Page 14 of Pride & Precedents
I can do nothing but grab hold of his sides while he plunders my mouth. My panties are a lost cause at this point; someone decided to replace my pussy with Niagara Falls. But eventually, my brain recovers and I remember that I've got kissing skills, too.
I pull his hands from my neck and place them on my hips, before hugging him close and taking over the kiss. He moans in approval as my hands run up and down his back, even using my nails at some points. I let one hand venture to the front of his pants and discover that someone has replaced Henry's dick with the Eiffel Tower—it's hard as steel and sticking straight up. Thank God the booth offers us some privacy.
I kiss him with all the longing I've felt for him, all the pent up sexual tension I thought only I could feel. We pass dominance back and forth between us like a volleyball, the kiss so intense that I don't notice his hand has moved until it's squeezing my right breast.
"Holy shit, Henry!"
He smiles against my lips before going back to unraveling me, his thumb brushing my nipple while the other hand squeezes my hip.
98.7% of my brain is totally on board with this. Henry is hot, he's built, and, from what I just felt, he's packing. If his mouth can do wizardry, I am more than down to find out what hisdickcan do.
But that pesky 1.3% keeps whispering,What's going to happen on Monday? Is it a good idea to get involved when you know it can't go anywhere because of all his stupid rules? Could you be his paralegal and his secret hookup and still hold on to your dignity?And it fucking sucks, because I'm pretty sure that 1.3% is right. I start to slow the kiss, and gently ease away.
"As much fun as this is," Henry smirks and God! it looks hot on him, "it's getting pretty late and I've got to get home to the Bronx. Hopefully the trains are still running."
That's a complete lie. Nothing's waiting for me at home but that mid-term I still need to take. I just know that if he keeps kissing me like that, I'm going to fuck him; damn the consequences!
Henry smiles, his lips looking deliciously swollen from our kiss. I take a mental picture.
"Itisgetting a bit late." Damn, he didn't put up much of a fight. "But if you think I'm letting you take the subway home at this hour, you don't know me at all."
He stands up from the booth, grabs his jacket and offers me his hand.
"C'mon. I'll have Murray drive you home."
"But what about you?" Because no way are we riding together. I don't think I'd be able to restrain myself in a car with him all the way to the Bronx. He shrugs, unbothered by the idea of stranding himself in Brooklyn.
"My parents live not too far from here. I'll just crash there tonight and have Murray pick me up in the morning."
"OK," I say, suddenly shy. How do you say "good night" after a kiss like that?
We step into the cool night air, and a black Escalade pulls up to the curb. Henry opens the door for me and helps me into the car, his hand warm on mine.
"Good night, Camila. Get home safely."
His voice is a purr, and now all I want to do is pet him.
"You too, Henry."
He smiles, steps back, and closes the heavy door, extinguishing the current sparking between us. My address is already entered into the GPS, and Murray wordlessly begins navigating the narrow Brooklyn streets.
Shit.What just happened?
Chapter nine
Henry
This is what death feels like. I'm certain of it. The tiny jackhammer in my head pairs beautifully with the rusty nails piercing my eyeballs every time a ray of sunlight manages to get past my sleep mask. I untangle my arm from the practically vintage flannel sheets on my childhood bed, but when I reach to pull down my mask, I'm met with more face instead.Huh.
Keeping my eyes firmly closed, I feel under my pillow for my sleep mask, and…nothing.Double huh.
I fumble for my glasses on the bedside dresser and proceed to knock off several AP textbooks and an ancient package of Pop Tarts in the process.Way to turn my room into a time capsule, Mom.
No longer blind but still heavily incapacitated, I sneak a peak from under my eyelids to see the culprit behind the rusty nails: my curtains are wide open, letting in the springtime sun, the chirping of birds, and the sound of cyclists whizzing by Mom and Dad's Clinton Hill brownstone.
I slept through the night with no sleep mask or blackout curtains and no noise machine?I tug on my sheets to check. Yep. Unweighted. And I'm in yesterday's clothes, so I definitely didn't have a shower.How much alcohol did I drink last night that I didn't need the sleep ritual I've used for 20+ years?From the feel of the jackhammer in my head, I'm guessingall of it.
"Henry, Jr.!! Did you want any breakfast before you head back?!" Mom yells from downstairs, replacing the jackhammer in my head with ice picks. Seconds too late, I wrap my pillow around my ears, desperate to escape the noise.
