Chapter Sixteen
Juliette
Henry has listened to everything I’ve said, barely speaking, his eyes flashing every now and then as I say something that obviously upsets or angers him. As I stand there miserably, having come to no conclusions at all, I wait for him to get annoyed with me and either give me an ultimatum, or declare he’s had enough and say that, if I want Cam, I can fucking go and be with him then and stop dangling myself like a carrot in front of his nose.
But he doesn’t. I can see thoughts passing through his mind like fish in a glass tank, but he waits quietly, his blue eyes studying me while he has his silent debate.
He looks so gorgeous tonight. I can’t believe he stripped off on the stage with all the other guys. It was quite possibly the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, watching them all slide off their jackets and waistcoats and unbutton their shirts. I could no more have refused to dance with him than flown to the moon.
And now, his hair is flopping over his forehead, his eyes are sleepily tired, and he has a dark shadow of bristle on his jaw. He’s barefoot, and his shirt is only held together by two buttons in the middle, so I can see his chest hair. The smell of his cologne rises to my nostrils, warmed by his skin. My fingers itch to slip beneath the cotton and creep up his back, but I can’t do that, because he’s not mine, and I have no right to touch him, and oh jeez I’m so fucking miserable because I want this man and I can’t have him.
What’s he going to say?
His arms are still folded, but as I watch, he lowers them, his hands resting on the edge of the table he’s perching on. He tips his head a little to the side, and he fixes me with his steady gaze.
“Oh, I think you know what you want,” he says. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”
My heart stutters, and for a moment I can’t breathe.
He pushes off the table and stands, then closes the distance between us, moving right up to me, until we’re only an inch apart. He’s so tall, and even though I’m wearing high-heeled sandals, he towers over me, so imposing with his wide shoulders and broad chest.
He lowers his hands and rests them on my hips, low down, almost on the outside of my thighs. Then he begins to gather up the material of my dress.
Keeping his gaze on mine, his lips curving up as my eyes flare, he continues to gather until he reaches the hem. My heart is now thundering so loudly I’m amazed he can’t hear it.
Once again, he’s shocked me. He’s such a nice boy. Deep down, I thought the best I could hope for was a hug, and for him to tell me everything’s going to be all right, and maybe, if I was lucky, he’d give me a comforting kiss.
Instead, he pauses and waits for me to give my assent. When it comes—because I’m helpless to do anything other than nod—he lifts the dress up my body. Automatically I raise my arms, and he draws the material up over my head, then drops the dress onto the sofa.
He inhales. The only underwear I’m wearing is a white lace thong.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, eyes widening. “Are you trying to give me a coronary?”
That makes me laugh. “I wasn’t expecting you to strip me.” Despite my amusement, my eyes prick with tears, because he’s looking at me as if he’s not eaten for two weeks and someone has just placed a juicy steak in front of him.
He’s having trouble tearing his gaze away from my body, but eventually he lifts his eyes to mine, and his expression softens.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, cupping my face. He says it with such feeling, as if he’s discovered a flower in the desert.
“You still want me?” I whisper.
A gorgeous smile spreads across his face. “E mutunga kore ana taku aroha ki a koe,” he murmurs. It means ‘my love for you is endless.’
A tear spills over my lashes and runs down my cheek. He observes it, then leans forward and touches his tongue to it, lapping it up. Fuck, why’s that so sexy?
He kisses my bindi, my cheek, my nose, down to my mouth. Then he proceeds to kiss the living daylights out of me.
Ohhh… the way this guy kisses me… covering every inch of my lips, from one corner to the other… tilting his head to change the angle… slanting his lips across mine… and then sliding his tongue into my mouth with such sensual slowness that it sends bells ringing as if it’s time for Sunday service.
He’s just getting going when he lifts his head and looks at my hair, then pointedly at me.
“You want me to take it down?” I ask, and he nods and takes a step back to watch.
I slide out the Māori bone comb. Then, one by one, I take out the Bobby pins holding my bun in place. There are a few, but I don’t hurry, informed by the heat in his gaze as it skims down me that he’s enjoying the view.
Now I’m here… now I know where this is going, and that he still wants me… a strange calmness descends on me. He’s right—I know what I want. Cam’s muddied the waters over the past few days, but the surety I felt in the bathroom on Christmas Day—the moment where I knew I could only build my life with Henry once I let my old relationship die—returns to me now. I’m not cheating on Cam, because this is my new life. My body wants Henry, and my mind wants him too. It’s foolish to believe anything else.
