Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Henry
The word “stay” echoed in my mind as I followed Savvy down the hallway, my heart thundering against my ribs. The familiar scent of her shampoo drifted back to me—vanilla and something uniquely her—awakening memories I’d spent years trying to suppress.
Her fingers laced through mine as she led me toward her bedroom, and the slight tremor in her hand didn’t go unnoticed. It mirrored my uncertainty and my desperate need to get this right. After everything I’d done wrong, everything I’d broken between us, this moment was as precarious as walking on glass.
The moonlight filtering through her bedroom window painted silver streaks across her face as she turned to me. For a heartbeat, we stood there, suspended between what we’d been and what we could become. Her eyes carried the same mix of desire and fear that churned in my chest.
“Savvy,” I breathed, reaching up to trace my thumb along her jaw. “If you want to stop?—”
She silenced me with another kiss, deeper and more urgent than before. Her fingers traced across my bare chest, clutching my shoulders as if afraid I might disappear. The thought sent a sharp pain through me. Of course, she’d fear that—wasn’t I the one who’d vanished before?
I wanted to tell her so many things—how I’d never stopped loving her, how leaving her had been like carving out my heart. But words felt too small, too fragile to carry the weight of our history. So instead, I let my touch speak, pouring everything I couldn’t say into the way my hands found hers.
My hands slid down her sides, memorizing every curve like a drowning man finding shore. The silk of her blouse whispered beneath my touch as I traced the path I remembered so well, but I needed more—needed to feel her skin against mine.
“Let me,” I murmured against her neck when her fingers fumbled with my buttons. “Let me look at you.”
She nodded, a shiver passing through her as I unbuttoned her blouse. Each new inch of skin revealed was a revelation—the hollow of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, that perfect freckle that had haunted my dreams for five years.
“You kept me awake at night,” I confessed, pressing my lips to that beloved mark. “Wondering if you still tasted the same.” My tongue traced the spot, drawing a gasp from her lips. “If you’d still make that sound when I...”
Her back arched as I found that sensitive place where her neck met her shoulder, the one that drove her wild.
"Henry," she breathed, her fingers digging into my arms.
I stepped forward, guiding her backward until her calves met the edge of her bed. She sank down onto the mattress, drawing me with her, our bodies finding that familiar dance even after all these years. The springs creaked softly as I followed her down, bracing myself above her. Her hair fanned out across the pale sheets like spilled ink in the moonlight, and for a moment, I could barely breathe at the sight of her.
She was laid out before me in the moonlight, more beautiful than I remembered, with all soft curves and subtle strength. Every inch of her skin called to me, begging to be touched, explored, remembered all over again.
"You're staring," she whispered, a touch of self-consciousness in her voice.
“Can’t help it.” I traced the curve of her breast with reverent fingers. “You’re perfect.”
Her laugh caught on a moan as I replaced my fingers with my mouth. I remembered exactly how she liked to be touched—soft kisses trailing lower, teeth grazing enough to make her gasp. Her hands tangled in my hair as I worked my way down her body, tasting and teasing until she was writhing beneath me.
“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking on the word.
But I wasn’t done worshipping her yet. I wanted—needed—to drive her as crazy as she’d made me these past days. My tongue traced patterns on her inner thigh, so close to where she wanted me, but not quite there.
“Henry,” she pleaded, her hips rising. “Don’t tease.”
The rest of her plea was lost in a gasp as I savored her, my tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes that had her unraveling beneath me.
I knew her body—remembered exactly how to touch her to make her come undone. But tonight, I wanted to take my time and make her feel everything I couldn’t say with words.
I brought her to the edge slowly, relentlessly, then pulled back as she tensed. Her frustrated whimper made me smile against her thigh.
“You’re terrible,” she gasped, tugging at my hair.
“Just thorough,” I murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her inner thigh. “We have five years to make up for.”
I started again, slower this time, alternating between soft licks and firmer pressure until she was arching off the bed. But before she could fall over the edge, I pulled back again.
