37. “Go Solo” - Tom Rosenthal
“Go Solo” - Tom Rosenthal
Trust him.
How the bloody hell does Henry expect me to do that after everything he’s put me through? Sure, he had explanations for those things, but what if they were nothing but lies?
And we both know they’re more than likely lies.
I push the box aside and rest my head on my knees. I’m circling back to the same mindset I had just a few days ago. I made the decision to trust Henry no matter what, and at the first sign of trouble, I’ve already abandoned him and reverted to accusing him of everything I absolved him of.
But dealing insidion? Being part of the force I’ve actively been working against? No one could expect me to trust him in spite of that. No one except Henry himself.
A picture peeks out from the stack in the box, a shot of him I took with his camera.
He’s probably sixteen in it, smiling shyly at me.
His hair was more tousled and boyish then, and it fell over his forehead, just brushing his brows.
He was always pushing it out of his face.
There’s a softness in his eyes in the photo, and I wonder if he already knew he was in love with me when it was taken.
No one else has ever looked at me quite that way.
There’s a tight knot in my chest, and if I press on it, tears will flow. So far, I’ve managed to keep them at bay. But looking at the love shining in Henry’s eyes is taking a sledgehammer to that knot. I stick the picture back in the box and put the lid back on.
No matter what he’s done, I will always love the boy he was, and I know that boy still lives inside him.
So for the sake of that boy, I’m going to trust him.
I’m going to trust that there’s an explanation for what happened.
Maybe it was another one of William’s mind games or a stupid plot meant to undermine me.
Whatever the story is, I am choosing to believe that Henry will come home and explain everything.
I just have to wait for him.
It takes three days. Three endless days of questioning everything, of calling myself a fool, of almost packing my bags and getting the hell out of Henry’s flat.
Because yes, I decided the best place to wait for him was at his penthouse.
Of course, when I made that decision, I assumed it would take a few hours for him to get back with a simple explanation on his tongue.
But as the time ticks by, my doubts grow, and I wonder if maybe William was telling the truth after all. Maybe Henry is currently awaiting trial.
I could find out from any one of the PPOs in the foyer, or from Maisie, but for some reason, that feels like disbelief. And if I’m going to put myself through the agony of waiting and believing, I’m going to do it right.
Tundra is recovering well, and I’ve been visiting him at least once a day. He’s still at the vet clinic, but he’s supposed to come home this weekend. If Henry still isn’t back by then, I’ll have to return to the palace.
I’m in the great room of the penthouse, signing some documents Maisie dropped off this morning, when the door opens. I assume it’s Roberts with a security update, so I continue scrawling my signature.
When I finally look up, my hand flies up to cover my mouth. I’ve imagined this moment so many times. Never once did I expect it to be like this.
Henry has definitely looked better. His hair isn’t styled and is on the verge of falling into his eyes like it did when he was younger.
His face hasn’t seen a razor in days and is slowly growing a dark beard.
There are lines around his eyes that weren’t there before.
His shoulders slump with a new heaviness.
I lose my grip on the files in my lap. Several of them slide off my lap and clatter onto the floor. Henry looks up, his eyes growing larger. Apparently, no one warned him that I was here.
He stops at the edge of the rug in the great room. “What are you doing here?” His voice sounds weighed down, like Atlas with the entire world on his back.
There are a million things I could say right now, a million words that could fill this space between us. I choose one. “Waiting.”
Several beats pass. “For what?”
“You.”
Pain crosses his face, and he brushes it away with his hand. “C—”
“And an explanation.”
There’s a sizzle of something in the air, the way you can smell rain while the sun is still shining. He takes one more step, crossing the boundary between hall and great room.
We are now in the same room. After three days of endless torture, it feels too good to be true.
“What makes you think there is one?” he asks.
Not taking my eyes from his, I push the papers on my lap aside. They fall to the floor with the others, but I don’t care. I stand up and take a single step in his direction. “Because I know you.”
The ache he must be feeling rises up and pours from his eyes. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Or maybe you just thought you did.”
His words echo my own thoughts from earlier so closely that I have to fight the urge to cry out. He can’t mean that. “You owe me the truth,” I say.
Sighing, he drops his hand. “I owe you a whole lot more than that.” He turns and walks to the kitchen, then returns a minute later holding a glass of amber liquid.
“I’m willing to settle,” I say.
He tosses the alcohol back in one swig. “What if it’s not what you want to hear?”
Tears press against my throat, but I swallow, hoping they’ll disappear. “You asked me to trust you.”
“You heard what my father said. It was the truth.”
Henry’s words cut deep, past sinew and muscle, straight to the bone. I didn’t realize how much I was banking on it all being fabrication. I swallow again and take another step.
When I decided to trust him, this was not the scenario I imagined. Not even close. What happened to the easy explanations and commiserating together over his asshole of a father?
“No.” It comes out firmer than I expected, as though there’s an invisible band of steel strengthening my spine.
A joy-drained laugh slips past Henry’s lips. “What do you want me to say, C? Nothing he said was a lie. I’m part of my dad’s drug empire. A big part. And I have been for a long time.”
“You’re lying.”
He shakes his head and returns to the kitchen, this time bringing back the entire bottle of whiskey. “You want the truth? Here it is.” He pours another glass and drains it. “My father threatened to hurt you if I didn’t do what he wanted. There. That’s the story.”
“I don’t believe you.” It’s my turn to shake my head. I can feel permanent lines etching their way into my forehead like steel on stone.
