Chapter 8 #2
"I'm usually out of the house by seven, back by five," he explains. "But I have some flexibility. Hunter & Co. is pretty understanding about family needs."
"That's good," I nod. "And what will my responsibilities be while you're at work?"
"You don't have any obligations to me, Violet," he says firmly. "This is your home now too. Do whatever you want during the day."
"I meant with the girls," I clarify. "When they're here."
His expression softens. "I only get them on weekends for now. And since it's Christmas break, they don't have school to worry about." He shrugs. "Usually they sleep in, then it's breakfast, some TV time, maybe outdoor activities if the weather's good. Nothing complicated."
"I can handle weekend activities and cooking," I offer. "I love to cook, so meals won't be a problem."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to," I interrupt. "That's why I'm here, right? To help create a stable home for them."
He studies me for a long moment, then nods. "Thank you."
We fall silent again, but it's more comfortable now. I fidget with the edge of the blanket, gathering courage for a more personal question.
"Hudson? Can I ask you something about your past? With the MC?"
His body tenses slightly, but he nods. "I guess that would be fair, given the circumstances."
"Why did you join in the first place?"
He's quiet for a long time, and I worry I've overstepped. But then he sighs, shifting to face me more directly.
"I was young. Stupid. Looking for family, I guess. My dad died when I was sixteen, mom worked three jobs to keep us afloat. The club offered brotherhood, purpose, protection."
"How old were you?"
"Nineteen when I prospected. Twenty when I patched in." He rubs a hand over his beard. "It wasn't all bad at first. We did charity runs, helped some local businesses with security. But over time, things changed. Got darker."
"And that's when you wanted out?"
"Silvie was born," he says simply. "Held her in my arms and knew I couldn't raise her in that life. Took another couple years to make the break clean, but I never looked back."
The raw honesty in his voice touches something deep inside me. "Thank you for telling me that."
He nods, then surprises me with a question of his own. "Your father. Why does he drink so much?"
Now it's my turn to tense. "That's complicated."
"We've got time," he says gently.
I sigh, picking at a loose thread on the comforter. "It got worse after Mom died. But I think it started before that. He worked for the sheriff's department, and there's been this massive corruption investigation since Sheriff Jones died."
"I've heard rumors," Hudson nods.
"Dad blames himself for not speaking up sooner about what he knew. I think he feels like he's constantly letting Mom down by not being braver."
Hudson's expression darkens. "So he drowns his guilt in booze while neglecting his daughter. That's not grief, that's selfishness."
"He wasn't always like this," I defend automatically, then pause. "But you're right. It is selfish."
"If I lost someone I loved," Hudson says quietly, "I'd hold tighter to those still with me, not push them away."
The simple truth of his statement makes my eyes sting. "That's what I never understood. How he could love her so much but seem to forget I existed."
"Some men don't know how to handle pain except to numb it," Hudson says. "Doesn't make it right."
"No," I agree softly. "It doesn't."
Our eyes meet across the space between us, and something shifts in the atmosphere. Hudson's gaze drops to my lips, then back to my eyes, a question in them.
"Violet," he says, my name almost a sigh.
"Yes?" My voice is barely a whisper.
"It's our wedding night," he says, the words sending a shiver down my spine.
"It is," I agree, my heart pounding.
"Would it be completely inappropriate if I wanted to kiss my wife right now?"
The formal phrasing makes me smile despite my nervousness. "I think that would be completely appropriate, husband."
He moves slowly, giving me time to change my mind, but I meet him halfway. Our lips touch, soft and questioning at first, then with growing confidence. Unlike our courthouse kiss, this one isn't for show. It's just for us, unhurried and exploratory.
I sink into it, my hand coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath my palm. His hand cups my face, thumb stroking my cheek with surprising gentleness for such a large man.
The kiss deepens, his tongue brushing against mine, drawing a small sound of pleasure from me that seems to embolden him. His hand slides from my face to my neck, then lower, hesitantly skimming the side of my breast through my tank top.
My body tenses involuntarily at the intimate touch, and Hudson immediately pulls back, concern in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," I blurt out, embarrassed by my reaction. "I just... it's been a while."
"No apologies needed," he says, moving back to give me space. "We can stop."
"I don't want to stop," I admit, surprising myself with my honesty. "I'm just nervous."
Hudson studies me for a moment, then asks carefully, "Violet, have you... been with someone before?"
My cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Yes. Once. Prom night, senior year." I laugh awkwardly. "It was so awful I never wanted to try again."
To my surprise, Hudson doesn't laugh or look pitying. Instead, his eyes darken with something that looks almost like possessiveness.
"So your only experience with sex was some fumbling kid who didn't know what he was doing?"
I nod, unable to form words under the intensity of his gaze.
Hudson moves closer again, his large body radiating heat. "That's a shame," he says, voice dropping to a rumble that I feel in my bones. "Because a woman like you deserves to be thoroughly pleasured."
My breath catches at his words. "Hud..."
"As your husband," he continues, the title sending a thrill through me, "I could remedy that situation. If you wanted."
"You said this was just an arrangement," I remind him weakly, even as my body leans toward his like a flower seeking the sun.
"It is," he agrees, his hand finding mine on the bed between us. "But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy certain... benefits."
He lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my inner wrist. The simple gesture sends shockwaves of sensation up my arm.
"We could start slow," he suggests, his breath warm against my skin. "Discover what you like." He places another kiss, slightly higher on my arm.
"Your dislikes." A kiss on the other arm.
"Your needs." His lips press against my shoulder, then trail to the sensitive spot where my neck meets my collarbone.
I gasp, my body arching toward him instinctively.
"What do you say, Goldie?" he murmurs against my skin, one hand sliding to my waist, his thumb brushing the strip of bare skin where my tank top has ridden up. "Want to discover what you've been missing?"
The heat pooling low in my belly answers before my mind can overthink it. I tangle my fingers in his dark hair, tilting his face up to meet mine.
"Yes, please."