Page 138 of Break Point
He slides over me, leveling his face with mine.
“No one.” He grabs my wrist.
“Fucking.” Brings it to his lips.
“Else’s.” And kisses it, making my chest clench up.
“Will you put me out of my misery?” He pulls up my t-shirt, gathering it roughly in one hand, exposing one of my breasts, and running his tongue around the nipple.
He lets out a soft, guttural sound.
“God, you’re perfect.”
“I’m yours.”As I always have been.
He smiles and buries his face in the crook of my neck.
There’s nomewithout Henry. There never has been. I tried existing in a world where he wasn’t a part of it, and I was failing at it. Horribly. Miserably.
Until he came back.
It’s like my soul doesn’t know how to live without him.
“Tell me to stop and I’ll do it,” he says, sliding my t-shirt over my head. Tossing it aside.
“Don’t,” I whisper, raw and certain, leaving no room for doubt. “I want you. All of you.”
I might pass out from the need alone if I can’t have him.
Grabbing the hem of his shirt, I yank it over his head, tossing it aside like I might combust if I don’t claim him the way he’s claiming me.
“Take these off,” I mutter, hooking my fingers into the waistband of his pants, urgency dripping from every word. “Please.”
“Greedy little thing,” he groans, kneeling over me, his knees bracketing my hips as he pops the button of his pants and drags the zipper down. I help shove them off with my foot, desperate, both of us laughing quietly into the chaos of it.
“Do you have a condom?” I ask, feeling safe and ready. For this. For him.
I’ll shrivel up and die if he doesn’t.
He freezes and blinks once.
“I … yeah. I do.” He laughs quietly and a little awkward. “I don’t usually—fuck. I didn’t think I’d actually need it. I packed one and tried not to think about it.”
“I know,” I cut in, already smiling. “Shut up. It’s okay.”
His shoulders drop with relief, and his forehead touches mine. He cradles my face like he’s still catching up to the moment.
“I’ve never done it before,” I say, terrified. Excited. “And I want it to be you.”
Henry goes perfectly still. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. Like I just knocked the air out of his lungs.
“Jesus Christ, Bells,” he whispers. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
He kisses me, his tongue parting my lips in a swift, tender stroke that dissolves me in his arms.
He breaks off the kiss and pulls back to look me dead in the eyes.
“I swear I’ll take care of you,” he says. “I’ll go slow. I’ll stop if you even look at me wrong.”
