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Henry strokes my back, continues beneath the duvet, then slides a finger down between my legs.
I inhale and rear up, turning to look at him. He gives a husky chuckle and says, “I knew you were awake.”
He’s lying on his side, head propped on a hand. His normally styled hair is all mussed. His jaw is covered with stubble. His eyelids are at half-mast. He’s so gorgeous I think I might actually die from lust.
“Oh God.” I sit up, pulling the duvet with me and tucking it tightly around my body.
“Morning,” he says.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
“Enjoying myself.” He smiles.
I swallow hard and run a hand through my hair. His gaze follows it, filled with amusement as I find the strands tangled. “You still look just-fucked,” he says.
“You needn’t sound so smug about it,” I snap.
He just smirks. He obviously doesn’t have an ounce of regret.
Well that’s fine, because I have more than enough for us both.
“Where’s my purse?” I demand.
He holds up something in his fingers. It’s a breath mint. He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. I have a phobia about having bad breath, and he would know I wouldn’t want to kiss him without having a mint.
I’m tempted to refuse it, because accepting it admits I want him to kiss me. But my mouth tastes sour, and I know he’s probably going to kiss me whether I have it or not, so I take it and crunch it, glaring as he grins.
“What are you doing?” he asks as I start scanning the carpet.
“Looking for my underwear.” I spot my knickers and bend over to get them. Before I can pick them up, however, he slides an arm around my waist, lifts me, and flips me onto my back again.
“First things first.” He hooks a leg over mine and shifts to half lean on me, pressing me into the mattress.
“No, no!” I push him. It’s like shoving a brick wall. “I can’t…” I look up at him, at the broad expanse of his chest, covered with a smattering of dark curly hair, his muscular shoulders, the hollow at the base of his neck. I can smell his cologne, warmed by his skin. I gather my courage and whisper, “I want to go,” then wait for him to apologize and move off me.
He doesn’t. “You’re not going anywhere,” he says. “Not until I’ve given you at least one orgasm.”
Infuriated, I try to get up. In response, he grabs both my wrists and pins them easily above my head with one of his hands.
“Henry!”
“What?” He trails the forefinger of his other hand down between my breasts.
I inhale with indignation. “Let me go!”
He laughs. “No.” He takes my nipple between his thumb and finger and tugs. Aaahhh… it sends an electric shock between my legs.
Anger flares inside me. “So you’re going to hold me here against my will?”
“Yeah, you don’t want this at all.”
My eyes widen. Oh God, he thinks I’m playing. “I’m serious,” I tell him as earnestly as I can, trying not to wriggle as he continues to tease my nipple. “This isn’t a game.” I’m going to have to be blunt. “This was a mistake, Henry. I’m… I’m with someone else, and I need to go home and sort out that relationship. Do you understand?”
I wait for comprehension to dawn in his eyes. For his expression to turn hurt, or even angry. I deserve it, and I expect it.
Instead, he tips his head to the side. His hair falls forward over his forehead. “Do you remember what you told me last night?”
Oh God. You’re mine now, say it. I’m yours.
