Chapter 22 #2
“I’m so close,” I pant, my body shaking with each thrust of his fingers. He growls against me, the vibration sending me over the edge. I cry out, my orgasm shattering through me like a tidal wave.
Henry pulls away, and his lips and chin are glistening with my arousal. I lean down to wipe it off, but he grabs my hand. “Don’t you dare.” He looks up at me, his eyes filled with hunger and need.
I take my hand back and drop against the bed in exhaustion. When I look up, Henry quickly removes his clothes. My mouth falls open when his erection springs free. I can see the evidence of his desire, proof of how much he wants me.
I take a moment to admire him fully. Seeing his toned torso makes my mouth water and my fingers itch at the chance to mark the delicate skin there.
As my eyes drink him in, they catch on a dark blob of ink perched on his upper thigh.
I can’t quite see what it is, but my mouth twists into a smile anyway.
“My, my Professor Castillo. You have a thigh tattoo. What a slut.”
Henry’s eyes dance with amusement as a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Slut, huh?” he teases, leaning down so his face is just inches from mine. “That’s no way to talk to your teacher, Ms. Davis.”
A burst of playful laughter comes from deep within my chest. “Oh, I’m sorry, Professor. Should I raise my hand before I speak?” I say, my grin widening.
Henry leans in closer, and his breath tickles my ear. “You’re dangerously close to detention, you know.”
My heart pounds, and I bite my lip to stifle a grin. “Is that supposed to scare me?” I challenge, tilting my head to meet his gaze.
“Depends,” he says, his voice low. “Are you the type who likes to be punished?”
Before I can respond, his lips are on mine, hot and demanding. His hands trail down my side, their warmth igniting a fire beneath my skin. I lift my hips to him, desperate for more contact.
He doesn’t waste any time before answering my hips and positioning himself at my entrance. His eyes locked on mine, and I let myself become consumed by him.
“Do you have protection?” I blurt out mechanically. I knew how babies were made and wasn’t taking any chances.
“Yes, Pajarito.”
Henry works quickly, reaching around me to the nightstand sitting beside his bed.
He fumbles momentarily, his hand brushing against a book and knocking over a lamp before pulling the piece of square foil from the drawer.
He tears the wrapper with his teeth, his gaze never leaving mine. A wave of heat rushes through me.
“Always prepared,” I murmur, teasing.
His tips twitch into a sly grin as he rolls the condom down his length. “I’ve been preparing for this moment since you finally let me in, Pajarito.” His tone is laced with sincerity beneath the playful words.
I reach for him, and he responds instantly, his body aligning with mine perfectly. The moment his tip presses against my entrance, I gasp, my fingers clutching at his biceps.
He pauses, his dark eyes searching for permission. “You’re sure?” he asks, his voice soft, almost reverent.
“Yes, Henry. Please,” I beg, my voice trembling. All of the hesitation I felt toward this moment feels fleeting. Like it never should’ve existed in the first place.
He pushes in slowly, stretching me in a way that makes my breath hitch, and my body burns with a heady mix of pain and pleasure. My nails dig into his shoulders as I adjust to the fullness. He stills, giving me time to catch up.
“Relax,” he whispers, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Fuiste hecho para mi.”
Henry’s words melt the tension in my body, and I nod, shifting my hips to let him know I’m ready. He pulls back slightly, then thrusts in again, a restrained groan escaping his lips. The sound is raw, unfiltered, sending a shiver racing through me.
Our movements quickly find a rhythm. It’s slow and deliberate at first, but then the motion becomes faster and more urgent as the fire between us builds. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, needing him closer.
The room fills with the sounds of our erratic breathing, whispered names, and the slap of skin against skin. Every stroke, every thrust, pulls me closer to the edge, and I know I won’t last much longer.
“Henry,” I pant.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers before pressing his forehead against mine. His breath is warm and ragged against my cheek. “Come for me, Pajarito.”
His words send me over the edge. My body clenches around him as the orgasm crashes through me. I cry out, clinging to him as wave after wave of pleasure rocks my body.
Henry follows me, groaning my name as he buries himself deep inside me one last time. His body trembles, his grip on my hips tightening as he spills into the condom.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. Our bodies lie there, tangled and slick with sweat. When he finally collapses beside me, he pulls me into his arms without hesitation. I love this feeling.
