Chapter 13-Daniela
I am in so much trouble—and not because I ate like a quarter of a turkey and seconds of everything we cooked today.
It was all delicious, and yeah, I ate too much.
But the real trouble has more to do with a six foot and change warrior-like rugby player who’s threatening everything I know to be true every time he opens his mouth.
His dark eyes glitter as he looks me over from head to toe, and I swear to God, I can feel his gaze like hands across my body.
The whipped cream can rolls across the floor with a hollow thunk, and I let out a breathless laugh that gets swallowed whole the second Tank looks up at me.
"Fuck," he whispers, eyes dark and reverent. "You look so perfect, Sweetheart."
His voice is low and hoarse, and I feel it like a shiver across my skin.
His big hands are at my hips, thumbs brushing just beneath the hem of my official Thanksgiving outfit—a simple wrap dress with tiny fall leaves printed across the soft, stretchy material—and we’re both sprawled on the floor in a mess of pie tins, napkins, and flannel.
Somewhere between filming our makeshift holiday feast and asking him if he liked the pie, we ended up here.
Tangled.
Breathless.
Tipping over the edge of something dangerous and delicious.
He kisses the corner of my mouth, the dimple where a spot of whipped cream lingers.
The kiss lingers too.
Soft. Sweet.
"Kissing you’s addictive, isn’t it? So fucking sweet. Can’t get enough, Dani," he murmurs, voice thick with meaning.
My breath catches.
“You really know how to flatter a girl,” I try to joke, but it comes out too soft, too full of longing.
“Not flattery,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. “Just facts.”
Then I feel it—the sudden cool drizzle of whipped cream against my inner thigh.
I squeal.
“Hudson!”
He grins, wicked and boyish, eyes alight with mischief.
“Ooh, I’m sorry, love. Lemme kiss it better.”
And he does.
Not in the way I expected. Slower. Tender.
A brush of his lips that sends sparks dancing up my spine.
His hands skim my sides, and every point of contact feels like fire meeting snow—melting me from the inside out.
“Hudson,” I whisper, unable to stop the way my fingers slide into his hair.
His hands are busy, tugging on the tie around my waist, unwrapping me from my dress like a belated Thanksgiving present.
He groans his appreciation at the simply cotton panties and bra he unveils, and coasts his hands over my overheated body, making me wet with longing.
“Easy, Sweetheart. I got you. Just wanna take care of you,” he murmurs into my skin, stripping me as he goes.
Then he’s kneeling, peeling off the t-shirt covering his body from me, and my mouth drops open.
He’s built like a work of art, but that’s not what’s shocking.
It’s the way he’s looking at me.
Me.
Like he might think I’m a work of art, too.
“So fucking beautiful, Dani.”
“Hudson, please,” I try to pull him down to me, but he smirks and shakes his head.
“Not yet. You work so hard. Always doing everything for everyone else. Let me in. Let me do this just for you. Trust me, Dani.”
And God help me, I let him. I trust him.
I let him worship me with his hands and his mouth, let myself unravel under the intensity of his attention.
There’s laughter. Moans.
Soft curses and tangled limbs.
There’s a moment where I think this can’t just be fun anymore.
Not for me.
Because I feel too much.
His arms around me feel like home.
His mouth on my skin feels like destiny.
And every time he whispers my name, it sounds like a promise.
“You gonna let me have you again, Sweetheart? Tell me.”
He’s licking a trail from my belly button, over the scar I have on my hip from falling off a motorcycle when I was eighteen all the way down to where I need him the most.
“Yes, fuck, you can have me, please,” I whimper.
He blows on my sex, teasing me with his nearness.
Then I hear it. The spray of the can a moment before cold, whipped cream lands on my naked pussy.
“Ooh!”
It’s more surprise than discomfort, but I gasp again anyway.
“Easy, don’t ruin my dessert,” he growls, holding me still with his beefcake hands.
I mean to protest, but he licks me clean in one go, and then, he’s just eating me.
And oh my, but he does it so well.
He licks into me, moaning his delight as his shoulders keep my legs wide open.
“You taste so good, Love. Better than candy,” he grunts.
I’m lost to his ministrations, but then he—holy fucking shit—he parts my cheeks and spits there.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans, licking my clit while he presses his thumb to my hole and shoves two fingers inside my pussy.
My entire body trembles, caught somewhere between desperation and bliss.
Every nerve ending in me is lit up.
I feel so, so full of sensation.
It’s not enough.
It’s too much.
I want more.
“Please,” I whisper—no, beg—my voice breaking on the word.
My hands claw at the rug, my hair falling like a curtain around my flushed face.
“Please, I-I need—”
“You’ll come on my tongue first, Sweetheart,” Tank murmurs, his voice low, rough, and absolutely sure. “Then I’ll feed this hungry pussy my cock.”
Holy. Fucking. Shit.