“Doesn’t make it any less true.”
“You wouldn’t do something like that.”
“Something like what?” There’s a flash of fire in his eyes. “Dirty business to keep the girl I love alive? Fuck yes, I would.”
“Children died, Henry!” My throat burns hot, but I will not let the tears fall.
He sets the bottle on the table without taking his eyes from mine. “He would have killed you.”
“My life is not more valuable than theirs.” I fight the sobs clawing their way up my throat. How could he?
He clears the distance between us in the time it takes me to blink, his minty breath suddenly close enough to brush across my face. “To me it is. I know that doesn’t make me a hero, but I never wanted to be one.” His eyes are liquid onyx. “I only ever wanted you.”
He plunges his hands into my hair, making me gasp, and yanks me against him. His lips meet mine, and I whimper at the contact. Devouring me, he pulls me closer with every flick of his tongue.
He walks me backward across the room, his mouth never leaving mine, and I don’t know where we’re going until I feel the cool press of the piano against my back. He drops my mouth, but only so he can suck on my earlobe, my neck, my jaw. His hands are everywhere now that he has me trapped.
I push at his jacket, and he releases me long enough to toss it to the floor.
Then those large, warm hands are back, moving across my body like he’s a painter and I’m his canvas.
I gasp when he lifts me high enough to set me on the piano.
He pushes between my legs, spreading them apart, and I cannot get enough of him.
I arch into him as he uses his warm mouth to explore. Fire courses through my veins, spreading like a disease into every last inch of me. Under my palms, his shoulders ripple. I dig my nails in as he bites my nipple through my dress.
Sliding his hand up my dress, he pulls my stockings off. He greedily reaches for my panties, not even bothering to remove them before sliding his fingers inside. “Damn it, Celia,” he groans. “You are going to be the death of me.”
I angle my hips to give him better access, which he takes without hesitation.
“I hope you’re ready to be fucked hard,” he says before increasing the speed of his fingers.
I clench around his hand, aching for him with a hunger so I can’t imagine it ever being satiated. He uses his thumb to rub circles over my clit, drawing me to the edge so fast.
I ride his hand shamelessly, not even bothering to muffle the sounds rising from my throat. He murmurs encouragingly in my ear while driving deeper and deeper into me. He curls his fingers like he’s unlocking something, and just like that, he unlocks me.
I scream as the orgasm rips through me. He chuckles into my hair and continues stroking me until I come back down.
When I finish, he presses a kiss to my hair.
The scent of him and the hot fire still coursing through my blood already make me crave him again.
He slides his wet fingers out and grabs my panties, dragging them down my legs.
When they’re off, he gently spreads my legs farther apart.
“Lean back on your hands,” he says, his voice rough as sandpaper.
I do as he says, positioning myself on top of the closed piano lid. He pushes my dress up to my waist and grins wickedly at the sight of me. “Fuck yes,” he says, and licks his lips. He pushes my thighs out even farther. I’m so grateful for yoga at this moment.
He leans forward and buries his face between my legs, kissing his way up my thighs and tracing my bikini line with his nose. I gasp at the first flick of his warm tongue. I can’t help crying out when he slides it along my opening, slowly at first, then increasing in intensity and speed.
The sensation is so intense I beg him to stop. He ignores me and continues torturing me with his tongue. It’s both not enough and too much. I can’t drag his head closer because I’m holding myself up with my hands.
Finally, he thrusts his tongue inside, and I buck against him. He holds me in place with his hands on the crease of my thighs and licks and sucks and kisses me into oblivion.
I use the piano as leverage to push against his mouth, needing him closer and deeper. He complies by using his tongue to tease me and his fingers to knead me deeply. He pulls back briefly to say, “I want to feel you climax around my tongue, baby,” then plunges it back inside me.
Within seconds, I’m teetering on the edge again. Then I crash over, this orgasm even stronger than the last. I push against him, taking everything he will give me.
When it’s over, he lifts his drenched face and grins. “You’re incredible.”
He fishes his wallet out of his pocket and pulls out a condom. Quickly unbuckling his belt, he pushes his pants down, giving me a great view of his very eager cock.
After rolling on the condom, he says, “You’ll have to come down for this one.” He helps me off the piano. “But I have another idea.” Leading me over to the dining table, he pulls out one of the chairs.
He sits down, then pulls me onto his lap, facing him. “Comfortable?” When I nod, he says, “Good. Now ride me, baby.”
I stand and position myself over him, then slowly sit back down, taking him inside me as I do so. It takes a couple of tries to get him as deep as he can go, but when he’s there, bloody hell, it feels good.
I’m already sore, but it’s way too delicious to stop now. Using his shoulders for leverage, I push myself back up, and he groans. “Fuck, baby.”
He means it as an expletive, but I take it as a directive and begin moving faster and faster. He matches my thrusts with his own. I throw my head back as the pleasure builds. He slides the side of my bodice down far enough to release one of my breasts, taking it into his mouth with long pulls.
I can feel myself tightening around him, winding tighter and tighter as he rams his cock into me. I scream his name as my third climax hits, and he releases my nipple as his own follows right behind. We cling to each other until it’s over, and by then I’m too exhausted to move from his lap.
He laughs softly as he runs lazy fingers up and down my back. “That was quite the welcome home.” He nuzzles the spot behind my ear, the one he knows makes me swoon every time. “What other dirty things did you have in mind?”