Page 84 of Lessons in Forgiving
Four hours ago, I’d been close to breakdown number three, having passed on the idea of sleep to edit a draft that wouldn’t have gotten anywhere tonight. Now, I was fed, slept, hadn’t thought about the profile since.
Henry shrugged, unbuckling his seatbelt to turn my way. “I come here when it all gets… too much sometimes. When I just need some peace and quiet to hear myself think again.” His eyes drifted onto the building. “Turns out I needed that quite a lot in the past few months.”
I didn’t know how he managed to word exactly what I’d needed so perfectly. I’d always thought we were so different from each other, our struggles so wildly polar that we could never relate on that level, and yet.
Dios mío, I remember why I’d fallen for him. The way he understood me, looked at me like he could see right through me, read every single wish from my lips.
“Henry?” The words felt distant, like they weren’t coming from my mouth at all, voice thick and low.
When his gaze met mine, I thought that man would give me the entire world if I just asked for it. “Are you going to kiss me again?”
About three hours ago, there’d been no asking involved. No anticipation or curiosity about whether he would. Just his lipson mine casually. Like it had been second nature. But watching his eyes widen, mouth opening and closing when he decided against whatever he’d wanted to say, I was glad I’d asked now.
Henry huffed, reaching across the console to unbuckle my seatbelt. His hand brushed my hip, across the black leggings I wore, and although it was really just a slither of a touch, my breath caught in my throat.
“Do you want me to?”
His hand slipped to my waist, the simplest of touches guiding me onto his lap.
Slipping into old patterns was so easy with him. When we were together like this, alone and without disruptions, it felt like he was still mine and I was still his and nothing at all had changed between us.
One leg on either side of him, I nodded faintly. “While we’re here—” I whispered, then cut myself off when I wasn’t quite sure what I’d been about to say. “Just for this weekend, we can pretend nothing’s changed. Right? Not think about being reasonable and just—” I took a deep breath. “Just be.”
Henry blinked up at me, swallowing thickly as he traced a hand down the small of my back. Watching me squirm beneath his touch, sigh at the contact. “Anything, Paula. Whatever you want.”
When his fingers made their way back to my face, trailing across my neck in a way that made me arch into his touch, the smartwatch around his wrist vibrated against my skin.
I didn’t want to look away, but the buzz drew my eyes to it anyway.
Right there, on the screen of his watch, it read,Looks like you’re working out! Record this workout?
My gaze jumped to his, unable to keep my lips in check when they turned upward. “Is your heart beating fast?” I asked,tauntingly, because I didn’t know what else to say and the thought was objectively sweet.
His eyes narrowed. In response, he took my hand, pressed it to his chest, and kissed me. And whether it was my mind playing tricks on me or not, I could swear his heart skipped a beat when we did. I know mine had. “I told you,” he said between breaths. “You make me nervous.”
Henry had kissed me a lot in the past few days. Short and sweet, messy and longing. But never like this—slow and passionate. Savoring every sweep of his tongue, craving more and holding back.
His hands explored my curves like he was seeing—feelingthem for the first time. His lips did the same. From my neck to chest to shoulders, he kissed every inch exposed, took what he could get, and when it wasn’t enough, needily tugged on my sweater, let his hands slip underneath.
“Fuck,” he groaned against my lips, the first time his fingertips had grazed my bare skin. His hand skidded up my torso until he realized I wasn’t wearing a bra, then he groaned again.
The sound travelled right between my thighs, his own problem growing. And with his fingers carefully, delicately playing with my nipples, his head buried in the crook of my neck, and his hard cock against me, I couldn’t take it.
My moan rang through the car, head thrown back, hands finding themselves on his shoulders when I looked back at him. Heat and lust and a million other things played in the air between us, drove me to roll my hips against him, and made him finally snap.
He matched my sound, just darker and rougher, and willing to do something about what it insinuated.
“Hold on,” he said. We were out of the car so quickly, I didn’t even get out of his lap. He’d just collected me in his arms and got out.
My legs wrapped around him instinctively, and I couldn’t help that my lips were back on his before we’d even made it to the staircase. He managed his way up, drawing away from my face only to see where he was going.
“I don’t want to let go of you.” And the thought seemed to trouble him deeply. Me, too. “But they keys are in the potted plant behind you.” I jumped off him, only to get us behind that door quicker.
Henry moved with purpose, retrieved the key, unlocked the massive hardwood door, and we were back at it before it had even closed behind us. He used my body to do that—much more efficient.
My sweater landed on the marbled floor, and he pushed against me as if he might combust otherwise.
Somehow, I was back in his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist the way they used to, and his mouth, his tongue playing with my nipples.
