“Tell you what—how much I loved fucking you with my tongue? How good you taste? How badly I want to feel you come on my cock?” I pushed even deeper inside her and rubbed a little harder with my fingertips.
She moaned and arched and writhed against me, and in seconds, her pussy was clenching my shaft over and over again, my name falling softly from her lips. “Come for me, Henry. Now. Please.”
I lost it—grabbing her by the hips, I drove into her hard and fast, forcing her to brace herself against the wall again. Don’t be so rough, asshole, I told myself. She didn’t come over here so you could take out all your sexual frustration on her.
But I couldn’t help myself. I cursed and growled, my jaw clenched, my muscles flexing—arms, back, abs, legs. My body was hot and tight, desperate with the need to release all the tension and ache and frustration and anger that had been building inside me for so long and was now wrapped in uncontrollable desire for this woman begging me to come and asking nothing in return. She wanted me for me. She wanted my body because it turned her on. She wanted my cock inside her because it fucking felt good there—so good I exploded inside her with the force of a volcanic eruption. My world went black, and everything seemed to move in slow motion as the orgasm took over my body, making it billow and throb again and again and again.
Afterward, the first thing I was aware of was the scent of her hair. Then the sound of her breath. I opened my eyes and saw her propped against the wall in front of me, palms flattened above her head.
I wrapped my arms around her, pressing my lips to her shoulder. “You okay?”
“Yes.” She paused. “Wow. I can’t believe I did that.”
“Did what?”
“Um, all of it. Came over here wearing heels but not knickers. Had two orgasms. Demanded sexual things.”
I laughed. “I’m not complaining. In fact, I would like to tell you right now that you are welcome to come to my house every night of the week wearing heels but not knickers and demand sexual things—as long as you don’t expect me to behave like a gentleman once I let you in.”
“I think I’d be offended if you did. Half the fun was just seeing your face when I took off that coat.”
“Half?”
She giggled. “Maybe not half. But your reaction was perfect. And it made me feel so good. Almost as good as the two orgasms.”
“I’m glad.” Carefully, I pulled out of her. “Don’t move, okay?”
“Okay.”
Tucking myself back into my jeans and zipping them up, I hurried into the kitchen and grabbed a clean dish towel, wetting it with warm water from the sink before returning to the front hall.
“Thanks,” she said, reaching for it. She’d tugged her dress back into place.
“Let me.” I knelt in front of her, moved her dress again, and gently cleaned her up. When I got to my feet again, I saw that she was wiping tears from beneath her eyes. I tossed the towel aside and took her in my arms. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? I was trying not to be rough, but—”
“No, no. It’s not that.” She threw her arms around me and held on tight, weeping on my shoulder. “You’re just such a good man, Henry.”
“That’s why you’re crying?”
“Yes.”
I rubbed her back. “I feel a little lost.”
“Sorry.” She laughed and sniffled. “I know I’m not making much sense. One day I’m here saying I just want to be friends and three days later I’m here trying to seduce you.”
“It worked like a charm.”
More muffled laughter, then she let me go. “I know. And it’s not that I’m sorry, but I feel like I need to be honest with you about why I came here tonight.”
I took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “Sylvia, you can totally say it was for my massive dick. I won’t be offended. In fact, I’ll like it.”
She smiled. “That was definitely part of it.”
“Good. Confess the rest if you must, but whatever it is, I promise I’m okay with it.”
“Even if it was selfish?”
“You’re going to tell me you came for the orgasms? No pun intended.”
She laughed. “Kind of. I had a really terrible day, and I wanted to feel better. Originally, I went to the winery only to talk to you, but you weren’t there, and I was really sad. Because I feel like I can tell you anything and you understand. You always know what to say to make me feel better. So I decided to come find you.”
“God, I’m glad I never gave you my phone number.”
