Page 84 of A Love Like Pumpkin Spice
And he does. Without hesitation, he grabs the hem of my shirt and yanks it up over my head, flinging it somewhere behind us without a second thought. His gaze drops, drinking me in as if I’m the most beautiful fucking thing he’s ever seen.
“Sweetheart …” His voice falters. “You’re so … fuck, I don’t have words for you.”
“You don’t need to have words,” I whisper, already reaching for his shirt. “Just touch me.”
That’s all the permission he needs. He surges forward and kisses me with enough intensity to ruin me, deep and demanding. One hand cups my breast through the thin lace of my bra while the other slips down, popping the button on my jeans open.
I break the kiss only long enough to murmur, “Bedroom?”
But he shakes his head, breathing roughly. “No. Here. Right now.”
Hepulls my jeans down my hips, and I get up to quickly shimmy and kick them off. My heart thunders, and my skin prickles as his gaze burns into me. He takes my hand, and before I know it, my back is on the couch, and he’s climbing between my legs.
The air is electric against my skin, and then his hands are on my thighs, parting them, pulling my thigh over his shoulder and pressing a kiss to my skin then gently sets it down again.
He sinks down, kissing a slow path up to my stomach, and glances up at me as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of my panties.
“You want this?” he asks, voice so quiet it sends shivers down my spine.
“Yes,” I press out without any hesitation. “Fuck, yes.”
He smiles, mischievous and loving all at once, and pulls them off unceremoniously. He leans in and—holy fucking shit.
The first flick of his tongue makes me moan softly, hips bucking, and he groans against me as if helivesfor it, like nothing makes him happier than my pussy.
“Just like that, baby.” His tongue is slow and steady, circling my clit just right, and every time I gasp or whimper, his grin widens.
“So sweet. You’re so fucking responsive. I could do this all night.”
His hands are firmly on my thighs, holding me open. He drives me further into madness. Every movement under control. I grab his hair, bury my fingers in it. Hold on tight. All I can feel is him.
His mouth. His hands. His breath on my wet pussy.
Every thought melts away.
“Fuck, Henry. Gonna come!” Moaning, I dig my fingers deeper into his hair. He doubles his efforts, moving faster.
“Do it,” he mumbles, slipping a finger inside me. The way he glances at me through my legs should be criminal. “Come for me, sweetheart.”
So I do, and when it ripples through me, it’s not quiet. It tears through me in waves. I shout his name, loud and messy, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps licking me through it, keeps whispering how beautiful I am when I come, how proud he is of me, how much he loves hearing me fall apart this way.
Eventually, I have to push at his shoulder, trembling and breathless. I think I’ll explode for real if he keeps it up. He kisses my inner thigh, then my hip, then kisses his way back up my body, eyes shining with pride and mischief.
“You’re ridiculous,” I pant, grinning like I’ve lost my mind, which, to be fair, I probably did somewhere around the second flick of his tongue. “Completely unfair. You know that, right?”
Henry stares at me as if I told him the earth is flat, eyebrow lifted curiously. “Unfair?”
“You’re out here pulling Olympic-level mouth work while I’m just trying to survive a Tuesday,” I say breathlessly, making him laugh.
“You were thriving a second ago.”
“Thriving is generous. I was feral. I think I levitated at one point.” I bury my hands in his hair and pull him in to kiss him hard. “But don’t think I’m not retaliating.”
“God, please retaliate.”
I tug at the waistband of his sweats. “I’m about to. You can keep talking, or you can help me get these off.”
He obliges, lifting his hips as I strip him down andwow. I’m still somehow surprised by howhothe is, even now. His hands slide to my thighs as I turn us around and settle over him, but I pause, only hovering, teasing.
