Thirty
Henry
There’s a race going on inside my chest. That’s the only explanation for this feeling. It’s a marathon, one I began running the moment I watched Tait Logan descend the escalator at the airport. One that’s picked up the pace over the last few weeks, galloping to a finish that I hope is just a beginning.
Just being in her atmosphere is addicting. She’s funny, she’s smart, witty, moody. Hell, she’s got a labyrinth of a mind and working my way through it is how I’d like to spend my days.
She pulled back before on us physically, sure. But now, instead of just knowing I’d love to get in her pants, to be her friend… Now I fucking know I want into her soul. She’s crawled beneath my skin, tattooed herself onto me with her wacky laugh, her kindness, her damn goofiness. She feels inevitable to me, and I have the desperate need to make her feel the same. To prove to her that this, whatever the hell it is between us, is worth seeing more of.
I hurry us up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and into my room,. I note how small she feels compared to me, thrown over my shoulder like this. Yet every moment she’s come to mind over these weeks, I’ve realized how very abundant she has always seemed, in so many ways. A force in the form of curves and edges, humor, warmth, and heart. And that poetic thought has me pausing a step.
Back to the business at hand, Henry.
I’ve paid special attention to her gorgeous tits finally, but damnit if her ass hasn’t made me want to put my head through a wall for the last few weeks, too. I feel like an evil pirate, hauling my wench away with despicable plans, fucking giddy at the prospect of unraveling her further. I indulge myself with a smack on that ass, earning me a squeal.
When we get to my room, and I settle her on her feet, I have to remind myself to breathe again. Take this slow. Drag it out and savor it.
I take a step back to take her in, her pretty dress entirely open and hanging from her shoulders. Before I can move to do it, she steals my breath by sliding it off completely, letting it pool around her feet. Damn, I love that confidence. I clench my fists at my sides, desperately wanting to be everywhere at once. Her eyelashes flutter, the same desire reflected in the flush on her cheeks. The gold glint of her earrings matches the flecks in her eyes and in the eyeshadow stuff she’s put on her lids and—fuck—I’m noticing her eyeshadow now. I’m a goner.
She keeps her eyes locked on mine when she slides her hands under my shirt and up. I’m too tall for her to reach to pull it off, so I finish that for her.
I watch her, chest rising and falling, as she undoes my jeans—the sound of the zipper sliding down blaring through the room. I thank God that the moon is full tonight, shining through all the windows and casting her in enough light for me to see her so clearly.
I’m vaguely aware of Eric Church singing from downstairs, and I smile because I can’t think of anything more accurate than wanting to rock some sheetrock and knock some fucking pictures off the walls with this woman.
My jeans slide down, and her wide-eyed expression at the strained state of my briefs makes me feel like a Neanderthal. No more games. I don’t feel self-conscious over my physicality, no matter how perfect she is. Determination surges, and I walk her backwards toward the bed, refusing to break eye contact as I lay her down.
Before I can drop to my knees in front of her, she surprises me by placing one booted foot on my abs, giving me a front row peek of her glistening, swollen pussy, causing an actual growl to rumble out of me.
“Take these off?” she asks with a naughty smile, flicking her eyes to the boot.
I apparently can’t manage words yet—Neanderthal-mode firmly engaged—but I oblige, peeling it off with the accompanying sock, nipping her ankle before she drops it and props up the next.
I let myself take her in briefly as she comes back up onto her elbows, her wavy hair floating wildly around her shoulders. She looks at my briefs and licks her lips, and it feels like my dick literally jumps, carrying me to stand between her legs .
“Tait… fuck.” I reach for the nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom when she traces a hand up the outline of my cock, and says, “I’m on birth control, haven’t had sex in a year, and am clean.”
My eyes fly to hers. They look vulnerable, and I’m gutted by the expression. “I’m clean. It’s been about six months, despite what I know you overhead from Grady. I can show you my bill of health if you’d like.”
“I trust you.”
Three words.
Three fucking words and my world is changed. She could have said those other three words in that moment and I don’t think even they would have been as impactful. Trust is a conscious decision… the heaviest decision in my book.
I bend to push my forehead to hers, her hands holding mine as I stroke the sides of her beautiful face.
I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat, then straighten, cupping her jaw to have her look in my eyes. “Thank you. I trust you, too.”
She beams at me, then slides her hands to my waistband, swiftly pulling down my briefs and freeing me.
“Jesus Christ!” she exclaims.
“There you go, again. Woman, it’s Henry. Hen-ry.”
She smirks, but before I can laugh at my own joke, she squeezes me, running her hand up and swiping her thumb through the precum beaded at the tip that I can’t bring myself to be embarrassed about.
Before my vision can get a chance to clear, she leans forward and swipes her sweet tongue between my balls. The world goes white, and I let out a choked, very smooth, “Ahfuckshit.”
A few moments and inches in her hot mouth tell me that this won’t be conducive to me lasting long, so I cup her jaw and bend to kiss her again.
“Honey, I gotta come in you for the first time.”