She smiled, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t have used it. Because the more I thought about it, the more I wanted something beyond conversation. I’ve been so sad for so long, Henry. I’ve felt so unwanted and undesirable. Words are nice, but they can still be lies. I wanted to feel with my body—and with yours—the kind of desire that can’t be faked. I needed proof that you find me beautiful and sexy. I wanted to be so tempting you couldn’t resist. I wanted to have that kind of power over you and give you that kind of power over me. Does that make sense?”
“I think so.” I paused, running a hand over my jaw. “Is it terrible that I just really wanted to fuck you?”
Her head fell back as she burst out laughing. “No,” she said. “That is actually perfect.”
“Is it terrible that I’m already thinking about doing it again?”
Her laughter died down, but a smile stayed on her lips. “No.”
“Good.” I swept her off her feet and started walking toward my bedroom. “Because I wasn’t about to let you leave.”
Eleven
Sylvia
He carried me to his bedroom. Carried me. Like I was a bride, or he was a caveman, or maybe like he was a fireman rescuing me from a burning building and taking me to safety—and I did feel safe in his arms.
But I felt other things too. Deliciously naughty. Unabashedly sexy. Fearlessly free to say and do and have everything I wanted.
And I wanted him in every possible way.
He was better than any fantasy I’d ever had, not that my fantasies had even gotten close to what I’d experienced in the hallway. The way he talked made my body turn molten. The way he kissed made me weak. The way he put my pleasure first—twice!—before he thought about his own was a revelation. I couldn’t believe it.
And then once he’d given himself permission to let go . . . good God, I thought he’d tear me in two. I’d never been with anyone so strong or big or rough.
But he was gentle now, setting me on top of his sheets. The room was dark and smelled like him. I inhaled the scent, dizzy with lust and happiness and anticipation.
He switched on a bedside lamp. “I hope you don’t mind the light.”
I smiled, rolling onto one side, my head resting on my arm. “I don’t mind. I like seeing you. It gives me butterflies.”
“I was hoping it would make you want to get naked.” He pulled off one of my heels.
Giggling, I sat up and watched him remove the other. “That too. Want to unzip my dress?”
“That would be a hell yes.” He took my hand and pulled me to my feet. “Turn around.”
I turned, lifting my hair off my neck. Slowly, he pulled the zipper down my back, and the red dress fell to my feet. Stepping out of it, I suddenly felt self-conscious. I hadn’t been fully naked in front of a man without the cover of darkness in a long time. I hadn’t been fully naked in front of anyone but my ex since I was twenty—and I didn’t have that body anymore. I’d had two children. Even though I knew it was stupid, that nagging little prickle of insecurity still stung . . . I’d been left for a younger woman. He’d told her I didn’t excite him anymore. Was my body to blame? Before I could stop myself, I covered my chest with my arms, wrapping one fist inside the other and tucking them beneath my chin.
“Hey.” Henry turned me by the shoulder so I was facing him again. “Don’t do that.”
“What?” I had trouble looking him in the eye.
He tipped my chin u
p. “Don’t hide yourself from me.”
“I’m not hiding,” I said, but of course I was.
Taking me by the wrists, he forced my arms down to my sides, and looked at me.
I started to panic a little.
I was totally bare before him—stretch marks, C-section scar, less-than-perky breasts and all. Unlike many of my friends, I’d never had surgery to restore my post-baby body to its former tight, bouncy, unmarked state. Now I was kind of wishing I had.
I’d never felt so naked or vulnerable in my life.
“Sylvia, I’m going to say this once,” Henry said seriously. “And then, since you’ve learned not to trust words entirely, I’m going to spend the rest of the night showing you that it’s true—I think you are the most exquisite woman on the face of the earth, in every way. There is no part of your body, no inch of your skin, that isn’t perfect, because it’s yours.” He took my head in his hands and kissed me, hard but sweet. “And all I want to do is make you mine, even if it’s just for tonight.”
“Yes,” I whispered. I rose up on my toes, pressing my lips to his again while my hands went to work unbuttoning his shirt. “Make me yours tonight, Henry. That’s all I want to be.”
