Say You Will (Trust & Tequila Book 3)

23. Franki

twenty-three

If someone had told me two weeks ago that I’d be spending tonight in bed with Henry McRae after he tried to bribe me into marrying him, I’d have applauded their overactive imagination.

Henry rises onto his knees, indicating his sweatpants. “I’m taking these off now. Is that all right with you?”

Please take them off. I’ll die if you don’t.“Yes.”

He pulls his sweats down, and as the elastic stretches over the length of him, his cock rebounds and slaps his abdomen. I shoot to a sitting position. I thought I knew what I was dealing with, but it got even bigger from when he was standing by the door.

I blink. “How do you walk with that thing?”

He uses the sweats to wipe away the evidence that he definitely did orgasm earlier. “I don’t usually walk around with an erection,” he says dryly.

Anxiety spikes through my system the longer I look at him. My SI joint and my knees already hurt. There’s no getting around it. I took a prescription anti-inflammatory hours ago, but my hip is going to ache until it heals completely. It’s not terrible, but it’s still a distraction. I’d decided that it would be manageable. I’m used to ignoring it.

Until I saw his dick.

“Franki? What’s wrong?”

I take a deep breath. Slow. Breathe slow. Finally, I say, “Nothing. This is just new to me.”

He sits back on his heels, watching me warily.

“I’m making it awkward,” I say.

Henry moves into my space carefully. Slowly.

“Be as awkward as you like.” He speaks against my temple, one hand moving to gently circle my throat, the other in my hair, doing that thing again where he’s taking my pulse. It makes me feel strangely safe, but only because it’s him. I flick a glance down at his cock. The head is wide, blunt, and an almost purplish red. If a dick could look angry, his looks ready to flip some tables. But when I glance up at his face, Henry doesn’t look angry at all.

“Do you want to stop? Or do you want to play? We don’t have to use penetration. Or”—he raises an eyebrow—“I can use my fingers.”

“I just destroyed this entire moment.”

“You didn’t.” He takes my hand and places it against his chest, holding it tightly against him.

“I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe,” he says quietly. “Things I pray you never will. And I’m steady as a rock. But with you? Do you feel how my heart races?”

I do, and the realization that I’m not alone in this settles something inside me. “Let’s play and see what happens.”

He smiles.

“There are condoms in the drawer. I saw them earlier.”

He eases us both back against the pillows. “I know.”

“You?”

I shiver when he kisses my neck. “Mmm. Yes. Me. There’s another box in my bedroom and one in your bathroom . . .”

He lifts my T-shirt over my chest and swallows hard, seeming to forget what he was saying.

He holds two fingers to my mouth. “Suck these for me, darling.”

My abdomen and pelvis clench so hard and fast at his words that I gasp before I draw his fingers into my mouth and swirl them with my tongue.

He groans, and lust pools inside me, as hot and relentlessly needy as it was before he gave me the first orgasm.

He trails his wet fingers over my nipples. “Look how your nipples pucker for me. They’re begging to be kissed. Your breasts are perfect.”

He truly believes that. I told myself that I hadn’t let my mother’s opinions sink in, but some small part of me must have been worried that he’d share her feelings, because his sincere admiration gives me a shot of pure confidence.

He sends me an apologetic glance. “I did this backward. I was supposed to kiss your breasts first.”

He drops his head, and does just that, while he continues to pluck and tease the other with his fingers.

“There’s no ‘supposed to.’ Right?” I ask breathlessly.

He doesn’t answer, but his mouth is occupied, and I don’t mind. I run my hands over his shoulders, into the damp strands of his hair, keeping my touch firm, the way he asked me to.

He curls his fingers in the waistband of my underwear and slides them down. I lift my butt to make it easier for him, and he makes eye contact as he drags them off completely. “Thank you, Franki. You keep this pussy so pretty.”

My mouth falls open, as pure liquid warmth floods through me. “H-Henry?”

He slides up to lie beside me, his right hand cushioning my head. Then he kisses me as his left hand trails over my breasts, over my abdomen, and then his hand is there, sliding between my thighs. He’s gentle, but firm as he explores.

“You are so precious,” he murmurs.

A terrible, aching pressure builds in my chest and clogs my throat.

No one has ever said anything like that to me in my life.

No one has made me feel like what I want or need matters.

Growing up, Bronwyn was my best friend, but Clarissa was hers. I was my mother’s caretaker, but she was never mine, no matter how desperately I needed it. All my life, I’ve been an inconvenience, a tool, or an afterthought.

Henry is shifting my world, changing everything in ways I never even imagined.

“You’re my person.”That’s what he said. I was so caught up in attempting to decode what he really meant that I didn’t let those words sink in. I didn’t believe them. How could I? This is what he meant. I’m precious to him.

I kiss him back hard, rolling into and partially onto him, so that my right leg rests on his thigh, his erection hot and hard against me.

His hand rests briefly on my hip before he lifts it away to my back.

“No. You can touch me. Touch me, Henry.”

