9. Chapter 9
Mal
G od, yes.
I make what can only be described as a keen as Henrik pushes into my body. I know I’ve only been waiting for this for a couple of days, but it’s felt like a lifetime.
Who knew all it’d take to unleash Henrik was letting some other men rub their scent all over me? Alex would get a kick out of that.
“The fuck is that little smirk for?” Henrik asks, the fingers of one hand resting against my cheek as he rails into me hard enough that my breath leaves me in a whoosh.
Ungh .
What was I thinking about? Oh, right.
“Thinking about my friend,” I reply between breaths.
Henrik makes a sound low in his throat, all gravelly and displeased, and it makes my blood freaking sing. Then he wraps his fist around my cock, tugging in time to his thrusts, and I nearly swallow my tongue.
“Still thinking about your friend?” he grits out.
“ Shit . What friend?”
I inhale sharply when Henrik angles his hips to tease my prostate, pumping shallowly over the spot.
“Mm,” he hums, sounding victorious.
I tighten my legs over Henrik’s shoulders, holding on for the ride as he toys with me, alternating those teasing pegs with vicious pumps of his hips.
His hands roam over my body like he’s a cartographer, mapping me out—up my chest, the backs of his fingers along my jaw, a few pumps of my cock, up my leg as he presses in closer, over my lips—and I can’t keep up. It feels like he’s everywhere.
And the way he’s looking at me? Even though I know he doesn’t see me the same way I see him, his eyes roam just like his hands, like he’s picturing me below him.
I completely lose my voice as I watch Henrik. And when he drops in close to my body, practically folding me in half to nuzzle the side of his face against my own, I lose my breath, too.
He grabs my legs, pulling them down around his waist as his balls slap my ass. He doesn’t say anything else for a while, and neither do I, but each deep rumble or punched-out groan greets my ears like a lover, soft and filthy sweet.
Sometimes his fingers dig into the meat of my thighs. Other times they cradle the top of my head. And all the while, Henrik keeps fucking me like he’s going to damn well take his time and enjoy, just like he said he would.
I try every trick I learned from my career in porn to stave off my orgasm, but it’s no use. I’m about to come, whether or not I want to.
“Henrik, I’m gonna come,” I breathe out. “Can I?”
He lifts his head, looking at me with such incredulity that I laugh. His hand returns to my cock, tugging as he opens his mouth, but I cut him off.
“I know, I know. You’re not my daddy,” I say, gasping out at the last word as lightning shoots down my spine. “ Ohgod .”
I groan as my orgasm hits, my legs squeezing around Henrik as I unload between our bodies. My cum hits my abs and chest, and Henrik pumps me through my release, his hand warm and solid, just like his dick inside of me.
Henrik’s jaw clenches tight as my body clasps him like a glove, and as soon as my orgasm abates, he sits back.
“Can I come on you?” he asks, hands around my thighs.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding as I refill my lungs.
Henrik pulls out of my body, stripping away the condom in a second flat and then bracing over top of me. He strokes himself a handful of times as I watch, boneless and captivated by the sight of him. And then he’s coming, his breath leaving him in a rush as he adds to the mess across my skin.
When he’s done, he slumps, chest expanding with his ragged breaths, hands on the bedspread to either side of me. His brow is slightly sweaty, and his hair is hanging over his forehead, and it’s endearing to see him so disheveled.
But then he sits back and runs one hand up my stomach, my chest, and over my neck, rubbing our cum into my skin, and the word endearing flies right out the window.
Ho-ly shit .
“Is that better, you caveman?” I ask, a little smirk overtaking my face as I watch his expression turn smug and satisfied.
He doesn’t even look contrite. “Much.”
I shake my head, but I’m grinning. The man is filthy, and I’m on board.
He levers off my body, dropping down beside me, and I turn so I can take him in.
He really is beautiful, even in profile.
His lips are parted softly, and he’s looking up at the ceiling, blinking slowly.