As our kiss grew more passionate, we managed to work off his clothes, although it wasn’t easy since neither of us was willing to unlock our lips for very long. But soon we were skin to skin, wrapped in an embrace much like we’d been on Christmas Eve, only naked this time.
His body—lean and hard—made the flames in me jump higher. They burned beneath my skin, desperate to escape. My hands roamed over his broad shoulders, slid down his sculpted chest, brushed over the taut ridges of his stomach. I’d never been with a man like Henry, whose solid muscles were built by labor and honed by hours spent at the gym. I wanted to feel his weight on me, wrap my legs around him as he entered my body, see his face above mine as we moved together.
“Your body is incredible,” I told him, letting my palms move down over his ass. “I had no idea.”
“Generally, I try to wear clothes in public, so—oh, fuck.”
I’d reached between us and taken his cock in my hand, and he groaned as his hot, thick flesh slipped through my fingers. I had forgotten how exhilarating and empowering it was to make a man this aroused, this needy, this hard. I loved the way he thrust inside my fist, the way his fingers dug into my hips, the way he cursed and growled, like he was trying to hold back but wasn’t sure how long he could last. It made me feel sexy and confident.
“You’re so hard,” I whispered against his lips, tightening my grip. “How is that even possible? It hasn’t been that long.”
“It’s only possible because it’s you.”
Again he scooped me into his arms and placed me on his bed. I felt feverish with need as he stretched out above me and opened my legs so he could settle his hips between my thighs. He reached low and touched me, easily slipping his fingers inside and rubbing the warm, slick wetness over my clit. I gasped, arching my back with my arms tossed above my head.
My eyes closed and I felt his lips close over one hard, tingling nipple, felt his tongue tease and stroke it. My belly hollowed and quivered, and gooseflesh rippled across my skin. I threaded my fingers in his hair as he moved to the other breast and sucked greedily, his fingers moving faster, rubbing harder.
Was it possible I could actually come a third time?
I would never have thought so, but as the sensations swirled deep within my core, as my legs began to thrum with pleasure, as I twisted languorously beneath him, I decided to stop thinking about it and just immerse myself in this vast, warm ocean of sensual bliss.
“Henry,” I panted, “I want you inside me.”
Immediately, he moved up my body and positioned the tip of his cock between my thighs. Both of us moaned as he slid inside me one hot, wet inch at a time. When he was buried so deep I’d have sworn I couldn’t take any more, he crushed his lips to mine and kissed me savagely, his tongue lashing between my lips, his breathing quick and ragged as he set a rhythm above me.
Then he went deeper. Harder. Rougher.
My head fell back, and I knocked his jaw with my chin. I gasped and dug my nails into his biceps, tears springing unbidden to my eyes as my body reacted to the brutal, ceaseless motion of his driving hips. I cried out with every violent thrust, I saw stars explode behind my eyes, I was positive this man was going to bruise and break me.
But I loved it . . . because I was doing this to him.
Every vicious stroke meant he couldn’t hold back. Every predatory growl meant he wanted more. Every rock-solid inch of his cock was hard for me—and I couldn’t get enough.
As soon as I pushed past the shock and pain of being fucked so mercilessly, I let myself go and embraced it fully. I lifted my hips to match his rhythm. I clawed at his ass, pulling him deeper. I put my lips near his ear and said anything I felt, words I’d never even thought about uttering before.
God, I love the way you fuck me.
You make me so wet.
I want to come on your cock so hard you can feel it.
Each dirty word seemed to push him closer to the edge. He moved his hands beneath me to grab my ass, tilting my hips up toward his and driving even deeper, the base of his cock rubbing against my clit.
I couldn’t talk anymore—my body was spiraling out of control, the tension pulling so tight I wasn’t sure I could take it. I felt the muscles in my lower body begin to contract just as the buzzing heat from the friction between us sent me rocketing higher and higher through space. Then, with one glorious stroke of lightning, everything inside me burst wide open, shattering me into a million pieces that glittered and burned like shooting stars. My body clenched and pulsed around his, and his pounded and surged inside me. We flowed into each other as we clung and kissed and held on tight, riding the wave until it finally crashed onto the shore, leaving us damp and breathless in each other’s arms.