“Henry,” she groaned, her voice hoarse with need. “Please...”
“Please, what?” I asked, my breath hot against her sensitive skin.
Her answer was lost in another moan as I resumed my attention, adding a finger, then two, curling them the way she used to love. Her thighs clenched around me, her breathing growing ragged.
This time, when she got close, I didn’t stop. I took her higher and higher until she shattered, crying out. The sound of it—raw and desperate—nearly broke my control.
I kissed my way back up her body as she caught her breath, savoring the salt of her skin and the way she shivered at each touch. When I reached her mouth, she pulled me into a deep kiss.
“My turn,” she whispered against my mouth, pushing me onto my back. Her hands traced down my chest, nails scraping lightly in a way that made me shudder. But when she tried to move lower, I caught her wrist.
“Not yet,” I said, my voice rough. “I’m not done with you.”
I rolled her beneath me again, capturing her protests with a kiss. My hands found hers, pinning them gently above her head as I explored her neck, her breasts, and every inch of skin I could reach. She writhed against me, seeking friction, but I held back.
“You’re killing me,” she gasped as I lavished attention on her breasts, alternating between gentle and demanding touches until she was arching into my mouth.
“You feel incredible,” I murmured against her skin. “So perfect.” I released her hands to trail my fingers down her stomach, feeling the muscles quiver beneath my touch. “I’ve dreamed about this. About making you fall apart again and again.”
When I slipped my fingers between her legs once more, she was desperate for release. I worked her slowly, deliberately, watching her face as she climbed higher. Before she peaked, I withdrew again.
“No,” she moaned, her eyes flying open. “Henry, please...”
“Not yet,” I whispered, reaching for my wallet on the nightstand. My hands shook as I retrieved the condom, but Savvy’s touch steadied me as she helped roll it on.
When I pushed into her, we both gasped, the sensation knocking the breath from my lungs. I had to pause, overwhelmed by how perfectly we fit together.
“Move,” she begged, her legs wrapping around my waist.
I moved slowly at first, savoring each moment of connection. My forehead pressed to hers, breathing her in as our eyes locked. Everything I couldn’t say poured into each tender touch—every regret, every promise, every moment I’d missed her.
“You’re everything,” I whispered, meaning it with every fiber of my being. Her hands traced patterns on my back as we found our rhythm together, rediscovering the perfect synchronization we’d once known so well.
“Henry,” she gasped, her voice cracking. The sound of it—raw and unguarded—nearly undid me. Years of longing, regret, and missing her all came crashing into this moment of reconnection.
When she came apart beneath me, I followed right after, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. For several heartbeats, we just held each other.
I gathered her close, pressing soft kisses to her temple, her cheeks, anywhere I could reach. She curled into me the way she used to, fitting perfectly against my side.
“Stay,” she whispered against my chest, vulnerability threading through her voice.
I tightened my arms around her. “You couldn’t drag me away if you tried,” I murmured into her hair. “This is our beginning. The start of forever.” She stiffened against me, and my heart stuttered.
“Henry...” She took a shaky breath. “Can we just ... take it one day at a time?”
The hesitation in her voice cut deep, but I understood. I’d earned her wariness, her reluctance to trust in me forever again. “Of course,” I said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Whatever you need.”
She relaxed, curling back into me. Soon, her breathing evened out, but sleep eluded me. I lay awake, watching moonlight paint shadows across her peaceful face, wondering if she regretted our actions.
I didn’t. I couldn’t. Having her in my arms again was like coming home after years of wandering. The woman beside me wasn’t the girl I’d left behind. She was stronger, more complex, and somehow even more beautiful for having been broken and rebuilt .
Tomorrow would bring its own challenges. We still had my father to face, years of hurt to heal, trust to rebuild. She might need time—might always keep one foot ready to run—but I would spend every day proving myself worthy of her trust.
Because Savvy Honeysucker wasn’t just the woman I loved—she was everything. And even if she weren’t ready to believe in forever, I would wait. I would show her, day by day, that this time was different.
This time, I was here to stay.