“Pajarito?” he questions against my hair, his voice soft and content.
“Hmm?” I respond, too exhausted to form coherent words.
“You’re mine now,” he whispers.
A different wave of satisfaction washes over me, and I smile, knowing this is where I’m meant to be. “Yours, Henry. Always yours.”
The smell of coffee and something buttery wafts through the air, pulling me from a dream I can barely remember. I stretch lazily, my muscles aching in the best way. A smile tugs at my lips as the events from last night rush back in.
Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I reach for Henry’s discarded button-up from the night before and slip it on. The soft cotton brushes against my bare skin and a fluttering feeling appears out of thin air.
My smile doesn’t disappear as I navigate toward the kitchen wearing Henry’s shirt. He stands at the stove, his broad back to me, shirtless and barefoot. His dark hair is slightly disheveled, and his sweatpants hang low on his hips. The sight made me clench my thighs together.
“Morning, Pajarito,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. His voice feels like honey with a hint of spice. I wanted to drown in that sound.
“Morning.” I pad over to the counter and lean against it, watching him expertly flip a fluffy-looking pancake. “You made me dinner last night. You don’t have to make me breakfast too.”
“I don’t have to.” He smirks. “I want to.”
The same fluttery feeling from earlier returns in full force. I clutch my stomach from the intensity of my feelings for this man. Everything he says or does makes me feel like I can float on air. It felt like something I wasn’t ready to think about yet.
In typical Emma fashion, my mind starts doing its checks and balances. This moment felt good, but maybe it was too good to be true. The one thing threatening to sour this moment sat at the tip of my tongue, threatening to spill out at any moment.
I rest my chin in my hand as I watch him move around the kitchen. Now, I can’t help but think about what happens when summer is over. He said he wasn’t letting go of this thing between us, but what did that mean? Did that mean he was staying?
I bite my lip, turning the thought over as I muster the courage to ask without asking. My fingers trace invisible patterns on the countertop, my heart pounding harder than it should be for an innocent question.
“Pajarito, I can hear you thinking from over here,” Henry says. My eyes meet his, and I realize he’s been watching me for the past few minutes. My cheeks heat up.
“I was just thinking about how nice this is.” I gesture vaguely around the room.
Henry glances at me, raising a brow as he puts one of the pancakes on a plate. “Nice?” he repeats, clearly amused.
I roll my eyes with a smile lingering on my lips. “You know what I mean. It feels good being here with you.”
His smile softens, and it feels like the world shrinks around us for a moment, and nothing outside of this moment matters. But I know better than to avoid the unknown.
“I like being here with you, too,” he says, his voice warm. “Is everything okay, Emma? It seems like there’s something you want to talk about.”
I take a deep breath, trying to steady the fluttering in my chest. There’s something about his compassion and understanding that makes my heart skip.
Before I can make things any more awkward, I clear my throat. “What happens after the summer?”
Henry’s gaze flickers to me, then away, as if trying to gauge my tone. He keeps his hands busy, flipping pancakes, but I notice the tension in his shoulders.
“I don’t know yet,” he says, his voice low and guarded. “I’d like to stay, but there’s a lot I need to figure out first. There are things I haven’t wrapped up.”
I try to keep my face neutral, but there’s a tinge of regret. Maybe we should’ve discussed this before last night. In the harsh reality of daylight, it all feels so uncertain.
Before I can press further, a knock at the door interrupts the moment. Henry looks toward it, then back at me, his expression soft but apologetic. “Can you grab that? It’s probably Knox. He always seems to show up when I’m cooking.”
I nod, swallowing an unsettling feeling forming in my stomach. I make my way toward the door, and as I open it, my heart plummets. Standing in front of me isn’t Knox. It’s someone I don’t know.
There’s a woman filling up the doorway, and she is tall and impeccably dressed.
She reeks of confidence that immediately sets me on edge.
Her light brunette hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and her heels click loudly against the floor as she steps into the doorway.
Her gaze locks onto mine, calm and calculating.
“I’m Jenn,” she says smoothly, her voice businesslike. “Is Henry here?”