Chapter Twenty-Seven - Mirabelle
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Mirabelle
I THOUGHT I would hate having the house to myself, but it’s kind of nice. If I wanted to snoop—which I don’t—this would be a golden opportunity.
I had the chance to call Emily to fill her in on everything, but it’s beginning to occur to me I can’t spend all my time with Henry and his teammates because when they leave, who will I have here?
The Panthers are playing in the Thursday Night Football game this week, so they left yesterday for Colorado. I took full advantage of not having the guys here to check something off my list. I didn’t need Henry to be present to skinny dip with me, and like he said, it’s about me feeling more comfortable. It probably sounds dumb, but there was something so freeing about it. There’s plenty of space between the houses next to Henry’s, along with a tall privacy fence blocking the view. I almost chickened out, but it was an awful day at work, and I wanted to feel like I had accomplished something. So, I waited until the sun was setting and turned off the string lights over the pool before going for a swim.
It was definitely needed after dealing with Miley’s snide comments all day since Stacey traveled with the team, and I think I might need to start keeping a stress ball in my work bag for me to squeeze while I pretend it’s her head. I don’t think that will get me sent to HR, whereas anything I’m tempted to say definitely would.
The game is playing in the background as I scroll through Henry’s social media pages, trying to find which posts have the highest engagement so we can continue boosting his presence with the younger demographic of fans.
His endorsements seem to do pretty well, but there’s definitely a higher level of engagement on posts where he’s shirtless. I can’t blame anyone for liking those pictures, as the thought of printing and framing them has definitely run through my brain before. Of course, the real thing is so much better.
My favorite post appears to be everyone else’s favorite as well, with over a million likes.
It’s the one Henry posted to fulfill his deal with Stacey, and damn, he’s good. He probably could have even captioned it Sugartits , and no one would have batted an eye. Henry must have taken the picture during the plane ride back from the last away game when I fell asleep on his shoulder. For being asleep, I honestly look pretty damn amazing.
The only part of Henry you can see is the shoulder I’m asleep on. I look peaceful with my hair falling slightly into my face, and you can see Henry’s headphone poking through my hair. It’s the exact kind of photo a girlfriend would hope her boyfriend would take of her, but it’s the caption that sells it.
The only person I’d want to listen to audiobooks with.
I’m fine. Actually—I’m swooning, but it’s fine. Everything is just fine.
My phone rings with a call from JJ and I answer, putting him on speakerphone. “Hey, JJ,” I say, while typing up notes on a separate document for Stacey to look over.
“Are you watching this shit?” he asks, clearly not bothering with niceties today.
I look up at the television mounted on the wall, my jaw falling at the abysmal score. Now I understand his frustration. “When the fuck did that happen?” I ask, as the camera pans to my uncle, who is covering his mouth with a playbook as he says something into his headset.
“Refs blew a call that allowed the Blizzards to score, and then Henry couldn’t find anyone open. Our defense fucking fell apart on their next chance, and Hill ran a forty-three-yard touchdown. We’re better than this,” JJ complains, and I groan.
“We’re a lot better than this bullshit. I have it on, but I’m not paying attention. Stacey asked me to look at engagement on Henry’s social media so that’s where my focus was,” I say, waiting to see if the camera will show Henry.
“Probably a good idea. Henry’s ego is taking quite the hit tonight, I’m sure. He’ll probably need you to kiss it better once he’s back.”
“Only if I’m lucky,” I say, my heart skipping a beat at the sight of Henry commanding the field. I look down at the matching jersey I’m wearing with his name and number on it, and I have no doubt he’ll be jealous I wore it when he wasn’t here to see it. Maybe I’ll send him a picture of me wearing it to make him jealous. He might think he’s being sly, but Henry has dropped enough damn hints about wanting me to wear his jersey, he could have obvious tattooed on his forehead. Now that’d be pretty damn ironic. “Goddamn, he’s hot.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve only heard you say that a million times,” JJ teases, before swearing at the refs for holding one of our receivers, resulting in Henry’s pass being intercepted, and run in for another fucking touchdown.
“That’s fucking bullshit,” I yell at the screen, but Uncle Owen thankfully challenges the call before Henry can get himself into trouble yelling at the referees as they show Wilson and Tyler trying to be the voices of reason with Henry and Crosby. “Get your eyes checked.”
“Mira, I hate to break it to you, but those are some very weak insults. Mom would be disappointed if she heard those,” JJ says, and if this were a FaceTime call, I’d flip him off.
