Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Ella
“Even though it can be hard to believe in romance, I think everyone can believe in Dr. Adam Carlsen and Olive Smith. The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood can turn even the most stone-cold unbeliever into a hopeless romantic!”
—Ella’s Staff Pick
It would’ve been irresponsible to fuck near the paint.
How would we explain it to the booksellers if it spilled and ruined all our progress?
I told Henry as much and it wasn’t until I pressed a gentle kiss under his jaw that he blew out a deep breath and relented.
I made a mental note that whenever I wanted something from him, all I had to do was press my lips right there.
Henry had pressed me up against one of the shelves hooked to the wall in the Etiquette section, his body completely covering mine. I wasn’t short or tiny by any means, but sometimes I forgot how big Henry was. Something about every inch of him covering me made me shudder.
I pressed my thighs together. Henry, ever attentive, noticed.
He kicked my feet apart with his, lifting his knee to meet the apex of my thighs.
As he applied the slightest bit of pressure, his hand grasped my chin, pressing his mouth against mine.
I moaned, my hands curling around his shoulder, pressing down against his knee, desperate for friction.
“Carmella,” he sighed into my mouth.
“I love it when you call me that,” I whispered between kisses. He smiled against my mouth, his hand trailing down my face to my torso, near my rib cage.
Henry was too polite to do it, so I took that leap of faith and reached for the bottom of his shirt. Quickly, he pulled it off in one fell swoop, then reached for mine. I unhooked my bra, tossing it to the side.
His skin was warm, taut with muscle. If you had told me last year I’d be desperately into football players, I would’ve laughed in your face. But years of athleticism had sculpted thick biceps and strong shoulders.
Henry pulled back, taking me in.
“Jesus fuck,” he said, shakily. He cupped my breast, his thumb pressing against my nipple.
I hissed, my back arching in response. He met my gaze through half-lidded eyes, carefully watching my reaction as he pinched my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
I was so heady at the sight of him in nothing but his jeans and glasses.
I groaned, tugging his mouth back to mine.
My hand slid down his torso to the top of his jeans, slipping my fingers under the waistband, just close enough to touch his length. He clutched my face, his mouth moving faster, harsher. I smiled at his wanting, inching my fingers just a little bit closer before pulling away.
He groaned at the loss. “Honey—”
I tsked. “Patience, no one ever taught you that?”
“I’ve been patient,” he said, his voice low. “For fucking months, Carmella. If I have to beg, I’m not above it.”
I unbuttoned his jeans, giving myself more room to take his length into my hand. I pressed my chest against him so we were skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. I ran my hand up and down his length just once before rubbing my thumb over the tip, spreading the precome.
Henry gasped, breaking away from my kiss to rest his head on my shoulder. As my hand moved up and down, he took deep, shaky breaths. When I tightened my grip, moving just a bit faster, he pushed my hand away.
“No way it’s happening like this. I’m not coming in my pants like a fucking teenager when I’ve got your tits out and you wanting me. Take off your pants.”
My hands were shaking with excitement and a little bit of nerves. As soon as I was undressed, Henry sank to his knees. He pushed me against the bookshelf and took one of my feet, propping it on his shoulder, and pulled my waist to his mouth.
My head fell back as he kissed me, languidly.
He started with one long lick through my core.
He repeated it a few more times before sucking my clit into his mouth, my back arching.
My hands flew to his hair, holding him against me, my eyes screwed shut.
He alternated between quick licks and sucking my button as my want for him dripped down my thigh.
“Henry,” I gasped. “I’m s-so close.”
One of his hands fell away from my waist and without warning, he slid a finger inside me, then two, pumping slowly as he kissed me. I cried out, clenching around him. I was torn between closing my eyes, lost in the pleasure, and watching Henry.
“So sweet,” he murmured against me. “Want to do this for hours.”
“Henry, I need you now,” I said, breathless. I grasped at his shoulders, trying to pull him up, but he wasn’t relenting.
“Not fucking done, honey,” he said, his mouth moving faster against me in time with his finger. My back pressed against the bookshelf, my hips pushing against his mouth for just more of him.
When he curled his fingers, hitting the exact right spot, I was done.
My head fell back against the books, my thighs trembling in his hold.
But nothing deterred Henry, refusing to slow down for one bit during my release.
