Chapter 39
Henry
The streets are quiet as we walk home, arms latched around each other like we can’t bear to be apart.
My last-minute prom came together perfectly, thanks to DeeDee and Ivy, especially.
As soon as I shared my idea with them, they took over to make it happen.
I’ll never forget the look on Venus’s face when we walked into the diner—blissful and beautiful, moved to tears.
Even now, she’s smiling, like she can’t stop.
I don’t know what will happen with us. If the past has taught me anything, it’s that the moment I believe I have it all figured out, everything changes a breath later.
Despite our amazing night and the love we share, Venus has tough choices ahead.
She’ll decide our fate, and I sense those hesitations that I missed years ago.
Behind her happiness, she is uneasy and unsure—anyone in her position would be—and I honestly can’t say where she’ll land.
But tonight I feel like I’ve restored some of what we lost then. I showed her that she’s loved and wanted. And that’s what I’ll continue to do, as long as she lets me.
Closing the door to my apartment, my hand in hers, I blink and imagine thousands of versions of us arriving home like this—different clothes, different times of day, with Olly, with Ivy, carrying groceries.
The home we’re walking into changes too—a Christmas tree in the corner, a larger bookshelf, a dog, way more plants.
She kisses me near the door, and I think this is where we’ll kiss each other goodbye in the mornings and greet each other at sunsets.
I think of her keys hanging beside mine on the rack and her mug next to mine on the counter.
They’re sweet and simple images I shouldn’t let myself have, but I can’t help it.
Tonight’s been perfect, so I might as well let my mind drift to those perfect places while they’re still in view.
In the bedroom, she takes her time, peeling me out of my jacket, her hands lingering on my shoulders and arms. The tie goes next, one delicate tug at a time, like she wants me in my suit for as long as she can stand it.
Her fingers dance along the buttons of my shirt, and she leaves kisses along my chest as she undoes each one.
She unfastens my belt slowly, eases my pants lower, and her eyes go wide as she explores me.
I remove her dress in less time, but nothing is hurried or frantic. It’s slow and sweet and fucking sexy. My hands roam over her bare skin, loving how familiar she is to me now, kissing her sensitive places, enjoying her curves and her soft moans when I touch her just right.
I tug on the ends of her scarf, but we break into laughter when I create a knot. She teases it free, sending her gorgeous hair down like ribbons around her.
I take the scarf from her hand. It’s long, pink, and silky-soft, like grass in the summer, tickling our ankles.
I hold the delicate fabric between us, struck with a strange and sudden desire—it’s a longing, desperate and powerful, to keep her here.
To feel her surrender. “Um, I want to… would you let me…”
I shake my head, giving up on words that I’m too nervous to say. I take her hand, removing her jewelry before gently wrapping the silk around her wrist. I tie one end of the scarf in place, showing her what I mean.
Her irises widen to deep green, and she looks breathless, wanting, beautiful. “Yes, Henry.”
The hitch in her voice reveals nerves and excitement—the same as I feel, attempting something I’ve never done before. But I long to feel her trust, to give her comfort and pleasure, to be adventurous.
She lies down on the bed, open for me. I place her tied wrist above her head, and loop the scarf over a notch on the headboard.
My fingers trail down her suspended arm, across her breasts, and up her free hand, guiding it to meet the other.
Secured into place, she gives her binding a downward tug and smiles her approval when it doesn’t budge.
“Take me, Henry.”
Hearing those words, seeing her like this—arms over her head, hands tied, her chest practically heaving for me to touch her, her pleasure at my mercy—I’m overrun with need, desperate to take her immediately.
I savor her instead. I touch the silk of her bindings before skirting my fingertips gently down her wrists and arms, making her cheeks flush red with heat. She’s hyper-responsive, each touch inciting gasps and moans, as if the inability to use her hands has heightened her nerve endings.
She is fucking loving this.
I kiss and explore her, inch by inch. She’s ticklish behind her knees. Touching the tip of her breast just a little makes her back arch. The more I tease her, the more her need builds until she’s writhing under my hands and moaning my name.
When I kiss her thighs and settle between her legs, licking and teasing her clit, she wraps them around me, squeezing me against her tightly.
I laugh at how frantic she is. Her sweet moans.
