Chapter Five
Juliette
I’m lying on the sofa, crushed beneath Henry, who’s kissing me senseless, while the warm summer breeze blows in through the windows across us like a sirocco wind.
In the distance, one of the bars is playing old love songs, and strains of Dr. Hook’s A Little Bit More drifts in with the breeze. Henry hums it, then starts laughing, and I giggle against his lips as he sings the wonderful, cheesy lyrics.
He’s so relaxed and confident in his sexuality, evident in the way his erection sprang to life without any effort, so it seems, and is now pressed against my hip in all its glory. He wants me, and the thought brings tears to my eyes.
Mmm… he kisses like a god. I can’t remember the last time I made out like this. It’s going to take a while, he told me, and, true to his words, he kisses me with agonizing slowness, pressing his lips all over my face. He kisses my cheeks, my eyebrows, my closed eyelids, my nose, up my jawline to my ear, and beneath the lobe to my neck, which makes me shiver in his arms.
“You like that?” he murmurs, touching his tongue to the place where my pulse beats in my throat.
I sigh. “Yes…”
So he does it again, kissing down to the hollow at the base of my throat, then back up the other side, taking his time to touch his tongue to the sensitive skin there.
I lie calmly, but my mind feels like a pinball machine, the ball bearing shooting around at a million miles an hour. Is it over with Cam? I shouldn’t be doing this until I’m sure. Cam is my partner. He’s the only man I’ve ever been with. We rent an apartment together. I love him. At least I think I do. I’ve been faithful to him, and even though deep down I admit to having been attracted to Henry from the start, we’ve never come close to doing anything about it. Does it matter that I’ve thought about it? Especially over the last year or two? Does it count as cheating if it’s all in the mind?
In Sanskrit, intention is called Samkalpa, and it’s seen as more than mere thought—it’s caused by desire, which directs you toward a purpose or goal. It means that subconsciously, I’ve always wanted Henry. My desires have led me down this path. I’ve manifested this outcome. I came to this hotel because I knew this was going to happen. I’m fooling myself if I think anything different.
I think of the Rubik’s Cube, me turning the sides, passing it to Henry, him completing the puzzle, then passing it back, our fingers occasionally grazing, exchanging a secret, hidden message, but never when Cam was around. In my mind, I cheated on Cam years ago.
Even though he cheated on me in every sense of the word, does that make it right to cheat on him physically? Am I trying to pay him back? The universe doesn’t carry debts, and what you give is always returned to you. Karma has no menu—you get served what you deserve. Epithets run through my mind, but the outcome is the same—Karma isn’t about tit for tat. I can’t do this to punish Cam. I want to be a better person than that.
I’m not being fair to Henry either. I’m in such a muddle. My old relationship is still clinging to me like cobwebs. I should shake them free first, before I let him anywhere near me.
Henry lifts his head, obviously sensing something. He looks into my eyes. “Are you okay?” he murmurs.
“I’m not being fair,” I whisper.
“To Cam?”
“Or to you.”
“To me?”
I cup his face. “I’m a mess. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
He studies me for a moment. His hair falls over his forehead. I can still feel his erection against my hip. It’s in proportion to the rest of him. Oh God… I have to fight not to groan. I’m only human. I can smell his cologne, mixed with the warm scent of his skin. I can taste whisky on my lips from where he kissed me.
This is nothing to do with Cam. It’s all about me, and the man lying on top of me. I’ve wanted him ever since I met him. That’s why I’m here.
His eyes flare, and I realize then that I’ve tilted my hips up to feel him.
He shifts so he’s nestling between my legs, then rocks his hips so he grinds against me. “You look like you know what you’re doing to me,” he comments silkily.
A moan escapes my lips. He’s cruel, but he’s correct. I know what I want. I want his mouth on mine. I want him inside me.
“It’s not fair to you…” I whisper.
He looks amused. “I don’t care, as long as I get what I want.” His gaze is direct, demanding. Ooh. I’d forgotten that the quiet, gentle Henry is also a rich, powerful businessman.
“You want me to stop?” he asks, rocking his hips again. The root of his erection presses right against my clit. “You’ve got to tell me.”
I open my mouth to say the words, but nothing comes out.
