26. Henry and Charlotte #2
Mesmerized by the joy that made her eyes two enormous orbs and curved her plump lips into a smile, his fingers fell on her shoulder, where a coil of dark hair had enticed him since they’d entered the shed.
Curling it around his forefinger, he lowered his voice.
“For you.” Intent on not rushing anything, Henry reluctantly took a step back to the counter, plucking two cups from a cabinet.
Pouring the half and half in first, he then added a spoonful of sugar to each cup, his gaze never wavering from Charlotte as she explored the shed.
With faint chords from the band at the street dance filling the silent air, Charlotte went from one small barrel to the next.
“If you rub the beans between your fingers, you release the oils.”
“Can I?” she turned to find Henry watching her.
He nodded, so she touched the coffee beans on top, marveling at their slick texture and the subtle differences in each batch.
Who was this magic man, she mused, building a structure to roast his own coffee?
Surely, he must be the most modest man in existence.
So diligent, so exacting, with the care he gave to his customers at the auto shop, to the time it must have taken to craft this shed, and the passion he had for creating his coffee blends.
Essential oils, herbs, and spices lined the shelf above, labeled “peppermint”, “vanilla”, “cinnamon sticks”, and “orange peel”.
Her eyes travelled from left to right, coming to an abrupt stop at Henry, his forearm braced on the shelf, his body leaning over hers.
Entranced by her presence here, in this space only ever occupied by him, he willed himself to take things slowly with her.
“Like anything you see?” Her pink tongue darted out, and she licked the lips he had savored earlier.
What would she taste like now? Henry pondered, and emboldened by the intimate space, he put his other hand on the shelf, so his arms bracketed her beautiful head.
Without touching her, he lowered his head.
Slowly, lightly, his lips met hers, brushing across them.
Needing more of her mouth, he deepened the kiss cautiously.
When Charlotte gave a breathy moan, he kissed her more firmly, but only just, until her hands gripped his shirt lapels.
Opening her mouth fully under his, she eagerly allowed him entry.
Confined with Henry in the small space of his coffee shed, where his scent lingered throughout, where his size dominated hers, where his deep voice echoed, her body sang in response, and she had to have him.
She felt a tug on her hair sticks, and then her hair fell onto her shoulders, tickling her collarbone.
Shivering, she pulled him close. Her body flush with his, she felt him through her dress at the apex of her thighs.
Henry’s large hands cupped and squeezed her bottom, lifting her to the table.
Now her eyes were level with his, her hands framing his handsome face.
Smoothing her palms over cheeks sprinkled with blond fuzz, she plunged her hands into his hair, bringing his face to hers.
Lips, tongues, teeth met until Charlotte put a hand on his chest, whispering, “Wait.” Panting, she closed her eyes.
“Henry, before…the last time we were together…I need you to know that I’m sorry for not explaining where my head was.
” After a deep breath, she opened her eyes.
His hands held her hips, restraint shining in the eyes studying her.
“It’s just…I’ve never been with anyone but my ex, ever.
” Henry smoothed a strand of hair from her glistening forehead. “I’m not…I’m not twenty anymore-”
His laughter rumbled beneath her hands. “Thank god.”
“Or any of the women you might be…used to…I just…I don’t want you to be disappointed. I’ve got stretch marks and cellulite and a belly-” His finger on her lips shushed her.
“Charlotte, you are gorgeous. Fucking phenomenal, excuse my language, and I have been under your spell from the first time I saw you, when I was sitting outside my shop. Even though you were across the street, I could tell there was something about you unlike any woman I’ve ever known.
There’ve been some through the years, but nothing meaningful.
I’m scared, too. Of how I feel when I’m with you, of how I feel when I’m not.
Of my past getting in the way. More than anything, though, I feel something I haven’t for so long, and that’s hope.
” With her hair falling all around her, Henry believed in angels, in goddesses, in magic, because she was all of the above.
“If you want us to stop, say the word. I won’t do anything—” her finger on his mouth shushed him now.
“I want you, Henry.” Her hands on the back of his steamy neck, she lowered his head to hers, latching her mouth onto his.
Methodically, she made her way from one snap to the next on his shirt until it gaped open.
“These snaps have lived in my fantasies for months,” she confessed.
Fingertips flickered across his chest, through downy hairs, following the trail until it disappeared into his waistband.
“I’ve wanted you since that first day, too.
” She scraped her fingernails across his stomach as she unbuckled his belt.
After nudging in between her thighs, he scooted her closer to him, while making sure she remained firmly on the table.
Under the skirt of her dress, her legs pressed into either side of his hips.
Needing a moment to catch his breath, to bask in the unbelievable luck of having this luscious, sensuous woman in his arms tonight, Henry lifted his lips from Charlotte’s very intoxicating mouth, touching his forehead to hers.
With her chest rising and falling rapidly, Henry noticed a spot at the base of her throat where a bead of moisture stood and, intrigued, he slicked a thumb over her shoulder before dipping his head to taste her.
At the same time, his other hand slowly descended on Charlotte’s knee, just where the hem of her dress stopped, and, compelled to discover if her thighs were as soft as her shoulders, he inched his fingers under her dress.
Groaning into her neck as they found silky skin, the discovery made it impossible to keep his hand still, so it drifted higher until it could go no further.
“Charlotte.” His breath hot in her ear, he cradled the back of her head with one hand, and he had no choice but to stroke her once, twice, three times until she chanted his name into his ear.
“Henry…Henry…Henry, I’m not…” Charlotte rambled incoherently.
Having thrown her head back once his hand caressed her leg, the motion gave Henry increased access to her body, and she welcomed his conquering fingers.
She was gone, drifting, her soul escaping, until his lips lowered above her breasts, and the fingers of his other hand unzipped her dress.
Charlotte leaned back, curling her fingers into his shoulders—shoulders not bulky from lifting weights, but strong from tightening bolts and moving heavy bags of coffee.
“I need you,” she implored, “Henry, please.” Then he was there with her, and what she experienced exceeded everything she thought was possible.