* * *
“So what was it that made today so terrible?” Henry pressed both of my palms between his, like four hands steepled in prayer. We were in the bathtub, and I was lying back against him like he was a human recliner.
I sighed. “Today was terrible because once again, my fucking ex did something selfish and shitty that hurt the kids’ feelings.”
“What did he do now?”
“He told them they couldn’t come visit him the last part of their vacation because J.Crew Kimmy needs peace and quiet.”
“Who the hell is J.Crew Kimmy?”
“His pregnant girlfriend. She used to work at J.Crew, until she took over as trophy-wife-in-training. Apparently, she and Whitney are not getting along. But he’d promised Whitney they could go skiing at Aspen without Kimmy. My guess is that the idea did not go over well.”
“What an asshole. Were the kids upset?”
“Extremely. I was worried enough about them before this happened—Whitney is painting her face with so much makeup you can hardly see her skin, and Keaton is sneaking junk food. I’m afraid this is going to push them off the deep end. I need to find them a therapist. I need to find me a therapist.”
“I’m sorry.” He wrapped his arms around me. “I’m here if you want to talk. I’m not a therapist, but I’m a good listener.”
I hooked my hands over his muscular forearms. It did feel good to talk to him, even if he wasn’t a professional. “Whitney took some of her anger out on me, and even though I know she didn’t mean the things she said, they pretty much gutted me.”
“What did she say?”
I took a breath. “That I must have done something to make him leave.”
“That must have hurt.”
“It did. She apologized later, but the words stung. Because that’s my deepest fear, you know? That I wasn’t enough. That no matter how hard I tried, I failed because there’s something wrong with me. It was my fault, and now the kids have to suffer for it.”
“There is nothing wrong with you, and the divorce was
not your fault.” Henry’s tone was fierce. “You were married to someone who didn’t appreciate what he had.”
“Thank you.” I dropped a kiss on his thick, masculine wrist. I loved his hands, his long elegant fingers, the veins that ran up his arms. “Mentally, I know you’re right, but my insecurity sometimes creeps up on me. I’m working on it, but there’s a lot of bad stuff that’s accumulated over the last few years to work through.”
Henry was silent for a moment. And then, “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Earlier tonight, when we were in the hallway, you said something.”
I smiled. “I said a lot of things.”
“This was something you said, uh, during.”
“During? I wasn’t even aware I could talk during.”
He chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath my back. “You said a few words here and there.”
“I might have. But your words were better.” I shivered recalling the hot, dirty things he’d said.
“Are you cold?” He sat up and reached for the faucet, which was freestanding and placed to the right of the clawfoot tub. “I can add some more hot water. We’ve been in here a while.”
“We have, but I’m not cold. I just like the memory of what you said.” I looked at him over my shoulder. “It was an excited shiver, not a cold shiver. It was a wiggle.”
He laughed, looking boyish and adorable with his spiky damp hair sticking up. It looked darker when it was wet, making his eyes look deeper green. “Okay.”
“So what was it I said?”
“You said, ‘Don’t give up.’ It was right before—”
“Oh.” I felt heat in my cheeks. “I know when it was.”
“What was that about?”
I hesitated, my eyes dropping to our legs beneath the water, his hairy ones outside my much paler, smooth ones. My red toenail polish popped against the white porcelain enamel finish. It was a beautiful cast iron tub, like something out of a Victorian movie set. I couldn’t believe it when Henry told me no one had ever used it. When I asked why, he said he’d bought it to surprise Renee, an effort to help her relax, but she’d moved out before it had even been delivered. He’d installed it anyway, but since he was not a bath kind of guy, it had never gotten used. I’d been more than happy to christen it tonight.
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