Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

HUDSON

L ucas slumps against the counter after setting down the heavy boxes we were carrying. The gift shop is packed full of people, and navigating the area is challenging, but it's always like this during the season. Tourists zip around with souvenirs, eagerly clutching colorful magnets, quirky coffee cups shaped like sleighs, and delicate handmade ornaments that shimmer under the store's bright lights. The gift-wrapping station has a line that nearly spills out the door. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, so most are trying to get ahead of the rush, which then creates a bigger rush.

Every person is smiling, their faces alight with the thrill of holiday shopping, except for Lucas, who seems to be lost in his own storm.

“Cheer up; it gets worse,” I tell him with a laugh and a hard pat on the shoulder, trying to lighten the mood. “We're almost done.”

He groans loudly, a mixture of frustration and fatigue.

“Sometimes, you act just like a five-year-old,” I say, shaking my head as he follows behind me, dragging his feet. We have two more boxes to carry to the cramped storage room that smells like cardboard and old wrapping paper. Mom called in the muscles —us—to move them around like we don’t have a million other tasks piling up on our to-do list.

Just then, Jake shows up with messy hair and swollen lips, looking as if he just finished visiting Claire.

“Sorry,” he says, grabbing the box from my hands with an exaggerated grunt. I narrow my eyes at him, trying to gauge if he's in a mood or not, as well.

“Thanks for the help,” Lucas says sarcastically, his tone dripping with annoyance. He grumbles something under his breath.

“I said I was sorry,” Jake replies. When Lucas is out of sight, he turns to me. “Did the Grinch shit in his cereal this morning?”

“He's in a mood. I haven't asked why; I don't care,” I explain, following behind Jake. We stack the boxes on top of one another.

“Usually, that's how you act,” Jake tells me as I follow him outside. Just as the cool air hits my cheeks, my phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s a FaceTime call from Emma. Colby is still in school, so I'm not sure what she could need.

Jake catches sight of her name on my phone.

“So...you two?” he asks, his brows arching.

I meet his eyes, silence stretching between us. Not saying a word, I let the truth hang in the air, heavy and undeniable. It's written all over my damn face. I'm not the same person I was before Emma arrived back in town.

“I knew it. Damn.” He claps his hands together, happy. “So...about our bet. I want to be paid in all hundreds. Got it? By February 14th.”

“Don't piss me off,” I reply in a hushed whisper. “I don't have a girlfriend.”

Yet.

“You two have done the dirty.” He nudges, a teasing smirk spreading across his face. “You're basically playing house right now.”

“Shut. The fuck. Up,” I state, irritation flashing through me. “Anyway, I need to take this call, then I'm on ax sharpening duty for the rest of the afternoon. You need me, holler.”

“Mmhm,” he responds, smirking even wider. “I knew it.”

He lets out a loud yoo-hoo. The sound echoes behind me as I shake my head. I pick up Emma's call as I move toward the truck.

“Hey,” she says with the camera close to her face, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Tell me when you're completely alone.”

My brows raise in surprise, and I pick up my pace, the anticipation thrumming in my veins. I climb into the cab and shut the door. “Okay.”

Emma moves the camera back, and to my shock, she’s naked, sprawled temptingly in my bed. She props the phone up on a pillow, revealing her perfect body, and a rush of desire surges through me.

“I was about to start baking cookies, and you were on my mind,” she purrs, her voice sultry.

“Fuck,” I growl out, cranking the truck, my cock hardening at the sight.

Her fingers slide down her body, teasingly playing with her clit. Her desperate moans, sweet and intoxicating, drive me crazy. I back out of the parking lot, the gravel crunching under the tires as she slips a finger inside, drawing out a breathless sigh.

“Hudson,” she whispers, her voice thick with longing. “I wish it were you.”

“Don't you dare fucking come,” I demand, the primal urge to claim her building within me. “I'm on my way.”

I don't know how I make it home so fast, but I park and stalk up the porch steps with a sense of urgency. The door is unlocked, and I climb the stairs two at a time, shedding my clothes as I go. Each piece falls away, a weight lifted from my shoulders until I reach my room. I push open the door, and there, illuminated by the gleam of the morning sunlight, Emma waits.