His fingers moved faster, his mouth sucked harder, and I was complete putty.
Messy and worn out and still not satisfied.
Henry rose to his full height, wiping his mouth, glistening with my desire, with the back of his hand. He held my gaze, both of our chests moving up and down rapidly.
He jutted his chin at me and said, “Turn around.”
I did as he asked, perhaps a little too eagerly. My heart pounded in anticipation. I’d always thought Henry was attractive, but it was like he was a different person now. Confident, self-assured, and taking. I loved every bit of it.
Once again, he used his feet to spread my legs, a little roughly. Then he gently took my hands, placing them on the shelves in front of me.
“Goddamn, honey,” he muttered, his mouth close to my ear. “I want this image burned in my brain forever.”
“Please, Henry,” I whispered, pushing my hips back so I met his hardness.
“I know,” he said soothingly, running his hand down my hair. “Me too.”
I was hyper aware of every move he made. I could hear his hand on himself, the slight wetness of the movement, the way his breathing increased. Right when he lined himself up with my entrance, he froze.
“What?” I asked, my voice bordering on desperation.
He pulled back so he was no longer touching me. “I don’t have a condom.”
“I was tested a few months ago,” I rushed. “I haven’t been with anyone since last year.”’
“Me, too, but Carmella—”
“I have an IUD, Henry.” I looked back at him, meeting his eyes. “I trust you.”
That was all he needed. He placed one hand on my lower back to push me down and the other on my hip, pulling me toward him. He notched himself at my entrance and slowly pushed inside me. With each inch, he stretched me out as I gasped for breath, trying to take him.
When he was finally all the way inside me, I whimpered at his stillness. I circled my hips back, willing him to move.
“Hold still,” he commanded, his voice raspy. “I’m trying not to be a two-pump chump here, Carmella. You’re so fucking tight.”
My fingers were turning white from my tight grip on the shelves in front of me. And when he pulled back, I let out a ragged moan.
“Holy shit,” I muttered, my eyes squeezed shut, overwhelmed with the pleasure of it all.
His pace began to pick up and I was desperate to see him lost in pleasure, too.
I turned my head back and expected his head to be thrown back with his eyes shut.
But he was watching the place we met with such heated intensity that I clenched hard around him.
“Not yet,” he said, half begging. “Gotta give me a fighting chance to last here, Ella.”
I reached my hand down, making circles around my clit as he pushed inside me over and over. My muscles started to tighten, my breath quickening.
“Henry,” I moaned.
“I know, honey. You’re doing so good taking me like that.”
“I’m gonna come again,” I whined.
“Go on then,” he said, his voice low and strained. “Let me see you.”
I gasped as he fucked me harder, a little rougher, his palm coming down on my ass, certainly leaving a mark. I was drunk with pleasure, my eyes only half open, trying to regain control of my senses. Trying to take deep breaths as I was almost there.
“I want you to come with me,” I pleaded. “Inside me.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, moving faster. His grip was tight on my waist and I’m sure it’d leave a bruise and that was all the hotter to me. The idea that my body was marked by him, a reminder of this moment.
The shelf in front of us was shaking and in the back of my mind, I worried about the books falling onto us. Or maybe even the shelf breaking. But none of that trumped the feeling of him.
“Henry,” I choked out. “I’m—”
“Me, too. Come for me, honey.”
With his command, I came, pulsing around him. Henry followed suit, a low groan leaving his mouth as he stilled inside me.
We both panted in the aftermath. I was still bent over, trying to regain my breath, when Henry slipped out of me.
“No,” I protested.
He chuckled and said, “C’mon, let me clean you up.”
He snatched tissues from the art info desk and laid me down on the cold hardwood floor as he wiped the inside of my thighs, kissing the soreness.
When he was done, he lay next to me, pulling me into his arms. I snuggled into him, listening to his heartbeat, trying to match my breathing to his.
His hand moved up and down my arm, gently.
“Henry,” I said quietly after a little while as he hummed in response. “You can still rely on me. Now and even when you go back—”
“I don’t want to think about that right now,” Henry whispered, pressing a kiss to my hair line. “All I want to think about is the fact that I’ve got my dream girl in my arms.”
“And that she doesn’t want to leave them,” I whispered back.
He looked down at me and said, “You don’t ever have to.”