His hand moves back to my hip and his fingers splay across my butt cheek, his movements gentle and sweeping. His fingers dip into the crease and squeeze. Then he slides that hand down, down. He dips a finger inside, just the tip, then uses the wetness to circle my clit.

It feels amazing, but I’ve let him do everything while I just laid here and received his attention. I drag my hands down his chest, following with kisses. I stop at his nipples and kiss.

I look up to catch him watching me. “Do you like that?”

“I like anywhere you touch me, but my nipples don’t appear to be any more sensitive than any other part of my body.”

I slide down further and kiss his scar. He jerks, then says, “That tickles.”

I take a very gentle bite out of his side, and he laughs and squirms away.

I sit up on my knees and eye him speculatively. Pressing hard on his leg so that it doesn’t irritate or tickle him, I slide my hand up his inner thigh.

His cock flexes, and a dot of clear fluid forms at the tip.

I reach for his testicles, then draw back. I’ve heard this part of a man is sensitive and easily damaged, but he doesn’t enjoy light touches. “Show me what you like.”

He watches me, expression serious as he takes my hand. “Imagine your eye itches. You don’t press hard on your eye, but enough to feel it.”

He wraps my fingers around his sac and keeps his own on mine.

I understand his reference immediately. This part of him is weighted, the skin delicate.

“Would it tickle if I kissed you there?”

His blue eyes gleam in the lamp light. “There’s only one way to find out.”

I kiss him. Lick tentatively. Suck as I continue to fondle him.

He tangles a hand in my hair. “Holy shit,” he groans.

Well, if he likes that . . .

He smiles at my expression. “What are you thinking?”

“I want you to show me how me how to touch you here.”

He wraps my fingers around his cock. It reminds me of when he showed me how to make a real fist. Then, with his hand over mine, he squeezes and strokes. His skin is hot and smooth and incredibly soft, gliding over a core of iron.

He likes to be held more tightly than I ever would have imagined.

“Like this. God, Franki, your hand on me . . .”

He swipes his thumb over the head, so I try that as well. He drops back onto the pillow and closes his eyes. I lick across the tip, mimicking the way he used his thumb. His flavor is salty, but not unpleasant.

A harsh breath leaves him, and he releases me. “This part is as new to me as it is to you.”

I don’t have any technique to speak of, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all.

Henry gathers my hair in both of his hands, holding it for me like a ponytail to keep it out of my face, but he never tries to control me with it or move my head.

The feel of him in my mouth, his obvious bliss . . . has me turned on so much that my thighs slip together with my movements. There are so many things I’m discovering tonight. There was an entire hidden part of myself that I didn’t even know existed. She was waiting inside me to be let free.

One of those discoveries is how much arousal takes place entirely separately from touch, itself. Touch is amazing, but it’s not all of it. The things he’s saying to me. His own pleasure. His smell. His taste. Everything swirls together to make me feel almost drunk on Henry.

“You are fucking amazing. You are so sweet. I’m going to come if you keep doing that.”

That sounds like encouragement to me, so I continue until he grates, “Stop.”

He sounds pained, and I pull away immediately in concern. “Are you okay?”

He screws his eyes shut. “Yes.”

The word sounds ripped from his chest as he reaches down and squeezes the base of his cock.

“Oh my gosh. Did I hurt you?”

He laughs, even as he remains exactly as he was, body tense, cock held tightly between his fingers and thumb, eyes shut. “You made me feel too good. I don’t want to come in your mouth on our first night.”

Slowly, he relaxes his grip and opens his eyes. “That was incredible. Thank you.”

It feels strange that he’s thanking me, but it also fills me with warmth. He’s sincerely grateful I did something I wanted to do in the first place.

“Come back here,” he says with a smile.

I move in for a kiss, and he wraps both of his arms around me in a bear hug, rolling me until we’re on our sides facing each other. He kisses me and moves his hand back between my thighs, performing that circular movement again on my clit.

An orgasm builds so fast and hard, that I gasp at the spiraling tension inside me.

Then he stops.

My eyes fly open in confusion, but he smiles and cups his palm firmly against my entire pussy. Not pressing hard, but not a millimeter of space between my body and his hand.

“You’re so wet and swollen on my fingers. Your body is opening up. Do you feel that?”

I need him to touch me the way I need water when I’m thirsty. Food when I’m hungry. Rest when I’m exhausted. A pulse throbs in my pelvis. “I feel it.”

“It’s your body trying to draw me in. Can I give you a finger, and we’ll see how that feels?”

I nod.

His finger glides in effortlessly, and he pumps gently. It feels amazing, but it also feels like . . . not enough.

“I’m going to put a condom on now,” he says. “It doesn’t mean we have to have intercourse, but if you decide you want to, we won’t have to stop what we’re doing and lose momentum.”

“Okay.”

He places his palm back against my pussy, and that unbelievably erotic sensation doesn’t abate in the slightest. A pulse inside me thrums against his hand. I’m on the verge of an orgasm but desperate for him to fill me up.

Never removing his palm, Henry stretches across to the nightstand, removes a condom, rips it open with his teeth, and puts it on one-handed.

