Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Cullen
Each day Hudson’s stalker isn't caught, the anger inside me sharpens into something ugly. Mason is the only one who makes sense, and even after the police questioned him, I can’t stop thinking about how he obviously lied his way out of it.
I’m barely sleeping. When I do, I wake up tangled in sweat-soaked sheets with my heart trying to punch through my ribs. And knowing that he is still out there, roaming free, keeps my nerves stretched painfully tight.
I drag a hand down my face and exhale slowly.
Somehow, through it all, Hud is staying positive.
He calls me now when things get bad instead of shutting down. He talks to me about the dark thoughts instead of keeping them to himself. And lately, I’ve caught him smiling without forcing it.
Real smiles.
While I’m the one wearing a mask now.
I don’t know what to do with my own thoughts anymore.
Hud kept talking about his demons, but I never fully understood what he meant.
Now I do.
The rage inside me never cools. It sits beneath my skin constantly, hot and bubbling, waiting for an excuse to erupt. Every time Mason’s face flashes through my mind, my hands curl into fists before I can stop them. Sometimes I picture what I’d do to him if I ever got him alone.
The worst part is how easy it is to imagine.
A month ago, thoughts like that would’ve horrified me.
Now they just feel natural.
My stomach twists.
Running my hands through my hair, I tug hard enough to force myself to stop thinking before the spiral drags me under.
My phone buzzes beside me on the bed, dragging me out of my head.
Hudson’s name flashes across the screen. Instantly, my chest relaxes.
He sent a video of some guy we used to play soccer with, splitting his shorts wide open during a penalty kick at his college championship game. Dumbass had apparently decided to go commando; now his twig and berries are viral on the internet.
A rough laugh escapes me.
It’s the first real one I’ve had in weeks.
Still grinning, I finally force myself to scroll through the mountain of missed messages and voicemails I’ve ignored for weeks. I haven’t had the energy to answer the constant questions about Hudson, so Archer’s been updating everyone for me instead.
One person is manageable.
Twelve isn’t.
I delete the voicemails without listening to them and skim through the unread texts, clearing anything out that doesn’t matter.
Just as I delete the last one, another message appears from a blocked number.
UNKNOWN: YOU DID THIS.
My body goes cold.
Another text comes through immediately after.
A video.
My thumb hovers over the screen while my stomach twists violently.
I already know I should delete it, but I press play instead.
The screen is dark at first, just heavy breathing, the only thing I can hear.
Then the camera shifts.
Hudson stands at the edge of the bridge while I scream somewhere behind him, sprinting toward him too late.
For the second time, I watch Hudson step off that ledge.
I sprint to the bathroom, the phone slipping from my hand onto the counter as I barely make it to the toilet in time to throw up.
By the time the nausea eases, my whole body is shaking.
I sink onto the cold tile floor and stare at the video still frozen on my screen, Hud suspended in midair.
My chest caves.
He filmed it.
He stood there and filmed the worst moment of Hudson’s life like it was entertainment.
Something hot and vicious tears through so fast it makes my vision blur, and I’m on my feet before I even realize I moved.
My fist slams through the drywall with a sickening crack. Pain explodes through my knuckles, but it barely registers.
All I can see is red.
I stare at the hole in the wall, breathing hard, before dragging both hands over my face and forcing the rage back down where it belongs.
Then I delete the video.
Pulling myself together, I splash some cold water on my face and brush my teeth. I grab my phone from where I left it on the counter and call Hudson on the way to my truck.
“Morning, babe,” he yawns into the phone. The tight knot in my chest eases slightly, but not enough to quell the storm raging inside of me.
“I’m coming over,” I bite out, tearing out of the driveway and speeding down the street.
“Is everything okay? You sound upset.”
“We can talk when I get there. I just—I need to see you.”
And it’s the truth. I need to see him with my own eyes to make sure he’s still actually here with me, and that I’m not living in some dream that’ll shatter when I wake up.
“Okay. How long before—never mind, I hear you pulling up.”
I hang up the phone without so much as a goodbye and bound up the front steps.
