Chapter 15
Jane lay in bed staring as the moonlight danced across the evening like two lovers on a ballroom floor. It was well past two in the morning, and she couldn’t stop thinking of how empty she’d felt when Henry walked away.
Her body was tense with pent-up hormones and unexplored sexual awareness. Even though she hadn’t spoken to or looked at Henry for the rest of the evening, it was as if her body had been acutely aware of him the entire time.
She’d tried ignoring it, sticking to Sarah’s side throughout the evening like a professional bridesmaid, doing all the things she’d been hired to do. In fact, she was the last to leave the dinner, making sure everything was handled for tomorrow.
Sarah had seemed pleased with Jane’s work, and no one was the wiser about her and Henry—which was what she wanted. So then why did she feel so conflicted?
Because he walked away from you.
He’d only done what she’d asked, and while her brain was saying it was a good thing, her body was wound as tight as a suspension coil.
On the boat, she’d watched other couples holding hands and laughing at private jokes and felt a zing of jealousy every time, knowing that she and Henry would never have that freedom. They would go their separate ways after this. They’d never walk down the street together or dance in the rain. And they’d never be able to express their feelings other than in the bedroom.
Tonight she’d wanted to express those feelings, but him following her back to her room or vice versa was just too dangerous. There had been guests and family staying on the same floor, roaming around the halls well into the night. So they’d taken the elevator up with other people and stood in the back, where Henry had run a sly finger up her arm, causing goosies to explode all over her body. No eye contact, no “Good night,” no “I’m sorry for bailing earlier,” just the single brush of the finger and she’d been a goner. Forgotten her anger, the reasons why this thing between them could never work. Which must have been why she’d opted for his team shirt over pajamas.
“Ugh!” Jane threw the pillow over her face. Even thinking about that touch made her core start to warm and tense.
She needed some release, pronto.
Admitting she’d never be able to sleep in this condition, she knew she had two options: take a cold shower or pull out the big guns.
Big guns it was.
Flicking on the light, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust before she rested her head against the headboard and picked up her smutty book. It was about a hockey player and a ballerina. She flipped to where she’d left off and began reading. All it took was a few minutes before she reached a heated passage.
Two paragraphs in and her body started to heat. By the fourth paragraph, she had to squeeze her thighs together to create the friction she desperately craved. With every erotic word, her thong became more constrictive, more uncomfortable and scratchy.
With a single hand, so as not to drop the book, she shimmied out of her underwear, leaving her in nothing but hormones and #19 across her chest.
Blindly reaching over,she grabbed her Clitorator and slid her hand down her stomach, sighing with relief when the vibrator hit her sweet spot.
She arched her back, her eyes closing ever so slightly, but not so much that she couldn’t keep focus on what she was reading. As the scene became steamier, she raised the vibration level until it was maxed out.
She read and moved with intention to bring her some kind of relief. Only she finished the scene and there she sat, right on the precipice, unable to fall over the edge.
She moved faster, pushed harder, but it didn’t help. Then she closed her eyes and pictured Henry with his head between her thighs as she rode his face like it was a race, and the pressure built. That coiling tensed so tightly that it hurt, straddling that thin line between pain and pleasure until she was sure she’d snap in half.
Then it began. The building of her orgasm as Fantasy Henry swirled his tongue through her folds over and over again, driving her higher and higher until she was moaning uncontrollably.
Without warning her orgasm hit, so hard and powerful it had her screaming out. “Henry! Oh god, Henry!”
Her hips thrust up and she rode out her orgasm until the stars were no longer visible and she could finally breathe. She crashed back onto the mattress like a wet noodle, completely spent.
She was still breathing heavily when there was a gentle tap at the door. Clutching her hand to her heaving chest, she sat straight up.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“You know who it is.” He was right. Her nipples knew exactly who was at the door the moment she heard that knock. “Open up, love.”
“Go away.”
“Not happening,” he said through the wood, and she knew that if it was that easy to hear him, he must have heard her.
