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He looks back at me, and his expression is triumphant and a tad smug. “Good girl,” he states.
“I hate you,” I tell him.
He just laughs as he kisses down my throat again. “Yeah, yeah.”
Ahhh… all those years of being so close to him and not being able to touch him… My desire has been contained and restricted, and now it overflows and begins to drown me. He kisses my mouth again and releases my hand, and I run my fingers over the short hair on the back of his head, feeling a surge of pleasure as he shivers. I’m affecting him as much as he’s affecting me.
He kisses me for ages, until my lips feel puffy and tender, until I’m aching with need for him. My body feels as if it’s a tuning fork that’s been struck and is humming a single long note. I brush my hand down his back to the base of the Henley and slip my fingers beneath the material, desperate to feel his skin. He’s hot, as if he has a temperature. Our desire is burning us both up. We’re going to self-combust, and they’ll find us days later, just a pile of ash amongst a scatter of clothes and shoes.
Eventually, he lifts his head. His pupils have dilated, and his eyes look almost black. He rises from the sofa, surprisingly agile for a big guy, and holds out a hand to me. I take it and let him pull me up. Ooh, the room spins a little.
“I’m tipsy,” I tell him.
“Yeah, me too.” He cups my face and brushes a thumb across my bottom lip. “You want me to stop?”
“God, no.”
Laughing, he takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom.
The sliding doors here are open a little, and the room is warm and smells of the jasmine growing in pots below us. Fat Larry’s Band is singing Zoom, a song that makes me feel happy.
“At last,” Henry says, “I get to unwrap my perfect Christmas present.”
I smile and turn my back to him. “Can you undo the safety pin there?” I gesture to my shoulder blade.
He does as I ask, sliding it out of the material and leaving it on the bedside table. “I’ve always wondered how you put a sari on,” he murmurs.
“I’ll show you. Hold this.” I take the material over my shoulder and give him the end to hold. After undoing the pin at my waist, I move back a few steps, letting the silk pleats fall away. Then I turn around so the material unwinds, until eventually I’m left with the last loop tucked into my petticoat.
“Fascinating,” he murmurs, folding the silk. To my surprise, he presses his nose to it briefly before he puts it on the table, the same way I sniffed his shirt.
Self-conscious now, I undo the tie of the petticoat, push it down, and step out of it.
He grabs a handful of the Henley behind the back of his neck and tugs it off, then runs a hand through his hair, which does nothing at all except show me the size of his biceps and nearly cause me to faint. We both have light-brown skin, but mine has cool, jewel undertones, whereas Henry’s has golden earth tones, making me think of warm summer days by the beach.
He moves closer to me and kisses me as he undoes the buttons of my blouse. My heart hammers as he moves the sides apart to reveal my breasts in the white demi-cups. He pushes the blouse off my shoulders, then, keeping his gaze on mine and smiling, he slides his hands behind me, undoes my bra, draws the straps down, and tosses it away.
He pulls back the duvet, then lifts me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. Climbing onto the bed, he then lowers me down onto my back.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,” he says, shifting to the side a little so he can admire me. He strokes a hand down to my breasts and studies them, his hot gaze like a laser burning into my skin.
“Henry!” I tease, my face flushing. “It’s rude to stare.”
“I’m admiring the view.” He traces a finger around the areola. “They’re lighter than I thought they’d be. Like caramel.”
“You’re not supposed to compare skin color to food.”
“And milk chocolate,” he says, ignoring me as he touches the tip with his finger. “I wonder if they taste as sweet as they look.” He covers one with his mouth, and I feel his tongue brush over the sensitive skin before he sucks gently.
Pleasure ripples through me, and I groan.
“Mm,” he murmurs. “They do.” He looks up at me. “Want me to stop?”
I glare at him.
He chuckles and swaps to my other breast, brushing his thumb across the nipple so it tightens into a bud.
I squirm. “Ah… Henry…”