“I’m sorry? You’re the one who called me,” I say, scrolling on my computer again to pull up the statistics for a different post.
“Of course I called you. Everyone here is a fucking Cougars fan, so all of them went out to the bars for specials tonight.”
“I’m sure the game is on at the bars. We have the prime-time slot tonight,” I remind him, and JJ groans.
“It’s raining?”
“That’s a weak excuse,” I say, and the replay shows there was offensive holding on the play, so not only do we get an automatic first down, we also get an extra ten yards from the Blizzards’ penalty.
“I’m homesick, okay? I didn’t feel like going out tonight because I’d rather watch our family’s team play while talking to you,” JJ admits, and I feel a little guilty for pushing his buttons.
“Aren’t Mom and Dad coming to visit this weekend? At least that’s what Hunter told me when I talked to him last night,” I say, and JJ sighs. I feel bad I’m not going, but we’re celebrating Henry’s birthday this weekend, and Andrew is flying in tomorrow around the same time as Henry. I do know Dad already purchased tickets for the bowl game Beaumont qualified for, so we’re all going to that.
“It’s just Dad and Hunt coming now, unless they decide to leave Bailey with Chris and Penelope or with Uncle Owen and Aunt Blake. I told them they could bring him along, but they don’t want it to feel like a reward for his recent behavior.”
I rub my temples at the thought of my out-of-control brother. “Dude, maybe a weekend with Chris is what Bailey needs. It’s not going well at the house.”
“I know,” he says, exhaling quietly. “Are you having any luck with him?”
“Nope. I stopped at the house for a little bit last weekend after we drove Kaitlyn back, but he wouldn’t open the bedroom door for me. I didn’t feel right barging in either. I don’t know how we’ll get through to him, but I know invading his space is not the answer.” Before Mom and Dad knew he had quit soccer, at least he was still kind of talking to everyone, even if he was a dick most of the time. They’re making him go to therapy, and since they told him, he has started giving everyone the silent treatment.
“No, I agree. I don’t know what the right thing to do is, but you’re right about that.”
“What do you think we missed that made him start acting like this?” It’s the question I’ve been asking myself the last few months. I can’t piece it together. Bailey says he doesn’t need me and he wants me to leave him alone, but then he’s mad and saying I haven’t been there, which contradicts everything. He says I did something wrong, but he won’t tell me what it is.
“Honestly? I have no clue. He was moody when I left for college, but he wasn’t like this. Do you remember the last normal conversation you had?” JJ asks, and it’s sad I have to think about what it could have been. It takes me longer than I’d like to admit.
“B called me after the fire. He was upset and asked if I was okay. That’s the last time he was our little brother to me,” I say. It breaks my damn heart to think about it.
“At least you can remember, I can’t. Didn’t think I’d have to remember the last time my brother was nice to me,” he says, and I walk to the kitchen to pour myself a healthy glass of Chardonnay. I think this calls for wine.
The conversation finds a natural pause a few minutes later as we watch Henry run in his own damn touchdown, and I jump up and down with excitement.
“God, I love your boyfriend sometimes, and right now is definitely one of those times,” JJ says, sounding a lot happier than he did ten minutes ago.
“Fake boyfriend,” I correct, but honestly, that line is so blurred right now I don’t believe my own words.
“Bullshit. You guys are dating for real, but neither of you actually realize it. When are you going to grow a pair, and tell Henry that you have feelings for him?” JJ asks, changing the topic, but I’m distracted by a flash coming from the backyard. I grab my phone and glass of wine, walking to the window to look outside.
“I’ll tell him.”
“When?”
“Whenever I feel like it,” I say, scanning the backyard another time, but I don’t see anything.
I had to have imagined it, right?
~
I’m not sure if I imagined it or not, but now that I’ve let the anxiety in, I can’t stop considering the possibility that the flash I saw could have been the arsonist. To make myself feel better, I’m sleeping in Henry’s room tonight. I’ve also locked every single possible external door and window in the house, and I even double checked to make sure I set the security system.
I didn’t tell JJ, but I did make him stay on the phone with me for the rest of the game before coming up here. I didn’t tell him what was going on, because he probably would have made me go to our parents’ house or a hotel, and I’m not hiding. I know I’m safe here, and I’m not letting anyone scare me away from my home. I’m Mirabelle fucking Walker. I’ve got this.
