Say You Will (Trust & Tequila Book 3)

36. Henry

thirty-six

The gray light of a cool November morning filters into the living room. It’s a new day. A fresh start. I know what I have to do, starting with telling my grandmother I don’t want MPD. After which, Franki will, hopefully, believe me that she’s my priority and find it in her heart to forgive me, but a man has his limits, and I’ve reached mine.

“I have always treated you well.” My voice verges on feral. “I give you affection. Attention. Respect. I make the disgusting food you like that, if I’m going to be honest . . . and I am . . . I personally find revolting. But I’m done with your judgmental bullshit.”

The bedroom door whips open and Franki stands there, eyes squinted without glasses or contacts. Her hair is a sexy, disheveled mess, and she’s wearing a blue T shirt with no bra and striped loose pajama pants. She props her hands on her hips. “What in the world is going on out here?”

I point an accusatory finger at Oliver as he sits at my feet, wagging his tail and giving a happy yip. “That. Right there. He’s trying to mess with my head.”

She blinks in confusion. “Henry, do you feel okay? Your hair looks like you stuck your finger in a light socket.”

My hair is the least of it. I’d dressed in my normal clothing this morning. Black trousers, white shirt. My feet, however, are in a pair of steel-toed boots because my normal shoes are currently outside. Where I threw them. “He shit”—I force back my visceral reaction, then manfully continue—“in my shoe.”

She turns wide eyes on Oliver. “You didn’t.”

When Oliver runs to her and does his majestic wiener dog pose, she lifts him into her arms. He whines and nuzzles into her, and she rubs his back in comfort. “It was an accident. Dachshunds don’t like to go outside in the cold. He’s very sorry.”

Oliver turns his head toward me and sneers.

I point at him again. “He’s not sorry. He’s taunting me,” I say in a malevolent near whisper.

She shakes her head in disbelief.

“Last night, he locked me out of the cabin while you were in the bathroom. He stole my spot in bed . . . You know what? No. I’m not listing his transgressions.” I lean toward Oliver, my voice low and accusing. “He knows what he did.”

She turns away protectively. “Don’t speak to him like that. He’s a dog. You’re acting like a lunatic.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. He’s more than a dog. He’s an evil genius.”

“Well, I guess it takes an evil genius to know an evil genius,” she snaps.

“So it does,” I agree.

She stares at me. I stare back. Then her face crumples, and she starts to shake. I step closer, concerned, and she wails, “I’m angry at you, dammit.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Her last vestige of control over her face cracks, and a laugh pushes its way past her closed lips in a helpless sputter. “Oliver shit in your shoe.”

I blink. She’s not crying. She’s been trying not to laugh. My own mouth twitches in response. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little bit funny.” She struggles to even speak the words.

Unable to remain standing upright, she leans into me as she loses her last shred of self-control, laughing so hard tears streak down her face. “Not Oliver, but you . . . you . . . I thought there was a . . . person. I thought . . . but . . . you . . . and Oliver . . .”

I drop my forehead onto her shoulder and struggle to speak through my own laughter. “He’s so pissed at me. He . . . is . . . so petty.”

“You talk to him . . . like he understands you,” she wheezes.

“He does,” I say through my own laughter.

She cracks up even harder. Oliver wiggles in her arms and stretches over to lick my face. I put a hand up to gently push him back and wipe his kiss onto my sleeve-covered bicep. Something about that dog kiss strikes me as even funnier. He knows I hate his spit on my face.

She sets Oliver on the floor and drops down onto her butt, leaning back against the coffee table, rocking with laughter.

I join her on the rug, leaning against her and trying to catch my breath. When I wrap my arm around her shoulders, Oliver, tail wagging in delight, climbs onto my lap, one paw dangerously close to unmanning me. I shift him slightly and stroke his back as he cuddles against me. “Does this mean he forgives me?”

Her giggles turn to sobs, and I want to rip my heart out of my chest and give it to her, so she understands she is everything. I would do anything for her. I move Oliver to the floor and pull her tighter against me, rubbing her back and rocking us both.

“I love you.” My voice sounds like gravel in a rock tumbler.

Breath catching, she lifts her head, but I can’t look into her eyes and see her rejection of my words.

I tighten my hold. “I’m in love with you. Wholly. Entirely. There’s no end to it, and there never will be. I know I’m not technically supposed to say it yet, but it’s true.” I clear my throat. “Sorry about that.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Not sorry that I love you. I’m sorry I haven’t done it right, so that no part of you ever has any reason to doubt who you are to me. There’s nothing I’ll ever put ahead of you. Not my own life. Not my family. And certainly not some damn company.”