Hud is already waiting, the front door wide open. He stands there shirtless, his basketball shorts slung so low it’d only take a gentle tug to send them sliding the rest of the way down. He’s lost some muscle mass from being in the hospital, but he’s still so fucking beautiful.
Something on my face must give me away.
Hudson’s expression shifts instantly. He grabs me by the neck and backs me against the wall beside the door, kicking it shut behind me before his mouth crashes into mine.
The kiss is rough. Possessive.
Grounding.
My hands fist in his shorts as I kiss him back harder, desperate for the noise in my head to shut up for a while.
“On your knees,” he whispers against my lips.
Fuck yes. I drop without hesitation, dragging his basketball shorts down with me. He steps out of them and kicks them to the side.
His cock bobs in front of me, already hard and begging to be sucked—but I wait. I need him to tell me what to do.
“Stick your tongue out,” he rasps.
I obey, holding perfectly still. He slides the crown of his cock over my tongue, teasing himself with shallow strokes. My hands curl into fists at my sides, the restraint burning through me.
“What do you need, Cull?”
“To forget. Just… for a little while.”
Hud glances around the foyer, his eyes landing on the stairs. “Up,” he commands, tugging me toward them. He pushes me down, then kneels between my parted legs.
“Is this safe?” I ask. “We don’t need anyone walking in on us.”
He pops the button on my shorts, tugging them down. “Everyone’s out for most of the day. They’ve been cooped up with me since I got out of the hospital, but I told them to get a life.” He smirks. “Thankfully, they listened.”
He strokes my thighs, his hands searing a line down my legs as he shifts down a couple of steps, his face now level with my dick. He adjusts my leg so my foot is resting on a spindle, then drapes the other over his shoulder.
“Lie back.”
I do as he tells me, bracing on my elbows, and watch him settle between my thighs.
“You’re so fucking hot,” I breathe.
His mouth curls slightly, pleased, before he leans in slow enough to make me ache for it.
The first drag of his tongue tears a groan from my throat.
“You taste so good,” he says, voice low.
He sucks me like he’s been starving for me, every lick and flick wrecking me in the best way. My breathing turns ragged when he slides a finger inside, curling it just right, hitting every spot that makes my nerves light up.
My thighs start to tremble, muscles straining. “Please, Hud,” I pant. “I need you.”
He lifts his head just enough to meet my eyes, then holds his hand to my mouth. “Spit,” he smirks, echoing what I said to him our first time together at the lake.
Our eyes lock. Slowly, I let a stream of spit slide over my lips. His fingers breach my rim, wasting no time prepping me, the stretch incredible.
After a few minutes of begging, he finally relents, pulling his fingers away. He leans in close and spits on my hole, a wicked grin lighting up his face. I can feel the wetness as it trails down, Hudson sliding his cock through it to slick himself.
“This is gonna be hard and fast. You ready?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, just slams into me with one brutal thrust, punching the air out of my lungs. The stretch burns deep, blooming through every nerve ending.
Hudson pulls out only to snap his hips forward again, setting a relentless rhythm that rocks me against the stairs. I still haven’t caught my breath, eyes rolling back, drowning in sensation.
“That’s it, babe. You can take it. Feel how my cock stuffs your tight ass?”
The wood digs into my back with every thrust, sharp edges biting into my spine. Hudson’s hand finds my neck, fingers closing around it with a firm squeeze. The pain is satisfying, and somehow, it steadies me. It gives me something solid to hold onto when the rest of me is unraveling.
And Hudson gives it to me with purpose—with love.
“Grab your cock, Cull. We’re going to paint your chest like a canvas.”
Damn. His mouth is fucking fantastic.
I wrap a hand around my dick as Hudson spits down, slicking me up. I don’t waste a second, stroking hard and fast, desperate to chase the heat building low in my gut.
“You don’t come until I say,” he growls, tightening his grip on my neck. My oxygen thins, and my vision starts to blur.
This feeling is incredible, goosebumps rising along my overheated skin like a tidal wave.
Sweat beads along Hudson’s brow, his damp hair clinging to his forehead. Those blue eyes are locked on mine, and damn, if he isn’t the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.
