Page 158 of Break Point
“Your shoulder,” I say between soft, breathless pants.
My eyes flick around the room. It’s tidier than I’ve ever seen, but it’s all Henry. His books on my desk. A hoodie tossed over a chair. His favorite mug on my nightstand. His aftershave still hanging in the air.
I’m definitely keeping him.
“I need you,” he breathes in my ear, grinding his hips into mine and pulling on the waistband of my sweatpants. “I’ll be careful.”
The back of my knees hit the bed, and I spin him around, undoing the buttons of his shirt. I carefully slip it off his shoulders and toss it onto the desk.
I kiss him. It’s desperate and starved. He kisses me back, matching each stroke of my tongue with his own. His jeans are next. I tug themdown, letting them pool on the floor. He steps out of them, unwilling to break the kiss.
But I do.
“Lay down,” I tell him. “And don’t be necio.”
He raises an amused eyebrow but stays seated at the edge of the bed, defiance dripping from his eyes.
Henry likes moving me around at his will, and I deeply enjoy yielding myself to him. It’s liberating not having to think and just letting myselffeel.
But not today.
Not for a while. Not until he’s healed.
I can’t risk it when there’s so much on the line. He needs to heal properly, and one wrong move could set his recovery back. Or worse, ruin everything he’s just now letting himself hope for.
He blinks slowly and takes a deep breath like he’s been counting down the days until he’s free to move again.
“Take off your clothes,” he rasps out. “It’s my birthday. Do as I tell you.”
I snort but peel off my sweatshirt anyway and toss it to the floor. My sweatpants follow. He’s sitting on the bed, staring at me. Impatient and ready.
I’m down to my underwear and sports bra.
He drinks me in with his gaze and hooks a finger on my underwear.
“These too.”
I let my panties slip to the floor and pull my sports bra over my head before he asks me to.
“Let your hair down.” His voice is low and hoarse, making my breath catch.
I pull on my hair tie and release my ponytail, letting my long, dark hair flow down my shoulders.
“Beautiful.” He grabs my hand and kisses his way up to my forearm. He licks two fingers and slips them between my legs, moving in slow, torturous circles over my sensitive center.
I gasp and let out a moan.
He smiles, proud and needy, satisfaction written all over his features.
“Lay down,” I try again, breathless and bossy, even though we both know he only takes orders from me outside the bedroom.
But he pulls me onto the bed with him instead, kissing me deep and slow as his hands roam carefully, memorizing me all over again.
I feel the hunger in his touch, the restraint in every movement, the heat between us coiling tighter until neither of us can contain it any longer.
And then we stop talking because there’s nothing left to say.
Henry, Dad, Dora, and I are in the trophy room. They’re helping me find the perfect spot for my two new additions. They pass the phone around, snapping pictures of me with the trophies, and then with each of them in front of my display. I’m still amazed to see my wall coming together, even if it’s a fraction of what Mom and Dad have.