She doesn’t move or say anything. It barely feels as though she’s breathing, and I rush forward before she shuts down again and pushes me away. “I wanted to give you everything you ever needed. I wasn’t trying to trick you. The first night we made love, I held you afterward, and I had to force myself not to tell you I loved you because I thought I’d smother you or you wouldn’t believe me.”

She shifts subtly closer.

“Do you remember the first night I proposed to you?” I ask.

Brows knitted, she nods, and I continue, “I’d lost faith that there was anything worth the pain of allowing myself to feel. Every moment of my life was filled with acquisition and working hundred-hour weeks. I was busy enough that I didn’t have time to think about how empty my life was.”

I lean away slightly and take her hand, running my thumb over my favorite freckle on her pinkie. I don’t lift my head. “I hadn’t seen you in four years, nine months, and twelve days. And every minute of it had hollowed me out a piece at a time. I’d numbed myself so effectively that when you woke me up, I didn’t even know what was happening to me. I tried to talk to you in your hotel room, and I was freaking the fuck out. My heart was racing. I couldn’t think straight. I thought there was something wrong with me. I was so closed off from my emotions that I didn’t even recognize them.”

“Henry,” she says quietly.

I shake my head. “You’re the reason I see a future that means anything at all. I can’t go back. Franki, I can’t live without you again. I’ll turn into the biggest asshole on the planet. I’ll be some lonely old cartoonish villain hoarding money and never giving Spencer a vacation in his life—”

“Look at me.” She turns her hand over and squeezes.

I meet her gaze at last.

With a watery smile, she presses her hand against my jaw. I layer my own over hers, holding her to me.

I swallow hard. “When you wanted me to call my grandmother and tell her to give Lawrence those shares, I should have dialed her number right then and there. I’m doing it today. I don’t want any part of anything that hurts you.”

Her brows knit. “You said you were worried about the people your cousin would hurt.”

“I am, but I’m not weighing what you need against anything or anyone else and having you come up short. Not ever. I’m not a hero. I’ve told you that before and you persist in believing I’m a better person than I am. If you were thirsty, I would step over three people who were on fire to give you a glass of water.”

She shakes her head with a smile and lifts my other hand to kiss my scarred knuckles.

“That’s terrible,” she says gently.

I nod. “I know.”

She burrows against me, and I haul her onto my lap.

“I love you too,” she says.

I speak against her hair. “That’s because you’re the kindest, most forgiving, wonderful woman on the planet. I’m going to treat you like the queen you are, every day of your life.”

“I’m sorry I made us both wallow in misery last night.”

“I deserved it. There’s nothing like a good, hard wallow to put things into perspective. When you offered me a business arrangement, it hurt like hell.”

She rests her forehead against mine. “I kept telling myself that you were like my parents.”

How could she not? It’s what she knows, and I tried to bribe her into matrimony.

“Those texts felt like confirmation of my biggest fear. My parents have both made productions out of how much they ‘love’ me, but they’ve never done anything real that made me feel loved. You never said it, but you showed me. Even when you were furious, you did things tolove me. You served me dinner while you were pissed. You took care of me and gave me my injection, while you were angry.”

She sniffs. “I thought about it all night. Your stupid list I thought proved you didn’t care wasn’t stupid at all. It was you doing the loving. You could have come at me a hundred ways to convince me to marry you. You know me. You could have played on my sympathy by telling me people would lose their homes. It would have worked if I thought you had no other option. You could have found some way to blackmail me with some awful thing my parents have done.”

I scowl. “What would be the point if you weren’t happy?”

“If you hadn’t cared, the point would have been those shares.”

Leaning over Franki, I guide her until her back is flat to the thick rug. “I love you, Franki. How many times a day do you think is too many for me to say it?”

“I love you too. Why don’t you say it when you want to and try not to worry about keeping track?”

I slide my hand under her pajama top, her skin warm and soft and so damned beautiful.

Something hot and sexual demands that I make this right. I need this connection to her.

When I remove my glasses, she gives me a secret smile. I take her mouth, licking into her and loving the electric shock of pleasure that jolts through me at the touch of her sweet tongue against mine. Every one of her kisses does this to me. I’m lit up and flung into orbit.

