Thirty-Five
Tait
When Henry kisses me, I feel his eyes stay open and on me. He holds my face in his hands, swiping his thumbs across my cheeks as tears continue to fall.
“I’m right here with you Tait. I’m feeling all the same things. This isn’t one-sided, and you’re not imagining things on your end. I know I have to keep working for you, for that trust, and I’m going to.”
I open my eyes then, but the tears keep falling because he’s said exactly what I needed him to say, and it’s both wonderful and terrible.
“I don’t want to be neurotic anymore, though,” I whine. “I don’t want to make you work.”
“You’re worth it.” He shrugs. “Plus, I think you and I have good reasons for not trusting ourselves when it comes to feelings. I’m going to be as straightforward with you as I can. Just hold my hand and I’ll hold yours, and we’ll both get to where we’re headed together, okay? ”
“Okay,” I say, and pull his face back to mine.
Our kisses quickly become bruising, frantic, and my legs squeeze either side of him when he lifts me and carries me to the bathroom. He keeps holding and kissing me when he reaches in and turns on the shower, and we start undressing as much as we can in this position as steam begins to billow around us. When our top halves are bared, he sets me down and gently pushes me until I’m backed against the glass surrounding the shower.
He drops to his knees before me, kissing his way down my front as he lowers. He slides the tips of his fingers into the waistband of my leggings and slowly, painstakingly lowers them, lifting each of my feet with delicate care as he slides them out and brushes my bottoms aside.
When I’m naked before him, he looks up at me, planting slow, sweet, soft kisses across my lower belly, nipping lightly at my hips, working his way across and down until he makes his way right above my slit, until I feel my own slickness on the insides of my thighs.
He keeps his gaze locked with mine, continuing with slow movements, sliding his hands from my ankles, up to the insides of my thighs, around to below my backside. “Hold on to me” is the only warning I get before he’s lifting my legs onto his shoulders, pressing my back into the glass, burying his face in my center. My hands fist in his hair and I gasp, my head falling back against the glass with a thud.
He laps, savors, humming sounds of ecstasy that rival my own. He circles his tongue relentlessly, the most perfect and consistent pace until I feel the build start at my core, until the steam around me feels almost as suffocating as holding it in any longer, and I overflow, the orgasm pouring out of me in rich, full, circular waves. My feet never touch the ground, and I’m floating, buoyed by Henry as he slides my legs around his sides and carries my boneless body into the shower.
“Hold on to me,” he tells me again, and my hands grip the hard muscles at his shoulders. I feel cool glass meet my back again, water sliding across my side. I feel him pause at my entrance, waiting. When I crack open my eyes, he rewards me by sliding in. It’s slow, deliciously long thrusts and retreats that make my jaw ache in tension… until I feel his name ripped from my throat like a sob.
I’ve never thought the idea of saying someone’s name was necessary, but with Henry it is. He’s relentless in seeking and holding that connection, twining his fingers with mine and holding them against the glass when his shoulders grow too slick for me to hold on to. His face breaks when he finally does, his mouth falling open and his eyes falling closed, and we pant into each other’s necks until we start laughing again.
I almost tell him, then. I almost tell him that I love him. But I get stuck in the vortex of my mind again, not wanting him to think I love him for what he’s just done to me. He might not do that to everyone, but he does everything else for everyone, and I want him to know I love him for simply existing.
Later, in bed, with him curled against my chest and my fingers in his hair, I tell him that I’m sorry he’s losing Em, too.
We both cry.