“Why do you?—”
“Keep going back?” He muttered. “Because she’s my mom, and I’m not going to take away the only son she has left. I’ll just… piss with the door open next time.”
A quiet sound left me before I could stop it. “You better not be showing your dick to anyone.”
A choppy laugh broke out of him. His forehead bumped mine again before his mouth found me, a little clumsy.
When he settled back, I didn’t give him space to drift.
“You’re not going back there alone.”
His brows pulled slightly. “Henry.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion, Archibald. That house isn’t something you have to keep proving you can survive.”
“I know that, Professor,” he quipped. “But my mom is important to me, and I’m not going to stop going because I had a panic attack. That feels like letting the pain win.”
“Proud of you, baby.” I kissed the shell of his ear. “But I still don’t want you to go alone.”
“I don’t even want to go alone,” he grumped. “And you’re not the boss of me.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” My hands closed over his thighs, heat sinking through the fabric as I squeezed. “I think we both know that's not true.”
His breath caught, somewhere between a laugh and a whimper, his hips shifting forward just enough to press harder against me.
“You gonna prove it?” he whispered, mouth skimming close to my jaw.
“You want me to?” I let my hand slide up, fingers tracing the dip of his waist. “Want me to remind you who you belong to?”
“Please.”
“Take your shirt off for me, baby.”
He fumbled for the hem, but I caught his hands, stilling him long enough to press a kiss to his knuckles. Then I helped him, peeling the fabric up and over his head, tossing it on the floor.
My fingers lingered along the exposed skin of his arms and chest. “Beautiful.”
“Need you.” Impatient hands dove for my own shirt, tugging at the fabric until it was gone. His palms splayed across my bare chest.
I took his jaw in my hand, pulling him into a slow kiss, angling his face to deepen it, to steal every ounce of air he had left.
Fingers curling hard into his hips, I moved. Gravity pulled him down until his back hit the mattress. He landed beneath me with a gasp, eyes darting up.
“There you are,” I crooned, pressing my weight over him, pinning him with my hips. “Look at you. All soft for me. All mine.”
He fisted the sheets on either side of his head, knuckles white where the tension bled through. Every choked breath made his chest rise and fall, skin flushed and trembling through him in visible waves.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” I said, leaning down to press my lips to his throat, feeling the frantic flutter of his pulse. “Let me see you.”
I worked the button on his jeans, grinning at the tremor I felt in his thighs as I dragged the zipper down, teasing—just my knuckles brushing the line where his stomach met denim.
“You’re shaking.” I pressed my mouth to his ear. “Is that nerves, or is my good boy just that desperate for me?”
Hips rocking, he gasped. “Just you.”
“Open up for me.” I slid my hands beneath his waistband and started to peel his jeans down.Slowly.I wanted him to feel every goddamn second of it.
His skin shivered under my touch, goosebumps racing everywhere my hands passed. I paused halfway, hands gripping the denim at his knees, and looked at him—completely open, thighs falling apart for me, cock already leaking against his stomach.
