Page 33 of No Strings Attached
“God, you’re unreal,” he murmurs.
I grip his shoulders, grounding myself, but the second his hand slides down my stomach and dips beneath my jeans, I forget how to breathe.
His fingers find me—I’m already soaked. He exhales sharply at the discovery, his forehead pressing against mine.
“Look at you…” Henson slides a digit between my folds. “Dripping for me while still pretending you don’t want this. You’re a terrible liar, Mira.”
He moves slowly at first, sliding over my clit, knowing exactly how to make me fall apart. My head tips back against the door, lips parting on a rough exhale I can’t hold in.
“You like that, baby?” he asks, watching me unravel in his hands.
“I do.God, I do,” I pant.
He kisses me again, slower this time—one hand still buried in my jeans, the other moving to cradle my cheek. I melt into him, my hips rocking instinctively against his hand as the tension coils tighter and tighter inside me.
“You feel so good,” he whispers, finding just the right spot, circling with maddening precision.
“Fuck, Henson.” I moan his name, my hands fisting the front of his shirt like it’s my saving grace.
“Come on, Mira.” His voice is rough and urgent against my ear. “I need you to come for me. Give it to me.”
I can’t answer. My body is shaking, caught in the momentum of his touch, the way he owns me without even trying.
But then—just when I’m teetering on the edge—hestops.
I whimper, blinking up at him in confusion, but he just lifts his hand to his lips and sucks one of his fingers into his mouth, tasting me, eyes locked on mine the entire time.
“Lie on the table,” he commands.
My legs are shaky as I slide onto the edge of the large oak desk, kicking off my shoes. Henson reaches behind him and twists the lock on the door.
I lean back on my elbows, my gaze on him as he approaches me with slow, hungry steps. He stops in front of me and peels down my jeans. His knuckles graze my thighs, dragging the denim with them, not bothering with finesse. He doesn’t even try to take off my panties—just pushes the soaked fabric aside.
“Fuck,” Henson mutters, dropping to his knees between my legs. And then his mouth is on my pussy.
The first sweep of his tongue nearly makes me scream. My back arches off the desk, one hand flying to the edge for balance, the other tangling into his hair as he devours me like he’s starved and I’m the only thing that’s ever satisfied him.
His tongue moves slow, then fast and tight, switching rhythm just as I start to whimper, before clapping a hand over my own mouth.
He chuckles against my clit, the vibration making my thighs tremble. “Yeah. Might wanna keep that mouth covered if you don’t want half my family banging on the door.”
Then he goes back in with focus.
I press my hand tighter over my mouth, trying and failing to keep the sounds inside. Every flick of his tongue sends a jolt through me, unraveling the last threads of my control.
Henson grips my thighs, spreading me wider, anchoring me in place like he already knows I’m close to coming undone. He groans against my pussy as if I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted.
This is too good.
Every stroke of his tongue is perfect, and when he adds the pressure of his fingers—sliding two inside me—I nearly lose it right then and there.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes from the intensity of it.
I’m a live wire, Henson’s name trapped behind my hand still clamped over my mouth as I choke on a moan that wants to break free.
He glances up, looking amused. “That’s it,” he says, voice thick, and dives back in.
I come hard, my body locking and shaking around him, my cry muffled against my palm as wave after wave crashes through me. I have no idea how long it lasts—all I know is that I don’t want it to stop.
