Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Summer
After I brush my teeth and get dressed for the day—a sundress, light as air—I return to the living room and find Henry brooding in the armchair.
I glance over at the couch. That’s where I should go sit. That was the point of him taking the chair, to put some distance between us. But I don’t want distance. So I close the gap between us and walk right up to his chair, nudging his dangling hand with my knee.
His fingertips are still against my skin as he looks up at me.
The silence of the room is heavy. Secret.
I slowly twist on the spot, still brushing my knee against his hand. Guiding his fingers to my inner thigh.
He flexes his arm when I stop and presses against my skin just a little before dropping his hand away. It’s a reluctant move, though. I can see in his face that he wanted to slide it up under my skirt, to where I’m warm and willing.
“Time for work?” I ask.
He nods.
I help him open the shop, then skip down the street for an iced coffee and some treats for breakfast. Over the month I’ve worked for him, I’ve saved almost a thousand dollars. He pays me too much and gives me his tips, so the least I can do is keep the man well nourished.
When I return, he has customers in both chairs but still gives me his attention—all of it—for a long, hot beat. Like he can’t stop looking at me, drinking me in, and that feels better than the kiss I so desperately want from him.
Instead of going upstairs or heading to the college, I stick around all day. I’m as helpful as I can be, anticipating whatever Henry needs. And when he closes up for the day, the first thing he does after locking the door is crook his finger, beckoning me over to him.
“You’ve been a very good girl today.” His voice rumbles in the silent shop. Deep, rich, sexy. “Thank you for your help.”
I sway against him. “Always.”
“What would you like for a reward?”
He knows.
I know.
I smile. “A kiss.”
“What kind of kiss?”
“A grown-up kiss. My first real one.”
His gaze drops to my lips, and I suck in a breath. “Your first kiss should be special. Gentle.”
I nod.
“I don’t know if I can be gentle with you, Summer.” He licks his lips. “Maybe that’s what’s been holding me back.”
“Maybe I don’t need gentle.” I push up on my tiptoes, searching for his mouth, but he takes hold of me and pulls me in against his body instead.
His arms are solid and heavy. Comforting, even as I want to protest that it’s not a hug I want. Except I can feel the tension in his body, and I will myself to be patient.
I breathe in the scent of him and soften into his embrace.
There’s something perfect about the way I fit against his body.
And when he rubs his hands up and down my back, they cover all of me, all at once.
In Henry’s arms, I feel safe and protected.
Little and hidden in his embrace, like he’s a cloak against the outside world.
And when I’m a pliable puddle of happy goo, he slowly tips my head back, one of his hands cradling the side of my face, and brings our lips together.
After weeks of wanting this, my first real kiss is a beautiful surprise.
His lips feel wonderful—warm and firm—and then he moves them. Just that little shift sends a bolt of sensation through my body, making me press in for more. His mouth slants against mine, fitting us together in careful ways, different each time.
It makes my mouth water.
Then I feel the steady pressure of his tongue at the seam of my lips, tracing a line to the corner of my mouth, almost tickling. But not quite because this feels so good, better than a tickle.
It makes me feel alive.
Like I can see the world in technicolor even though my eyes have drifted shut.
My lips part, and he’s back to those shifting kisses all over my mouth, now with just the hint of a firm, wet tongue.
Little sips.
Tasting me.
When our tongues meet, I start to get the feel of it. He tastes me, then it’s my turn to venture into his mouth, getting to know the power of sliding my tongue against his and the sounds he makes.
I whimper, I think, some kind of noise, and he picks me up. I wrap my legs around his back, and he carries me to the wall, pressing me against it.
I twist my fingers into his hair and hold him still so I can do what he was doing, little kisses all over. The corner of his mouth is my favorite spot. The grunt he makes when I lick there makes me want to cry out in joy.
My thighs tighten around his waist, and he rocks against me, giving me the pressure of his firm belly to grind against.
We’re making out now. That’s what this is. It’s not just a kiss; it’s two people sucking face and getting so turned on we won’t be able to walk straight when we stop.
Maybe we should never stop.
But when I trail my mouth down his neck, to where there’s a hint of chest hair peeking out from his open collar, he eases me off him.
I slide down the wall, feeling boneless and aching for more. “Henry. . .”
He kisses me gently when my feet are fully underneath me. “That’s enough for now.”
For now.
Those two words float me through the rest of the day and mollify me when we go to sleep that night, and all he lets me do is cuddle against his big, warm body after a single, scorching good night kiss.
Everything changes after that kiss. I see things differently. I know that I don’t want this to just be a game we play over the summer, and I know Henry doesn’t want it to end when I go to college, either.
But he’s not going to admit that because he’s stuck in some misguided sense of chivalry or responsibility.
So I’ll need to trick him.
Is it really manipulation if we both know what I’m doing when I tell him I want to know how to date people?