The hard ball of tension inside me unspools into nearly painful arousal. “You’re staying with me.”

It’s not a question, but she answers. “Yes.”

Franki nuzzles into my neck, then drops kisses along the sensitive skin there until she’s reached my ear. I shudder as the vibration of her voice against me sets my nerve endings alight. I can’t decide if I like it or if it’s too much sensation.

“If we go to Vegas tonight, your cousin won’t be a problem.”

I’ve decided. I like it. I like it a lot. She’s using the edge of her teeth. Not too gentle, but not too rough. My cock is hard as steel, nudging against her outer thigh.

Her words register on a delay. “No. I’ll find another way to deal with him. I’m not having our wedding tainted by the stench of eau de Lawrence.”

She sucks my earlobe between her teeth, then speaks into my ear again. “You’re so sexy when you mangle French.”

My palm and fingers span her ribcage. Mine. And I’m hers. All of me. Everything I have to give. I tug gently on her bottom lip with my teeth, and she sighs and shivers. When she reaches for my zipper, I still her hand.

“We’re moving to the bedroom and shutting the door.” I tip my head toward Oliver, where he’s curled in his bed, snoring in whistling huffs. “If your attack wiener wakes up and decides I’m hurting you, I’ll end up with stitches in my ass.” As it should be.

She laughs, and I rise, giving her a boost until she’s standing before me.

When we enter the bedroom, I close the door then walk to the bedside stand and remove my firearm from its ankle holster, placing it in a custom drawer in the nightstand. I remove my suspenders and undo the buttons on my shirt as she stands near the end of the bed and chews her lip. When I yank the shirttails from my waistband, she makes the cutest sound. I finish taking it off and shake it out, folding it and placing it on the dresser.

“What would it take for you to really go nuts?” she asks.

I trail my fingers across Franki’s collarbone before I wrap her hair around my hand. “How crazy are we talking?”

Her breath skates across my lips when she whispers, “Throw your clothes on the floor.”

I whip her shirt over her head and toss it over my shoulder with a grin. I don’t even look to see where it lands because I’m too busy thumbing, then kissing, her nipples and swallowing back a groan.

When she frees my cock and shoves my trousers and boxer briefs down my thighs, I kick them and my boots off and leave them where they land.

She wrinkles her nose in delight. “Now, you’re out of control.”

Franki clasps me in a firm grip and strokes.

“If anyone could make me forget what I’m doing, it’s you,” I say.

When she begins to drop to her knees, I lift her into my arms, instead.

She huffs out a surprised laugh. “What are you doing?”

I carry her to the bed and lay her out with her hair spread in a light brown and caramel swirl on the pillow. “I’m taking care of you.”

I let my gaze trail down her body, over the shape of her, the limbs that give the impression of length despite her average height. Over the mounds of her breasts and little brown nipples. I continue my perusal over the gentle slope of her abdomen and navel. Hooking my hands into her waistband, I drag the pajama bottoms and panties off her body. “I want you to lie back and relax”—I kiss her knee—“and allow me the great honor of servicing you.”

Her eyes go wide, then she shakes her head. “I can’t do that.”

I trail kisses up her leg toward her center, shifting my body until I’m between her thighs. “Why not?”

“Because it’s selfish ...” I think she intended to sound outraged, but I give my first sucking kiss of her clitoris halfway through her sentence, and she trails off on a blissful sigh.

“It’s not selfish to give me what I want.” I lift my head to make eye contact. “Let me take care of you.”

“But I should—”

“You should lie there and tell me what feels good.” I swirl my thumb across her clit and ease a finger inside her silky heat.

“Ohhhh.”

“If you’d rather I hold you instead of sex, you’ll tell me. If I do something that hurts you, you’ll tell me. If I make you feel good ... You. Will. Tell me.”

“Will I?” she breathes.

I give her my sternest scowl. “You will.”

“You—” She gasps in pleasure, as I kiss her clit once more and ease another finger inside. “Really like control.”

“I don’t like control, love. I need it.”

“That feels . . . I can’t . . . talk when you . . . Oh.”

Sliding my palm up her thigh in a long, sweeping motion, I come to rest on her hip, my grip firm, but not rough, bracing her as I work her pussy with my mouth.

“That feels amazing. So . . .”

I take my time pushing her up until she tips over that edge. When she orgasms, she cries out, her thighs clamping against my ears.

