Chapter 12
chapter
twelve
Henry
She shoves me backward on the bed, then straddles me. The movement slots my body against hers in a way that makes my brain white out for a second. I grab her ass with both hands.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve stared at this ass wondering how it would feel in my palms like this,” I say.
She pulls back from the kiss and glares at me. Her eyes blaze, her lips swollen and wet, and even pissed off, she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
"You are an idiot to have waited this long. You could have had your hands on my ass years ago,” she says.
Then her lips are on mine again, contradicting every word she just said. I'll take it. I'll take whatever she gives me and hold it with both hands.
I pull back just enough to speak against her mouth. "You’re right. I’m a goddamn moron for not speaking up sooner."
I kiss her again. Deeper this time. Slower. Trying to pour every ounce of what I've been carrying into the press of my mouth against hers — years of wanting, years of watching, years of standing on the other side of a distance I put between us and regretting it with every breath.
"You drive me crazy," she pants.
"I've never wanted anyone the way I want you." My voice comes out rough. Wrecked. I don't care. "Having you in my house has been driving me fucking nuts. I haven't jacked off this much since I was a teenager."
She stills against me just slightly, and I feel her breath hitch. Then she rolls her hips—just once, just enough to drag the heat of her against my cock. With only the layer of my boxer briefs and her thin panties, the sensation pulls a groan from me.
"Damn," she breathes. "That's really hot."
Then we're kissing again while she grinds against me.
My hand goes to the hem of her shirt. Slips underneath. And the first touch of her bare skin, warm and impossibly soft, sends a jolt through me so sharp I have to close my eyes for a second to keep from embarrassing myself.
She whimpers into my mouth.
That sound. That small, needy, involuntary sound.
I am going to lose my entire mind.
I trail my lips down her throat, dragging my mouth over the place where her pulse hammers against her skin. My hand shifts higher under her shirt, cupping her bare breast over her bra. Her nipple is already hard, pressing against my palm, and I run my thumb over it just to feel her shudder.
"You've been jacking off thinking about me?" she asks. Her voice is breathy, lust-drunk, barely above a whisper, and it's the sexiest thing I've ever heard.
"Yeah, Firefly." I press my mouth to the hollow of her throat. "Every day. Sometimes twice a day. You have no idea what you do to me."
"Show me." She gets off of me to sit on the bed, watching me expectantly.
Two words. Soft and steady and bold all at once. That's my Gracie, always braver than she thinks she is.
"I'd rather make you come," I tell her. Because it's true. I've been imagining it—the way she'd sound, the way she'd look, the way her body would shudder with her release. I want the reality more than I want my next breath.
"Okay," she says. "But first show me how you touch yourself."
Those big brown eyes with those goddamn freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks make her look the picture of innocence. Like she didn't just ask me to put my hand on my cock while she watches.
I palm myself over my underwear. The bulge, the tenting, is obnoxious.
Then she's kissing me again, and I'm lost. Lost in the taste of her and the feel of her curves filling my hands, and the small sounds she makes when I grip her hips and pull her back down against me.
"You're a really good kisser," I say against her mouth.
"That day in SugarBakers," she says quietly. "You surprised the hell out of me."
"Best kiss of my life," I tell her. No hesitation. Honest as a heartbeat.
My palm curves around her hip, and I hold her gaze. "Remember, you wanted me to show you what you do to me. That day, I had to awkwardly hide my erection from my sister and your best friend so you wouldn't think I was a complete pervert."
She folds that bottom lip into her mouth, sucking on it, and my cock throbs so hard it's almost painful.
"You're so fucking sexy, Gracie. I want to take you on a proper honeymoon so I can get you naked and keep you that way for at least a week."
She holds my gaze. Doesn't look away. Doesn't flinch.
Her hands go to the bottom of her shirt, and she whips it off in one fluid movement. Her bare breasts are heavy and perfect. Tipped with hard pink nipples that beg for my mouth.
I lean up and lick one, sucking the beaded tip into my mouth.
She moans and then pulls away from me. "Touch yourself first," she says. "I really want to watch." She scoots further away from me this time, opening her legs so I can see the wetness marking the center of her plain white panties.
I climb off the bed and reach into my boxers, pull myself free.
Her eyes lock onto my hand wrapped around my length, and then she glances up at my face. "I’m not going to lie, husband, your dick is impressive. But I’m pretty sure you have to do more than just hold it. Show me.”
“Say it again,” I say.