I ask him one night when we get home from another shopping trip. I’m modeling the clothes I bought with him because he refused to watch me try them on at the store.
I twirl in front of him in a peasant blouse and a pair of jean shorts. “Would this be a good outfit to wear on a date?”
He grunts.
“Henry, you need to help me. It’s a central part of college life.”
He gives me a glare that’s far too sexy. “Aren’t you supposed to be focused on school?”
“Life is all about balance.”
“I think you should seek balance in a black turtleneck.”
That makes me laugh. “Well, I think you should take me on a date.”
“Summer. . .”
“For educational purposes. So I can practice.”
“You don’t need to practice that. You’re enchanting exactly as you are.”
“You have to say that.”
“I really don’t. What I have to say is, your mother doesn’t want you dating anyone.”
“But she’s not the boss of me. And neither are you.”
“I’m very aware of that. If you were mine, you wouldn’t be allowed to date, ever.”
“Spoken like a man who secretly wants to date me himself.”
He laughs. “Come here.”
I crawl into his lap and kiss him before he can tell me to get off. It’s a sweet kiss, just my lips against his, and then he eases me back. Not off his lap, just away from his mouth.
Progress.
His hands are holding my wrists, pinning my arms to my sides, and he leaves them there as he regards me with a slow, critical look. Not mean. Just. . . searching.
I smile at him. “I know, you keep saying we can’t be together. But then you kiss me, and I get all wound up. Henry, I’ve been waiting for you to make a move all summer. If you aren’t going to, that’s okay, but at some point, I’ll. . .”
His grip tightens, and one of his thumbs strokes my skin slowly, making me crave so much more than I can ever have. “Is that what you really want? To start dating people?”
“No,” I moan. “I don’t want anyone else. Just you.”
He groans. “No, Summer. Not even me.”
“But I like it when you—” I wrench my hands free of his light grasp and twist my fingers so I’m the one holding his wrists. I drag his hands up my body to where my breasts throb in need. “Please, Henry. They hurt.”
“I shouldn’t touch them, then. Or ever. But especially if they’re tender, baby girl. You don’t want my big hands all over you.”
“I do.” I gasp as his fingertips hook against my neckline, the weight of his touch testing the stretch of the fabric.
His gaze darkens, his eyes hooded as he slowly drags the fabric down, revealing my swollen flesh. He stops short of my nipples, keeping those covered, but the way he licks his lips at what he can see is enough to make me moan.
“We’re not going to do whatever you think we might do,” he mutters.
“I just want you to touch me.”
“Not below the belt.”
“Just my breasts,” I breathe. “And if you want me to touch you—”
“No.” He clears his throat. “I do, but no. This is just for you.” He strokes the pebbling flesh of my chest. “You’re sore?”
“It’s happening more frequently now. When I think about kissing you. . .”
“Your body is working hard.” He exhales and flexes his thighs beneath me.
The movement rocks me forward a little, and the warm, wet space between my legs settles firmly on a very thick erection.
“I told myself I wasn’t allowed to want you, but God damn, it’s hard to deny how good you feel in my lap. ”
“I dream of you,” I whisper. “More now than before.”
His gaze softens as he cups my breasts through my shirt. “Do you?”
I breathe his name.
He tugs the elastic neckline down off my shoulders, the whole blouse dangerously low now, and then it’s around my waist, and he has my bare breasts in his hands.
I rock against him as he rolls delicate circles around my nipples with his thumbs, and then he dips his head.
Henry’s kisses drive me wild.
His mouth on my breast? Transcendent.
I grind harder, desperate now, each gentle pull of his mouth sending a signal directly to my clit. I’m hot and slick now, I can feel it, and the hard press of his erection against my denim-clad sex is enough friction that I’m going to get there, I’m going to come. I can feel it, I can—
“Henry,” I whine as I grip his head, holding him against my chest. One of his hands lands on my thigh, curving around to the back of my leg, and then he’s moving me, both of us, his body rutting against me as hard as I’m grinding down.
Time slows, and everything slides into individual pieces. How I feel. How he sounds. The wet suck of his mouth. My aching nipples. How hot and wet I am, impossibly sloppy. Can he feel that? Am I making a mess of these new shorts?
And then it all comes back together in a blinding crash, and I’m flying, rolling over his erection, and he’s clamping me down against him as he jerks his hips.
“Fuck,” he gasps.
My pulse is going a mile a minute. Between us, I can feel him go a bit soft. Still big, but? “Was that?”
He kisses me, wild and wet and hard. “Yes.”
“It wasn’t just for me?”
“I couldn’t resist you.” His voice cracks.
I love you. The words are so close to spilling out of my mouth, but I can’t put that on him. He won’t know what to do with that, so I kiss him instead, softly, right on the corner of his mouth.
And I burrow my face into his neck and smile so he knows how much I liked what we just did.