His lips curve up a little more. He takes my hand and links my fingers with his. Then he lifts it above my head and pins it there. Bending his head, he presses his lips to the sensitive skin under my arm, and my nipples tighten in my bra.
“Tell me to stop, Juliette,” he says, his voice husky, his breath hot on my skin, “and I’ll stop.”
I shudder. God help me, but I can’t say it.
He looks back at me, and his expression is triumphant and a tad smug. “Good girl,” he states.
“I hate you,” I tell him.
He just laughs as he kisses down my throat again. “Yeah, yeah.”
Ahhh… all those years of being so close to him and not being able to touch him… My desire has been contained and restricted, and now it overflows and begins to drown me. He kisses my mouth again and releases my hand, and I run my fingers over the short hair on the back of his head, feeling a surge of pleasure as he shivers. I’m affecting him as much as he’s affecting me.
He kisses me for ages, until my lips feel puffy and tender, until I’m aching with need for him. My body feels as if it’s a tuning fork that’s been struck and is humming a single long note. I brush my hand down his back to the base of the Henley and slip my fingers beneath the material, desperate to feel his skin. He’s hot, as if he has a temperature. Our desire is burning us both up. We’re going to self-combust, and they’ll find us days later, just a pile of ash amongst a scatter of clothes and shoes.
Eventually, he lifts his head. His pupils have dilated, and his eyes look almost black. He rises from the sofa, surprisingly agile for a big guy, and holds out a hand to me. I take it and let him pull me up. Ooh, the room spins a little.
“I’m tipsy,” I tell him.
“Yeah, me too.” He cups my face and brushes a thumb across my bottom lip. “You want me to stop?”
“God, no.”
Laughing, he takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom.
The sliding doors here are open a little, and the room is warm and smells of the jasmine growing in pots below us. Fat Larry’s Band is singing Zoom, a song that makes me feel happy.
“At last,” Henry says, “I get to unwrap my perfect Christmas present.”
I smile and turn my back to him. “Can you undo the safety pin there?” I gesture to my shoulder blade.
He does as I ask, sliding it out of the material and leaving it on the bedside table. “I’ve always wondered how you put a sari on,” he murmurs.
“I’ll show you. Hold this.” I take the material over my shoulder and give him the end to hold. After undoing the pin at my waist, I move back a few steps, letting the silk pleats fall away. Then I turn around so the material unwinds, until eventually I’m left with the last loop tucked into my petticoat.
“Fascinating,” he murmurs, folding the silk. To my surprise, he presses his nose to it briefly before he puts it on the table, the same way I sniffed his shirt.
Self-conscious now, I undo the tie of the petticoat, push it down, and step out of it.
He grabs a handful of the Henley behind the back of his neck and tugs it off, then runs a hand through his hair, which does nothing at all except show me the size of his biceps and nearly cause me to faint. We both have light-brown skin, but mine has cool, jewel undertones, whereas Henry’s has golden earth tones, making me think of warm summer days by the beach.
He moves closer to me and kisses me as he undoes the buttons of my blouse. My heart hammers as he moves the sides apart to reveal my breasts in the white demi-cups. He pushes the blouse off my shoulders, then, keeping his gaze on mine and smiling, he slides his hands behind me, undoes my bra, draws the straps down, and tosses it away.
He pulls back the duvet, then lifts me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. Climbing onto the bed, he then lowers me down onto my back.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,” he says, shifting to the side a little so he can admire me. He strokes a hand down to my breasts and studies them, his hot gaze like a laser burning into my skin.
“Henry!” I tease, my face flushing. “It’s rude to stare.”
“I’m admiring the view.” He traces a finger around the areola. “They’re lighter than I thought they’d be. Like caramel.”
“You’re not supposed to compare skin color to food.”
“And milk chocolate,” he says, ignoring me as he touches the tip with his finger. “I wonder if they taste as sweet as they look.” He covers one with his mouth, and I feel his tongue brush over the sensitive skin before he sucks gently.
Pleasure ripples through me, and I groan.
“Mm,” he murmurs. “They do.” He looks up at me. “Want me to stop?”
I glare at him.
He chuckles and swaps to my other breast, brushing his thumb across the nipple so it tightens into a bud.
