Chapter Thirty-Six - Mirabelle
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Mirabelle
WE TOOK THE town car for ourselves. Henry at least had the courtesy to tell Wilson and Andrew via text after we’d already left.
I’m slightly buzzed from the champagne I drank tonight, feeling more giggly and confident than usual, if that’s even possible.
Henry tugs my dress up my thighs as I straddle his waist, kissing down the open collar of his neck as the tinted windows block us from everyone outside. The bowtie was pulled loose within seconds of us climbing into the car, and his jacket was discarded on the seat next to us. Honestly, I don’t think I care at this point if the dress accidentally rips, but I would feel bad telling Emily.
I kiss Henry roughly, his calluses scraping deliciously over my thighs, and I can’t wait to feel them everywhere. The thought causes me to press my lips harder against his, dragging my fingers through his hair.
I need to know what everything feels like with Henry.
Everything before now— before Henry —feels like practice for the big game, and I am so fucking ready for this.
He pulls my dress up again, and I break apart from him, my breathing ragged. “Careful, Emily will kill me if it’s ripped,” I warn, sitting up to help shimmy the fabric up over my hips.
“I’m not going to rip it,” Henry says, his hair tousled sexily from running my hands through it for the last couple of minutes.
He runs his hands up the backs of my thighs, cupping my ass in his hands.
“You’re not wearing any underwear?” he asks, his voice low, and I shake my head, undoing the buttons of his vest.
“No bra either.” I shift, straddling his waist more freely.
Henry drops his head back against the window, looking at me in amazement. “You are something else.”
“Or I just had high hopes for tonight . . .”
“Would it be presumptuous if I were to say the same?”
“How many things do you think we can check off that list?” I ask, ideas floating through my head, and the predatory gleam that forms in his eyes tells me Henry’s on board. “You could tie me up and have me any way you want. I’m pretty flexible so it could be fun, or you could fuck me in front of a mirror so I can see how perfectly we fit together? I wouldn’t mind practicing my blow job—” Henry silences me by clashing his lips against mine, devouring me with the hunger of a desperate man. Our noses bump as I try to keep up, his hands squeezing my hips, pulling me against him.
Fuck, I can feel how drenched I am.
Call me insane, but I love that Henry doesn’t treat me like I’m made of glass.
My hands are shaking as I fumble with the buttons on his shirt, accidentally scattering a few of them as they pop off. I pull away, unable to stop myself from laughing and Henry’s smile is wide. “I’m not allowed to rip your dress, but you can wreck my shirt?”
“Exactly,” I say, as Henry combs his fingers through my hair, wrapping the long curls around his hand, tipping my head back to expose my neck to him. “I want you.”
This time, his lips are featherlight as they kiss the rapid pulse in my neck, and I shift my hips, grinding against the bulge in his pants. “You have me,” he says, scraping his teeth gently over the sensitive spot, removing the remaining hand on my waist to slide it up the side of my body to the strap of my dress. Fuck . I’m highly aware of every sensation, and a moan slips from my mouth as Henry alternates between sucking and biting at my skin. He chuckles against my collarbone as I shamelessly roll my hips, the seam of his zipper rubbing against my clit as I drag my hands over his powerful shoulders.
“So needy,” he says, exposing my breast, flicking his tongue teasingly over my sensitive nipple. “You’re fucking precious.”
“Fuck.” I gasp, feeling a sharp pinch as he pulls my hair harder, only heightening the pleasure by blowing cool air on my skin.
“Too much?” he asks, lifting his head to check on me. Henry releases his grip, massaging my scalp as my body craves more, and I have never felt more cherished.
“Is that all you got?” I challenge, trusting him more than I’ve ever trusted anyone.
“Not even close, mon c?ur ,” Henry says, while his hand is trailing up my inner thigh.
He drags a finger over my slit, testing to see if I’m ready for him. “Goddamn, you’re soaked.” Henry locks eyes with me as he slowly pushes a finger in me, but it’s not enough. I shift impatiently, and he adds a second, maintaining the agonizing pace as the nerves in my body threaten to skyrocket.
“Please,” I whimper as he swirls his thumb over my clit, pleasure shooting through every single nerve ending in my body.
“Please what?” Henry asks, and my breath hitches as I grab onto his shoulder and the ceiling for balance as I move, seeking more friction. I’m getting close.
The car hits a bump that forces Henry’s fingers deeper into me, and I gasp at the feeling. “More, please,” I moan, and he smiles like the devil, curling his fingers and hitting the right spot that makes my legs quiver as I ride his hand, staring directly into his hazel eyes. He’s watching me intensely, and I fucking love it.
“That’s it, pretty girl. Make a mess on my hand. Tell me how much you like my fingers fucking your needy pussy.”
Henry and his filthy mouth are definitely to blame for the praise kink I’m developing.
I don’t care that the driver can likely hear what we’re doing. I don’t care about anything but the way Henry makes me feel, his thumb increasing the pressure on my bundle of nerves at the same time he adds a third finger, pushing me over the cliff.
Henry covers my mouth with his other hand, smothering the sound of my cry as my hips move erratically as he continues fingering me through my orgasm. “Fuck, you did so good. So fucking good,” he whispers, kissing my forehead as I struggle to catch my breath, wiping his hand on his pant leg.
Henry kisses me sweetly, and at the same time, there’s a knock on the partition.
Oh shit. The car isn’t moving.
“Just a moment,” Henry calls out, and I realize half his chest is exposed because I totally wrecked his shirt.
