Page 21 of Say You Love Me

I didn’t want to have to admit to Hudson that I didn’t have enough friends to match the number of groomsmen he wanted. In fact, I didn’t have any. I had acquaintances and people who might consider themselves my friends, workmates, but if I was being honest, all of them felt like strangers. None of them knew me, the true me, not like Hudson did. And who was supposed to be the head bridesmaid when your best friend was the one you were marrying?

Hudson pulls me close. He always smells of paper. Like a new book smell mixed with cologne. He wraps one arm around my waist and uses the other to tip my chin up to look at him.

“I got you, didn’t I, Mrs James? That’s all the matters.”

“But that’s all you got. You didn’t get the stag-do or the fancy dinner or the—” He presses soft lips to mine, kissing me gently, once, twice, silencing my worry.

“I don’t care about any of that. I only want you.”

He kisses me a third time but I try to pull away. “So you don’t regret it?”

“Marrying you?”

I narrow my eyes. “You know what I’m saying. You don’t regret not having a big wedding, or any wedding for that matter?”

Hudson’s hand toys with the hem of my shirt, his fingers moving to spread over the naked flesh of my lower back. “I don’t regret a thing.” His lips are close to mine again. His fingers draw circles on my back. It’s hypnotic. Enchanting. Distracting.

I push him away. “Don’t distract me. There’s too much to do.”

Hudson holds me tight. “But distracting you is one of my favorite things.”

His voice takes on that deep rumble which does dangerous things to my insides. He kisses me again and his mouth opens, demanding more. I try to resist, but it’s pointless.

This man is impossible to resist.

My husband is impossible to resist.

A small smile plays at the corners of my lips even as they’re pressed to his. For a full week now, I have woken each morning to the knowledge that I am his wife. I am Mrs Finity James. And he is my husband. All mine.

I press into him, my arms winding around his neck and up into his hair. I fist it tightly as the temperature of his movements increases.

The circles on my lower back grow harder and harder until he’s massaging me, pushing and pulling my flesh. His hand dips beneath the waistband of my jeans. His wedding ring gets caught on the material and, for a moment, we both smile against each other’s mouths before his hand moves further down my flesh. He groans when he reaches the round of my ass and squeezes hard, crushing me against his erection.

Everything is forgotten as I slide my hand down his chest and across his hard abs. I’m shameless in my affection, the need to touch his hardness rising so suddenly, so urgently, I feel myself getting wet.

I don’t think of the salads I’ve still got to make and the meat sitting in the fridge is nothing more than a faint memory. My stress about the dining table fades and all I can think about is the feel of him, how hard he is because of me. His wife.

I start to fumble with the buttons of his pants, unhooking the little clasp and lowering the zipper. I palm him through the material of his underwear, a small shudder going through me at the strength of his hardness. The ache inside me begs to be filled.

Time is forgotten.

Food is forgotten.

Family is forgotten.

His hand rises out from under the waistband of my jeans and moves around my waist. My buttons are popped open effortlessly and his hand slides beneath my underwear.

“Fuck, Finity.” He’s breathless, his eyes rolling back in his head when he finds me so wet.

With feverish impatience driving me, I push my hand into his pants and wrap my fingers around his cock. He’s hard. Devilishly hard. The sort of hard that has me panting and squirming, pushing myself against him with brazen lust.

His fingers slide over my wetness and he adjusts the angle of his arm so he can push a finger inside me. I stop running my hand up and down his length, choosing instead to drown everything out but the feel of his fingers. I gasp as he fills me and pushes in so deeply I have to grip onto his shoulder for support.

I’m caught in the ecstasy of it all as his other hand rises to grab a fistful of my hair, pulling on it so my head falls back and bares my neck to him. He watches my face as he fingers me, his mouth occasionally moving to brush over the exposed column of my throat. He murmurs dirty words in my ears. All the things he’d like to do to me. All the things he wants me to do to him.

Then his hand is gone and he pushes away from me, his erection still strong and tall, poking out from the material of his pants. He steps back, slightly unstable on his feet and leans against the counter, shoving himself back into his pants before crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sorry.” His eyes still have the heat of desire burning darkly, but his face is covered in a smirk. “I didn’t mean to distract you.” He turns and starts washing his hands, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Are you all right? You’re looking a little flushed.”

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