up, refused to let go, refused to come like this. With a groan, I pulled out, tore the condom off with shaking fingers, and stroked myself once, twice until I spilled across his stomach in hot, angry pulses, teeth clenched.
I collapsed onto the ground next to him. We lay there for a long time. The wind rustled in the trees above us. The water lapped at the lake’s edge. His breathing slowly evened out beside mine.
We weren’t touching.
That said, more than anything, especially after what we’d done.
I still felt him all over me, his taste, his voice, the ghost of his hands on my skin. But we weren’t touching. We were just two men lying side by side, bones aching with the weight of history and heartbreak.
I sat up, rubbing my hand down my face. “Come on,” I said hoarsely. “We should rinse off.”
I didn’t look at him, but I felt his eyes on me. That quiet Hudson stare that always used to undo me. I forced my feet under me and stood, pretending not to notice the way he winced when he got up or how slow his steps were. His ass must’ve been sore. And hell if it didn’t make my cock twitch all over again. He still looked so damn good.
I shouldn’t want to fuck him again. But God, I did.
I glanced over my shoulder, and he was still watching me. That unreadable expression again.
I shouldn’t have opened this door. Shouldn’t have stepped back into something I’d spent four years trying to bury.
What the hell have I done?
“Stop looking at me like you regret it,” Hudson said softly.
I didn’t answer. Just stared out at the lake, letting the silence carry my thoughts.
“I don’t do things I’ll regret,” I said eventually.
It came out sharper than I meant, a jab that landed too clean. His jaw twitched, and he looked away. God, I was a prick, but I didn’t take it back. I didn’t know how to make it right. Hell, maybe there wasn’t a right anymore.
I peeled my clothes off, walked into the lake, and dove under. When I surfaced, Hudson had waded in. Without soap, I did what I could to scrub the sweat, sex, and his scent off my skin.
A wave of water smacked me in the face.
“Hey!” I wiped my eyes.
Hudson lifted a hand in mock innocence. “Sorry. Slipped.”
Liar.
“Bullshit.” I launched at him.
He laughed—really laughed. That little shit. He haddone it spitefully. I went after him, and he swam away, but I was a better swimmer. He hadn’t known how to swim for shit until I taught him that summer.
When I reached him, I dunked him under. We thrashed like kids, splashing and gasping, and for a second, it was easy. Effortless. Like I was still nineteen, he was twenty-five and stupid and hadn’t yet ruined us. Like my whole world hadn’t finished crumbling yesterday when my brother and mother confronted my dad about his affair with Ozzie.
