Page 25 of A Play For The Heart
“Tell me,” He says quietly into my ear, leaning in closer. “Tell me what you want.”
The warmth from his breath tickles my neck and goosebumps break out all over my skin. He takes a step towards me, and the air between us feels charged. His head leans in closer, inches separating us. Heat swirls in his ocean-blue eyes as he stares down at me. If I lifted my chin our lips would be touching. Kissing.
“Sawyer,” His voice is gravelly, and my name tumbles from his lips like a prayer.
The deep, husky sound sends tingles down my spine, and I grip the granite to avoid doing something stupid, like touching him or grabbing his shirt and ripping it off his body.
He inches closer to me, and our bodies sit flush against each other. The hard contours of his body press into me and the air in my lungs dissipates, leaving me breathless. He leans his body into mine and if I wasn’t trapped between him and the counter, I would have melted to the floor.
“Do you want this? Do you want me?” he whispers in my ear. I bob my head up and down, afraid that if I speak all that will come out is a strangled squeak. His finger softly grazes over my hand and I jump, the contact between our bodies consuming my every thought. “Tell me with your words, baby.”
“Yes,” my response is airy and breathless but causes something in him to snap. The sweet, wholesome Henry I know vanishes, leaving behind a version that melts my bones and causes my heart to thunder in my chest. The desire and lust in his eyes mirror my own.
His lips crash into mine and he kisses me desperately. Like I’m the answer to every question he’s ever had. I fall into the kiss, clutching onto his forearms to stay standing. He’s demanding, yet gentle, taking control of the kiss. He sweeps his tongue across the seam of my lips, looking for an invitation, and I melt against him, giving in to the silent demand. He kisses me with fervor. He gently pulls my bottom lip between his teeth and a whimper tumbles out of me. Henry begins to trail kisses along my neck and collarbone and my head falls back, the press of his lips against the column of my throat unraveling me.
“I’ve imagined those sounds a thousand times and it doesn't even come close to the real thing.” He murmurs against my skin as he travels down my chest towards my breasts.
With one good tug, my shirt and bra are yanked down and his mouth clasps onto one of my nipples. I arch into him and moan, digging my fingers into his dark, curly hair for stability. He licks and sucks at one nipple while he gently rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger. He pinches one and the mild sting sends heat traveling straight to my core, settling in my lower abdomen. He pulls away and the cold air meets my skin, my nipples peaking from the chill. He steps backward, widening the distance between us. My chest rises and falls in time with his and as I begin to protest, he yanks my shirt and bra over my head until I’m bare before him from the waist up.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs as he hungrily looks me up and down. My body lights on fire at his perusal, at the desire in his gaze.
The next moment, he’s back on me, kissing me with abandon. I get lost in this kiss. Time comes to a stop. There’s no beginning or end. Only Henry. He slides his hands underneath my thighs, hiking me into the air. I wrap my legs around his waist and clasp my arms around his neck, his erection pressing into me. I run my hands through his hair, drawing a groan from his lips. Without breaking the kiss, Henry carries me to the couch. Gently, he lays me down and hovers over me, kissing my neck.
His hand begins to snake down my body past my breasts, towards the planes of my stomach. I begin to tense up, but Henry smashes his lips to mine again, chasing away all thought as he nips and licks. My skin tingles as he slides his hand into my sweatpants and his fingers softly slip beneath my underwear, grazing my clit. From the caress, I buck into him, chasing the sensation. He glides his fingers over me, getting torturously close to where I need him.
“You’re already so wet for me,” he says, voice low and raspy, as his fingers dip between my folds.
His fingers move in slow, circular motions while he resumes his attention on my breasts. I arch up against him, searching for more pressure, but he just continues his unhurried, languid strokes so close but so far from what I need. I gasp as he slowly presses a finger into me, the stretch torturous and perfect. He dips in and out, the movements unhurried, while his thumb gives featherlike touches to my clit. The pressure in my core continues to build, nearing implosion.
“More,” my brain isn’t capable of anything more intelligent.
I make an unintelligible sound, lifting my hips off the couch, desperately searching for release. He presses a second and third finger against my entrance and the stretching morphs to pain for a singular moment before the pleasure is overwhelming. Henry's lips devour mine as he plunges in and out of me. He curls his fingers upwards, the movement striking a spot inside me, and my vision goes hazy at the edges and I race toward release. I buck into him, my hips rising off the couch as I try to deepen the angle.
“Henry,” his name falls off my lips with a moan. The pressure becomes too much and not enough.
“That’s it,” he mutters against my lips, as I begin to move with him. “Take what you need.”
I begin to ride his fingers, shifting my hips up and down as he moves with me. He pulls my nipple into his mouth and swirls his tongue around the sensitive peak. Distantly, I hear the moans falling from my lips as Henry begins to increase the pace. Finally, he applies the sweet pressure I’m desperate for to my clit, and a moment later, I feel my muscles tense up. I begin to grind against him faster, stars beginning to blur my vision as my chest tightens in anticipation.
“Henry, I’m going to—”
I jerk awake, panting. Sweat coats my back as I fling myself out of bed. Standing, I frantically absorb my surroundings attempting to pull myself back down to earth.
Did I just have a sex dream about Henry?
Oh my god. This is bad. No, actually, overplucking your eyebrows is bad. Forgetting to put deodorant on in the summer is bad. Having a sex dream about your best friend is horrifying. I don’t have sex dreams, about anyone. Especially not Henry.
This is bad. Really fucking bad.
CHAPTER 13
“I wanna do whatever you wanna do, if you wanted to, girl, we could cross that line”
Feelings—Lauv
Sawyer
TheinformationbombthatMaren dropped on me and the horrifying—albeit extremely hot—sex dream I had about Henry have taken a sledgehammer to my focus. I’m thinking about one or the other all the time. Searching for any proof that he does have feelings, then trying to prove that he doesn’t. Plus, I have no idea how I feel about the prospect Henry may have feelings. That muddles the lines of our friendship, which is terrifying since it’s one of the most important relationships in my life.
