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“I’m going to fuck you so good that you don’t remember your name.” He bends and, in one swift movement, picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. I laugh as we take the stairs.
His step falters halfway up.
“You regretting this decision to carry me now, Mr. Strong?” I smile as I hang upside down with my hands on his behind.
“Little bit,” he puffs.
I laugh out loud, and he slaps me on the behind. “No talking.”
“I’m laughing.”
He slaps me again. “No laughing either.”
We get to the bathroom, and he slides me down his body. We fall silent as we stare at each other.
And this is it, the beginning of us, the real beginning.
At least I hope it is. It better fucking be.
He takes my dress off over my shoulders and throws it to the side. He undoes my bra and then slides my panties down my legs. His eyes drop and linger on my naked body, and I want to please him so badly. Do everything I can to make it up to him, because I hate that I have makeup on for another man too.
I pull his T-shirt off over his head and then slide down the zipper on his jeans. I’m blessed with the sight of his large cock as it springs free.
Then all control is lost. He pulls me in, under the water, and we kiss like long-lost lovers.
Because that’s how it feels.
The last six weeks have been a living hell without him in my arms.
He pins me to the wall, and as we kiss, his body instinctively slides deep into mine. We both moan deeply as arousal takes over.
I thought the first time we did this it was going to be this big mad foreplay session with all the bells and whistles . . . but every time with Henley is all the bells and whistles.
“I love you,” I whisper.
He smiles against my lips and pumps me deeper. “You fucking better.” I laugh, loud and free, and he does too.
We’re back, baby . . .
We lie in silence. Exhausted doesn’t come close. We made love in the shower, all tender and sweet, and then we fucked like animals as he showed me exactly who I belong to.
It’s him. It’s always been him . . .
“It’s the little things,” he whispers as we stare up at the ceiling.
I look over to him in surprise.
“It’s the way your smile drops my stomach.”
Oh . . .
“The way you crunching ice with your teeth infuriates me, but I never say anything because somehow I find it endearing.”
I smile into the darkness.
“It’s the way you glow in the refrigerator light at midnight when you’re looking for ice cream,” he murmurs as his eyes stay glued to the ceiling.
“How do I glow?” I ask.
