by Olivia Hayle
“I promise.”
His gaze travels down across my lips, my chest, my body, until I feel like I might burst from the scrutiny.
“Come on, then,” I say softly, and pull him into my bedroom. He follows, watching me in silence as I fold back the covers and light the bedside lamp.
“Are you going to sleep fully clothed?”
He smiles at that and starts to undo the cuffs of his shirt. “No.”
I walk into the en suite and brush my teeth, ignoring the thunderous beat of my heart. Judging from my reaction to him, you’d think I’d never slept in a bed with a man before—not to mention slept with one. In the mirror, my cheeks are flushed, my eyes excited.
Henry’s kicked off his trousers and is standing by the bed in just his boxers. His shirt hangs unbuttoned, revealing the same powerful chest I’d marveled at earlier today.
I slide into bed and pull the covers up. “You’re just going to stand there?”
He huffs out a breathless laughter. “Ruthless, Faye. As always.”
“You wouldn’t want it any other way.”
He shrugs out of his button-up. “I’ll be right back.”
When he returns from the bathroom, I’ve already turned the light off and snuggled deeper under the covers.
Henry lifts the covers and the mattress dips as he lies down. For a few seconds, we lie side by side, completely quiet.
“Well,” he says finally, “you’re right. The bed is very big.”
“Thanks for confirming it.”
He huffs. “You never stop taking me to task, do you?”
“No,” I say softly, trying and failing to ignore how close he is in the darkness. With his head on the pillow next to mine, our bodies separated by nothing but willpower.
“All right,” he murmurs. “Sleep well then, Faye.”
“You too, Henry.”
Maybe it’s the hours we spent at sea, or all the socializing at Lily’s, but my eyes drift closed of their own accord. The bed is too comfortable for me to resist.
I’m cuddled against something warm when I blink them open again. Henry is settled behind me, the warmth of his body curving around mine. He’s taller than me, but it’s never been as noticeable as now. He’s everywhere.
He’s also tense, angling away from me.
I peer over my shoulder and try to catch his eyes in the darkness. “Henry? Did I roll over to your side?”
He’s fully awake, judging by the faint sigh. His strong hand on my hip turns me back. “Go back to sleep, Faye,” he whispers.
I catch his hand and thread our fingers together. His skin is warm and dry against mine. I like the feeling of our hands together—I have ever since he first linked them together, days ago. “But you’re awake.”
“Yes.”
I turn my body toward him and feel exactly what he’s been trying to hide.
Heat flushes through me, my skin burning everywhere we touch, from his bare leg beside mine to his chest against my back.
The thick hardness of him against my hip.
“Yes,” he says. “Another point to you.”
I crane my head to meet his gaze. In the darkness, his eyes look black. “It’s a bit hard to hide this one, isn’t it?”
He turns his face into the pillow. “Yes,” he mumbles. “It’ll go away. Ignore it.”
But there’s no way I can ignore this. Heart beating hard in my chest, I turn over on my back and look at him. Our hands are still interlinked, and I rest them on my stomach, directly beneath my heart.
“Won’t that be uncomfortable for you?”
His head turns back to mine. I can’t read his face when he responds, voice gruff. “Yes.”
“Hmm.”
“Say what you want to say, Faye.”
I smooth my thumb over the back of his hand and stare up at the ceiling. His hardness is still a heavy pressure against my hip. “No, it’s just, I’ve always wondered. Not having one myself, you know. I’ve heard that it can be painful sometimes. To not get… release.” God, my mouth is just running. I can’t look at his face for fear of seeing teasing amusement there. It sounds like I’ve never seen one before, when in truth, I’m just nervous because it’s him.
Henry’s exhale is warm against my shoulder. “Sounds like you’ve been thinking about this a lot.”
Damn. “A bit, sure.”
His hand tightens around mine. “You want me to answer your questions.”
