Chapter 32 Adrian
ADRIAN
Hudson wants to kiss me. Again.
And even though it sounds like this could still be some sort of experiment for him, the first time he’s worked up the courage, or maybe had the opportunity to act on being attracted to a man, I’m not strong enough to refuse him when he sounds so confident about it.
I just wish he’d brought all this up on his own instead of waiting for the stress of Emily thinking we were together to push him to it.
My biggest concern last night was that he didn’t actually want to kiss me. That he was only doing it to prove that he could be convincing enough if we needed to pretend in front of Emily.
Or at least, I’m pretty sure that’s what my stressed-out, over-tired concern was. Now that I’ve spent the entire day obsessing over how amazing the kiss was… I’m not really looking for any reason not to do it again.
Done with overthinking everything, I mutter “Fuck it” and step even closer to him, reaching up to cup his face with my hand as I go up on my toes to reach him. Hudson eagerly leans down, wrapping his hands around my waist to grip my hips and pull me into him as our lips meet.
There’s no quiet buildup this time. We both want this, and the exact details of his motivation don’t matter right now. He wants to kiss me, and I can worry about what this all means later.
There’s no hesitation as we immediately open up for each other.
I should probably attempt to chill out, to hold back a little and let him lead since this is so new for him.
But that’s just not who I am, and I’ve been fantasizing about this man for months—years honestly, if I count the time before he moved in and showed me firsthand that he was even more perfect than I could have imagined.
The kiss is desperate as we explore each other.
His lips are soft, full, and feel amazing moving against mine.
He’s gripping my hips hard enough to bruise, probably afraid I’ll end the kiss again, but there’s no way in hell that’s happening.
He said “better than he’d imagined.” That he’d thought about kissing me before.
Could that be true? And then he basically begged me to kiss him.
That has to be one of the greatest moments of my life.
Why the fuck didn’t he say something sooner though?
But if I’m being completely honest with myself, I know that even if he only wants to be with me because of how convenient it is with us living together, I’ll go along with it.
If he’s wanted to have sex with a man, I’ve been on the other side of the wall this entire time.
Sure, I had hoped that the longing glances I thought I’d caught weren’t all in my head.
I’ve fantasized about his flirting having a deeper meaning.
But there was never any actual indication that he could be into me before last night.
I run my hands over his chest where he’s wearing a shirt for once, a fancy button up that looks so good on him, but I absolutely hate it. I want to feel the muscles I’ve been drooling over. I want to trace his tattoos with my tongue. Does he have any hidden ones I don’t know about?
I quickly undo the buttons on his shirt, push it off his shoulders, while continuing to kiss him the whole time. He easily follows my lead, not jumping in to do it for me or moving to take off anything else, just shifting exactly as I guide him.
Does he have any idea how fucking hot that is?
How much of a high it gives me to feel like this big, athletic man who has six inches on me is so willing to let me be the one in charge?
It’s not like he isn’t participating: he’s kissing me back just as passionately as I’m kissing him.
His hands haven’t left my body, but he isn’t fighting for control.
I love everything about this.
Except for how many clothes we’re still wearing.
I undo the buttons on my dress shirt, ditching it quickly.
His hands move to roam over my torso, skimming up to my chest. For a second, I worry this will be the moment he realizes he’s making out with a man, or he’ll realize even if he was attracted to men in the past, I look nothing like the other professional athletes he’s used to being surrounded by.
But if anything, Hudson is only more desperate after my shirt is gone. He lets out a deep moan, trying to step in even closer to me as if he hates that there’s any space between us at all. I agree.
I finally pull back just a bit, letting my head fall to the side as Hudson continues to kiss down my jaw and neck. His beard is rough against my clean-shaven face in the most enticing way. I wrap my arms around his neck, and when I’ve caught my breath a bit, I mutter, “Stand up, all the way.”
He does without hesitation. So hot. “Why?”
“So you can catch me,” I answer with a smirk, jumping up to wrap my legs around his waist.
He laughs as he easily adjusts to hold me.
Now I’m at a much better angle to kiss him, and there’s no space between us.
