Page 6 of Curvy Desire's Second Shot

“The couch.” His answer was simple, final, and maddeningly Hudson.

“That doesn’t seem fair,” I said, setting my bag down on the floor.

He leaned against the counter, his arms crossed, watching me with a half-smile that sent a flicker of heat through my chest. “Life’s not fair, Naomi. Get used to it.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the way his presence filled the room, making it feel smaller, more intimate. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” he said, pushing off the counter and heading toward the stove. “Tea or coffee?”

“Tea,” I said, sinking onto the edge of the couch. My hands fidgeted in my lap, my fingers tracing the hem of my sweater as I tried to steady my nerves.

The truth was, being here with Hudson felt... complicated. The air between us had always been charged, even when we were just kids. But now, with the years and distance that had passed, it felt like something stronger, heavier. Being near him was like standing too close to a fire—not entirely unpleasant, but undeniably dangerous.

I watched as he moved around the kitchen, his broad shoulders and confident movements drawing my attention whether I wanted them to or not. He was wearing a plain black T-shirt and jeans, nothing extraordinary, but on him, it looked like armor. Hudson had always carried himself with a quiet strength, like he could take on the world if he had to.

“Here,” he said, handing me a steaming mug a few minutes later. His fingers brushed mine, and the brief contact sent a jolt through me. I tried to mask it by blowing on the tea, but the smirk tugging at his lips told me he’d noticed.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, focusing on the mug as if it held all the answers to the questions swirling in my head.

Hudson sat down beside me, the couch dipping slightly under his weight. He didn’t say anything at first, just sipped his coffee and stared straight ahead. The silence wasn’t awkward,but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either. It felt like the calm before a storm, like the air was waiting to crackle and spark.

“You don’t have to babysit me, you know,” I said finally, breaking the quiet.

“I’m not babysitting,” he said, his voice low. “I’m keeping you safe.”

I turned to look at him, my heart doing a strange little flip at the intensity in his eyes. “Why? Why do you care so much?”

His gaze didn’t waver, and the weight of it pinned me in place. “Because I do.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting right now,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Drink your tea.”

I huffed but did as he said, the warmth of the liquid doing little to soothe the heat building under my skin. Being this close to Hudson was messing with my head. I could feel the pull between us, the magnetic tension that had always been there, now sharper and more insistent than ever.

He leaned forward, setting his mug on the table, and I caught the faint scent of his cologne—something earthy and clean that made my pulse race. When he turned back to me, his eyes lingered on my face, drifting down to my lips before snapping back to meet mine.

“Naomi...” he started, his voice rough, like he was holding back.

“What?” I asked, my voice softer than I intended.

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he was going to back away, put some distance between us. But instead, he leaned in, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from my face. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a shiver down my spine.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. “Why?”

His lips quirked into a faint smile, but there was no humor in his eyes. “Because no matter how much I tell myself to keep my distance, I can’t seem to stay away.”

The confession hung between us, heavy and electrifying. My breath hitched as he leaned closer, his hand sliding to cup my cheek. His thumb brushed over my skin, and I swore the world tilted.

“Hudson...” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure if it was a warning or an invitation.

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he closed the distance between us, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that stole the air from my lungs. It was slow at first, tentative, as if he was giving me the chance to pull away. But when I didn’t, when I leaned into him instead, it deepened, turning fierce and consuming.

My hands found their way to his chest, gripping his shirt as I pressed closer. The heat of him, the feel of his strong arms wrapping around me, was overwhelming in the best way. Every inch of me was alive, hyperaware of the way his lips moved against mine, the way his hand slid to the small of my back, pulling me flush against him.

When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing hard, he rested his forehead against mine. His eyes searched mine, as if looking for permission to keep going, to cross a line we couldn’t come back from.

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