It’s a statement, not a question, but I nod nonetheless. In all honesty, I have no idea what I want. I want him, and I don’t want him to move away, and I know we can’t go further than this.
Even if the throbbing hardness of him is making that fact very difficult to remember at the moment.
“What does it actually feel like to be hard?” I ask, and wince inwardly at the silly question. At any moment, he’ll pull the plug on this, angle himself away and cut the intimacy between us.
“Uncomfortable, at the moment,” he says darkly. “Like an itch you need to scratch. But they’re not always the same.”
“Not all erections?”
“No.”
I frown. I’d always thought they were the same. “How do they differ?”
Henry sighs. “Not once have I had this conversation with a girl. Of course you had to be different.”
I can still feel him against me—despite his own words, it doesn’t seem to be subsiding anytime soon. “I think the word you’re looking for is unique. Tell me how they differ?”
“Hmm. All right. Sometimes it’s just semi-hard, and it’s a nuisance, but you know it’ll go away. It happens. It’s not painful or annoying.”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes it’s…” He breaks off. “God, Faye. Fine. Sometimes it’s just plain hard, ready to be used.”
“Mhm.” Heat pools in my stomach at his words, at his body against mine. “And that’s what it is now?”
“No, right now it’s hard as a goddamn rock. But like I said, it’ll go away.”
I have to swallow before I can answer. Every part of me feels alive, nerve endings on alert. “That’s very interesting,” I murmur.
He gives a dark chuckle. “I can’t believe I’ve been reduced to this.”
“To what?”
“Lying next to a beautiful woman in the dark, answering platonic questions about my cock.”
My own laughter sounds startled. “I can’t believe it either. I’m a grown woman, and I’m asking you this?”
“Hmm.” He closes his hand around my waist, fingers softly digging into my skin. “You’re nervous.”
My instinct is to say no. To argue with him, to spar a bit. But maybe we’ve done that too much—the competitions and the games.
“Maybe,” I say. “But maybe I don’t want to ignore it until it goes away.”
His hand closes around my waist. I feel him throbbing, sudden and hot, against my hip.
“Hell, Faye…”
“I know,” I whisper hurriedly. “We can’t. You don’t have to tell me. But maybe talking about it is the closest we’ll get. Maybe it’ll help.”
“Mmm,” he says quietly. “I don’t think that’s the way desire works, sweetheart. Or erections.”
Something in me warms at the endearment. It sounds natural in his deep voice, husky now with arousal. I pull our interlinked hands higher, until they brush against the underside of my breast. “You haven’t thought about it? What it would be like?”
“Sleeping together?”
“Yes.”
Henry’s quiet for a long moment. “Yes, of course I have.”
The heat in my body spreads, until I feel like I’m too warm for this, for the cover and the camisole I’m sleeping in. “Tell me,” I murmur.
Henry shakes his head, the silkiness of his hair tickling my forehead. “I’ve told you too much already. Your turn, Faye. Have you thought about it?”
Only all the time.
“Yes.”
His thumb brushes
across the heavy weight of my breast. “Tell me.”
I’m glad it’s dark and he can’t see my flushed face. We haven’t slept together—haven’t even seen each other naked!—and this still feels the most exposed I’ve ever been. “I’ve thought about how it would feel… having your arms around me.”
“Like I do now?”
“Yes. But skin against skin. I’d be able to run my hand through your hair. You’d kiss me, and you would…” My voice trails off, my cheeks hot with embarrassment.
“Courage failing you, Alvarez? Tell me. What would I do in your fantasy?”
“You’d unzip my dress,” I whisper. “All cool and professional, but your eyes would be… well. You’d just look at me for a long while.”
He gives a low grunt, a command to continue.
“And then you’d kiss me again. But your hands would be everywhere, on my skin, on my... well. You’d tease me for a long time without undoing a single of your own buttons.”
Henry’s hand has moved imperceptibly higher. “I think you overestimate my restraint where you’re concerned.”