I squirm. “Ah… Henry…”
He trails the tip of his tongue around the edge, then closes his mouth over it and sucks. Ohhh… it’s an amazing sensation, and I feel an answering tug deep down inside me.
He does this for ages, swapping between them, until both nipples are glistening, elongated, and throbbing. Then he lifts up and hooks his fingers into the elastic of my knickers.
He looks at me and waits.
Damn him—he’s going to make me admit I want this every step of the way.
I nod, and he peels them down my legs and tosses them away.
Then, bare chested and gorgeous, he moves between my legs, hooks his arms under my knees, and tugs me down so I’m lying flat. Finally, completely brazen and uncaring, he parts my thighs and stares hungrily at me.
Looking up at me, he waits. I cover my face with my arms. “Yes,” I hiss. “Please…”
He exhales with a sigh that turns into a groan, lowers down, and buries his mouth in me.
“Yeah…” He exclaims. “So sweet…”
I shiver as he slides his tongue through my folds and sighs. Parting me, he licks all the way down to my entrance, then back up to my clit, which he covers with his mouth. He sucks gently, and I shudder as pleasure ripples through me.
Lifting his head, he circles the pad of his forefinger slowly over the tiny button. “You’re more beautiful than I could have imagined,” he murmurs. “And you taste amazing.” He buries his mouth in me again, and I slide my hand into his hair with a groan.
“Oh that’s so good,” I tell him, unable to stop rocking my hips to meet the movement of his tongue.
“Yeah, baby, tell me what you like. Softer? Harder? Faster? Slower?” He flicks my clit with the tip of his tongue.
“Mmm… slower… softer…”
He licks more slowly, long licks as if he’s eating an ice cream, then sucks gently on my clit. At the same time, he teases my entrance with a finger, then turns his hand palm up and slides two fingers inside me. Ahhh… this guy is driving me insane.
“Good, baby?” he asks.
“Oh yes… Don’t stop…”
“I won’t.” Now he knows how I like it, he keeps the rhythm going, stroking his fingers inside me, and licking and sucking until the tension starts to build.
I tighten my fingers in his hair. “Henry,” I whisper. “Ohhh…”
“That’s it, baby girl, come for me…” He presses his fingers up gently as he strokes them in and out—oh shit, I have a G spot?—and continues to lick and suck, and there’s no way I’m going to survive that. It’s intense, ooh, wow, a sudden tightening of everything, and then the pulses claim me, and I cry out with each one… Oh God…
When they finally end, I fall back, panting.
I close my eyes, feeling him shift, taking off his boxers. Finally, he moves over me. When I eventually open my eyes again, he’s leaning over me, smiling.
He licks his lips, his gaze turning sultry. “You taste nice.”
I blink slowly, hearing warning bells, way off in the distance. I’m more drunk than I realized. But it’s too late now. I couldn’t stop even if my life depended on it. I want this man desperately. I’ve had years of wondering, of fantasizing about him, even though I’ve hated myself for it, and now he’s here, and I don’t have to wait any longer.
He lowers to kiss me, and as he does, I wrap my arms and legs around him and tighten them. He laughs and falls on top of me.
“Steady,” he mumbles, tangling his hand in my hair. “We’ve got all night.”
“I can’t wait, Henry.” I move my hips, trying to encourage him to enter me, and moan as I feel the tip of his erection press against me.
“Jesus. Wait, I want to get you ready…”
“I’m ready now.” I tilt my pelvis up. He enters me a fraction, and then, unable to fight it, he pushes forward.
We both groan as he slides in, right up to the hilt in one smooth thrust. Christ, he’s so thick and hard. I can feel him all the way up. And it was so effortless.
“You’re driving me insane,” he says hoarsely.
I look up at him, into his gorgeous blue eyes, and clench my internal muscles so I’m gripping him. He blinks slowly, then begins to move with long, deep thrusts, almost withdrawing before burying himself back inside me again.
Oh he wants me, and I’m so happy I could cry. As he kisses me, I stroke up his arms, then across his broad back, feeling his defined muscles. He’s so big—I love that. His mouth moves over mine, and then I part my lips and our tongues tangle, and we both groan again.