And not just physically.
His heart is the most attractive thing about him, his love for me written plainly across his face. Even now, beneath the roughness of his movements, there’s still care there, pulling us closer together.
Black dots skitter across my vision as my head tips back, body humming. Hudson watches me with a steady gaze, like he’s waiting for his own command.
“I love watching you jack yourself. You wanna come, babe?”
I nod, barely, his hand around my throat making it impossible to do much more than exist in this moment.
“I’m right there, Cull. Come with me.”
He lets go of my neck, and the oxygen hits me like a drug—a dizzy, euphoric rush that sends my mind spinning.
My body bows, and strands of cum stripe across my chest. He pulls out, stroking himself as his hot release splatters across my skin, mixing with mine.
My stomach tightens, trembling with each electric pulse that rockets through me.
There’s buzzing in my ears that slowly morphs into words. “Cull, babe? Are you okay?”
My eyes focus and lock onto Hud’s, his face pulled tight with concern. I give him what feels like the dopiest, most satisfied smile I’ve got.
“You know,” I say, still trying to calm my racing heart, “you have to stop snatching my soul from my body. One of these days it’s not going to make it back to home base, and I’d really like to keep having orgasms like that.”
He snorts and sinks onto the step beside me. “Feel better?” he asks, lacing our fingers together, his own breathing still labored.
I let my head fall back against the stairs and close my eyes. “Yes and no,” I admit. “I’m just… I don’t know. Angry? Sad?” I shake my head, then look over at Hud. “I can’t get that image of you jumping out of my head,” I whisper brokenly.
I don’t mention the video. He doesn’t need to know it exists.
Hudson sighs before leaning over and giving me a soft peck. “I’m working on not feeling guilty about my actions with my therapist. I take accountability for what I did, but she tells me that I can’t feel guilty when imbalanced brains are the catalyst in situations like this.”
Looking deep into his eyes, I can see the life burning in them. He’s talking so comfortably about what happened. Not like he doesn’t care, but more like he’s made peace with it.
Strength is a sexy look on Hud.
“I’ve never apologized for how my actions hurt you. I’ve explained where my mind frame was at the time, but I never stopped to consider how everyone around me would feel. For that, I’m sorry.”
I give him a soft, understanding smile. “I’ve never blamed you, but I accept your apology.” I bring our clasped hands to my lips and kiss the back of his. “I’m proud of you.”
He smiles, then glances around the foyer. “We should probably go clean up. I don’t actually know when everyone’s coming back.”
My eyes nearly bug out of my head. “Hud! We could’ve been caught. What would your parents have said?”
He laughs. “Eh, they’re just happy I’m breathing. They probably would’ve just double-timed it back out the door.”
I growl at his joke.
He sighs, but doesn’t look apologetic. “Babe, the dark humor’s helped, okay? I know it’s weird to you, but…” He shrugs. “Maria actually said it’s a normal trauma coping mechanism. She did tell me to be aware of how they make others feel, so… sorry for that.”
I lean in and kiss him. I’m not going to argue with whatever’s helping him cope. Especially when he’s doing better than I am.
Doesn’t mean I have to like it.
“Alright.” Hud claps his hands down on his thighs. “I think I need to get you in the shower. As much as I love the Renaissance painting we made on your stomach, I bet it’s getting itchy.”
I glance down at my messy torso. “Getting covered in cum is hot as hell in the moment, but the cleanup? Not so much.”
“Hmm, maybe some pre-cleanup is required.”
“What—”
He leans down, tongue out, and licks from my belly button all the way up to my throat.
“Delicious.” He smirks, then stands and offers his hand to help me up.
My jaw drops, eyes glazed with need. “Holy hell, Hud. You’re really testing my refractory period.”
He chuckles. “Well, if you come shower with me, we can study the effects of my mouth on your… turnaround.” Then he turns and walks up the stairs, his ass flexing with every step.
It takes me two seconds to scoop up our clothes and scramble after him.
I’ll give Hud credit—he’s damn good at making me forget.