“Well, it is a fantasy,” I defend myself. “What would you do instead? Take me quickly?”
I wanted to throw him off balance with my words, but Henry’s exhale is a dark chuckle. “Oh no, Faye. You’re right in assuming I’d take my time. I’d want you to shatter in my arms several times over before I let you help me”—a press of his hips and hardness against me—“find release.”
It’s hard to focus on being good. On keeping my hands to myself, on ignoring the pull of his body and words. Heat pools in my stomach.
Remember our positions, I tell myself. Boss. Assistant. Contract.
“That sounds... good.”
Henry laughs, pulling me in tighter so that his body is entirely curved around mine.
“Good? Faye, you have to admit it sounds fantastic.”
I wet my lips. “Will I lose a point to you if I do?”
“No,” he says softly. “I think I’ve already lost several tonight when I admitted just how much I want you.”
I roll my hips lightly against his hardness, and he groans. “Yes, you have an obvious disadvantage there. It’s hard for you to hide it.”
“Oh?” His tone is heated. “You’re hiding yours?”
“Women do have that ability.”
His hand trails down my stomach, rough fingertips lightly touching my skin, leaving fire in their wake. “Not very sportsmanlike,” he murmurs.
I suck in a breath as his hand toys with the hem of my shirt. He plays with it long enough that I can’t help but taunt him. “Checking the thread count, Marchand? I thought you were going to check me.”
A warm breath washes over my neck. His lips must be close to my skin, a mere inch away. “Of course,” he murmurs. “Fair is fair.”
The back of his knuckles brush against my lower stomach and I close my eyes at the sudden flare of heated surprise
His hand slips in under the hem and flattens against my stomach entirely. It’s inching closer to where I want him, and I don’t dare breathe for fear he’ll change his mind. He’ll go north again, he’ll say something about professionalism, or the points game.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he presses a hot kiss to my neck and slides his hand clean under the waistband of my shorts and panties. He gives me plenty of time to stop him, to grab his wrist and say no.
I don’t.
His hand slides further in between my legs. I spread them slightly, still hardly breathing, and then his fingers make contact. A shuddering breath escapes me as he discovers what I already knew.
“Fuck, Faye. This conversation really got you this wet?”
“Yes. Feeling you against my leg hasn’t helped, you know.”
He responds by pushing his erection more firmly against me, his hand softly stroking me, spreading and teasing.
“There is nothing wrong with this,” he murmurs. “You know that, right?”
Maybe I should be ashamed of what I do then—the mewling that escapes me, the faint rotation of my hips to get his fingers where I need them—but there’s no room for shame in my mind anymore.
“Yes,” I murmur. “I do.”
He slides his other arm under my neck, and it forms a steel band over my chest. I’m stuck, unable to do anything but lean against him and close my eyes at the sensations. His fingers circle my core and I shudder. It’s been so long, and his skilled hands seem to know just what to do. They’re the hands of a builder, an architect—a sailor.
And when he slips a finger inside me… I grip his arm and try to calm my erratic breathing.
He mutters a curse against my temple. “Fucking hell, Faye… Spread your legs for me a little more.”
I do what he says, the command sending fresh need pounding through me. He makes use of his better access immediately. Long strokes and short circles, alternating movements, relentlessly. He touches me until I’m hovering right at the edge, more turned on than I’ve been with a man before.
His lips press against my cheek. “You’re safe with me,” he murmurs. “Come for me.”
I couldn’t protest even if I wanted to. His movements speed up, and he adds another finger to the first. It’s game over—my release barrels through me. Henry holds me tight as my legs straighten, my mind blank, breathing hard.
He slowly withdraws his hand. “You feel so good, sweetheart. Unreal.”
It takes several moments before I can form thoughts again, but when I do, it’s to notice that he’s still painfully hard against my thigh. I roll my hips, and he groans obligingly, dark and husky.
