Page 45 of Shades of Henry
“Henry?” Lance said tentatively.
“Yeah?” He sounded uncertain too.
“I mean, I don’t mind.”
Henry let out a soft laugh, but he got up and moved over to the mattress, slid under Lance’s blanket, and set his own pillow down next to Lance’s.
“Rivers and I talked about you today,” Henry said, and Lance fought the temptation to kick him off the bed.
“Wonderful.”
“Don’t be jealous.”
Augh! “I hate that you know what this is,” Lance muttered.Hehadn’t figured out what it was until Henry had used that exact word.
“It’s… it’s what I feel in my stomach, thinking about you filming porn,” Henry said baldly. “I… I tried to tell Jackson that. That’s why we couldn’t be together.”
Lance’s heart started pounding hard in his throat. God. This. This was terrifying. “What did he say?”
“He said there was sex for sex’s sake and sex that meant something. And I said I’d just found my second lover dead in a dumpster.”
Lance sucked in a tight breath. “Henry….”
Henry shook his head. “And he asked me which one hurt most. Malachi betraying me or finding Martin Sampson.”
Oh God. Lance breathed through broken glass. “Which one?” It was a stupid question, but he needed to hear the answer.
“The betrayal hurt the most,” Henry said, and they were so close in the dark, Lance could see the glint of his blue eyes, almost colorless, and feel Henry’s breath on his face as he told secrets. “And I’ve been thinking all day about that. You’d never force me. And you’d never betray me. But I don’t know if you could care enough aboutmeto help me deal with all that other stuff. I’m… I’m not going to be okay with the porn right away. Can you deal with it when I’m an asshole about that? Can you help me not hurt you too much?”
“I can try,” Lance vowed, suddenly needing to say the words. “Can you… can you deal with finding yourself? You’re… you’re so in flux right now. Do you really want to start something with—”
Henry’s touch of lips on his own silenced him. Rough. A little gritty. Henry’s lips weren’t soft, just like Henry wasn’t sweet, not on the outside.
Lance closed his eyes, suddenly so desperate for this, for this kiss, for this touch. He wasn’t sure of anything—wasn’t sure if Henry could even get out from under the cloud of suspicion he was fighting. The police hadn’t seemed to take anything Lance or the roommates said seriously, particularly when they asserted Henry hadn’t had thetimeto go out and kill someone and then hide the murder weapon.
But Lance, so pragmatic in every other aspect of his life, suddenly didn’t care. Gruff, grumpy, practically a social throwback to the days when men like his father had ruled, Henry Worrall was rock-solid and responsible. He’d shown kindness to guys some people might assume were grown, corrupt, or stupid—and he’d taken a loosely knit bunch of assholes and bound them more tightly into the family unit Lance had craved.
And he’d been alone, and lost, and vulnerable for longer than even Henry knew, and not once had he asserted it wasn’t his fault.
Henry would take ownership of a relationship, just like he’d taken ownership for trying to end his last toxic binding to a man who would rather force him than claim him.
Lance opened his mouth and let Henry in.
Henry tasted him, tentatively, sweeping his tongue along the seam of Lance’s lips, venturing inside. Lance’s low moan welcomed him, and he deepened the kiss and went a little further, exploring.
Lance rolled onto his back, giving Henry more room to maneuver, more control, and was surprised when Henry pulled back a little.
There was embarrassment in his expression. “I… I’m not a good kisser,” he said, resting his forehead against Lance’s temple.
“Wha—we were doing good so far!” He was pretty sure he’d been waiting for that kiss since March. “No disappointments yet!”
Henry let out a broken sound. “Mal and I didn’t really kiss,” he confessed. “I… it wasn’t supposed to be a relationship.”
“Then let’s keep doing it,” Lance murmured, brushing his lips along Henry’s jaw. “Maybe that’s all we need to do tonight. Just—”
Henry caught his mouth again, a little more confidently, and Lance almost cried. His body was aching already, feverish, needy, and Henry wasn’t sure he knew how to kiss. He arched his hips unhappily, knowing they weren’t at an angle where he could even grind, and Henry pulled back with an evil grin.
“I’m not great at kissing,” he said, “but I’m hell at the blowjob. Wanna find out?”
