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I shake my head, trying to ignore the white-hot heat of him branded on my brain.
He sinks a hand into my hair and pulls my head back. “Open your eyes,” he demands. When I do, I’m staring right at him. His blue eyes are blazing.
“You’re mine,” he states fiercely.
My lips part, but it’s just to release a cry as I come, my belly tightening as I clench around him with hard pulses. He continues to thrust me through it, and then I’m able to watch as his climax hits. Jesus, the man is magnificent. I dig my fingers into his biceps, and they’re like boulders, ooh, and he swells inside me as he comes, pushing forward and stretching me to the max… Holy fuck, I think he’s trying to spear me to the bed… He gives a deep, husky groan, and I can’t deny the thrill of pleasure that ripples through me at the thought that I’ve done this—I’ve made him feel good, and to hope that I’m the best he’s had, that no other girl has made him feel like this.
Then the intensity fades, and we both drift slowly back down to earth.
Well, I don’t drift. I land as if I’ve jumped out of a plane at three thousand feet without a parachute, the realization of what I’ve done hitting me as if I’ve landed with a smack on the concrete.
Henry blinks and focuses on me. I wait for him to look smug and self-satisfied, but instead his expression turns tender, and he gives me the softest of kisses on the bindi between my brows before withdrawing and moving to the side.
I roll away from him, facing the window. The sky is now the color of buttercups, and I can hear the distant sound of traffic and people having breakfast out on the street at the café. A nice, normal day outside.
Inside me, though, a hurricane is tearing through me, destroying everything in its path. Last night was forgivable. Today is not. I work with Henry. He’s a colleague. Oh… What have I done?
I need to go home, shower and change, and pull myself together before I have to go work. He does something to my brain, tugs it out of whack, the way a magnet makes your watch lose time. I can’t think this close to him. I need space.
Without looking at him, I get up, pick up everything except the sari, go into the bathroom, shut the door, and lock it.
I stare at myself in the mirror, and my eyes widen. He’s given me a hickey on my neck. I glare at it as I pull on my underwear, blouse, and petticoat. The blouse covers the bite, but only just. The damn man knew what he was doing. It’s as obvious as if he’s written his name on there with a permanent marker for all to see.
I wrestle my hair into a braid that hangs over my shoulder, also covering the hickey, then sit on the toilet and put my face in my hands. It’s not his fault that my relationship with Cam is fucked up and that I’d drunk too much last night, but clearly Henry isn’t going to make my life easy.
You think I’m going to let you go now I know how much you want me? Now I know what you taste like? How it feels to be inside you?
An erotic shudder passes through me, and I let out an audible groan. I need to go home.
Gathering my courage, I unlock the door and go out into the bedroom.
I expect to find him looking at his phone, but he’s standing by the window, lost in thought. He’s wearing a pair of black track pants, but he’s still bare chested. He’s done that on purpose, I bet. He’s like a melting ice cream. I just want to lick him all over.
“Hey,” he says, turning. “Would you like a coffee?”
“No, thank you.” I pick up the folded sari and shake it loose. “I need to get going.”
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he stands there and watches as I loop the fabric around my waist and tuck it into the petticoat, pin the end to my shoulder blade, then start pleating the rest of the material, folding it back and forth between my fingers. My face heats under his calm gaze, but I continue pleating, pin the material at my waist, then adjust it so it hangs properly. Finally, I go out into the living room, find my sandals, and sit to put them on.
When I look up, he’s standing in the doorway, his hands in the pockets of his track pants. We study each other for a long moment.
“You gave me a hickey,” I tell him, lifting my braid and pulling aside my blouse to show him.
His gaze dips to it. If I expected him to look ashamed or regretful, I realize I’m going to be disappointed. His lips curve up, just a tiny bit.
“You did that on purpose,” I snap. “You know Cam’s going to spot it.”
His eyebrows rise. “What do you mean?”
“He can’t exactly mistake it for something else, can he? I can’t say that I walked into a cupboard or something.”
He pushes off the door jamb and walks toward me. “Juliette,” he says carefully, “tell me you’re not going back to him.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I close it, swallow, then say, “I’m going home. I don’t know if he’ll be there.” He won’t be. I’m sure he’ll have stayed over at his parents’ house with his brothers.
“And if he is?”
“I don’t know. I need time.”
