“Henry,” I panted, “I want you inside me.”
Immediately, he moved up my body and positioned the tip of his cock between my thighs. Both of us moaned as he slid inside me one hot, wet inch at a time. When he was buried so deep I’d have sworn I couldn’t take any more, he crushed his lips to mine and kissed me savagely, his tongue lashing between my lips, his breathing quick and ragged as he set a rhythm above me.
Then he went deeper. Harder. Rougher.
My head fell back, and I knocked his jaw with my chin. I gasped and dug my nails into his biceps, tears springing unbidden to my eyes as my body reacted to the brutal, ceaseless motion of his driving hips. I cried out with every violent thrust, I saw stars explode behind my eyes, I was positive this man was going to bruise and break me.
But I loved it . . . because I was doing this to him.
Every vicious stroke meant he couldn’t hold back. Every predatory growl meant he wanted more. Every rock-solid inch of his cock was hard for me—and I couldn’t get enough.
As soon as I pushed past the shock and pain of being fucked so mercilessly, I let myself go and embraced it fully. I lifted my hips to match his rhythm. I clawed at his ass, pulling him deeper. I put my lips near his ear and said anything I felt, words I’d never even thought about uttering before.
God, I love the way you fuck me.
You make me so wet.
I want to come on your cock so hard you can feel it.
Each dirty word seemed to push him closer to the edge. He moved his hands beneath me to grab my ass, tilting my hips up toward his and driving even deeper, the base of his cock rubbing against my clit.
I couldn’t talk anymore—my body was spiraling out of control, the tension pulling so tight I wasn’t sure I could take it. I felt the muscles in my lower body begin to contract just as the buzzing heat from the friction between us sent me rocketing higher and higher through space. Then, with one glorious stroke of lightning, everything inside me burst wide open, shattering me into a million pieces that glittered and burned like shooting stars. My body clenched and pulsed around his, and his pounded and surged inside me. We flowed into each other as we clung and kissed and held on tight, riding the wave until it finally crashed onto the shore, leaving us damp and breathless in each other’s arms.
“So what was it that made today so terrible?” Henry pressed both of my palms between his, like four hands steepled in prayer. We were in the bathtub, and I was lying back against him like he was a human recliner.
I sighed. “Today was terrible because once again, my fucking ex did something selfish and shitty that hurt the kids’ feelings.”
“What did he do now?”
“He told them they couldn’t come visit him the last part of their vacation because J.Crew Kimmy needs peace and quiet.”
“Who the hell is J.Crew Kimmy?”
“His pregnant girlfriend. She used to work at J.Crew, until she took over as trophy-wife-in-training. Apparently, she and Whitney are not getting along. But he’d promised Whitney they could go skiing at Aspen without Kimmy. My guess is that the idea did not go over well.”
“What an asshole. Were the kids upset?”
“Extremely. I was worried enough about them before this happened—Whitney is painting her face with so much makeup you can hardly see her skin, and Keaton is sneaking junk food. I’m afraid this is going to push them off the deep end. I need to find them a therapist. I need to find me a therapist.”
“I’m sorry.” He wrapped his arms around me. “I’m here if you want to talk. I’m not a therapist, but I’m a good listener.”
I hooked my hands over his muscular forearms. It did feel good to talk to him, even if he wasn’t a professional. “Whitney took some of her anger out on me, and even though I know she didn’t mean the things she said, they pretty much gutted me.”
“What did she say?”
I took a breath. “That I must have done something to make him leave.”
“That must have hurt.”
“It did. She apologized later, but the words stung. Because that’s my deepest fear, you know? That I wasn’t enough. That no matter how hard I tried, I failed because there’s something wrong with me. It was my fault, and now the kids have to suffer for it.”
“There is nothing wrong with you, and the divorce was not your fault.” Henry’s tone was fierce. “You were married to someone who didn’t appreciate what he had.”
“Thank you.” I dropped a kiss on his thick, masculine wrist. I loved his hands, his long elegant fingers, the veins that ran up his arms. “Mentally, I know you’re right, but my insecurity sometimes creeps up on me. I’m working on it, but there’s a lot of bad stuff that’s accumulated over the last few years to work through.”
Henry was silent for a moment. And then, “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Earlier tonight, when we were in the hallway, you said something.”
I smiled. “I said a lot of things.”
“This was something you said, uh, during.”
“During? I wasn’t even aware I could talk during.”
He chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath my back. “You said a few words here and there.”
“I might have. But your words were better.” I shivered recalling the hot, dirty things he’d said.
“Are you cold?” He sat up and reached for the faucet, which was freestanding and placed to the right of the clawfoot tub. “I can add some more hot water. We’ve been in here a while.”
“We have, but I’m not cold. I just like the memory of what you said.” I looked at him over my shoulder. “It was an excited shiver, not a cold shiver. It was a wiggle.”
He laughed, looking boyish and adorable with his spiky damp hair sticking up. It looked darker when it was wet, making his eyes look deeper green. “Okay.”
“So what was it I said?”
“You said, ‘Don’t give up.’ It was right before—”
“Oh.” I felt heat in my cheeks. “I know when it was.”
“What was that about?”
I hesitated, my eyes dropping to our legs beneath the water, his hairy ones outside my much paler, smooth ones. My red toenail polish popped against the white porcelain enamel finish. It was a beautiful cast iron tub, like something out of a Victorian movie set. I couldn’t believe it when Henry told me no one had ever used it. When I asked why, he said he’d bought it to surprise Renee, an effort to help her relax, but she’d moved out before it had even been delivered. He’d installed it anyway, but since he was not a bath kind of guy, it had never gotten used. I’d been more than happy to christen it tonight.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Henry went on.
“No, it’s okay.” I looked at him again. “It can take me a long time to reach orgasm. My ex used to get impatient.”
Henry’s expression plainly conveyed his disgust. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“No.”
“I already knew he was a dick, but Jesus. That’s a whole new level of assholery.”
“Yeah.” I bit my lip. “After a while, it made me really self-conscious about even trying for one. I used to fake them.”