I sent Henry the picture of me wearing his jersey, and surprisingly, I haven’t heard from him.
They ended up losing, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. The game went into overtime and the Blizzards won with a field goal, but they fought hard.
See, now would be a totally great opportunity to steal a few more of Henry’s shirts, but I’m slowly growing my collection, starting with the shirt he gave me after Quinn made me spill coffee on mine.
Maybe Henry isn’t going to call me tonight. For all I know, I entirely misread all the hints he was dropping about wanting me to wear it.
I drop my phone on the comforter and flop on top of the bed just as my phone begins to ring. I roll over, my heart leaping when I see Henry’s name on the screen.
“Good game, Price,” I answer, trying to be smooth, but apparently I’m as smooth as a piece of sandpaper. Why would I bring up tonight’s loss when I’m attempting to flirt with him? God, I’m dumb.
Henry at least has the decency to laugh. “It wasn’t a good game, but always the optimist, Walker.”
“Sorry,” I say, laughing at my own expense.
“I’m disappointed you finally wore my jersey when I wasn’t there to see it,” he says, and I bite my lip to keep from screaming as I pump my fist into the air.
“I guess I’ll have to make it up to you.” My heart is doing flips in my chest.
“Wear it to the next game?” Henry asks, and I can hear the hope in his voice. It’s fucking adorable.
“Maybe,” I answer, trying to be coy. “I don’t think I could wear the same outfit, though.” Oh shit, what am I doing?
“Oh? Why’s that?”
I play with the edge of the jersey, rolling the fabric between my fingers. “Because I’m only wearing your jersey.”
Henry makes a choked sound, and damn, if it doesn’t make me feel good. “Fuck, Mira,” he swears.
“Where are you?” I ask, wondering how much further I can push this.
“I’m in my hotel room, wishing you were here,” he answers, before turning it back around on me. “Where are you?”
“I’m in your bed, wishing you were here.”
“Goddamn, I think you’re trying to kill me. How the hell did I get so lucky to have a woman as pretty as you in my bed, wearing my last name?”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Henry,” I tease.
“I mean it, mon c?ur . You’re beautiful,” he says.
“Thanks,” I say, looking up at his ceiling.
“So is there a reason you’re in my bed?” Henry asks, and maybe it’s because we’re on the phone and not in person, but I swear his voice gets a little deeper.
“I missed you.” I sigh, putting on my big girl pants— figuratively, of course —and I set the ball in motion. “What would you do if you were here?” I ask, giving him the opportunity to shut this down, but I hope he doesn’t.
“I’d take a moment to look at you, and then I’d kiss you.”
“What would you do next?” I ask, my voice sounding breathy.
“I would pull you into my lap and tell you how incredible you look. I’d tell you enough times that you wouldn’t have any choice but to believe me, Mira, and then I’d kiss you again, taking my time until we’re both so thoroughly out of breath, we don’t have a choice but to stop.”
“Would you touch me?” I like where this is headed.
“ Mon c?ur , I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you. I’d slide my hands under the jersey, because fuck , it took too damn long for you to wear it. I’d want to look at you in it as long as I could and memorize how you look when I play with your nipples, rolling them between my fingers the way you like as you grind against me,” he says, and I squirm, the ache between my legs begging for more pressure.
Fuck, that all sounds perfect. I definitely agree, it took too damn long for me to wear it if this is the reaction I get.
“Henry, can I touch myself?” I ask, a whimper slipping from my lips as I play the scene in my head. Not even half a second later, the phone begins ringing with a FaceTime call.
I answer, relishing the look of desire and desperation on Henry’s face. “There’s no way in hell we’re having phone sex, and I don’t get to see you come in my jersey on my bed to my words, okay?” his voice rumbles, and this is better than I imagined.
“Do I get to see you come?” I ask, and the corner of his delicious mouth quirks up, clearly liking the idea as well.
“I’ll let you see whatever you want, baby,” he says, his voice rough as he sets up the phone to let me see him and the inked body I love.
I prop the phone up in the pillows to where he can see me on the bed, and Henry’s core ripples as he takes his sweatpants off. Oh my god, he’s brave for not wearing briefs. Holy shit, I’m not even sure where to look.
“This is what you do to me, Mira. I want you more than anything,” he says, and I feel like I can’t breathe.
Am I actually doing this? Are we really going to check something off the list?
“Take your underwear off. I want to see you,” Henry instructs, fisting his cock as my mouth waters.