“That your dick is impressive?”
I shake my head. “The other thing. What you called me.”
“Husband.”
I groan and pump my fist.
“You like that?” she asks, feigning innocence. “Husband?”
Another pump.
My cock is heavy and thick in my fist. “Bossy little thing.”
She licks her lips, then her gaze drops to my erection.
I stroke myself. Slow. Deliberate. Letting her see every movement—the twist of my wrist at the head, the tight grip on the downstroke.
"Put your hand in your panties," I tell her. My voice is rough and full of gravel. "Dip your fingers in all that wetness and give me a taste."
She doesn't hesitate. Her hand slides beneath the cotton. Her moan is low and desperate as she touches herself.
I squeeze my cock hard. I do not want to come just from watching her stick her hand down her panties. But my body apparently has different plans, because everything in me is pulled taut, every muscle coiled, every nerve ending screaming.
She withdraws her hand slowly. Holds it up. Her fingertips glisten in the low light of the bedroom.
I lean forward, close the distance between us, and pull her fingers into my mouth.
The taste of her hits my tongue—sweet and musky and completely addictive. A growl rips from my throat. I suck her fingers clean, and her eyes go wide, her lips parting on a shaky exhale. She tastes like everything I've been starving for.
Then I'm coming down on top of her, and we're kissing again. Her hands go to my back, her short nails scrape against my skin as she arches up to meet me.
"What are you doing to me, Firefly?" I press the words into the curve of her neck. "I feel like if I don't touch you, I'll lose my fucking mind."
"Then touch me." Her hands spread wide. “Have me, husband. Make me yours.”
Flushed cheeks. Kiss-swollen lips. Brown eyes soft and wanting, and so open it makes my chest ache. She's spread beneath me on my bed, half-undressed, her hair fanned across the pillows, and she's looking at me like I'm the only thing in the room. The only thing in her world.
"You don't even know how breathtaking you are, do you?"
She gives me a shy smile. The kind that makes her look like the girl I fell for so many years ago.
"These tits," I say, staring down at them. Heavy and pale and perfect. I slide my hand up the valley between her breasts, feeling her heartbeat hammering against my palm. "I could put my dick right here and fuck these beauties."
She whimpers. The sound vibrates through her whole body and into mine. "Okay. We can do that. But if you don't touch me soon, I am going to combust."
"Now who's the impatient one?"
But I drop my mouth to her breast. I suck her nipple into my mouth and draw hard, pulling a gasp from her that goes straight to the base of my spine.
My dick pulses in my underwear. She's perfect on my tongue—warm, soft, her skin tasting faintly of the vanilla that always clings to her from the bakery.
I swirl my tongue around the tight peak, then scrape my teeth over it just to hear her cry out.
Her hands rake up my naked back, nails digging in, and the sting of it lights something primal in me.
I'm so ready to be buried inside her, to feel her clench around me, but I force myself to slow down.
I want to take her apart first. I want to watch her fall to pieces under my hands before I give us both what we need.
While I lavish her breasts with attention, I slip my hand into her panties.
My fingers slide into slick, swollen heat.
She's soaked. Absolutely drenched. For me.
"Henry!" My name is a cry. Then she moans when I circle her clit with the pad of my middle finger.
I match the rhythm to my mouth. Slow circles on her clit while I suck her nipple, then faster strokes as I flick my tongue, building her up in tandem. She bucks against my hand, chasing the pressure, her nails doing their best to cause damage, but they’re simply too short.
"That's it, Firefly," I murmur against her breast. I press a kiss between them, then look up at her face.
Her eyes are squeezed shut, mouth open, brow furrowed in concentration.
She's close. I can feel it in the way her thighs tremble around my hand, in the way her walls flutter against my fingers when I dip lower and press inside.
"I'm going to watch you fall apart on my hand," I tell her. I curl my fingers and press my thumb against her clit. "Then you're going to sit on my face so I can make you come with my tongue."
Her orgasm pummels through her.
Her back arches like a drawn bow, and she cries out my name—Henry—in a voice that's shattered and beautiful. Her body clamps down on my fingers and pulses, and I work her through every tremor, every aftershock, stroking her gently as she rides it out.
I watch her face the entire time.
I watch her because I've waited years for this. Because I want to memorize every detail—the flush spreading down her chest, the way her lips form my name, the way her hands finally go slack against my back and her body melts into the mattress like she's been poured there.
She opens her eyes and stares up at me.
And the expression on her face is a bit dazed.