My pussy flutters, and he smiles because he feels it. He eases a finger back inside me, his thumb lazy on my clit. I push back in response.

Reaching for my hand, he guides it down to where he’s touching me. “I want you to feel this. I know you’re nervous, but your body is a fucking wonderland.”

He adjusts his grip so that he’s got his hand wrapped around mine, his finger next to mine. Then he moves our two fingers to my entrance. This pulsing, soft woman doesn’t feel like me. Our fingers enter easily, my body snug and clinging, but not tight. That heartbeat I’ve been feeling pulses again, and I feel it inside and out.

The corner of his mouth lifts as he draws our hands away. My expression has to be nothing short of awe.

He grins back. “I know. You’re brilliant.”

I squirm against him.

“Let me try another finger. That’s it. You can take it.”

He stretches me with his fingers, and I want more and more. “It feels so good.”

“You don’t have a hymen. Most women your age don’t. So nothing we do should hurt, darling. If it does, tell me right away.”

I laugh, even as I push myself against him. “Did you . . . go to med school . . . to learn how to have sex?”

He leans down and sucks on my nipple before searing me with a look. “Hush. I believe in thorough research.”

I grind against his hand in a desperate rhythm. He’s being too gentle. I need more. I’m so close to orgasm—

“More, Henry.”

“Do you want my cock?”

“Yes. Please. Yes.”

“This position makes penetration more shallow. We’ll ease into it for your first time.” He rolls me onto my side, facing away from him. But when I try to lift my leg, he holds it in place.

“This will be more comfortable for your hip. Keep your legs together. Stay relaxed. That’s it. Perfect.”

He presses tightly against my back in a classic spooning position. I’m still on the verge of an orgasm. I have been for what feels like forever.

He glides his cock between my thighs, bumping against my clit on each pass. Kissing my cheek, he nuzzles in, then murmurs close to my ear, “This is called a cuddle fuck.”

He positions himself and slowly, slowly eases himself into my body. The feel of him is shocking. Delicious.

“You’re taking me so well. I’ve never felt anything so fucking good.”

If my eyes were open, they’d be rolled back into my head in pleasure.

He slides in deeper, and we both gasp.

For the first time, I’m not alone in my own body. Henry is inside me. I never dreamed the sensation would fly through my nerve endings until he became part of me. Like a full body shiver, but not cold. Not discomfort.

Henry. Everywhere.

It can’t feel like this for everyone or there would be no such thing as “casual sex.” It feels as though I’m handing him pieces of my soul.

Neither of us has been loud through any of this. Quiet gasps, panting breaths . . . nothing like I’ve read in books or seen in videos. As I continue to hover on the edge of orgasm, full of Henry, his warm, solid, strong weight behind and against me, a sobbing sound of utter need escapes me. I don’t even realize I’ve done it until Henry responds.

Still and unmoving inside me, he brushes over my shoulder, down my arm and holds my hand against my abdomen. “I’m not hurting you?”

Reaching my other hand up, I hold onto his forearm and hug myself with Henry.

“It’s so good. But I need you to move.”

He drops his head to my shoulder with a shudder. Henry releases my hand, but I keep mine on his forearm as his fingers circle my clit, the muscles moving under my palm as he works my body.

I’ll never forget this feeling, never look at his forearms again without remembering the way the lean, hard muscle flexes with his movements as he gives me the single greatest pleasure of my life.

He starts a gentle rhythmic pumping, pushing his body into mine. In and in and in and in.

Every sense of reality distorts. My awareness of anything except us . . . this . . . is gone.

I’ve been on the edge of orgasm for so long now. Over and over, he had me right there, then backed off. Now, I’m pretty sure even without his fingers on my clit, there would be no stopping this tsunami.

When it crashes over me, stars burst behind my eyelids as I jerk and shake and clench so hard that he has to hold on to keep himself inside. It goes on and on as my body flutters around his, trying to coax him into his own release. To give me his pleasure.

Henry jerks, his cock flexing inside me. We come in silence until a sound seems to tear out of him. Then we’re still. Holding onto each other. Gasping.

He pulls me even closer against him. I try to move away and roll over to see him, but he holds me too tightly, refusing to allow me to move.

“Not yet.” His voice is gruff; his temple pressed to mine.

“Henry.”

“Wait.” After a moment, he releases me. Then he separates from my body, careful of the condom, leaving me empty at the loss of him.

Turning to face him fully, I place my palm on his cheek, smiling through my tears.

“Oh, shit.” He uses his thumbs to wipe my face as he searches my eyes. “It wasn’t good?”

I shake my head. “It was overwhelmingly wonderful.”

“Emotional and sensory overload. I lack the vocabulary to do it justice.”

Smiling, I lean into him, my forehead resting on the hard plane of his chest, as he wraps me tightly against him once more.

“I like this. You. In my arms,” he says.

“I do too.”

We lay together for long minutes as Henry trails his fingers up and down my back. Neither of us falls asleep, despite the lateness of the hour.

“I’m not ready for today to be over,” I say.

Henry pauses his motion. “There’s a clear sky tonight. We’d have a good view from the roof.”