I reach back to touch him, wanting to hear him groan with release because of my touch, to give him what he gave me. An iron grip locks around my hand.
“Not tonight, Faye.”
“But you’re still hard. Won’t sleeping be difficult?”
“It’ll go away,” he says, tucking me firmly into the curve of his body. “Trust me.”
“I do. I… thank you?”
He snorts, but it’s good-natured, his hand once again splayed innocently across my stomach. “Go to sleep, Faye.”
“All right. You too, though.”
There’s a touch of something against my hair—his lips? “I will.”
My body is loose and heavy, and it’s far too easy to relax in the comfort of his arms. We drift off like that, intertwined in the large master bed, and I sleep better than I have in a long while.
23
Henry
I blink my eyes open to sunlight through the window blinds and an empty bed. Reaching over, her side of the bed is cold. Damn.
I roll onto my back and try to think about the last time I slept this long. I genuinely can’t think of a time.
Faye didn’t stay in bed and she didn’t wake me up. A delicious smell is wafting from the door to the living room—coffee, bacon, something baking… How long has she been awake?
I toss back the covers and look down at my depressing morning erection. It had been difficult to fall asleep, with her in my arms and my body hellbent on sex, but I’d managed. No wonder it was rearing its head again now.
I get in the shower, my mind replaying the wondrous moments of last night. The softness of her neck against my lips. The slick warmth of her around my fingers. Her breathless moans. Yeah, the cold water of the shower is doing nothing at all for my painfully hard cock.
Last night had been unreal, yes, but I couldn’t afford to fuck this up. One wrong move and I might destroy Faye’s regard for me entirely. It would kill me if she ever regretted us.
So I take care of it myself, wrapping my hand around my hard, throbbing flesh. It doesn’t take long, given how aroused I am. I remember Faye against me, her body shaking through an orgasm, her sweet warmth squeezing around my fingers… and I break apart in the shower, release barreling through me.
I lean against the shower wall and close my eyes through the faint aftershocks. In my hand, my cock is fin
ally under control again, but I know I’ll be hard again before long with Faye around.
I dry my hair and pull on clothes. The wedding doesn’t start for a few hours yet, so we have time to work before I have to get into the tuxedo.
But when I open the bedroom door and see Faye in my sister’s kitchen… “What are you doing?”
“Making brunch,” she says, pouring orange juice into a glass pitcher.
“You’ve made eggs and bacon and pancakes and… what’s in the oven?”
“Muffins.”
“Why on earth would you do all that?” I ask, despite the grumbling in my stomach. “We have things to do.”
She closes the fridge with a bang. “Because your brothers are coming over for brunch.”
“They’re what?”
“Parker called the house this morning. He said you guys had something to work out.” She waves a hand as if this is all normal, and she makes me breakfast every day and talks with my brother. “Something about a wedding surprise for Lily? I’m not sure, but they’ll be here by ten. We’ll head to the reception together after that.”
It’s nine o’clock now. “You didn’t wake me?”
She gives an elegant shrug. There’s something about her hair, plaited down her back, and her face without makeup that makes me feel off-kilter. Last night had been explosive, but this feels intimate. It’s too easy to imagine that this is our life, our habits, our damn bed to share.
“You needed the sleep,” she says. “We’re not behind on schedule. I updated your laptop while I was at it and wrapped your sister’s wedding gift.”
There’s brisk professionalism in her tone. Not a trace of what happened last night. So that’s how she wants to play it. She wants distance.
I grab a cup and head to the coffeemaker. “Nice armor,” I say.
She bristles, just like I expected her to. “What do you mean?”
I nod to where her laptop is propped open. “Work. Tasks. Muffins. It’s a straightforward tactic, but it’s working. How early did you wake up this morning?”
“Early enough.”
“Tell me,” I say. It’s a small thing, but some part of me needs to know if she slept as well as I did—if my presence beside her helped or harmed. Maybe it’s my pride or my ego, I don’t know.