“I would if I had any on,” I tease, trying to prevent my nerves from getting the better of me, and his full mouth curls into a smile.
“Fuck, Mira,” he swears under his breath. “Show me how wet you are.”
“Soaked,” I answer, keeping my eyes glued to the screen as I follow his directions. I refuse to look away from him as I dip two fingers into my core, and Henry moans, squeezing the head of his cock as I circle around my clit, my breath hitching.
“Show me,” he says, and I hold them up for him to see. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he says, his abs flexing again. “Use your other hand to play with your nipple. You make the sweetest sounds when I pinch them.”
“Henry, you feel so good,” I breathe out, pretending he’s the one touching me instead of myself. I love his hands so damn much; it’s a problem.
“That’s it. Make yourself feel good, Mira,” Henry says, watching me intensely, and I’ve never felt more in control of a moment with someone else than right now. “If I were there, I’d kiss you and slide another finger in you so I can feel you gasp. I fucking love it when you do that. I want to know every sound you make as I worship your body.”
“Fuck,” I swear, pumping another finger in my core, arching my back at the feeling. It’d feel better if they were Henry’s, but it still feels pretty damn good. Who knew that phone sex could be so awesome?
“Tu es incroyable,” 26 he says, his eyes hooded as his hand quickens and I love watching him lose control as another low groan escapes from Henry’s mouth. A lock of dark hair falls across his forehead, and I’d kill to brush it back, but that would also mean we’d be in the same bed right now.
“I want to taste you. Would you like that? Fucking my face?” I ask, lost in the moment enough that I don’t feel self-conscious saying it. I don’t feel silly voicing my wants and desires to him. Henry makes me feel safe, even when he’s in a different part of the country.
Henry’s jaw clenches tightly, and he stops moving his hand as he watches me. The head of his cock is an angry red color, and looks so hard it’s painful. Why did he stop? He’s breathing heavily, and I swear, next time I have the opportunity, I’m going to trace every line of his tattoo with my tongue. I’m honestly a little surprised I haven’t done it already.
“I’d love that if it’s something you want to do,” Henry says roughly, and I nod quickly.
“Yeah. I’ll add it to the list,” I say and Henry laughs, giving me a real smile.
“Mira, it doesn’t have to be on the list for us to do it,” he says, but that sounds messy. That makes this feel too real, and as much as I want it to be, I can’t forget that this is fake.
“There’s something satisfying about checking something off a list,” I defend, my body protests as I roll on my side to face him.
“We can add it to the list, but I didn’t say you could stop touching yourself,” Henry says, raising an eyebrow. “If I were there, I wouldn’t stop until you were crying out my name so keep fucking my fingers, Mirabelle.”
My name sounds like a sin coming from his mouth, and I love it, but I’m also feeling feisty myself. “But you stopped,” I point out, and Henry laughs again, but it’s strained.
“I stopped because hearing you ask me if I’d like fucking your face almost made me come, and I’m not coming until you do. Clearly you still don’t believe me when I tell you the effect you have on me,” he says, standing up to move closer to the camera so I can see properly.
There’s a bead of pre-cum on the tip that Henry swipes with his thumb as he wraps his large hand around himself, jerking the thick length once. “I can’t wait to feel you touch me, but the thought of you enjoying it is what makes me lose it. You make me want to lose it, not anyone else,” Henry says, squeezing the head again.
“I want to see you lose control,” I say, and Henry leans back on the bed, his cock twitching as he drags his hand down it.
“Then show me how much you want to see it as you fuck your fingers pretending they’re mine. I’m not coming until you do,” he repeats, and I look away as a twinge of anxiety creeps in because what if I can’t? I mean, what if last time was a fluke? I want to see Henry, but what if— “Regarde-moi,” 27 he says, interrupting my thoughts and I exhale softly, dragging my gaze back to him.
“Quoi?” 28
“I don’t want you to worry about me. I want you to focus on making yourself feel good, okay?” Henry says softly, reading my mind perfectly.
“Okay,” I agree, lying back to let my hands return to their original positions.
“I’ve laid in that bed probably a hundred times thinking of you being in it,” Henry admits, and I turn in surprise as my core throbs. “Fucking figures the first time you’re coming in it is when I’m out of town,” he says, trying to lighten the mood.
“A hundred times?” I ask, wondering if maybe there’s a chance my hopes of Henry seeing me in a different light are working.