“What a surprise.” Her brow arches. Her nipples perky.

I grab her ankles, pulling her to the edge of the bed. Then I flip her over on her stomach, holding her hips. She arches that plump ass for me, and I slam my cock deep into her tight little pussy. I groan out, feeling like I'm home.

She screams out with pleasure, her fingers gripping the comforter with a tight grasp as our bodies move together in a desperate dance.

“Yes, more. All of you,” she gasps out.

“You're a bad fucking girl,” I say, palming her perfect ass as her back arches under me. I reach around her body, teasing her clit with my fingers as we get lost in one another. Guttural groans release from her throat. “Oh, my fu?—“

Her pussy clenches me so fucking tight I see stars. She rides out her orgasm, and I pound into her harder, faster, making sure to hit that G-spot.

“Who do you belong to?” I growl, my nostrils flaring as the orgasm violently builds.

“You,” she screams out between her deep moans. Her voice is a mixture of ecstasy and desperation. “You, Hudson. Only you.”

A wave of intensity crashes over me and pulls me under as I empty inside her. She presses against me and hums with satisfaction. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of us in this intimate moment. We stay connected for a little longer, our ragged breaths mingling as my heart races.

“Nothing else matters when I'm with you,” she admits. “Thanks for being my ho, ho, ho this season. You're the gift that keeps on giving.”

“Mm. Yes. Merry fucking Christmas to me,” I respond, a wry grin tugging at the corners of my lips, savoring the unexpected gift of this moment.

Her expression grows serious and quiet. “I can't imagine a life without you,” she confesses.

I lean over the bed, kiss her, and whisper in her ear. “I feel the same.”

She runs her fingers through my hair, desperately searching my eyes. “Don't break my heart, please.”

“Never.”

“Happy Birthday to you!” we sing to Claire, our voices blending in cheerful harmony.

She sits in front of a decadent triple chocolate cake, lovingly baked by Mawmaw. The cake is drizzled with velvety white-chocolate ganache and is covered with colorful sprinkles. On top, two large candles form the numbers three and six. Emma stands proudly beside her sister while Colby is close enough for the flickering candlelight to dance across his face, casting a warm, golden glow. With a mischievous grin, he reaches forward, swiping a generous dollop of icing from the side of the cake.

Emma raises an eyebrow at him, shaking her head with amusement. Colby instantly licks the chocolate from his finger. “Shh,” he tells her, looking at her innocently.

He pulls her closer to him and whispers something in her ear. Emma raises her brows and shakes her head. I can only imagine what he tried to pull. Their eyes dart toward me, and I lift my brows in a silent question. Colby quickly looks away, a hint of guilt flashing across his face. He knows better than to tempt fate in front of me.

“It's gift time!” Mr. Manchester announces, his voice booming with excitement. “This is for you.”

Claire takes the slender box with eager hands and carefully unwraps the delicate paper that shines and sparkles.

“What is this?” She asks with wonder in her tone.

As she opens the box, a gasp escapes her lips, and her eyes widen in awe as she removes a stunning gold chain that shines in the light.

“Mom's necklace,” she breathes, happiness lacing her voice.

Emma's expression softens, a warm smile spreading across her face. “This is perfect, Claire,” she says with affection.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Claire replies, her voice trembling with emotion as Jake helps her fasten the jewelry around her neck. Her fingers brush against the delicate pearls of her mother's necklace; a bittersweet smile on her face.

I catch Emma's eye; she seems genuinely happy, her joy radiating like sunlight. We exchange stolen glances and playful smirks, a secret connection that only we share.

My family gathers around Claire, and their laughter echoes. Mawmaw, with her infectious energy, distracts Colby, and I seize the moment to excuse myself from the room. Thanksgiving had been a whirlwind of food and fun, but despite the joy around us, Emma and I still find ourselves navigating this in uncharted territory. So many times today, I wanted to touch, kiss, and whisper in her ear how pretty she is, but I couldn't.