Calling my name. Using her legs to insist I keep going.
She’s so turned on, so ready, that she comes for the first time in seconds.
So, I give her a few more. With my fingers. My mouth. Everything for her.
She cries out my name each time, and I’ll never tire of the breathy, aching way she says it.
Her legs loosen off my back, and she says, “Let me have you inside me… please.”
I satiate her with a deep kiss, and her legs slip around me, desperate for more. I’m still kissing her when I push inside her.
Still kissing while we moan at the same time over how damn tight and deep and perfect it feels.
Still kissing when I take her tied hands from off the post and hook them over my shoulders instead. Tying her to me.
“I need you closer,” I whisper against her lips, and her arms clutch me. I lean back, bringing her with me.
And we’re still kissing when she comes again, and I soon follow.
Arms linked around my neck, she collapses against me. “Henry, that was…”
“Yeah, it was.”
She shivers against me, as if she’s reliving her orgasm in echoes. “I’ve never done that.”
“Me, neither. Never wanted to before,” I say, kissing and nuzzling her neck. “Thanks for trusting me.”
She leans up, catching my eyes in hers like she’s surprised. “I-I do trust you. Only you.”
“Mmm, I love it when you speak of me in absolutes.”
She groans, but smirks. “Only with you.”
I sit up, bringing her with me, and gently ease her arms over my head. She holds her tangled wrists between us, and I start to untie them.
“Henry, you will always be that guy for me. I will never forget tonight.”
I smile at her declaration, but there’s sadness behind it, creeping in. It feels like she’s letting me down easy, and in the end, when she leaves again, she’ll say, “At least we had prom.” Our better ending is still an ending.
The scarf falls away, but I hold her hands tightly between us. “Go anywhere, Venus, but stay with me. Make me your fixed constant. I’m yours. Wherever your adventures take you. Okay?”
Her brow kinks with distress that I don’t understand. If I’m her guy always, then agreeing to be with me regardless of her job or location should be a logical extension of her promise.
“I-I…”
Gently, I massage her wrists in case they might be sore, and wait for her to tell me what she’s feeling.
With a light smile, she tugs her hands free from mine, and her fingertips trail down my chest. “Henry, I-I’m wilting.”
“Wilting?”
“That’s what a botanist says when she’s tired.”
“A joke? From Dr. Venus Blake? That’s um… unexpected,” I chuckle through the hurt I feel over her quick diversion.
“I have my moments,” she says.
“Yeah, I know. Let’s sleep then. I have a big day planned for us tomorrow,” I say, trying to sound upbeat. I set her scarf on the bedside table, half-wondering if I should tie our wrists together to make sure she doesn’t slip away in the night.
Once we’re settled, I curl behind her, kissing her bare shoulder. I’m about to whisper goodnight when her voice, soft and unsure, cuts me off.
“You invited Maggie and Fred to prom?”
“Um, well, it’s not exactly customary, parents at prom,” I chuckle, “but yeah. When Ivy said Gil had a plan to bring your dad and Christie, I thought… anyway, it was short-notice.”
“Maggie said she was busy?” Venus asks.
“Yeah, they couldn’t make it.”
“Do you… think that’s true?”
I know it isn’t true. Mom and Fred’s Friday night plans haven’t changed in years—home from work, dinner, and TV.
It’s what they do most nights. If they’d had real plans, I would’ve known.
Not that I want to explain to Venus that Mom didn’t want to attend because of her.
“I nearly lost you because of that girl. She broke your heart once. She’ll do it again. ”
I sigh into her shoulder before kissing it again. “Sorry, she’s just… she’ll come around.”
She says nothing more, and I wish I could gauge her reaction.
Venus loved my mom. I remember times when Ivy would receive packages from her surrogate, Marta, and instead of watching her sister gush over letters and Italian treats, Venus would grab my hand and say, “Let’s go see Maggie.
” We’d find her in the kitchen, the garden, or washing the car, and Venus would find a way to join in without asking.
At the time, I disliked it—the last thing I wanted to do with Venus was waste time on chores.
Venus would insinuate herself awkwardly, grabbing the hose or the dish or whatever right out of Mom’s hands.
“Venus, if you want to help, just ask,” Mom would say before assigning her a task.