His hands are folded over his chest, the hair there threaded through with the smallest amount of silver, just like on his head.
He’s broader than me, and although he’s not covered in chiseled muscle, he’s still fit.
And honestly, I appreciate it all the more. It makes him feel real, more human.
“You’re staring at me again,” he says.
“Busted.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just continues blinking up at the ceiling.
“There are fresh towels in the bathroom closet.”
My head reels back. Wow. All right, yeah. I’m being dismissed.
“Right,” I say, rolling off the bed. I gather my clothes off the floor, as well as his, placing them in the chair beside the bed so he doesn’t trip over them, and then I take my leave, glancing back one more time before I’m out the door.
Rule number four. I sleep in the guest bedroom. No exceptions.
I should have expected it, but the easy dismissal feels like a slap all the same.
I forgot what we were for a minute. Henrik made me feel like more.
Cherished, almost. Warm. Even as he was rubbing his scent into my skin.
I know I don’t have the right to complain about being tossed out after sex because I did agree to this, but it still stings.
I should be used to it by now. Men only wanting me for one thing.
So why do I feel so goddamn bereft? And cold.
Literally. I’m shivering as I swing by my room, dropping my clothes into the hamper. My skin prickles as if I’ve been doused in ice. And then, all of a sudden, my vision swims.
Shit. Not now. No, no, no .
I reach out, steadying myself against the side of the bed as my pulse hammers and images flash through my head unbidden. My mother’s disapproving stare. Callused hands grabbing me, dragging me. Water. So much water.
I drop my ass to the floor, lungs squeezing tight and cutting off my airflow as blood rushes through my ears like the roaring of the tide, too overwhelming for me to even attempt to stop it. I tuck my legs into my body and drop my head forward as I start to drown.
“Mal? I just wanted to check—” The voice is warbled, distant, and I glance up through my blurry vision in time to see Henrik step into the room. He stalls for a moment before rushing forward. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, wishing I could get my voice to cooperate, but I can’t make a sound. I can’t even breathe . I close my eyes tight.
Henrik’s weight drops down next to me, and he scoots forward until he bumps into my body. His hands run over me like he’s trying to find the source of my pain.
Too bad it’s in my own head.
“Your breathing,” he says, voice tight, sounding far away. His hands bracket my neck as I drop my head back against the bed. “Do you have asthma?”
I shake my head no , but I can’t respond. I can barely hear the sound of Henrik’s voice through the onslaught of memories rushing through my mind. The old, decrepit cabins. The judgmental voices. The numbness. The fear .
No.
Sound . Focus on sound.
I hear it again—Henrik’s voice. I’m in his penthouse.
He says something else then curses, leaning back like he’s thinking about walking away, so I grab the first thing I can reach.
Touch . Henrik’s wrist. I hold it tight. Safe. I’m in the present.
What else?
Smell . I inhale shakily through my nose, and Henrik’s scent hits me. Musky from sex, but also warm like fall spices, with a hint of his sweet cologne.
“Mal,” he says, thumbs brushing over my jaw. “I don’t know what to do.” It sounds like he’s underwater, too.
I force a small amount of air into my lungs and hold it, counting to four before I let it out. “Stay,” I croak, repeating the breathing.
Henrik leans forward, his stubble brushing against the side of my face, and I latch onto the sensation.
He wraps his legs around my body and tugs me into the cocoon of his arms, enveloping me in more of his scent.
I breathe him in with each forced lungful of air, and with each reminder of where I am, of who I’m with, my pulse slowly comes down.
My burning lungs reinflate. And minutes later, the rushing in my ears and the blurriness of my vision abates.
“Mal,” Henrik whispers against my ear.
“’S’okay,” I say, utterly wrung out. I’m sore all over, yet my limbs feel like noodles. It’s only when I look down at myself that I remember I’m naked, and I try to extract myself from Henrik, embarrassed he had to find me this way. But he holds on tight, and quickly, I give up the fight.
“What happened?” he asks.
Shit . I really hope he doesn’t kick me out over this.
