Christina’s POV
For a second, Hudson just hovered over , his eyes burning with desire.
I stared up at him, lips swollen, breathing hard.
He stared back, sothing wild and possessive flickering in his gaze.
"Lycaon wants to mark you," he growled, voice rough.
The words made shiver.
Then he dipped his head, pressing kisses along my jaw, down my neck, over the sensitive spot above my collarbone. His mouth left a trail of heat everywhere it touched.
He pulled back just enough for to see his pupils had blown wide, the blue of his eyes barely visible around the black.
He pressed his thumb to the side of my neck, right where my pulse was going crazy.
Then he dragged it lower, tracing the edge of my shirt, never breaking eye contact.
When he leaned down and bit my collarbone—not gently—I jerked.
"Ow," I complained, though the sharp pain quickly turned into sothing else entirely.
He pulled back just enough to breathe against my skin, his forehead resting against my throat.
His chest rose and fell against mine, his heartbeat wild and unsteady.
"Do you an it?" he asked.
"What?" My brain was still catching up. Everything felt too hot, my skin buzzing wherever he’d touched .
"Your ssage," he said. "About going public."
"Yes, I ant it."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you say yes?"
I paused. "Isn’t that what you wanted?"
"Yeah. But I know why I want it. I want to know why you do."
"What’s your reason? To put so distance between you and Rowan?" I couldn’t keep the bite out of my voice.
"I asked first," Hudson said.
"Fine." I took a shaky breath. "I like you. I don’t want to see your na next to another woman’s. That’s why."
His head shot up, his stare intense enough to pin in place.
"What?" I asked, suddenly feeling exposed.
"Say that again."
I swallowed hard. "I like you. And I don’t want to share you, not even in stupid tabloid headlines."
"You like ." His grip on my waist tightened, his voice going lower.
"Yeah." I turned my face away, heat flooding my cheeks.
When did I beco such a ss?
"You like ," he repeated, like he couldn’t quite believe it.
I could feel his heartbeat hamring against mine, falling into the sa rhythm.
He pushed himself up just enough to really look at . His face was flushed, hair ssed up in a way that made him look unfairly attractive.
When he kissed the corner of my mouth, gentler this ti, sothing inside ca undone.
I looked up at him, suddenly needing to know. "What about you?"
His eyes t mine, intense and unwavering.
"I love you, Christina."
My breath caught in my throat.
I blinked once, twice, trying to process what Hudson had just said.
"I love you, Christina."
Just four simple words, but they ant everything to .
My chest got tight. My eyes stung with tears that wouldn’t fall.
I opened my mouth, but nothing ca out. Not a single sound. My brain had gone completely blank.
Hudson’s thumb brushed across my lips gently, his eyes locked on mine.
"You don’t have to say anything right now. Just listen," he said, his voice quiet and intense. "You said you’d go public with our relationship. Let’s do it now. Let’s post it before you change your mind."
My throat felt rough when I finally spoke. "You’re really serious about this?"
"Dead serious." His stare didn’t waver, steady and determined. "Let’s do it before we both start overthinking."
I let out a shaky breath. "Okay."
My head felt fuzzy as I reached for my phone on the nightstand. I opened X, found Hudson’s latest post, hit retweet, then stared at the caption box, chewing the inside of my cheek.
"Should I just copy yours and write ’Married’? Or maybe sothing like, ’The other ring’s on my hand’?" I asked, staring at the screen. "I don’t know what I’m supposed to say."
My thumb hovered over the keyboard, twitchy and useless.
Hudson next to . "Post this: ’I’m his wife. We’re happy. It’s been a long ti coming. Please send good wishes. We—’"
"Stop," I cut him off with a groan. "Goddess, that’s like writing a novel."
"Fine," I muttered. "I’ll just write ’Married.’ That’s it. Simple. Everyone will figure it out."
Typing while lying flat was awkward, especially with Hudson’s weight half on . I had to hold my phone at a weird angle, and my hand started cramping right away.
The second I finished typing, he grabbed the phone from .
"Just retweeting isn’t enough," he said. "We need a picture."
He opened the cara, took my hand, threaded our fingers together, and snapped a photo. The lighting was terrible—warm and dim. Our hands looked kind of yellow, but the matching rings caught the light perfectly.
He hit post without hesitating.
I squinted at the screen. "Give it back. I want to see what people are saying."
"No." He tossed the phone aside, then leaned in again, his mouth hot and demanding against mine.
I felt the last of my tension lt away as I sank into the mattress.
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