I slide off his lap, tugging my dress into place. Henry pulls his wallet out of the pocket of his jacket, passing it to me as I blink in surprise. “Henry, your shirt makes you look like you’re on the cover of a Regency romance book. You need it more than me.”
He looks down at himself, shaking his head as he shrugs. “I’m fine. Put the jacket on, Mira.”
Another knock on the partition leaves no room for argument as I quickly slip into the jacket as Henry adjusts his pants, but it does nothing to hide his not-so-little problem. I grab a few buttons off the seats as Henry opens the door, offering me a hand to help me out.
He motions for me to go toward the house as he moves to talk to the driver, and I catch a glimpse of cash that Henry hands to him as I pull his jacket tightly around me. I’m not sure I even want to know how much Henry gave him, but I hope it’s enough to keep him from selling the story of us getting freaky in the back of a town car.
Using the keys in the pocket of Henry’s jacket, I unlock the front door, punching in the alarm code before hanging the jacket on the coat rack. Wilson will never let us live it down if we leave clothes in the hallway again.
The door opens again when I’m halfway up the stairs, and seeing how disheveled Henry looks already has my body screaming for him to touch me again.
Henry enters his bedroom seconds after me, his shirt hanging completely open now as he shuts the door behind him. The air feels charged with electricity as Henry watches me reach to pull down the zipper of my dress, letting it fall to the floor and slipping out of my heels.
Henry shrugs out of his shirt, and my breath catches as he walks toward me, undoing his belt.
“Where do you want me?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“I want you in charge.”
His throat bobs as he stares at me like I’m one of the Seven Wonders of the World. “Get on the bed, Mirabelle.”
I climb on the bed, watching Henry in awe as he undresses, never breaking eye contact with me. He moves toward the bedside table, and I shake my head. “What if you didn’t wear one?” I ask, my intrusive thoughts slipping out, and Henry’s eyes widen in shock. Oh shit. “I mean, if you want to, we absolutely can use a condom. I got tested after Reid, and everything came back negative. I’ve just never gone without, and I have an IUD so I’m not trying to baby trap you, actually, I think I’ll just stop talking now,” I say, clamping my jaw shut, crossing my arms over my chest. Bad idea, Mirabelle.
Henry shakes his head as he sits on the bed next to me. “Mira, can I talk without you interrupting me?”
I nod, pulling my lower lip into my mouth to chew on it.
“You surprised me by suggesting it, and I don’t think you asked so you could trap me by getting pregnant. I’ve never had sex without one, probably because I’ve never trusted someone enough to try it, but if you want to, then I’m okay with it. I like the idea of us having a first together.”
“Yeah?” I ask, sitting up slowly.
“Yeah. Now come here and kiss me.” Henry takes my hand, pulling me toward him, finally picking me up so I’m straddling his waist. “You’ll tell me if you want to stop?” he asks, brushing my hair over my shoulders.
“I’ll tell you, but I’m not going to want to stop.”
Henry sighs, pulling me closer where I can feel his hard length against my thigh. “I know you said you want me in charge, but I need you to know that if you tell me to stop, I will.”
“I know.”
He tilts his head, kissing me sweetly, and I relax, losing myself in the moment. Henry’s tongue dances against mine, and a small groan escapes from my mouth, causing his restraint to snap. Henry palms my breast with one hand, still sensitive from my orgasm in the car, and his other wraps around his cock, fisting it. I pull away, looking down between us to watch, sliding my own hand down to touch myself.
“Can I?” I ask, looking up at Henry.
“Later,” he promises, kissing me. Henry lowers my back to the sheets, breaking our bruised lips apart. “Let me feel you,” he mumbles, his fingers taking the place of my own. He starts with two, and I lift my hips up, silently asking for more, and he adds a third. “Fuck, you’re so ready for me,” he says, branding my skin as his mouth burns with unspoken promises.
I drag my nails over his back as he curls his fingers before withdrawing them torturously. “ Henry, j’ai besoin . . .” 47
“Je sais, mon c?ur,” 48 he says, lifting his eyes to meet mine as he pulls one of my legs up to wrap around my waist, lining up our hips. I can feel Henry’s body trembling against mine, and he slowly pushes in, moans filling the room from both of us.
Henry kisses me, my eyes falling shut in ecstasy as I hook my leg tightly around his waist, frantically trying to meet his thrusts. “Fuck me, mon c?ur, ” I whisper against his lips, my skin burning hot as pleasure threatens to burn me alive from the inside out.
He moans through gritted teeth as he hooks his hand under my other hip, bracing himself to thrust deeply.
I love you.
I rake my nails over his shoulders as the crescendo builds, and I lose myself in the feeling of Henry completing me.
I love you, Henry Price.
The words burn in my throat but I swallow them back as Henry threatens to consume me, my body singing underneath his.
My hand grasps for the sheets around me, and Henry entwines his fingers with mine, his jaw clenching. I think I finally understand why they say eyes are the windows to the soul. Looking into Henry’s, I see more than I’m able to understand, and I wonder what he can see in mine. Probably the truth.
I feel exposed, like my chest is cracked wide open for Henry to see. That while he calls me his heart . . . my heart beats for him. I’m not sure my heart will ever beat for anyone else.
His breathing turns ragged as Henry’s hips start to move more erratically, rocking his pelvis against my clit, the stimulation enough to make my body shatter for him a second time. Henry follows, falling in step with me, my head spinning deliriously as I try to commit the sounds he’s making to memory.
Except, the higher you rise, the harder you fall.