Gradually, I release the strands of hair, and I let them unfurl and fall to my waist in waves. Henry moves forward again and sinks his hands into it, then returns to kissing me, his fingers weaving through the strands.
“So soft,” he whispers, pressing kisses up to my ear. “So silky.” He touches his tongue to the lobe and then sucks it gently, making me shiver. “Ka nui taku aroha ki a koe.” It means ‘I love you so much.’
“Ko Hinemoa, ko āhau,” I reply softly. It’s a Māori proverb that means ‘I am just like Hinemoa, I’d risk all for love.’ Hinemoa was the daughter of a great Māori chief who fell in love with a man called Tūtānekai. Because he wasn’t rich or powerful enough to ask for her hand in marriage, he loved her from a distance. Neither realized their love was reciprocated until eventually she swam across the lake to be with him.
He lifts his head to look at me, obviously realizing the way our story kind of mirrors the tale.
“I’m swimming,” I tell him. “I will get there.”
His eyes shine as he slides one hand onto my hip and holds my other hand, and then he softly sings the first verse of the well-known folk song that tells their story, called Pōkarekare Ana.
“Pōkarekare ana, ngā wai o Waiapu, whiti atu koe hine, marino ana e.” ‘They are stirred, the waters of Waiapu, but when you cross over, girl, they will be calm.’
He twirls me in a circle, then brings me back into his arms for the chorus. “E hine e, hoki mai ra, ka mate ahau, I te aroha e.” ‘Oh girl, return to me, I could die of love for you.’
Oh God, this guy is killing me.
Bending, he lifts me in his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. Suddenly full of joy that I haven’t felt in so long, I crush my lips to his. I run my hands through his hair, loving the feel of the short strands on the back of his head and the way the top bit curls slightly beneath my fingers. Then I cup his face and brush my thumbs across his cheeks, adoring his manly stubble.
“You’re going to give me bristle rash on my thighs,” I tell him, and he laughs with the same unadulterated joy that I’m feeling.
“Presumptuous,” he says, taking me over to the bed. He pulls back the duvet, then climbs on and lowers me onto my back.
“You’re not going to go down on me?” I pout.
He lowers on top of me, deliciously heavy, and touches his nose to mine. “You really think I’m going to finally get you into bed again, and not taste you?” His voice is low and sultry; I can hear the hunger in his words. I shiver, and he groans. “Every time you do that, I get a little bit harder.” He kisses down my neck to my breasts and covers one of my nipples with his mouth.
I arch my back with a moan. I’m not sure I believe he can get any harder. His erection is already like an iron bar pressed against my thigh, and I shudder at the thought of it sliding inside me.
“I’ve dreamed about this,” I whisper as he swaps to the other breast. “Every night. You haunt me, Henry.”
“Good.” He sucks hard.
“Ooh!”
He leaves my breast and kisses back up to my mouth—big, hard, wet kisses. “I want you to have no other thought in your head but me,” he demands. “During the day, and in your dreams. When someone says my name, I want it to make you clench inside as you think about me making you come.”
“Jesus.” I think I’m going to faint.
“I’m going to give you so many magnificent orgasms, you won’t be able to look at me without thinking about climaxing,” he says. “I’m going to make you sound like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally for ninety-nine percent of the day.”
“Only ninety-nine percent?” I ask, panting, as he kisses up my neck.
“You’re allowed a one-percent lapse of concentration in a dire emergency.” He chuckles and kisses my lips again. “Once you’re mine,” he says fiercely, “I expect to be a part of every thought you have.”
“I’m already yours,” I say, meaning it.
He moves back and looks at me. “No, you’re not. Not yet. But you will be. And it’s going to be amazing. Just me and you, out at Sumner Beach, making love on the deck and on the kitchen table and in the bath and on the bed.” He kisses my nose. “Or wherever else you choose to live with me. I don’t care. I just want to be with you.”
My head spins. I purposely haven’t drunk much for the past few days, wanting to try and keep a clear head, so it’s not alcohol—it’s Henry talking about us living together. If I’ve given any thought past leaving Cam and putting that relationship behind me, it was to presume I’d have to find a place of my own and live there for a while, as I dated Henry and we got to know each other more intimately. But he’s talking as if he wants me to move in with him right away.
