Page 35 of Curvy Desire's Second Shot

Her hands slid up my arms, her touch sending shivers through me. “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she said, her voice steady.

I kissed her again, slower this time, savoring the feel of her, the way she responded to every touch, every movement. My hands found the hem of her shirt, and I paused, looking at her for permission. She nodded, her lips curving into a soft smile, and I tugged the fabric over her head, tossing it aside.

She was breathtaking, every curve, every inch of her more beautiful than I’d ever let myself imagine. I took my time, my hands and lips exploring, learning what made her gasp, what made her arch into me, what made her whisper my name like a prayer.

Time seemed to stand still as we lost ourselves in each other, the barriers we’d built up over the years finally crumbling away. This wasn’t just about desire—it was about connection, about finally giving in to the feelings we’d both been too afraid to admit.

When it was over, we lay tangled together on the couch, her head resting on my chest as I ran my fingers through her hair. The room was quiet except for the sound of our breathing, the weight of the moment settling over us.

As I held her, feeling her heartbeat against mine, I knew I’d never let her go again.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Naomi

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the apartment. The space felt different now, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on why. Maybe it was because everything between Hudson and me had shifted—finally, undeniably—and the weight of all the unspoken words was gone.

I stretched out on the couch, the blanket tangled around me, and glanced toward the kitchen. Hudson stood at the counter, his back to me as he worked on breakfast. The sight of him there, moving with an easy confidence, sent a warmth through me that I hadn’t expected.

“Smells good,” I called, sitting up and pulling the blanket around my shoulders.

He glanced over his shoulder, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s just eggs.”

“Yeah, but eggs made by you,” I teased, standing and padding toward him.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said, his tone playful.

I leaned against the counter, watching him. There was a lightness to him this morning, a quiet contentment that mirrored how I felt. For the first time in weeks, the world didn’t feel like it was on the verge of collapsing.

“Do you want coffee?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Always,” I said, grinning.

He handed me a steaming mug, his fingers brushing mine, and the touch sent a small jolt through me. It was the simplest gesture, but it felt like a promise—a reassurance that whatever this was, we were in it together.

The day passedin a blur of quiet moments and shared tasks. We spent the morning organizing the living room, which had become a chaotic mess of papers and half-empty coffee mugs during our weeks of planning. Hudson worked with a quiet efficiency, his movements deliberate but unhurried, and I found myself watching him more than I was actually helping.

“Are you going to stare at me all day?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he caught me watching him.

“Maybe,” I said, shrugging. “You’re nice to look at.”

He smirked, shaking his head. “If you’re not careful, I might start charging you for the privilege.”

“Oh, please,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Like you don’t love the attention.”

He laughed then, the sound deep and warm, and it sent a thrill through me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this light, this free.

In the afternoon,we took a walk to the small park a few blocks away. The sun was shining, the air crisp and cool, and for a while, it felt like we were just two normal people enjoying aquiet day. Hudson reached for my hand as we walked, his fingers lacing with mine, and the gesture was so natural it made my chest ache.

“You’re quiet,” he said, glancing at me.

“Just... thinking,” I said, my voice soft.

“About what?” he asked.

“About this,” I said, gesturing to the park, the sunshine, the simplicity of the moment. “It’s nice. It feels... normal.”

“It does,” he agreed, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand. “We could have more of this, you know.”

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