Slipping her underwear back on, she walked to the door and opened it to find him on the other side leaning against the doorjamb, with his hands over his head like he was holding up the building.
He was still in his clothes from earlier, only they looked a mess—wrinkled, the collar undone, the tie long gone, the sleeves rolled to the elbows. His hair was rumpled as if he’d run his fingers through it, and as he took a slow inventory of her in nothing but his team shirt, his nostrils flared, his eyes dilated, and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips.
“What were you doing, love?”
“Nothing?”
His smile said everything she needed to know. Without a doubt she’d been caught. “So you weren’t—how do you Americans say—rubbing one out, while screaming my name?”
Jane grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him inside and slammed the door. “Why don’t you say that louder so maybe the entire floor can hear.”
“Trust me. They heard.”
She pushed at his chest. “Jerk.”
He caught her hand. His eyes darted over her head and his lips curled up in a grin. He’d spotted her book. “A little bedtime reading?”
“Why are you here?”
“Because of this.” He brought his mouth down on hers in a kiss that sent her mind spinning. Because kissing Henry was like being reborn. The past and the future ceased to matter and all she could feel, focus on, was the present.
He didn’t start slow and work his way up. Nope, he went in like he was pumped full of nitro, all pedal and no brakes.
One hand rested on her hip, his thumb making lazy circles on her bare ass cheek. Her hands, however, were everywhere. His chest, pecs, biceps, threaded in his hair. She couldn’t get enough. When he suddenly pulled back, she chased his lips but there was too much distance between them to retain contact.
“Your choice, love. Are we still not doing this?”
Jane thought of all the reasons to say no, like how he would have to sneak out later without being caught, but they all paled in comparison to how badly she wanted this man. “Oh, we’re doing this.”
“Then I guess it’s time for a little bedtime story.”
Jane was a little confused as to what he was talking about until he reached for her book and opened it to the last chapter she’d read. She sat on the bed as he scanned the page and when his eyes met hers over the top of the paperback, they were heated and dilated.
“She wrapped her hand around his impressive erection and gave it a few strokes,” he read. “Slow then fast, slow then fast. From base to tip and back down again. ‘Much more of that and this will be over before I get the chance to taste you. All of you.’”
“Do you want me to taste you, love?”
“Desperately.”
“Where?”
Jane let her bent knees fall to the side, which tugged at her Henry Norris shirt, which was now curled at her belly.
Henry looked down at her exposed core and groaned. But instead of tasting her, he went back to the book.
“He was cupping her hips and dragging her over him until she was on her knees and he was under her. The position was new and erotic and made her feel alive. His mouth skimmed along her inner thigh, his teeth nibbling the sensitive flesh right below her slit, sending her heart skittering into overdrive.”
“Is that what I do to you? Make you feel alive?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Yes. Do I make you feel that way?”
“You make me feel more than alive. When I’m with you it’s like I can finally breathe. Now come here.”
Just like the book said, he cupped her hip and pulled her across the bed toward him. Then he was on his back, and she was straddling his face. He kissed her inner thigh, then the other before handing her the book.
“Keep reading, love.”
All she could do was take the book and nod.
“He passed over where she needed him most and started the same torture on her other thigh, again stopping just shy of the finish line,” Jane read, and she could feel the heat pool between her legs. “‘Taste me now,’ she whimpered.”
“As the lady wishes.”
Henry pressed an open-mouthed kiss right where she needed it, and Jane nearly dropped the book.
“Keep reading or I will stop,” he said.
Jane forced her eyes to focus on the words.
“He chuckled against her and she could feel the warm puffs of breath on her skin. Then she felt his tongue—right up the center. He tasted her again and again until her hips were bucking. If he hadn’t been holding her thighs, she might have smothered him.”
“You want to smother me? Because I can’t think of a better way to go out,” he said, his breath tickling her sensitive skin.
Driven by the erotic foreplay, Jane read on. She knew this passage, knew what was to come next—and it was her.
“‘I want to see you touch yourself,’ he said, and there was something about the quiet assuredness in his tone that spoke to her. Stole her breath. She tiptoed her fingers down her body, circling her navel,” Jane said as she followed the words exactly.
