Chapter 43 I Might Die #2
“I love your breasts, Catnip.” The words sounded like a prayer, and then he was dipping his head, swirling that talented tongue around the swollen point of one nipple before sucking it into his mouth until I writhed against his leg.
“I’m going to … to come on your thigh, Henry, if you don’t …
oh la naiba!” I cried when he growled against my breast, grazing my nipple with his teeth, rocking his leg against me until my vision tunnelled, and all I could do was tangle my fingers into his hair and cry out raggedly as my climax shot through me like a bolt of lightning.
He let out a low, delicious moan, working me through the violent pulsing.
As my orgasm started to recede, and my body went limp, Henry released my nipple with a wet pop. He lifted his head, pupils blown so wide his eyes seemed almost black, but a smile lighting up his handsome face.
“The sounds you make, Catnip, when you come …” he groaned, his cock jerking against my hip. He pulled back, pressing his forehead against the swell of my breast.
“You make me make those sounds,” I whispered, leaning closer to press my lips to his head. “You and your very talented thigh.”
His shoulders shook as he chuckled, but the chuckle turned into a choking cough when I reached down, gripping him through his pyjama pants.
God, his cock was so thick! My pussy clenched, sending more arousal leaking into my panties at the thought of it sliding into me, stretching me …
taking me to those heights I’d thought I’d only get to experience for one night …
“You’re going to make me come in my pants, Catnip,” he grated, gripping my wrist to still my questing hand. I pouted.
“Well, you made me come in mine … fair’s fair,” I teased, finding the waistband of his pyjama bottoms and slipping my hand beneath. He hissed, his cock jumping against my palm. Dampness daubed my fingers as I grazed the tip.
“I tend to make a bit more of a mess than you do,” he grated, tugging my hand away from his cock, but distracting me by leaning in to press his mouth to mine once more.
He was ravenous for kisses—feverish and hungry—but so was I, and I met him with all the desire that I’d been desperately suppressing these last few weeks.
“I think you underestimate the mess you made of me, Hubby,” I mumbled against his mouth, taking his hand and tucking it into my own pyjamas.
When his fingers grazed the wetness of my panties, he let out a choked sound, eyes bright and fixed on my face as he pushed the soaked fabric to the side, slipping his finger up and down the slickness of my pussy.
“So wet, Catnip,” he rumbled, pressing one finger into me and stirring.
I mewled, head lolling back, legs falling wide.
His other hand came up, tugging my pyjama pants over my butt, and down my legs.
My panties followed, all the while his finger was lazily thrusting in and out. Teasing me with delicious slowness.
“You did that to me,” I said, breaking off to gasp when he curled his finger inside me, rubbing against my G-spot. More arousal soaked his hand. “You’re so good at getting me off, Henry.”
His eyes flashed, and his finger slid from me, leaving me moaning with disappointment. Henry smirked, bringing his glistening finger to his mouth.
“My favourite flavour,” he murmured, licking and sucking my arousal from his finger. My pussy pulsed at the sight, but his eyes stayed locked on my face. “I need more of that sweet pussy, Catnip. I need it all over my face. I want to still be tasting you in the morning.”
I barely had time to react to his filthy, hot words before he was spreading my legs wider and dipping his mouth to my entrance.
“Jesus!” I panted as his tongue slipped into me, swirling and licking and devouring me. And fuck, I was so close again already, but he wasn’t going to give me any relief, not when he was enjoying himself so much.
He thrust his tongue in and out, then slipped it up to flick at my piercing, grazing my clit with his teeth until I was practically levitating off the bed, gasping and breathless and hovering on the edge of bliss.
Back and forth between my entrance and my clit, teasing me. I knew I was dripping, could feel it slipping between my cheeks and pooling on the bed beneath me—what he wasn’t drinking up, anyway.
“Henry … please!” I begged, rocking closer, desperate for the relief of orgasm.
With a grunt, he pressed his palm to my abdomen, holding me down on the bed. The weight of his hand, the feeling of being forced to stay still, the constant, wild sensation of his tongue … everywhere …
I came in a screaming, wet rush, muscles spasming with the violence of my orgasm. He continued to taste, to savour, laving gentle licks from my entrance to my over-sensitised clit and then back again, catching every pulse of arousal that leaked from me.
“Need you inside me,” I whispered, my throat scratchy from my screams. “Please, Hubby.”
“Anything you want,” he breathed, his chin dripping, eyes almost black, his glasses smeared with my orgasm. He tugged them off and tossed them onto the bedside table. He struggled out of his pyjamas, the light hitting the sculpted planes of his chest and his cock as it sprang free.
I gripped the front of his shirt, ready to pull him over me again, but he shook his head, tugging it off.
“I don’t want anything between us,” he murmured, pressing my legs apart and fitting his hips between them. “No clothes. No rules. No secrets.”
I swallowed back the pang of guilt, giving him a mute nod. And then he was notching his cock to my entrance, leaning closer and finding my mouth. I tasted myself on his tongue as he slid inside me.
Perfection. I ran my hands up his back, dragging my nails against his warm skin. His muscles moved under my fingers as he slowly filled me, pulling back, then pushing deeper again.
“That feels so good,” I whispered against the stubble on his cheek, forgetting my split second of shame in the feel of his perfect cock. “You make me feel so … oh … so fucking good, Hubby.”
