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It’s late, we’re tired, and we’re both hyped up, so I doubt it’s the most beautiful sex we’re ever going to have, but it’s a hundred percent pure electrifying sensation, as we both focus every ounce of awareness on the place where we’re joined.
Once he’s fully lubricated and I’ve relaxed a bit, he moves more easily inside me, and he speeds up the pace of his hips until he’s thrusting hard.
“This isn’t going to take long,” he confirms as he plunges down into me. “I apologize in advance.”
“Go for it,” I urge, already feeling the approach of an orgasm, especially as he moves up an inch so he’s grinding on my clit. I’m pretty sure he’s hitting my G-spot too, and when I cry out, “Oh my God, yes, right there,” and he gives an appreciative, “Yeah,” I realize he likes me being vocal, and I give in to the urge to tell him how much I’m enjoying it, with plenty of, “Oh yes, harder,” and, “That feels so good,” and, “Oh God, fuck me, hard as you like.”
Suitably encouraged, he goes for it with enthusiasm, and we fill the air with the sounds of sex, moving together and driving each other onward toward the final goal.
He gets there a second before me, his hands tightening into fists on the mattress beside me, his eyes closing with a fierce frown as his lips part in a deep groan, but I have no time to appreciate his climax because I’m coming too, clamping around him with incredibly strong pulses. We exclaim, both crying out, and by the time we finish, our skin is damp and we’re sticking together, tired and exhausted and sated.
I open my eyes and look up into his, which seem black tonight, the pupils huge.
“Fuck,” he says.
“Yeah.”
“You’ve drained me dry. I don’t think there’s a drop of fluid left in my body.”
I giggle. “They’ll discover us like a couple of mummies in the morning.”
He snorts and withdraws, disposes of the condom, then falls onto the bed beside me, on his stomach. “Five seconds,” he mumbles. “I did warn you.”
I roll onto my side and kiss his temple. “Go to sleep. You deserve it.”
“I’m better when I’m not drunk and it’s the right side of midnight.”
“You were pretty good anyway.” I stroke his hair. “Sweet dreams,” I whisper, watching the moonlight coat his dark hair with silver.
“Mmm.” He’s already nearly asleep.
I pull the duvet up over him. Then, quietly, so I don’t disturb him, I slip out of bed and go into the bathroom, taking my phone with me.
I tap the screen, and my heart sinks. A green banner displays a text from Cam.
Miss you, it says. Can’t wait to see you again soon. x
Guilt pokes me, casting a shadow over the beauty of my time with Henry. Tiredly, I dismiss the text, then turn off my phone again.
When I’m done, I go back into the bedroom, switch the lamp off, then slide under the duvet and curl up next to him.
He’s warm, he takes up more than half the bed, and he smells amazing.
I kiss his arm, and I’m sure I see his lips curve up before I close my eyes.
Chapter Seventeen
Henry
Someone murmurs in my ear, “I’m going to take a shower,” rousing me from the depths of a dark slumber.
“Mmph.” Still in the mists of dreamland, I figure I’ve conjured up the soft skin and low voice of the woman I love. I imagine I feel the person move off the bed and hear the bathroom door closing.
Then my eyes spring open. Juliette!
I blink a few times, trying to reboot my brain. I’m lying on my front, facing the window. Light streams through the gap in the curtains, a bright buttery yellow, so it’s past sunrise—six-thirty maybe? Seven? I lift my head and turn it to the other side. The bed is empty, but the indentation in the pillow and the sheet are a sign that I didn’t dream her.
I push up onto my elbows, pull her pillow toward me, and bury my face in it. It smells of her perfume and the sweet scent that is all her.