Wow, talk about fast forward. Is that what I want? I can barely catch my breath. I’ve never been to his house, but I’d love to see it. Alex told me it cost Henry five million bucks. I bet it’s magnificent. But to live there, with him? Right now?
We get on well, but working together isn’t the same as living together. Maybe he’s untidy, or has lots of irritating habits. And I’m hardly perfect; perhaps after a few months of getting to know me he’ll grow to hate all the things he thinks are quirky and amusing right now. I can’t just move from one relationship to another without stopping at the border to show my passport.
And yet… I imagine living with this man… eating together, watching TV together… being a couple, in front of our friends and family. And sleeping beside him every night… making love with him whenever I feel like it…
And sex… oh God, what about sex? It’s not going to be complicated. I won’t have to find ways to dominate him to turn him on. It’s going to be pure and sweet and lava hot.
At that moment, he tugs me down the bed, takes my hands, and pins them above my head, and I laugh.
“What’s so amusing?” he asks, looking down at me.
“I was thinking I probably won’t have to dominate you to turn you on.”
“Yeah,” he says with a laugh, “never gonna happen. You’d better get used to that.”
“You don’t fancy being a sub?”
“Nope.” He kisses down my arm, along the sensitive skin from my elbow to my armpit, then licks all the way up it.
“Jesus, Henry! Gross.”
“I am gross. I am disgusting and perverted. I am going to lick every inch of your skin, and taste your sweat, and stick my tongue in all the darkest places of your body.”
“Oh my God.”
“There’s not going to be a single piece of you that I won’t explore, so I hope you’re prepared, my beautiful Hinemoa.” He lifts up to look at me again. “You want out?”
I shake my head.
He lifts an eyebrow. “You’re going to be permanently exhausted.”
“Don’t care.”
“You’ll have to be buried in a Y-shaped coffin.”
That makes me laugh. “Bring it on.”
He smiles. “I’m so incredibly happy right now.”
“How drunk are you?”
“Just the right amount.” He begins to kiss down my body. “I need to taste that sweet body.”
“Okay, but I don’t need a running commentary.”
“Oh I’m definitely going to give you a running commentary. I am now kissing your beautiful breasts.” He presses his lips across them. “Now I’m going to suck those soft nipples, and you’re going to moan.” He takes one in his mouth and fulfills his promise, and, despite my indignation, a quiet moan escapes me.
“Perfect,” he says. “Now I’m going to kiss over your soft belly and down to your amazing pussy.”
“Argh, don’t call it that.”
“My sweet, sweet kitty.” He hooks his fingers into my thong. “Hardly worth it,” he mumbles, sliding it down my legs and over my feet. He presses his nose to it and inhales, his eyes meeting mine.
“Henry!”
Still holding it, he moves between my legs and pushes up my knees. “Look at you, all swollen and glistening for me.”
“Oh my God.”
“Beautiful, moist, and juicy. Like fucking nectar.” He lowers the thong between my legs. Then, to my shock, he presses it against my entrance and, very, very slowly, pushes the material into me.
I gasp. “Henry!”
He ignores me. Once the material is all inside me, he gives me a hot glance, then carefully extracts the thong again. I groan at the sensation of the material being drawn through my sensitive, swollen folds. He lifts the thong to his nose and inhales, then, as I stare at him, he places it in his mouth and sucks it as he pulls it out again.
“Jesus,” I mumble. “You’re completely depraved.”
He tosses the item away. “I thought you should know what you’re letting yourself in for. Now, open your legs.”
Still blushing at what he did, I press my knees together and give him a rebellious look.
He leans over me again and stares down into my eyes, giving me the kind of look he gives me in the boardroom when I’ve been sassy to him. “Okay, let’s get one thing straight. In bed, I’m in charge, and I expect you to do as you’re told.”
“Are you always this bossy?”
“Yes. And you can be as much of a brat as you like, but you should know now, I’m always going to win.”
“Ooh,” I say, linking my arms behind his neck. “Challenge accepted.”
He gives a short laugh. Then he bends to kiss me. “We’re going to have so much fun. But tonight it’s late, and Huxley made me drink too much, and I just want to enjoy myself. Is that okay?”
I nod.
“So you’re going to be a good girl and open wide for me?”
