43. Ember

43

EMBER

T he flight back to Seattle is the most amazing experience I’ve ever had on a plane, being that Hudson booked first-class tickets. Apparently, the whole last-minute flight to his parents’ house put us in a small coach seat on the plane, in which Hudson still has trauma over, and a stiff neck, so he upgraded our flight home since he has a game tomorrow that he needs to be ready for.

Needless to say, I am not complaining about our seating arrangement.

It’s comfortable, spacious, and now I have no idea how I’ll ever go back to coach. They even gave us champagne, blankets, and pillows when we got on board.

As giddy as I’ve been with the experience, Hudson has been a little reserved. Henry showing up at his parents’ house has him spiraling, and I can only assume it’s because Henry wants to get traded to Hudson’s team.

There had been so much animosity between the two that before we left, I decided to pull Henry aside and tell him exactly what he needs to do. Leave Hudson the fuck alone or grovel like he should have years ago and beg for his fucking forgiveness.

It will take an act of Congress because of what Henry did, but he insisted he really is trying to make amends with his brother, even though every time he comes around, he just succeeds in throwing more fuel to the fire. Henry feeds too much into Hudson’s anger, egging him on, like he can’t help himself. Reluctantly, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he hasn’t earned yet, I gave him a couple of tips and a few threats to try to resolve this ongoing war between the two of them.

Hudson’s eyes are closed and his head is leaned back against the headrest, giving me a wide open opportunity to gawk at him. And damn, he looks edible.

He decided against a hat today, which is rare. His thick, brown hair falls haphazardly over his forehead, and the stubble growing on his jawline is thicker than usual, since he hasn’t shaved since we left Seattle.

He opted for a light blue v-neck shirt, which is plainer than all git up, but it’s snug against his chest and arms, fitting like a tailor-made glove, looking like a GQ model.

Feeling brave, I shake out the folded blanket the flight attendant handed to me and lift the armrest that separates us. I snuggle into Hudson’s side, and he lifts his arm, allowing me to cuddle closer to his chest.

The comfortable scent that engulfs me is his and only his. Fresh linen that I want to wrap myself in and always that subtle hint of cinnamon. Like it’s embedded in his skin.

I cover us both with the blanket as I sneak my hand underneath, trailing my hand down the front of his torso. I circle my hand a few times before moving farther south, just above the waistband of his pants. Fortunately, he wore joggers, and the elastic band makes everything easily accessible.

He shifts slightly in his seat, his head still pressed against the seat, and I peer up to see him attempting to smother a smile.

“What are you doing, little red?” His voice is low and raspy.

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” He lifts his head to look between his legs, then at me.

“Shhhhh.” Peering up at him with my ‘oh so innocent’ eyes.

He sneaks a glance around the plane. The seats are set wider apart, which works in our favor. There are two men in the aisle next to us. The man closest to us sleeps with a neck pillow suffocating him and his mouth gaped wide open.

The man closest to the window is focused on his laptop, watching a movie with headphones snug to his ears.

Hudson is still looking in that direction when I tuck my hand into the waistband of his pants and wrap my fingers around his hard length.

He releases a short grunt before stifling it and presses his head back onto the top of the seat. He’s closing his eyes like he’s trying to sleep, and I’m cuddled into his chest like I’m using him for a pillow.

The arm that is draped around me tenses, and he clenches the back of my shirt into his fist as I pump my hand up and down over his cock. Moving slowly under the blanket, I grip the crown as I stroke it from base to tip. Wetness falls over my thumb and finger as pre-cum leaks out of the tip, and I wish more than anything I could get on my knees in front of him and take him in my mouth.

Lifting my head, I peer over to the seat in front of me to see if the bathroom is vacant. Not that we’d fit, but maybe, just maybe, we could try. It’s terrible timing as I catch the attention of the flight attendant walking past.

“Can I get you anything, my dear?” Hudson’s eyes fly open and he looks at her, then me .

“N-no, I’m all good. Thank you.” My voice catches in my throat.

She smiles and continues to pass us.

Hudson’s eyes meet mine. “You are going to get us in trouble,” he warns, his voice stern but husky.

I bite my lip and release his cock, moving my hand further between his legs so my fingertips graze his balls, cupping them and massaging them in my hands, before gripping the base of his cock and tugging upward again.

His eyes roll back as he squeezes them shut, his mouth slacks open quickly before he slams his lips together as tightly as his eyes. He presses into my hand with a deep grunt that vibrates through my ear that rests on his chest.

“Ember—” A warning or a plea?

I’m going with a plea.

I continue long languid strokes, feeling his body tense with each one. His chest heaves with shorter but heavier breaths. I love teasing him, edging him, making him earn his orgasm, but right now, I want him to completely fall apart and allow it all to happen naturally.

I know he thinks I’m going to stop, since I usually do, but I keep going. I pick up the pace, and my grip tightens around his cock.

The hand resting on the armrest clutches the corner, his knuckles whiten at the intensity of his grip. The same for the hand that’s resting behind my back. He moves lower and grabs the side of my hip, like he needs it to hold him down.

“Ember… Ember. Stop.” He glances down at me with wide eyes and a warning.

“Eyes on me, baby,” I say with a smirk, feeding him the same statement he has fed to me when I’m out of control. I crane my neck, stretching it so my lips graze over his parted ones.

From the outside, we look like a loving couple cuddling under a blanket, kissing each other softly. In reality, this man is about to lose all control and explode all over my hand, a secret only we know, just like everything else we’ve done since we’ve become us .

“Come for me and don’t take your eyes away from mine,” I tell him, as his lids flutter over his midnight-colored orbs, every stroke pooling them deeper with need. But he listens, his gaze never strays. Releasing his grip on the armrest, he cups my cheek, pulling my forehead to his, whispering over my lips.

“Fuck, fuck, goddammit. What the hell are you doing to me?” His breath hitches. “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he grits, as silently as possible, through his teeth. My hair falls over the side of my face, and his fingers wrap around the strands, using them to pull himself even closer to me.

God, this is so sexy, watching him lose control and fall apart. All for me.

A growl leaves his chest, sending lightning bolts to my core. His hips buck and his cock throbs in my hand, then cum spills into my hand and drenches the pocket of fabric blanketing him.

Forcing him to hold back his moans, but keeping his eyes on mine, is the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed. His body, desperate and hiding, while his eyes tell me everything.

He told me he loved me last night. I remember it vividly, as clear as the lust in his eyes right now. I’ve tried to ignore what he confessed because there was a chance he said it out of pity. Out of obligation or guilt. Just to make me feel better in a shitty situation.

But the look in his eyes now, as they strip away all my reservations of whatever this is we have.

I feel naked.

Everything is so raw, so real, and there is no faking the pain behind his eyes.

He loves me.

It scares the shit out of me.

And he knows it.