Then Henry lifts his eyes to mine. “Now, Sarah . . . watch.”
Slowly, he licks me from bottom to top. On the second pass, he stops at my opening and presses inside. He thrusts in and out, deep and hard, fucking me just like he said . . . with his tongue. I whimper and he moans. And it builds inside me, cresting—the intensity—the pleasure. I try to keep watching, because that’s what Henry wants, but it’s just all too much.
My legs tremble on his back, thighs squeezing. I writhe and I beg.
“Please, please, please, oh please . . .”
So close.
So . . . close.
His tongue is replaced with fingers, long and thick. And when his lips close over my clit, sucking gently, my muscles clamp down on those fingers and my mind goes white as shattering pleasure wracks through my body. Wave after wave makes my back bow and my mouth scream.
After a time, when the grip of my orgasm wanes to languid contentment, Henry kisses his way up to my lips. His kiss is hard and dominating, with teeth and tongue.
And yes, I taste myself on his lips—just like in the books.
But there’s no shame or disgust. It’s arousing, erotic, and perfect—because everything with Henry is perfect. And I feel so incredibly tender toward him. I wrap my arms around his neck and back, anywhere I can reach.
“That was . . . amazing,” I say.
Henry’s lips nuzzle my neck and a chuckle rumbles in his chest.
“That . . . was only the beginning.” He leans away just long enough to pull my shirt over my head and push my skirt off to the floor. Then he rolls onto his back, hooking me under the arms and effortlessly lifting until I’m straddling his chest.
I should be embarrassed—I mean, my crotch is practically in his face. And it seems Henry wants to go from practically to literally.
He crooks his finger, looking carefree and young and heartbreakingly happy. “Hold onto the headboard and bring that sweet pussy up here.”
And I laugh, because who says that?
“Are you sure?”
“My tongue isn’t even close to tired. And I need more of you, Sarah.”
He’s so damn comfortable, so sure and confident in his own skin. And he makes me feel that way too. Beautiful and bold. Brave. Like I could do anything—say anything—be anything.
But at the moment, all I want to be is his. So I wiggle forward and follow my prince’s command.
IN SECONDARY SCHOOL, my friends and I made up a drinking game called “The Way I’d Go.” The idea was to think of the grandest, best way to die—like drowning in a vat of ale or blowing up the chem lab for the betterment of all student-kind. I’ve just discovered the ultimate, most sublime way to die: with Sarah Titebottum sitting on my face.
That’s the way I’d go—hell yeah.
Her pussy is perfect. She smells like fucking roses and tastes like sunshine. In the last hour and a half, she’s come three times. I think I’ve sprained my tongue.
Totally worth it.
Sarah sighs contentedly, snuggling up against my side, her pretty eyes closed.
I stare at the ceiling and try not to think about how painfully hard I am or the throbbing weight of my heavy balls. It’s possible my cock could actually burst—which hurts to even think about—that’s how hard I am.
Sarah’s palm slides along my chest.
“Henry?” she says, soft and sweet.
“Mmm?”
“I want to do that to you.”
My eyes spring open. And I actually get harder. But I have to be sure she’s saying what I think she’s saying—I’m in no state to be messed with.
“Do what?”
She leans up on her arm, looking down at me with cheeks flushed. And there’s a new directness in her eyes, an audacity that I don’t think was there yesterday. It makes her even sexier.
“I want to put my mouth on you.” She glances down to where my briefs are tented so high it should be funny. I purposely kept them on so I wouldn’t get carried away. Sarah naked is one thing—both of us naked and rubbing on each other is entirely too dangerous.
I should ask her if she’s sure. I should tell her she doesn’t have to.
But what I actually say is, “Fuck me, Christ, yes please.”
She giggles and I feel it in my aching cock. Then she dips her head and starts peppering kisses across my collarbone. Soft, whispery brushes of warm lips. She flicks her tongue over one sensitive nipple, pulling a moan from me.
“I feel drunk, Henry. Wild. And I want to make you feel every bit as good as you made me feel. I want so much to give you that.”
I lift up again, pulling her to me, kissing her wet and deep. “You do, Sarah. Christ, everything you do—feels incredible.”