My face heats again. “Are you determined to make me blush?”
He begins to kiss down my body again. “You’re going to have to get used to that.”
I sigh and cover my face with my arms as he lowers down between my legs and pushes up my knees. I feel him part my folds with a hand on either side, and a pause tells me he’s admiring the view, which makes me blush even more.
But then he dips his head and slides his tongue down into me, and all other thoughts flee my mind.
I ascend to the stars glittering out in the night sky as he slides two fingers inside me, and as he licks and sucks and teases my clit with the tip of his tongue until I’m writhing and gasping on the bed.
As everything begins to tighten, he lifts his head and waits a few seconds before starting again. He does that a few times, edging me toward the cliff, and then finally, when I’m trembling and begging for release, he closes his mouth over my clit and sucks, and this time he doesn’t stop.
Every muscle inside me contracts, and I cry out with pleasure, clamping around his fingers as the pulses hit. Six, seven, eight… ooh, they seem to go on forever… but eventually they stop, and I fall back onto the pillows.
He withdraws his fingers and sits up. “I’m never going to wash again,” he announces, brushing his hand over his face and inhaling.
I huff a sigh, knowing it’s pointless to object.
Smirking, he straddles my hips, then unbuttons his shirt, slips it off his massive shoulders, and tosses it onto the floor. Keeping his gaze on mine, he unbuckles his belt, then slowly slides it out through the loops of his trousers.
When it’s out, he folds it in half. “Do you like being tied up?” he asks mildly.
I swallow hard. “I don’t know.”
He smiles, then tosses the belt onto the floor. “Something to think about.” He undoes the button of his trousers, then slides down the zipper.
I can’t help it—as if it’s a magnet and my eyes are made of iron, my gaze drops to his black cotton boxer-briefs.
“Oh,” I say in a helpless, squeaky voice.
He pushes down the elastic of his underwear, releasing the erection that is straining toward me, eager for action. Fuck me, he’s massive.
He closes a hand around it and gives himself a couple of slow strokes. Then, leaning forward, he takes my hand and moves it down.
He wants me to touch him. First, I slide my hand down into myself. I’m swollen and slippery, and I coat my fingers with the moisture there before closing them around him. As I stroke him, my hand glides over the soft skin that coats the iron-like bar.
“So hard,” I murmur, exploring the feel of him, the ridges and veins, the smooth, velvet head. “Can I taste you?” I whisper, my voice husky with longing.
But he shakes his head, leans over to retrieve his wallet, and takes out a condom. “Not tonight. My willpower isn’t that great, and I want to be inside you.” He glances at me as he tears open the packet. “Don’t pout.”
“You got to taste me.”
“Yeah, but you can have multiple orgasms. I’ll be asleep in five seconds after my first, so I have to make the most of it.” He smiles as I laugh and rolls the condom on. Then, before I can protest, he grabs me and rolls onto his back, bringing me with him.
“I don’t want to be on top,” I remind him, feeling a touch of panic. Cam always preferred me on top as it made him feel subservient, and I don’t want to be reminded of that.
But Henry says, “Doesn’t mean you’re in charge,” and with that he takes my hands in his, then lifts his arms above his head, pulling my hands with them. It forces me to lean forward, bringing my breasts up to his face, and without further ado he latches on to one of my nipples and sucks.
“Ooh, fuck.” I close my eyes, impressed by his adeptness. For a big guy, he’s pretty damn smooth.
He swaps from one nipple to the other, licking and teasing with his teeth and tongue until I can feel pleasure rising inside me again. Eventually he releases my hands and slides his fingers from the back of my knees up my thighs to my butt. Curving an arm over my thigh, he slips his fingers down into my moist skin from behind and explores there for a while before finally drawing some of the moisture up between the cheeks of my bottom. Then he teases the tight muscle there with a finger, making me gasp and moan in equal measure, until I’m quivering with need.
Lifting up, he flips me easily onto my back again.
“You weren’t kidding about being disgusting and perverted,” I accuse, panting.
“Nothing about you is forbidden to me.” Propping himself on one hand, he uses the other to guide the tip of his erection inside me. Once he’s there, he leans either side of my shoulders and looks me in the eyes. “Relax.”
“Oh my God, that’s impossible.”
“Why? This isn’t our first time.”
