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Hudson turned sideways so he was facing me, his green eyes dark and intensely focused. “Where else would I be?”

“With your pack. Solving an emergency. Saving a minor local crisis,” I teased softly, though my voice lacked its usual bite.

He reached out, his broad hand coming up to cup my cheek. His thumb stroked my cheekbone, reverently mapping my freckles. “None of those things matter as much as this, Sloane. As you.”

My breath hitched. The humor vanished, replaced by a sudden, heavy stillness that made the air feel electric between us.

“Hudson,” I whispered, my fingers coming up to rest over his wrist. “You know… I did plenty of research on shifter biology.”

His eyes crinkled slightly at the edges, a flash of warmth breaking through the intensity. “Did you? Even after Patty’s presentation?”

“Before and after,” I admitted, a nervous laugh escaping me. “I wanted to understand everything. But no amount of reading… no amount of research could have prepared me for how I feel about you.”

Hudson’s hand stilled against my face. He leaned in closer, his forehead coming to rest gently against mine. “Tell me.”

“I love you,” I said, the words slipping out with terrifying, breathless honesty. “I think I’ve been falling in love with you since you reminded me to drink water over a text message. And now, knowing who you are, knowing everything you carry… I just love you.”

A ragged breath escaped Hudson’s lips. His eyes closed for a fraction of a second, a look of profound, almost painful relief washing over his features. When he opened them again, the green was bright and fierce.

“Sloane,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you. God, I love you so much it scares me sometimes. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be what everyone else needed me to be… but with you, I just get to be me. And I don’t ever want to let you go.”

Before the last word had fully left his mouth, his lips were on mine.

The kiss wasn’t frantic or rushed. It was deep, slow, and full of a reverence that made my knees feel weak even though I was sitting. He pulled me onto his lap, his large hands cradling my head as his tongue parted my lips. I melted into him, my arms twining around his neck, sinking into the overwhelming warmth and safety of his arms. This is real, I thought, almost dizzy with it. He’s here. He’s choosing this. Choosing me. Every careful press of his mouth felt like a promise, like he was memorizing the shape of me.

His touch shifted, sliding down to my waist, tracing the curves of my body with a patient, worshipping gentleness.

The kiss deepened until I lost track of where my body ended and his began. I sank into the solid warmth of him. My hands roamed over his shoulders, then up into his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low sound from his throat.

I wanted him so much it made my skin feel too tight, every point of contact between us sparking with need. At the same time, a quieter worry threaded through the heat. It had been years since I’d been with anyone like this. Years of awkward dates that never progressed and longer stretches of nothing at all.

What if I fumbled this? What if the reality of me, after all the buildup, left him disappointed?

I tried to push the thought away, focusing instead on the way his mouth moved against mine, unhurried and thorough. His hands slid up from my waist, his broad palms cupping my breasts through my sports bra.

The pressure grounded me, and I arched into it without thinking. Hudson broke the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath warm on my lips.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmured. “I can feel it.”

A small laugh escaped me, half embarrassed. “Guilty. It’s been a long time for me, Hudson. A really long time. I don’t want to mess this up.”

His fingers traced slow circles over the fabric, sending little ripples of pleasure through me. “Neither of us is some kind of expert here. I haven’t been with anyone in a while either. We’ll figure it out together. No rush. Just tell me what feels good.” He kissed the corner of my mouth, soft and deliberate. “There’s nowhere else I want to be. Nowhere else I need to be. You’re safe with me, Sloane. Always.”

Those words loosened the tightness in my chest. I nodded and kissed him again, slower this time, letting myself sink into the reassurance. We stayed like that for several minutes, mouths exploring, hands learning the shapes of each other through clothes.

He means it, I realized, the thought blooming. He’s not rushing. He’s not treating this like something to get through. The relief of that almost undid me more than the kiss itself.

Eventually, he slipped his hands under my bra, and the skin-on-skin contact tore a gasp from me. He paused, thumbs brushing gently against me, waiting for my reaction.

“Like that?” he asked.

“Yes. A lot like that.”

He smiled against my mouth and kept going, patient and attentive, murmuring how soft I felt, how responsive, how much he had thought about this moment with me. “Christ, Sloane… the way you feel under my hands. I’ve imagined this more times than I should admit. You, trusting me like this. Letting me touch you.” His voice dropped lower, almost reverent. “You’re so beautiful it hurts.”

The praise settled over me, chasing away the last shreds of self-doubt.

I tugged at his shirt until he helped me pull it off, then did the same with my sports bra. Cool air hit my skin, but his hands and mouth followed right behind, searing me where they touched.