“‘That’s it. A little lower.’ Every word reverberated through her core, making her hotter and hotter. He was still beneath her, his tongue doing delicious things to her, when her fingers rubbed over her pleasure point. He grunted against her, and she realized he was watching her every move. Feeling exposed, she nearly pulled back, but the hunger in his eyes overrode her nerves and had every thought tumbling out of her head. Instead of shying away from the unknown, she did what she’d always wanted to do but never had the confidence for—she took charge.”
“You going to take charge, love?” Henry asked. “Are you going to slide those pretty fingers down here and join the party?”
“Yes,” she said on a gasp of air.
He looked up and watched as she ran her fingers down her body until she reached her pleasure point and then ever so gently toyed with it. She closed her eyes and let out a moan as her pace picked up.
“Keep reading,” he commanded, and her eyes fluttered open. “I need to know what comes next. Besides you.”
She nodded and lifted the book and began again.
“She brushed back and forth, pressing harder with each stroke, while his tongue was doing some stroking of its own. The deep pulls and barely-there strokes echoed throughout her body. It didn’t take long for them to find a rhythm, for her body to tighten, and her thighs to quiver beneath her. And then she shot off like a firework on New Year’s Eve. Flying high and?—”
Jane dropped the book and her back arched as the pressure built. Unable to control herself, she pressed down even harder, creating enough friction to appease her ever-growing desire and need.
Erotic didn’t even begin to describe what he was doing. It was pure, unadulterated foreplay that would go down in the history books. His tongue flicked in and out, circling around and accelerating her pleasure.
“Henry!” she cried out. “God, Henry.”
She gave a last buck and shot off like a firework, her orgasm exploding inside her and traveling out to her limbs. It was so intense she had to put her hands on the bed so as not to fall on top of him.
When she came to, she was on her back and he was undoing his pants, grabbing a condom, and before she could even catch her breath, he was sliding inside her in a powerful and confident thrust.
They both gasped in unison and Henry rested his forehead on her shoulder. Of their own accord, her hips bucked slightly and he groaned.
“I need a minute or I’m going to come right here, and I’m guessing that’s not how the story goes. Is it?”
“No,” she whispered. “In the story they come together.”
He lifted his head and met her gaze, his sex-hazed and her own trying to focus past the stars she was still seeing. “I like the sound of that.”
She wasn’t sure, but it sounded like he wasn’t just talking about sex. He was talking about something much more important.
Them.
Slowly he pulled nearly all the way out and then slid back in, creating delicious tingles across her entire body. She wrapped her legs around his back, locking her ankles so as to keep him in place—and pulling him even closer.
Every time he pulled out, she’d tighten and lift her hips to meet him. It didn’t take long for them to find a perfect rhythm that allowed for maximum contact and pressure.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered, then took her mouth in an all-consuming kiss that had her head spinning tales of happily ever after and forever. She’d told herself a lot of stories in her lifetime, but never had she wished one would come true as much as she did this one. Because never had a man called her perfect. But in his arms, she felt perfect—perfectly right for him.
The kiss built in heat, keeping pace with the frenzied way her body reacted to his touch.
He was pumping so hard, she had to slide her arms around his back and dig her nails into his shoulders just to keep hold.
“Henry, I’m there.”
“Then fall. I’m right behind you.”
That was all she needed. The promise that he was right there, ready to catch her, and the top blew off. She cried out as her body pulsed with pleasure. She locked her legs so tightly that even air couldn’t pass between them.
He drilled her into the mattress and then his body arched, his head falling back as the veins in his neck strained from him clenching his jaw. Then he gave a final, powerful push, and she felt his release burst through her—but he didn’t stop. He kept thrusting until both of their orgasms had passed, then collapsed on top of her.
He didn’t pull back, instead rolling over and taking her with him while fully connected. And for the first time, she felt so connected with another person she didn’t know where she ended and he began. Just like she no longer knew when exactly she’d stopped being a bridesmaid for hire and become a person in love.