A strangled sound erupted from his throat, and he lifted his head, jaw tight, eyes piercing.
“When you say things like that, Catnip … I struggle not to come immediately,” he admitted roughly.
I grinned up at him. “Does someone have a teeny-weeny praise kink?”
He made a grumbling noise in the back of his throat, thrusting his hips with more force than before, and any teasing I’d planned was ripped from me with the feel of him, deep in me, hitting spots that no one else had managed.
“Perhaps I do … but only when it comes to you,” he rumbled, pulling out slowly then thrusting again. A cry tore from my throat.
“Then be my good boy and make me come again.” I needn’t have begged him; I was already climbing towards another peak as he found a rhythm and leaned in to take my mouth again.
“Let go, Ri,” he mumbled against my lips, lifting my butt and hitting me in a new way that sent lightning bolting outwards, searing my limbs as my orgasm crashed through me.
I cried into his mouth, riding the pulsing waves of pleasure as his thrusts became erratic.
His mouth moved frantically down my jaw, nipping at the skin just under my ear as he let go himself, filling me as he sucked a bruise into my throat.
His thrusts slowed, sweat dripping from his curls onto my chest when he pulled back to gaze down at me, flushed and panting and the most perfect person I’d ever had looming over me post-orgasm.
“Thank you …” I breathed, reaching up to smooth his damp curls away from his eyes. His expression was bewildered, which made me giggle.
“Thank you for reminding me just what that talented cock of yours can do.”
The cock in question pulsed inside me again, and I squeaked, realising how tender I was from the thorough fucking he’d just given me.
“You needed a reminder?” he asked, tugging some sweaty hair off my face and tucking it behind my ear. “Every moment of that night is etched into my memory with perfect clarity.”
“Henry …”
His lips twitched into a soft smile. “Catnip …”
“I might have thought about … that night … every single waking moment for the past few weeks. And often the non-waking moments too. And somehow my memory—which was mind blowing, for the record—didn’t do the reality of you justice.”
“Are we idiots?” he asked, leaning closer to trace his lips over my cheekbone. “For trying to pretend it was possible for us to be … less than this?”
My chest suddenly felt too tight, like a balloon was inflating in there and it may just lift me off the bed and float me away.
“The biggest idiots,” I agreed, tilting my head to fit my mouth against his. All the other things I was feeling could be said better with a kiss than with any words I might be able to summon.
We kissed, lazily, languidly, for long moments before Henry pulled away. I sighed in disappointment, and his face slid into a soft smile as he reached for my box of tissues on the bedside, pulling out of me and cleaning me up.
“We made quite a mess together, didn’t we?” he remarked quietly. I grinned.
“The best kind of mess.”
He stood from the bed, cock bobbing, and headed to the bathroom to discard the soggy tissues.
His cock was still semi-hard when he returned; the size of him was mouth-watering.
I suddenly longed to fit my lips around him, to take him deep into my throat, to make him come completely undone with my mouth the way he had me.
I wondered if he could go again so soon, or if he’d need a few hours to recover.
But before I could ask, he took my hand, gently tugged me up from the bed and led me to the bathroom.
Inside, he ran the shower just how I liked it—hot enough to almost cook the top layer of my skin—and stepped in after me, grabbing my body wash and starting at my shoulders.
I sighed again, this time with the sheer enjoyment of the water on my skin and his big palms massaging bubbles into me.
“It almost feels like this is your favourite part of the whole sexy-time process, Hubby,” I murmured when he’d gotten past all the fun bits and was on his knees in front of me, soaping my calves. I reached down to stroke his head, and he glanced up at me, blinking water from his eyes.
“I love every part of sex with you, Catnip,” he said in that heart-stoppingly earnest way of his. “But this part is special … I never did this with Cadence. She …” He sighed, getting to his feet. “I shouldn’t talk about my ex, should I?”
I reached for him, pulling him into my arms. “You should. No more secrets, remember?” My voice caught on the words. There was one big secret … but I couldn’t talk about it. Didn’t want to relive it, not with him, not even in my own head.
“She never wanted to … well, to do anything after. Or during, if I’m honest. She hated me talking dirty, said it was degrading.
She got impatient when I … when I went down on her.
And after, she’d get up, go and wash herself—without inviting me—and she’d come back to bed, already in her pyjamas, and she’d immediately grab her laptop or a book or anything that meant I wasn’t invited to join in.
It was like sex with me was a box she needed to check, nothing more. ”
I squeezed him tighter, heart aching for this beautiful, giving man and the selfish harpy who had been lucky enough to call him hers for years.
“I’m glad things didn’t work out between you,” I confided, my lips brushing his collarbone. “You deserve so much more than a woman who clearly had no idea how special you are.”
Tears prickled at my eyes, and I blinked them back.
“She was missing out big time on the Henry Baxter aftercare experience—I’ve never been so clean as when you wash me.
” I grinned cheekily, reaching for the body wash.
“And her loss is my gain, because now I’m the lucky one who gets to make you nice and clean too. ”
I massaged the suds into his pecs, down his abs. He let out a shaky breath as I swirled the soap lower. “I think there’s one part that needs extra attention. It did get quite dirty, just now.”
Henry braced his hands on the wall on either side of my head and leaned through the shower spray to find my lips, just as my soapy hand found his growing cock.
As it turned out, Henry didn’t need much down time at all …