I rub my hands over my goosebump-riddled arms. “I have panic attacks.”
He tenses slightly, but then his muscles smooth back out. “How often?”
I blow out a puff of air. “Couple times a week?” On a good week.
He makes a choked sound. “Did I do something to cause it?” he asks, voice pained. “Was I too rough or…”
I shake my head, huffing a laugh despite the circumstances. “You weren’t too rough, Henrik. They just happen.”
I can tell he wants to ask me more questions, but after a moment, he draws back. “Come on. Let’s take a shower.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Come on,” he repeats, standing up and holding out his hand.
Henrik tugs me off the ground, and, on shaky legs, I follow after him to the bathroom across the hall. He lets go of my hand to start the shower heating, and then he disappears, coming back a minute later with a glass of water. My throat feels tight as I accept it, swallowing down the cool liquid.
I let Henrik maneuver me under the spray. Normally, my ass would be on the floor, but Henrik keeps a hold of me, and his strength helps my exhausted body stay upright. I wash myself quickly with Henrik’s aid, and then he shuts off the water, ushering me into a warm, fluffy robe.
He grabs a towel for my hair, squeezing out the excess moisture, and then another for himself, drying his body perfunctorily before wrapping it around his waist. Henrik leads me back to the guest bedroom, all but manhandling me into bed, and I don’t complain or try to stop him.
Honestly, it feels nice, having someone help do the little things that usually feel as arduous as scaling mountains after my anxiety spikes.
Henrik, much to my surprise, turns out the light and climbs in next to me. He wraps my robe-clad body in his arms, and without a single thought, I fall asleep inside the comforting cloud he’s created for me.
When I wake, Henrik is gone, and the spot next to me is cold. It’s not surprising, but I pull the toasty comforter over my head and go back to sleep, not ready to face the day.
My room is bright when Henrik tentatively rouses me some time later, his voice gentle as his fingers card through my hair.
I blink him into focus. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed and looking professional even on the weekend.
He replaced his usual button-down with a light cream sweater, but it’s much fancier than anything I own.
I’m glad Henrik can’t see how much of a bum I look like next to him.
His lips twitch into a sedate smile when I stir, but his brows are furrowed. Crap . He wants to talk about it.
“Can I have tea first?” I ask, my voice sounding rough like I haven’t spoken in weeks.
He cocks his head at me curiously. “Tea? Not coffee?”
I shake my head, scrubbing my hand over my face and wishing it were a little dimmer in here. It feels like I have a hangover. “I don’t drink coffee.”
He hums. “I have Earl Grey. Will that work?”
“Actually, I brought some of my own,” I tell him. “I’ll grab it.”
I make to sit up, but Henrik presses me flat against the bed. My skin flashes hot at the reminder of him pressing me into his bed last night, but I brush it off. Not the time.
“Tell me where it is. I can make it,” he says.
“Uh, there’s a tin on the dresser.”
He stands up and paces across the room, running his hand over the dresser top slowly until he finds the little metal box.
He carries it back to me gingerly, holding it out.
I flip open the top, pull out my favorite calming lemon flavor, and hold out the packet to him.
He snatches it without a word and walks toward the door.
“Henrik?” I say, halting him.
He turns his head.
“Would you mind lowering the lights?” I’ve come to appreciate how dim he keeps the rest of his home. The bright light in the guest room feels almost unnatural.
He raises a brow and lowers the dimmer. “Better?”
“Mhm, thank you.”
Henrik nods before walking out the door, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
He doesn’t seem upset, so maybe he’s not giving me the boot after all.
But I can’t imagine Henrik is happy to learn what an anxious mess I am.
I’ll explain to him that it’s not his job to help me through my panic attacks.
He shouldn’t have to worry about taking time out of his day to do that.
I’ve been managing on my own just fine for years. I can keep managing.
Although I have to admit it was really nice to have someone there to take care of me for once.
With another sigh, I melt back into the bed, wishing I could magically make all of my problems disappear.