“Probably more.” He tilts his head, his cheeks flushing. I relax a little, swirling my fingers over my clit causing a spark of pleasure to jolt through me. I bite my lip as I slip my fingers back in, curling them to hit the right spot. “That’s it, mon c?ur. Make yourself feel good.”
Mon c?ur. I want him to call me that forever.
“ You’re making me feel good,” I correct, slowly climbing that hill again.
“Are you still using two?” he asks, and I nod, pumping them again. “Let me see them.”
I hold them out for him to see how slick they are with my arousal, and he grips himself, groaning. “Add another. Let me see how well you take them.”
I push in a third, meeting little resistance from how turned on I am, and I turn my hips to give Henry a center view. “You feel so good.” I moan, dropping my head back to let myself disappear into the pleasure.
“You’re doing great. Pinch your nipple, baby. God, I can’t wait to suck on them. I bet you’d like it if I’d bite them and kiss it better. I wonder what sound would come out of you then?”
My hips move on their own accord, chasing the high as I think of Henry doing those things. “Henry.”
“That’s it. Say my name. Tell me how much you like it when I make you feel good,” Henry says, grunting and I turn slightly to see Henry jerking himself off again. “I’m close. Tell me when, Mirabelle.”
“ When , H-Henry,” I gasp out, my climax sweeping over me, but I force my eyes to stay on Henry as his head drops back in raw ecstasy. Mini earthquakes tremor through my body as I watch Henry spill himself all over his abs, and I can’t look away.
“Mira,” he gasps out my name as my breathing hitches.
This might be the most erotic thing I’ve ever done.
Henry’s throat bobs and he smiles tiredly at me through the screen. “I need a second before we talk about what you liked and didn’t like, if that’s okay?” he asks, reaching to grab a tissue from the bedside table to wipe himself off.
“I need to get cleaned up too,” I say, forcing my jelly legs to hold me as I walk into the bathroom to clean up before returning to Henry’s bed, this time crawling underneath the covers after flipping off the lights so the only illumination in the room is coming from the phone.
“You okay?” he asks, concern knitting his eyebrows as I hold the phone in my hands.
“I’m okay,” I answer, but I’m not sure what to say.
“What did you like?”
It feels like a dumb question when the answer is all of it. I liked all of it. “Well, for one, I never thought I’d describe a dick as a work of art, but yours deserves to be in a museum or something. You’re gorgeous,” I whisper without thinking.
Henry, thankfully, doesn’t call me a weirdo when it’s probably what I deserve. “Thanks, but I’m a little attached to it, so I don’t foresee it being in a museum anytime soon. Just remember that you’re to blame when my ego hits new heights.”
“I’m shocked your ego isn’t sky-high already when you walk around with that in your pants,” I tease, causing Henry to laugh. I think the fact that we can still laugh after phone sex is a testament to how natural a real relationship would be, but I’m aware I’m mildly delusional when it comes to Henry. “Is there normally that much talking during sex? I don’t think Reid ever said anything other than ‘suck it,’ or ‘stick it in your mouth,’ but compared to what just happened, I’m not sure if my baseline is normal.”
Henry shrugs, rolling onto his side to mirror my position in his bed as he grabs the phone. “Depends on the person, but that asshole could have at least been a little more creative. I think what I liked most was when you would say something so honest, you didn’t second-guess it. Personally, I feel like during phone sex you have to be more vocal because the only way your partner can hear you is through your voice.”
“That makes sense,” I agree, making mental notes in my head. “Should I have talked more?”
“Mira, you did what felt right to you, and that’s the only thing that matters to me. I talked a little more than I normally would toward the middle because I could tell you were anxious after I said I wasn’t going to come until you did, and it seemed to help you be more in the moment instead of in your head,” Henry explains, and he’s not wrong. “That’s not a bad thing either, and I hope you don’t take it that way.”
“Are you sure?”
Henry’s eyelids droop a little, but he blinks, forcing them open. “I’m positive. A good partner adapts to their partner’s needs instead of forcing their own desires. I was just trying to adapt to you.”
“Thank you,” I say, as my heart turns to a puddle of mush.
“Anytime,” he says, yawning. “I think you wore me out. I’m about to fall asleep,” he says, his eyes falling shut out of exhaustion.
I think mine close too, but when I stir a few hours later, I see a low battery notification covering the still connected call between us. I plug my phone in, propping it up again so it’s easier to pretend that the man I’m in love with is beside me.