Page 56 of Assistant to the Assassin

“It certainly does,” he murmurs, his eyes glued to mine, his mouth parted slightly.

I don’t know which one of us moves first, but our lips clash together with an urgency that is almost violent. Henry cups my nape with one hand while holding my hip in the other. He slides his palm down my thigh, and without needing to be directed, I lift my legs to straddle his waist, and he holds me firmly in his embrace as he walks over to the bed, collapsing on top of me.

When he lifts his head, I see a coy, mischievous smile, and I know that we’ve officially stepped into our bedroom roles. “With our guests sleeping, you’ll need to be quiet. Think you can do that?”

I pretend to ponder, squirming on the mattress. “And if I’m not?”

“If this were any other night, I would tell you that if you made a noise I would edge you, sending you towards an orgasm only to take it away from you until you learned to behave.” Henry licks the hollow of my throat, grazing his teeth over my skin. “But I need you tonight. I need to be inside you, Beth, and I need to remind myself what I’m fighting for tomorrow.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” I whisper, arching my chest upwards, silently begging for him to undress me, to touch me, to do something.

I let out a little squeak when H rips off my shirt with one hand and undoes my bra with the other. My pump, still attached to my bra, tugs hard on the tube still inside me as Henry attempts to chuck my clothes onto the floor. After seeing me flinch from the sharp pain it caused, he gives me an apologetic look and detaches the tube, then he proceeds to chuck my clothes onto the floor. My upper half is now naked, and Henry wastes no time doing the same for the rest of me. He drags my pants and underwear down my legs, and once they unceremoniously drop to the ground at the foot of the bed, Henry spreads my legs, giving a satisfied hum at what he sees.

“Someone is already wet,” he observes, letting go of my thighs to rip off his shirt, but he leaves his pants on.

“You tend to have that effect on me,” I reply, taking in his Achillean physique, which still manages to leave me breathless, especially now that I know what it feels like to have that body covering mine, to have all of Henry’s energy focused on me and my pleasure.

He pulls his cock out of his pants, palming himself as his body once again covers mine, and in a couple quick thrusts, he’s fully seated in me. His body gives a slight shudder, and I can’t describe the bliss that flows through me seeing his reaction to me. It makes me feel like a goddess. True to his word, he doesn’t waste any time before pulling back and thrusting back in, beginning a brutal, rough rhythm that shows me just how desperately he needs this, needs our connection, an anchor.

“Tell me you love me,” he demands, never faltering his pace.

“I love you,” I tell him, my fingers digging into the cords of his neck.

“Tell me you want to stay with me forever.”

“I want to stay with you forever.” Emotion clogs my throat, and tears begin to prick my eyes.

“Tell me who your body belongs to.”

“You,” I whisper, tears lining my eyes as my orgasm draws nearer.

“Tell me you’ll marry me,” he whispers into my ear, speeding up his thrusts until the sound of slapping skin fills my ears. “Tell me you’ll be my wife.”

I hit my peak as those words leave his lips, and a tear rolls down my cheek as my walls ripple around his cock. With a curse and a few more thrusts, Henry comes inside me, pressing his face into the crook of my neck, right where my pulse flutters under my skin.

H props himself up and looks down into my eyes, and his expression is so open and honest, his gaze earnestly searching my face for a reaction to that last request he gave me. “Are you serious?” I ask, another tear slipping down the side of my cheek.

He nods once, pulling out of me and rolling over onto the other side of the bed, still facing me. “I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

“But we can’t—not legally anyways.”

Henry chuckles at that, wiping away the tear clinging to my jaw. “When have we ever cared about doing things legally? Whether we commit fraud and get married under false identities or we stand alone with nothing but the stars as witness as we declare ourselves to one another till death do us part, I don’t care. I just want to be able to call you my wife.”

I smile so wide my cheeks hurt. “You have to do this properly before I give you an answer. You gotta a ring?”

He gets off the bed and bends down on one knee, linking his fingers with mine. “I didn’t think we needed one, because I thought we were perfectly entwined. Like branches on a tree or twigs caught on a vine.”

That’s oddly poetic of him.

Henry continues, locking his gaze with mine. “Like all those days and weeks and months I tried to steal a kiss, and all those sleepless nights and daydreams where I pictured this. I’m just the underdog who finally got the girl, and I’m not afraid to tell the world.”

It finally dawns on me, and I gasp in excitement. “Are you quoting a One Direction song to me?”

He grins, enjoying my reaction. “Yes, because I am truly, madly, crazy, deeply in love with you, and somehow you caved all my walls in. So, baby, say you’ll always keep me, say you’ll be my wife.”

This man, who has gone on record saying he hates “boy band music,” memorized the lyrics for “Truly Madly Deeply” by One Direction to say during his proposal to me. It’s straight out of a rom-com, which is just the kind of cheesy and sappy I need when I’m about to accept a proposal. So, after cupping his face and planting a long and sloppy kiss on his lips, I give him my answer. “Fuck yes, I’ll marry you.”

Henry gathers me in for a hug, laughing into my bare shoulder. I lock my arms around his neck and let him pick me up off the bed, swinging us around in a circle with glee like Mary and Matthew in the Downton Abbey Christmas special. It’s absolutely perfect.

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