Franki is delicious. Warm, and wet, and ready. I kiss her shoulder and brace myself over her, fitting myself between her thighs. Then I shackle both of her wrists in one of my hands. Not tightly. She can be hurt too easily for that. Just enough for her to feel me holding her in place.

She gasps as my cock bumps and glides through her wetness, grazing her clit. I dip my head to tongue one tight nipple.

“Ohh.”

I speak quietly near her ear. “Do you want it hard and fast? Or do you want it sweet and slow?”

She squirms and thrusts up against me, attempting to catch me and draw me inside, as she makes a sound somewhere between a gasp and an incoherent sob.

I smile against her skin. “Use your words.”

“I want whatever you want.”

I want her out of her head with pleasure, whatever it takes to get her there.

“Then I’ll give you both.” Brushing a kiss over her eyelids, I ease inside. Her snug heat envelops my cock, squeezing and flexing. We both groan in pleasure.

Slowly, I slide nearly all the way out, then just as gently, push inside. I bottom out and watch her face and body language. All I read from Franki is bliss. I’m gentle. Slow. Pacing us. Occasionally, kissing her. More often, watching her. I’ll pick up the pace later. Regardless, I have to stay cognizant of her reactions. Always careful I won’t exacerbate her RA or cause her pain. Her SI joint dislocates easily, so I’m measured in my responses.

I can’t hold her wrists, keep the majority of my weight off her, and stimulate her clit at the same time this way. I need to consider changing positions slightly so I can reach her, but also maintain her comfort. I should—

She attempts to pull her hands from my grip, so I release her.

Franki cups my face. “Henry,” she gasps. Quietly. Teasingly.

I swallow, even as I continue my slow, gentle, relentless ride. “Yes?”

“I love you.”

I search her eyes, tenderness flooding my system. “I love you too.”

“Close your eyes.”

I can’t see her reactions if I do, but I’ll never deny her, so I acquiesce.

Then a black cloak hides her from my sight, one of my senses cut off entirely, even as I can’t stop myself from seeking her behind my eyelids.

She kisses me, hands still on my face. “Time for you to stop thinking and fuck me.”

Her words break something free inside me. I don’t let go entirely, still aware of her body language, but I’m doing it through feel now. Through the sensations I’m absorbing. Through instinct and the taste of her. The delicate feminine scent.

I’m intensely aware of the searing pleasure and desire in my own body. I want to fuck her.

In this moment, with her untrammeled encouragement and enthusiasm, hidden in the dark and unable to keep my thoughts coherent, the urge to rut on her is impossible to resist. I draw out, then slam back into her, my balls slapping against her ass when I sheathe myself to the hilt.

“Yes. Yes, Henry,” she says.

I try to keep my head one last time. “I need to know you’ll stop me if I hurt you.” The words are a grating demand, forced through vocal cords that have forgotten how to function.

“I promise.”

I trust her to be my partner and to know what she wants. I fuck her. Harder than I ever have. Over and over. I pound my way into her body. She feels like heaven. The way she squeezes me. Her damp skin against the entire length of me as I forget to hold myself away from her and make full body contact. Her breasts soft against the hard planes of my chest, nipples tight little peaks.

She wraps her legs around my back, locking her ankles, and meeting every one of my thrusts with her own.

Open-mouthed kisses. Hers. Mine. The scratch and claw of her fingernails on my back. Her breathy little gasps of pleasure. The relentless beat in my body and heart. Love her. Love her.

She nudges my shoulder. “Roll over.”

I let her take me with her until she’s on top, and I open my eyes to look into hers. She bites the side of her bottom lip and takes me back inside. My hips punch up; my hands a vise grip on her ass driving her down.

She gasps, and we work together, pushing each other closer and closer to orgasm.

I can’t come yet. Not yet. Not. Yet.

She rolls again, and I stay inside her, leaning back on my knees and reaching for a pillow. Finding one and, lifting her, sliding it under her ass.

There. There.

I brace myself with one hand on the headboard and loom over her. “Touch your clit. I want to feel you come on my cock.”

She does. The rapid movement of her circling fingers brushing and bumping into me as I piston into her.

“So good. You feel so good inside me,” she gasps.

Her encouragement drives me. My spine buzzes, sending radio static into my brain and groin. Incoherent pleasure. Love. Lust. Franki tightens on me, her walls squeezing and fluttering. Jerking beneath me. Around me.

I lose my last fingertip hold on control, as release tears through me. My mind sheets white, and nothing has ever felt so good.