This was what I wanted—to be desired, to be needed. He’s trying to take it slow, but I can feel the willpower it’s taking him to hold back. And when he gives in to his body’s urge to thrust and goes deeper, I moan against his lips.
He lifts his head, breathing hard. “Slowly,” he scolds. “Let’s make it last.”
But I shake my head. “No. Please.”
He sighs and kisses me. “All right, baby girl. Tell me what you want?” He kisses my nose. “What do you need?”
“I just want you to want me.”
“I do, Juliette. Can’t you tell?”
“Show me how much.” I don’t know how to make it any clearer. I’m too shy to tell him I want him to fuck me as if his life depends on it.
He looks into my eyes, and he must see the yearning in them, because he withdraws with a growl. Before I can complain, he moves off me, tugs my arm, and rolls me over onto my front. Then he pushes up my knee, positions himself between my legs, and guides himself down into me again.
“You should be careful what you wish for,” he states, lowering down so his mouth is close to my ear. Then he pushes his hips forward and buries himself inside me again.
I moan and bite the pillow. Oh, in this position he’s so deep…
“Like this, Juliette?” he asks silkily, beginning to thrust.
“Yes…” I whisper. “Oh God, yes…”
He wraps my hair around his hand and pulls it so I have to lift my head. “I can’t hear you,” he murmurs in my ear.
“Ahhh… yes…” I close my eyes. “Please…”
He gives in and starts to thrust properly, driving into me until his hips meet the back of my thighs with an audible smack.
I squeal and bury my face in the pillow again. He’s hot and heavy on top of me, and I can’t do anything as he thrusts inside me except lie there and take it, and it’s so damn marvelous it makes me want to cry, and oh God I’m definitely drunk, but it’s absolutely amazing and I can’t stop now…
He slides a hand beneath me and tugs my nipple, and I clench around him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers in my ear. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed about this? Fantasized about having you at my mercy?” He slows down a little, driving me mad with his slow, leisurely thrusts. “I’d watch you in the boardroom, talking about everyday things, and I’d picture you like this, bent over the table, naked beneath me, your gorgeous hair spread over your back, and I’d imagine what your breasts and nipples looked like, and how you tasted…”
“Ahhh… Henry…”
“And I’d wonder what you sound like when you come, and how it would feel to know I’d given you pleasure…”
I groan. I can already feel it building inside me again. “Oh God…”
“Are you going to come for me again, angel?”
“Yes…”
He steps up the pace, pounding into me, and that’s it—it’s too much—I clamp around him and squeal as I clench, so powerfully it makes me see stars.
He doesn’t stop, thrusting all the way through my climax, and I come and I come, so hard it almost hurts.
“Ah I’m so fucking in love with you,” he says as he drives into me, “you’re mine now, say it.”
“Henry…”
“Say it.”
I bite my bottom lip. I don’t want to say it. But I didn’t know it was going to be like this. He’s usually so quiet and gentle, and I was unprepared for how amazing it feels to have his big, powerful body taking me, and how I feel overwhelmed not just from the pleasure, but from the thought that he wants me.
He thrusts harder. “Say it,” he demands.
Tears run down my face. “I’m yours.”
He slams into me a few last times, then stiffens. His hips jerk, and I feel him twitch as he comes, the muscles in his arms hardening to rock where he’s supporting himself.
He groans as he empties into me, and then his breaths come in huge gasps as his body finally relaxes.
We stay like that for a moment, unable to move, like two wolves knotted together. Then, eventually, he withdraws and lowers onto the mattress, so he’s facing me.
“Jesus,” he says.
I can’t move. I lie limply, tears trickling down my cheeks, looking at him helplessly.
“Ah, baby,” he says. He reaches down, retrieves the duvet, and tugs it up over us. Then he says, “Come here.” He puts his arms around me and pulls me close.
I curl up against him. He smells warm and sexy. I wipe my face as he strokes my hair. Half of me expects him to apologize for upsetting me, for demanding that I say I’m his.
He doesn’t. But he does lower his lips to mine and give me a long, gentle kiss.
I snuggle up to him, and I feel his lips press against the top of my head.
“Go to sleep,” he says, stroking my back.
And, worn out from the emotion and the pleasure, I do.