Page 81 of When Death Whispers

Pleasure crashes through me like a wave, dragging a cry from my throat as I shatter against him. Hudson holds me together, keeps me steady. And even as I’m coming down, I feel Hudson’s control slipping. His hips buck up into me, rhythm growing erratic. I tighten around him deliberately, drawing a strangled moan from his throat.

“Shit, Parker,” he rasps. “I’m close. Where do you want me to?—”

“Inside me,” I whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I want to feel you filling me up.”

He buries his face in my neck and lets go, hips stuttering as he spills into me. I hold him close, arms wrapped tight around him as he trembles through it.

For a long moment, we stay like that, tangled together and breathing hard. I can feel Hudson’s heart pounding against my chest, his skin slick with sweat. My own body feels liquid, boneless with satisfaction.

Slowly, gently, Hudson eases us onto our sides, grabbing one of my legs to rest on his hip. He doesn’t pull out, keeping us connected as he strokes my hair back from my face. His thumb strokes my cheek, searching my eyes like he’s afraid of what he’ll find there.

“Are you okay?”

I nod, feeling surprisingly calm for the first time since Hudson fell through the porch. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Thanks to you.”

He kisses my forehead, his thumb brushing over my cheek like I’m something worth keeping safe.

And I let myself believe it. For now.

But safety is always temporary in my world.

And peace never stays long.

30

Cold air brushesagainst my bare skin, and my eyes snap open.

The space beside me is empty.

The warmth, the weight—gone.

My breath stutters. I stare at the indentation where Hudson was in the sheets, the faint scent of vanilla still lingering in the air. The quiet that follows feels like a rejection. My pulse kicks up, a thrum in my ears as I sit up, scanning the room like maybe I missed him.

But I didn’t.

He’s not here.

For a moment, I just sit there, the sheet pulled loosely around me, trying not to feel anything. But the ache in my chest spreads fast. Faster than I want to admit.

Did he leave?

I press a hand to my sternum, trying to ease the tightness settling behind my ribs.

I knew this would happen. I expected it. Everyone leaves. Everyone.

So why does it still hurt?

I exhale slowly and slide out of bed, reaching for the first thing I see—his shirt, crumpled on the floor. I tug it on automatically. The fabric is worn, soft, and stupidly warm. It swallows me whole and smells like him. My fingers tighten around the hem.

I shake my head, muttering under my breath. “Get a fucking grip, Parker. Stop spiraling.”

Then—

A sound.

The distinct sizzle of something hitting a hot pan.

My breath catches.

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