I feel like I'm losing it.

I step onto the back porch of my parents' house, the cool evening air brushing against my skin. I gaze out into the backyard, where the sun begins its slow descent, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. A sinking feeling grips me as I contemplate the future and the unknown paths ahead of us.

Am I what she really wants?

“You okay?” Emma asks, her voice breaking through my thoughts as she gently shuts the door behind her. She stands next to me, her hand brushing against mine, sending a spark of warmth through me. I instinctively hook my finger with hers, and she smiles, a genuine expression that makes my heart flutter.

“I'm fine,” I assure her. “Sometimes, family gatherings feel overwhelming. I just needed some fresh air.”

I inhale deeply, savoring the coolness filling my lungs, grounding me in the moment.

“So, this is where you grew up?” she asks, eyes scanning the familiar surroundings.

I nod, nostalgia washing over me. “Yep. My old room is still set up. I’ll turn forty in a few months.”

Emma laughs, a melodic sound that brightens the dimming day. “Why?”

“That's where Colby stays when he's here. He loves it. I've still got the posters hanging,” I reply, a hint of pride in my voice.

“I'd love to see it,” she says, her enthusiasm infectious.

“Really?” I ask, keeping my finger interlaced with hers as I lead her back inside. Instead of heading to the kitchen, I guide Emma upstairs, excitement bubbling within me.

“It's pretty much identical to your house,” she observes as we ascend the stairs.

With a gentle nudge, I open the door, inviting her inside. It creaks slightly, revealing the time capsule in my parent's house.

“Wow,” she says, glancing around at the Star Wars posters that plaster the walls, the gleaming sports trophies that stand proudly on shelves, and the framed photos capturing moments frozen in time. Each item tells a story of my past.

“Have you ever had sex in here?” she asks mischievously.

“Absolutely not,” I reply, my voice laced with amusement and horror. “My parents would've actually murdered me.”

Just as I finish my sentence, she turns and locks the door with a click.

My brows pop up in surprise. “Emma,” I whisper urgently, shaking my head in disbelief. “Everyone is downstairs, including your father.”

She lays back on the bed, lifting her skirt, pantiless.

“Fuck,” I whisper, the anticipation of getting caught nearly takes hold.

“I want to be the first and last of something in your life,” she whispers.

“You already are,” I say, knowing she's the first woman I've ever truly loved and she will be the last.

She swallows hard as I move to her. Emma quietly unzips my pants, releasing me, and then she pulls me onto the single bed with her.

I laugh against her smooth skin. “You're getting coal in your stocking.”

“I'll make a fire with it,” she says in a hushed tone, widening her thighs allowing me entrance. I slide my hand under her ass, lifting her onto me.

She moans out.

I lean over and cover her mouth with my hand as I whisper in her ear as I slam into her. “You can't scream when you come on my cock.”

Her breasts rise and fall as she rocks her hips, nodding with a sultry smile. My girl is greedy, and lately, we’ve become experts at quickies—mastering the art of seizing passion in stolen moments.

In just five minutes flat, we’re unwinding, surrendering to the heat of our desires, and losing ourselves in the intoxicating rhythm of the moment. We’re breathless, racing toward the end. The orgasm rips through me as Emma pulses around me. I want to scream out, but I nuzzle into her neck and hair. My girl holds back, too. Emma bites my shoulder, a playful mix of pleasure and pain that sends shivers down my spine.

“Good fucking girl,” I whisper in her ear. “You do know how to be quiet.”

She pants, breasts rising and falling. “Felt so good.”

We stand facing each other, the air thick with sex and a thirst for one another that we'll never be able to quench.

I check my phone, noting that we’ve been gone for just fifteen minutes. With a playful nudge, I help reposition her hair.

“How do I look?” she asks, her voice bright as she gazes up at me, her eyes sparkling.

“Like you’re mine,” I reply, my heart swelling with pride and desire as I take in her flushed cheeks and the way her lips, still swollen from our kiss, glisten invitingly.

“I am. But do you think they’ll know?”

