So good.
So freaking good.
Familiar pleasure builds low in my stomach as his mouth finds the shell of my ear, and he whispers, “You want me to use you? Fine. But only if you understand I’m the only one who makes you feel this way. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I breathe out. “It’s you. Only you.”
“Tell me it’s okay. Tell me it’s okay to make you feel this way. To make you want me. Crave me. Tell me you aren’t going to run simply because you’re scared.”
His fingers slide out of me and circle my entrance again, leaving me squirming.
“Henry,” I beg, but he doesn’t finger me.
He leaves me empty, his dark gaze holding me hostage. “Tell me it’s okay. Tell me you aren’t going to run.”
“Henry, I’m close––”
“Tell me you aren’t going to run,” he repeats, tapping his finger against my clit without giving me enough pressure to push me over the edge. And holy shit, it’s the sweetest torture ever.
“I won’t run,” I whisper.
He pinches me roughly, and I come, my mouth falling wide. His marinara-infused tongue shoves between my lips as he swallows my moans.
Fuck. Me.
38
HENRY
I’m either an idiot or a genius. I can’t decide which as I look down at the squirming puppy in my arms.
At first, I debated purchasing a small breed. Something easy to travel with. Something easily accommodating. Then I remembered whom the puppy would belong to and knew I had to go big or go home. With Mia, there’s no in-between.
We haven’t discussed it.
The possibility of her owning a puppy.
Or the night we shared together with Mia curled against my chest after she found out about Pixie. No sex. No orgasms. Yet more intimate and vulnerable than any moment I’ve shared with anyone. Ever. We also haven’t discussed the way she was spooked the last time we had sex or how I know she was jealous when Scarlett showed up on my doorstep. We haven’t discussed a lot of things, knowing it’ll only spook Mia into running. But I’m okay with letting my actions speak for themselves, and if a new puppy is what it takes to show her I care, so be it.
I let out a huff of air and shift the German Shepherd into my other arm. Raising my fist, I knock on Mia’s door.
Footsteps echo on the other side a few seconds later, and the door opens with a soft squeak.
“Hey, what are you––” Mia gasps and covers her mouth with her hand. “Oh, my–– Who are–– When did you––” She looks up at me and reaches for the ball of fur in my arms. “Come here, beautiful! Or are you Mr. Handsome?” she coos, taking the eight-week-old puppy from me without bothering to ask my permission and snuggling it against her chest.
I smile, taking in Mia’s massive grin as she nuzzles her nose against the puppy’s face and breathes in deeply.
“It’s a girl,” I tell her.
“Of course you are,” she tells the puppy. “You’re far too dainty to be a boy, aren’t you, baby girl? Yes, you are.” She kisses the top of the puppy’s brown and black head, breathing her in all over again. “She still smells like a puppy. Oh my gosh, I’m in love. When did you get her?”
“Just picked her up,” I reply. “But she isn’t mine.”
Mia pauses, her forehead wrinkling. “Who does she belong to?”
“She’s yours.”
Her pretty pink lips part, but she doesn’t say a word. Not right away. She’s too stunned. I don’t blame her. This is crossing a line. I wouldn’t buy a puppy for just anyone. If Mia catches onto the truth, she’ll end this. I can’t let it happen. Not anymore. I’ve fallen for this girl. She doesn’t know it––she can’t know it––not until she’s ready, but it’s true. I need to move slowly enough for her insecurities to finally dissipate so she can let me in fully. So she can acknowledge her own feelings and accept this is it for us. She’s mine. And I’m hers.
The puppy licks Mia’s chin, snapping her out of her daze, and she pushes the door to her apartment open the rest of the way.
“Come on in.”
I follow Mia into her place. It’s as bare as the last time I was here.
“Close the door behind you,” she adds, giving the puppy her full attention. Once it’s closed, she sets the puppy down and folds her arms.
With a pointed look, she asks, “Are you serious?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“You got me a puppy?”
I nod again. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because you might not trust your gut, but I do. You’ve wanted a puppy for years. Ever since you gave Pixie to your uncle.”
Her lips are nothing but a slash of pink as she glances at the puppy padding across the floor. “Just because I wanted one doesn’t mean it would’ve been a smart decision.”
“I think you will figure it out.”
“Do you have any idea how much work puppies can be?” she challenges.
Again, I nod. “Is it a problem?”
Sitting on the hardwood floor, she stares at the puppy sniffing the ugly floral chair in the family room and bites her bottom lip. I know she’s at war with herself. Caught between letting herself be excited and the fear of screwing up. Of not being enough when she’s more than capable of excelling at whatever she puts her mind to.
“Does she have a name?” Mia whispers.
“Figured naming her was your job.”
Her torn expression shifts from the puppy to me, and she shakes her head. “I can’t have a dog.”
“Why not?” I ask, stuffing my hands into my front pockets.
“What if I can’t take care of her?”
“I think you’ll be fine.”
“What about when I need to travel with the team?”
“The puppy can come with us. I told you I was going to find a replacement for our mascot, remember?”
“Oh, because I supposedly slept with a guy who likes dressing up as a lion all the time?”
“Can’t blame a guy for being jealous,” I joke.
She scoffs. “Even if Leo the Lion was a threat, I figured you meant you were looking for another person who dressed up in a suit or something, not an actual”––she waves her hand at the puppy––“creature who’s almost as big and fluffy as a lion!”
“Don’t worry, Leo still has his job,” I clarify. “But I think the players will love your puppy, and the fans will too.”
“Well yeah, I mean, who wouldn’t love her?” she points out while nibbling on the edge of her thumb.
“Do you like her?” I ask.
She peeks at the clumsy fluff ball and back at me. “Of course I like her.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Pulling her knees into her chest, she rests her chin against them, her eyes almost glassy.
My tone softens. “Mia, what’s wrong?”
“I’m scared,” she whispers.
“What are you scared of?”