“Who says that wasn’t my plan?” she says up at me. Lust blackens my vision for a second.
“Keep talking like that and I won’t be able to go gentle, Tait.”
“Promises, promises.”
“Fuck.”
I tip her onto her back and guide myself to her entrance with trembling hands. I push in a few inches, and fuck. She’s hotter, tighter, wetter than anything I could have dreamt of, and I tell her as much. Her hands slide up my chest as I retreat, hooking her knee around my hip before I push in further. She lets loose a sigh, and smiles in that way that stops my heart. She steals the words from my mouth then, saying, “You’re beautiful.”
It overexcites me, and I thrust harder, just shy of all the way in. Her face looks pained for a second before she relaxes around me. “God, Tait. Baby, it’s the best. It’s so good, love. So tight.” I kiss the corners of her eyes, holding as still as I can so I can get my bearings. We rock and grind, push and slide until I’m fully seated, eventually pulled all the way by her as I have been in all ways.
I murmur to her, all the things I love, eating up every sound and sigh and whimper, grinding against her until she’s moaning incoherently. I can’t look away, willing her to read my mind and every thought, willing myself to memorize every expression she makes. She keens out my name and I become an animal, sliding us down the bed to the edge where I can stand. I fling her leg over my shoulder and slide a pillow under her, propping one of my knees on the bed to angle the way I notice elicits little grunts of need.
I see it play out in slow motion as her eyes roll back, her hair fanned out across the bed, her tits bouncing, body covered in a sheen of sweat. Her wrists are bound by my one hand above her, my other splayed across her belly as I touch her. She says my name when her pussy starts to contract around me, and I have the clear thought that this, this right here, is what I pray plays through my mind when I kick the bucket. I want this to be the last thing my mind remembers before I die.
The realization unravels the last of my control and I start pounding into her, the sounds of our bodies smacking together echoing. I come on a strangled sound that I can’t withhold, my orgasm starting from the top of my skull, shooting through the base of my spine and taking a piece of my soul with it.
I stare down at her in awe, petting her lovingly as I pant. She turns to kiss my palm, and I don’t know why, but it chokes something in me. I cover my expression by bending down to kiss her, sliding out of her regretfully. I can’t manage words yet, so I go get supplies from the bathroom and tend to her, cleaning her up with a warm wet towel before wiping everything with a dry one. The sight of me on the insides of her thighs brings out the caveman in me again, and I wonder how long she’ll smell like me, and I like her.
We can’t seem to stop touching after that, but I worry that sharing what I’m thinking will just scare her at this point, so I tuck her back to my front after a bit, putting her safely under my chin.
“Impossible question?” she asks me, quietly. I nod against the top of her head. “Was that the best sex of your life, or…?”
I push her shoulder down to turn her to me. “Tait, I’m back here writing sonnets in my head about it. Yes, that was the greatest sexual experience of my entire life.” Also, how do I keep you? Is it way too soon to feel like this? I think you’re my soulmate and I never thought that was a real thing before I met you. You’ve turned my thoughts into an endless stream of cheesy romcom lines that are somehow applicable and understandable now. You had me at hello.
She laughs, and I laugh back, both sounding worn.
Outside, it begins to rain.
The last thing I remember before sleep takes me is kissing her shoulder, smelling her jasmine scent.
Sometime in the night I wake up to her mouth and hands and the curtain of her hair dragging down my front. My cock surges, hard to the point of pain. My eyes find hers just as she takes me in her mouth.
She peppers kisses along my shaft in between words of praise. “Sweet. Sexy. Beautiful. Generous man.”
“Stealing my lines, Tait.…”
Sometime later, she slips back to sleep easily, but it evades me. I stare at her peaceful face, mentally walking myself through the last few weeks until we got here, stifling the odd laugh when certain moments come to mind.
She’s here, wrapped in my sheets, peaceful, beautiful. An angel, so sure of herself in so many ways, except in this—in trust, in letting herself be seen and loved, in letting herself love something back. The woman won’t even let herself have a pet, despite how she tears up over the love of an animal. And she chose me. At least she chose me to trust, and whether or not she realizes this bit yet, it hits me that I know I love her.
The feeling is nothing like the unfurling of a rose, nothing like the tentative, slow burn I recall.
It’s like busting open a can of biscuits.
I know the feeling’s there, I know what’s going to happen every time I acknowledge it, but it shocks me nonetheless.
I should be scared about making myself vulnerable again. I really should. We live in different states, for fuck’s sake. And even though I can see she belongs here, and I know that I do, I also know that she’s in for a hairier turn in this journey, in finding herself again. I know it would be easier to let go.
I know she’ll question this every step of the way, and the last thing I want to be is another hardship for her. How do I make her see, though? Am I man enough, or patient enough to give her the space to go through this on her own? To support her, reassure her, even when she inevitably tries to close me out? Will she even let me? I want to fix all of it for her, to imprint how I see her into her brain, to blow up that image so large that it leaves no room for doubt.