It’s also just really fucking sexy that he can hold me so effortlessly while we make out.
My dick is rock hard where it’s trapped between us, and I can’t resist grinding into him even more.
He shifts his hips in response, probably seeking his own relief.
I have no idea how long we stay like this, making out in the middle of my kitchen while Hudson holds me, my legs wrapped around him.
I wish I had a way to capture this moment; one of those people who paints the first kiss at a wedding on hand so I could hang it up and stare at this kiss for the rest of my life and know that, at least for this brief moment, everything was perfect.
Kissing Hudson without any of the concern for his motives that I’d had yesterday is amazing.
I could kiss him like this all night and be happy.
But I want more. And he said that he did too.
I have no idea what “more” he was referring to, but I’m going to find out. I don’t know if tonight will be a onetime thing, so I plan to take full advantage, to do whatever Hudson is willing to try.
Before I let my fantasies run completely wild, I need to figure out what his expectation is. I try to pull back again, and he chases my mouth, a sexy-as-fuck whimper leaving his throat when I put a hand firmly on his chest to hold him back.
“Why do you keep stopping?” he whines, and his impatience makes a smug grin stretch across my face.
“What did you mean by wanting to do more?”
Without hesitation, he answers, “I want to have sex with you.”
I’m glad he’s so confident, but I’m concerned about what his expectation for that might be.
Physically, I’m pretty much exactly what most people would picture when they hear the word “twink,” even if I’m a little old for the label according to some people.
At five foot six inches, I’m on the shorter side.
I’m fairly slim, and I happen to prefer the clean-shaven look.
I have an expensive hairstyle, and take time to focus on looking and feeling good about my appearance every day.
I also have a big personality and enjoy attention.
Some might even describe me as dramatic.
And for some reason, most people associate those things with wanting to bottom.
But I don’t.
Been there, done that. I don’t enjoy it, the sensation of something in my ass or feeling like I’m less in control.
And as much as I believe Hudson is the definition of my dream man, I’m not going to compromise what I enjoy to have sex with him.
There are plenty of ways we can get off together where he isn’t topping me, if he’s willing.
I let out a big sigh. “As much as I really don’t want you to put me down, you probably should.”
He squeezes his grip on my thighs. “Why?”
“So we can talk about that.”
He also sighs, leaning in for another kiss that was probably meant to be quick, but neither of us is in a hurry to end.
Finally, we break apart, and he gently sets me back on the floor, his hands back on my hips like he doesn’t want to let go.
I don’t either, so I rest mine on his pecs, trying not to get distracted over how firm his muscles are.
“So, what do we need to talk about?” he asks, gaze still dropping down from my eyes to my mouth every few seconds.
“What having sex with me would look like. More specifically, who would be doing the fucking.”
He nods. “Okay. What are you saying?”
“I don’t bottom. But there are other ways we could get off together,” I hurry to add. “Sex doesn’t always mean penetration.”
He looks at me for a moment before repeating, “Adrian, I want to have sex with you.” It’s as though he didn’t hear me at all.
“Hudson, did you understand what I said? I only top,” I rephrase, hoping to clarify so we can move on to what he would be willing to do with me.
“Okay. And?”
“Okay?” I echo back, completely not expecting that answer and needing to make sure I actually heard him correctly and my mind hasn’t run away with fantasies again.
“Yeah,” he replies, smirking now. “I said that I want to have sex with you, and you let me know your preference, so I said ‘okay.’ I know I’m new to the whole sex with another man thing, but that seemed pretty clear to me.
Did I do something wrong already? Am I supposed to know a secret code word?
Because you’ll have to teach me that sort of thing. ”
He sounds so casual as he jokes around with me, that for a moment, I almost forget what we’re talking about.
That this man, who I was still fairly certain was straight less than twenty-four hours ago, is now agreeing to bottom like I just asked if he’d rather have Coke or Pepsi, and he has no preference.
But how can he possibly know if he has no preference if he’s never tried one of the brands?
“But… but you’re—”
“Don’t say straight. I am definitely not. I very desperately want to have sex with you right now. That isn’t straight.”