“I was drunk last time. Now I’m aware of how big you are.”
“And you’re very wet. You’ll be fine. Deep breath in, baby girl.”
I do as I’m told, inhaling. I hold it for a moment, then as I breathe out, he slowly slides inside me.
“Oh!” I bite my bottom lip and screw up my nose.
He stops. “Relax,” he says again, amused.
“I’m trying.” I breathe in, then out, and he withdraws a little, then pushes forward again.
Slowly, he sinks into me, deeper and deeper, and each time I’m convinced there’s no more to go, and each time he says, “Just a little more,” until finally his hips meet the back of my thighs, and I feel absolutely full and stretched to my limits.
“Good girl,” he says, his voice husky.
“Oh my God.”
“You feel amazing.” Looking down at where we’re joined, he withdraws all the way.
“We just got there,” I complain.
“Yeah, but the process was fucking hot, and I want to do it again.” He lowers a hand and strokes the tip of his erection up though my moist skin so it rubs on my clit a few times, then presses it back inside me. Once again, he pushes forward. It’s a little easier this time, and just takes three thrusts until he bottoms out.
He lifts his hand to my breast and plucks the nipple. I clench around him, and we both groan.
“So tight,” he whispers, his voice almost a squeak.
Keeping my gaze on his, I purposely tighten my internal muscles in my best Kegel exercise.
“Aaahhh!” He closes his eyes. “Have mercy.”
“I’m going to milk you dry, Henry West. So get working.”
He opens his eyes and meets mine, and they lock together as he starts moving inside me.
It’s late, we’re tired, and we’re both hyped up, so I doubt it’s the most beautiful sex we’re ever going to have, but it’s a hundred percent pure electrifying sensation, as we both focus every ounce of awareness on the place where we’re joined.
Once he’s fully lubricated and I’ve relaxed a bit, he moves more easily inside me, and he speeds up the pace of his hips until he’s thrusting hard.
“This isn’t going to take long,” he confirms as he plunges down into me. “I apologize in advance.”
“Go for it,” I urge, already feeling the approach of an orgasm, especially as he moves up an inch so he’s grinding on my clit. I’m pretty sure he’s hitting my G-spot too, and when I cry out, “Oh my God, yes, right there,” and he gives an appreciative, “Yeah,” I realize he likes me being vocal, and I give in to the urge to tell him how much I’m enjoying it, with plenty of, “Oh yes, harder,” and, “That feels so good,” and, “Oh God, fuck me, hard as you like.”
Suitably encouraged, he goes for it with enthusiasm, and we fill the air with the sounds of sex, moving together and driving each other onward toward the final goal.
He gets there a second before me, his hands tightening into fists on the mattress beside me, his eyes closing with a fierce frown as his lips part in a deep groan, but I have no time to appreciate his climax because I’m coming too, clamping around him with incredibly strong pulses. We exclaim, both crying out, and by the time we finish, our skin is damp and we’re sticking together, tired and exhausted and sated.
I open my eyes and look up into his, which seem black tonight, the pupils huge.
“Fuck,” he says.
“Yeah.”
“You’ve drained me dry. I don’t think there’s a drop of fluid left in my body.”
I giggle. “They’ll discover us like a couple of mummies in the morning.”
He snorts and withdraws, disposes of the condom, then falls onto the bed beside me, on his stomach. “Five seconds,” he mumbles. “I did warn you.”
I roll onto my side and kiss his temple. “Go to sleep. You deserve it.”
“I’m better when I’m not drunk and it’s the right side of midnight.”
“You were pretty good anyway.” I stroke his hair. “Sweet dreams,” I whisper, watching the moonlight coat his dark hair with silver.
“Mmm.” He’s already nearly asleep.
I pull the duvet up over him. Then, quietly, so I don’t disturb him, I slip out of bed and go into the bathroom, taking my phone with me.
I tap the screen, and my heart sinks. A green banner displays a text from Cam.
Miss you,it says. Can’t wait to see you again soon. x
Guilt pokes me, casting a shadow over the beauty of my time with Henry. Tiredly, I dismiss the text, then turn off my phone again.
When I’m done, I go back into the bedroom, switch the lamp off, then slide under the duvet and curl up next to him.
He’s warm, he takes up more than half the bed, and he smells amazing.
I kiss his arm, and I’m sure I see his lips curve up before I close my eyes.