Page 88 of When Death Whispers

I lean in, brushing my lips over his tip before taking him into my mouth. Hudson shudders, a deep groan escaping him as I hollow my cheeks, taking more of him in, relishing the way he struggles to stay still.

I work him over slowly, dragging my tongue along the underside, sucking gently at the tip before sinking down again. He holds himself back—barely—his thighs tense, his grip in my hair tight but careful.

Good boy.

“Parker, fuck—yes, god—” His words dissolve into groans.

I slide a hand up his thigh, teasing, but the second my fingers graze his balls, Hudson yelps—actually fucking yelps—and jerks back, his cock slipping from my mouth with a wet pop.

“Stop. Please stop.”

I blink up at him, startled. He looks wild—chest heaving, sweat beading along his temple.

Confusion flickers through me. Did he change his mind? Does he not want this? Did I push too far?

“No, wait.” He grabs my arms, pulling me up. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop. I just—” He pulls me close, his scent warm, rich with arousal. “I don’t want to come in your mouth. And I really don’t want to come before you do.”

A surprised chuckle escapes me. I drag my hands under his shirt over his chest, tracing the dips and ridges, feeling the way his muscles tighten beneath my touch, then pull it over his head so I can admire the view. His cock is still hard, slick with my saliva, twitching against my stomach.

“Okay,” I murmur, smirking. “Then lay down so I can ride your cock.”

I push him back onto the bed, but instead of letting me straddle him, he grabs my hips and pulls me higher.

“Sit on my face, Silver,” he growls, voice dark and sinful. “Let me taste you while you ride my tongue and drown me in your juices.”

Holy fuck.

A shiver runs through me. My pussy clenches in anticipation.

“Let me lick all your worries away,” he continues, his lips ghosting over my inner thigh. “Let me pull orgasm after orgasm out of you. Just hold onto the bed frame and let me work.”

“Orgasms? Plural?”

Hudson smirks, his grip tightening on my ass as he pulls me down toward his waiting mouth.

“The first one’s for you,” he murmurs. “You’re flustered. You need to let go.” His lips brush my core, featherlight. “The second’s for my ego. To prove I can do it.”

“And the third?” I rasp, already breathless.

His eyes darken. “The third is a big fuck you to your demon.”

I gasp, “Hudson!” but he silences any argument.

His mouth is on me.

His grip tightens as his lips seize my clit, and I jolt at the contact. Instantly, Hudson shifts tactics, kissing me there softly, letting the flat of his tongue glide over the sensitive bundle of nerves instead. At the same time, his hands spread me wider, exposing me fully to his touch.

Cool air brushes my skin. I shiver, my hips beginning to move on their own, rolling against his mouth.

I grip the bed frame, knuckles white, while Hudson steadies me, controlling the rhythm. His tongue is patient, reverent. The grit of his stubble against my inner thighs sends a different kind of thrill through me.

Then one of his fingers slides inside—deep, slow, teasing.

He’s not just touching me. He’s worshiping me.

My breath shudders, my muscles relaxing into the pleasure he builds so carefully.

And then—he drags his slick finger down, tracing lower, toward the back.

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