Page 87 of When Death Whispers

“Now,” I growl, already dragging him toward the back door, toward home. Which is a word that never fit before but somehow with him in it, it feels more and more like it.

Like a place where there is trust, laughter, and mutual respect.

A place where there is some joy, despite all the monsters, and demons, and uncertainty of the world I live in.

With Hudson I can pretend none of it exists.

With Hudson I’m home.

32

We barely makeit through the front door before he’s on me again.

Hudson kicks it shut behind us, and I’m already fisting the front of his shirt, dragging him through the house like I’ve forgotten how to breathe without touching him. We’re still dusted in flour and sugar from the bakery, still slightly sticky from sweat and adrenaline, and I don’t care.

We didn’t speak on the drive home. We didn’t need to. The tension between us is thrumming so loud it might as well be its own heartbeat.

His mouth finds mine before we hit the hallway. It’s messy, all teeth and heat and not nearly enough, and I moan against him as his hands slide down to my ass, lifting me slightly as we stumble toward the bedroom.

We crash through the door and he sets me back on my feet. I shove him backward with a hand to his chest, watching as he stumbles slightly, eyes dark and wild with hunger. He looks good like this—flushed, breathless, wrecked before we’ve even started.

I hook my thumbs into the band of my pants, dragging them down slowly, teasingly, watching as the plea in his eyes morphs into something primal.

I pull off my shirt and bra next, shaking my hair loose, letting it tumble over my shoulders. Hudson watches me like I’m something divine. Something untouchable.

And it makes me feel so fucking powerful.

I have the control here. I hold the cards. I get to set the rules.

To test that control, I pop the button on his jeans and drag them down along with his boxers. His sharp inhale, the way his muscles tense, the way his cock jerks against his stomach—it’s intoxicating.

I’d planned to push him onto the bed and ride his face until I got what my body’s been screaming for since watching him lick that chocolate off his fingers, but kneeling in front of him, eye-level with his cock, something else takes over.

I want to taste him.

I wrap my fingers around the base, giving him a slow, deliberate squeeze before sliding my hand up to the tip and back down again. A strangled groan rumbles through him, his thighs flexing beneath my touch.

His restraint is already slipping.

Good.

I lean in, licking up his length, teasing the tip with my tongue before dragging back down.

“Fuck, Parker?—”

“You can hold my hair,” I say, stroking him lazily. “But you have to stay still. The moment you move, it’s over. Got it?”

I tighten my grip slightly, just enough to make him twitch.

Hudson exhales sharply, fingers flexing at his sides before finally threading into my hair. His touch is careful. Hesitant. Like he’s afraid of pushing too far.

“Fuck, you don’t play fair, Silver.” His voice is thick with need, and it makes something low in my stomach tighten.

I raise an eyebrow, waiting.

He swallows hard. “I won’t move. I’m yours to do with what you like. Use me, Silver. Take what you want until there’s nothing left. It’s yours—all of me, it’s all yours.”

A thrill shoots through me.

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