Page 47 of Marry Me, Maybe?
He let me.
He wanted me to.
Fuck.
I gritted my teeth, grasped his hair, and snapped my hips back and forth, fucking his unfaithful mouth. He took everything I gave, even when he was gagging on it, saliva dripping to the wet grass.
To think he’d been shocked when four years ago, I’d pegged him for a power bottom and not the top he thought he was. But the truth hadn’t taken long to come out. Every time we’d fucked, it was written all over his body. From the first time, he never justtookit. Didn’t just lie there and let me fuck him. No, he matched me, challenged me. If I drove into him hard, he’d lock eyes, grab me by the neck, and growl in encouragement. Like he wasn’t surrendering but claiming every second of it.
“Look at me.”
He raised his eyes, and I realized my mistake too late.
Because they weren’t defiant.
They weren’t full of shame or pride or stubborn heat.
They were soft. Too soft. And wet.
Full of something I couldn’t bear to name.
Something like… love.
And it gutted me. Because it couldn’t be.
After all the years, after the betrayal, after the anger I’d sharpened into knives, he couldn’t look up at me like I was his whole damn world. It was wrong. Deceitful.
I shoved him off. Not hard but fast. Abrupt.
He fell back onto the grass on his ass, gasping, lips swollen and wet, eyes still on me like he would follow me to hell, crawling on broken shards of glass.
“Why did you stop me?” he rasped.
I couldn’t breathe. “I don’t want to come inside your mouth.”
My hands shook as I grabbed my wallet, yanked out a condom, my fingers trembling too badly to tear it open at first.
The condom was everything wrong between us. At first, that summer, we used a condom all the time. Until we didn’t. We’d both talked about it, then got tested. We’d made a big deal of the results, upgrading to a fancier hotel in Cockburn. I’d gone all out—candles, roses, and wine.
That night, I’d truly believed he was mine forever.
The foil slipped once, twice, before I finally ripped it with my teeth.
He didn’t move.
Just lay there, legs parted, chest rising like he’d sprinted a mile, eyes glassy and unreadable.
I lubed my fingers with the packet I kept in my wallet. The packet I’d started carrying around only after I met him. Because I’d fucked him in the barn with just spit once. Hands down one of the best sex sessions we’d had, but after,he’d been too sore and needed a couple of days off work to recover.
Hudson spread his legs for me without shame. He reached for me, pulled me down to him as I lowered myself over him, heart pounding in my ears.
Sliding my fingers between his crack, I found him tight.
Still so tight.
Hudson groaned. “That’s it. You know I love it when you finger fuck me.”
Yeah, I knewexactlyhow much he loved being fingered. Back then, he’d strut around the motel room in nothing but a jockstrap on Fridays, acting like it was no big deal. I’d pretend not to notice, just to rile him up. Eventually, he’d get fed up, toss himself over my lap with a groan, and dare me to do something about it.