I place my hands firmly on her shoulders, turning her toward the full-length mirror that stands sentinel in the corner, reflecting her in all her stunning glory.

“Probably.”

Her mouth falls open in shock as she catches sight of herself. “My lips! Another hickey on my neck! Hudson! I look sex-drunk, and I have just-been-fucked hair.” The realization washes over her, a mixture of embarrassment and exhilaration.

I chuckle, unable to hide my amusement. “Sorry? But I'm not.”

She hastily rearranges her hair to one side, attempting to cover the mark, her fingers trembling slightly. “Please tell me we’re leaving soon?”

I shake my head, relishing the moment just a bit longer. “Not a chance.”

“Hudson!” A voice calls from the bottom of the stairs, unmistakably my mom’s.

Leaning over, I steal a sweet kiss from Emma, pressing my lips against hers, savoring the moment. “Good luck,” I whisper, a teasing grin on my face.

I open the door, adjust myself, and step into the hallway.

“Yeah? What’s up?” I call down to her.

“Never mind,” Mom replies, her eyes narrowing slightly as they land on me. I glance at Jake, whose brows lift in curiosity, studying me with amusement and suspicion.

I smile innocently. “What's up?”

Their faces are giddy as they exchange glances, the atmosphere thick with unspoken questions.

“Did you go upstairs and give yourself a hickey?” Lucas asks, his expression is mock disbelief.

Mawmaw’s brows lift in surprise, as she sips her spiked eggnog. Her eyes dart toward me with a knowing glint. “Where's Emma?” she asks.

“What’s a hickey?” Colby pipes up, his childlike curiosity shining through. “Can I have one?”

“No,” I interject firmly, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground.

Just then, Emma descends the stairs, and every eye in the room swivels to her, captivated. “What?” she asks, a hint of confusion in her tone.

I glance back at her, my admiration swelling as I drink in her beauty and the way her hair cascades over her shoulders. She stops beside me at the bottom of the stairs, and the atmosphere feels electric.

“Are you two dating?” Mr. Manchester asks, the question hanging in the air like a challenge, the one no one else was brave enough to voice.

Emma laughs lightly, brushing off the question with a wave of her hand. “I’m just the nanny. Come on, everyone. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Jake’s laughter bursts forth, cutting through the tension. “Hundred-dollar bills. Thirty of them. In my palm by Valentine's Day,” he quips, his grin infectious.

Claire’s shocked. I don't think she's said anything, but she's eyeing us.

I suck in a deep breath, redirecting my focus back to Emma, both of us uncomfortably aware of the guilt simmering beneath the surface.

“Want some eggnog?” I offer, hoping it will ease the situation.

“That would be great,” she replies, her eyes widening with anticipation. But then, she catches sight of the hickey she left on my neck, and her expression shifts. “Uh.”

“Yeah,” I say in a hushed whisper, leading her toward the kitchen, acutely aware of the prying eyes still trained on us. A heavy silence forms around us.

“Spiked eggnog?” I announce, my voice louder than necessary, wishing desperately for them to stop scrutinizing us.

“As long as it's Mawmaw's recipe,” she says. Then leans in and whispers. “Fuck!”

I can't help but chuckle. I pour us each a glass, our movements awkward and deliberate, knowing that our shared secret hangs heavily between us. We lift our glasses, the tension palpable as we sip, both acutely aware of what we did upstairs.

Did they hear us?

“I’d like to make a toast,” I begin, trying to break the ice. Emma lifts her glass, a spark of excitement in her eyes. “To no regrets.”

Emma repeats it, smirking. “No regrets and joy to the world”

Mawmaw raises hers with a hearty laugh. “Hear, hear!”

Then we drink, our eyes lock on each other.

“Is anyone going to answer my question?” Mr. Manchester asks.

“Dad, shut up!” Claire snaps.

Everyone takes the hint and returns to their conversations.

The world fades into a blur as Christmas music plays in the background, and it strangely feels like the beginning of a new chapter. The one where every single person in our family, including her father, knows we're fucking. I can’t help but laugh.

No regrets, not when it comes to Emma, ever .