“It’s a beautiful song.”
“It’s a sad song.” He looked up at the ceiling again. “Everyone wanted Mum when she was younger: the rich guys, the bad boys, the ones with bright futures, the ones with nothing to offer at all.” A small smile played on his lips. “But Dad lured her in with song lyrics, small gestures, and a few smart moves here and there. When she wasn’t sure whether to commit to him, he sent her this song. She told me that was all it took for her to realise he truly was the only one.” Henry turned to look at me again. “No one else put her in her place the way he did. She loved that about him.”
The reverence in Henry’s voice made tears form in my eyes, and I blessed the muted light, hoping he wouldn’t see them as pity or anything that made him feel wrong for opening up to me.
“I haven’t listened to this since they passed,” he admitted quietly. “Then it comes on randomly, tonight of all nights. Here. With you.”
I ran a single finger over his broad chest. “I still think it’s beautiful. Who sings it?”
“Aaron Neville, “Tell It Like It Is”.”
Not long after, the song ended, replaced by something that made Henry blink away his nostalgia, inhale deeply, then blow it all out. “Shit.” He ran his hand over his eyes before he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did I just get sentimental in front of a chick?”
“Chick. How old are you? Fourteen? Wait.” My hand froze in place. “How oldareyou?”
“I’m, twenty, Phoebe.” My face fell for only a second before Henry’s soundless laughter made his body shake, and he pressed his hand over mine, holding it against his heart. “I’m fucking with you. I’m twenty-eight.”
“Don’t scare me like that.”
“Come on. No twenty-year-old could fuck you like I do.”
I rolled my eyes. “Please.”
“Don’t act like you’re not impressed. I see behind the fake hate you put out there.”
“Is that so? What gives me away so easily?”
“Well, firstly…” Holding my hand in place, he turned on his side, facing me and propping himself up on his elbow, copying my pose. “Do you realise what you’ve been doing the last few minutes?” He brought my hand up to his mouth and pressed a single kiss to my index finger. “You’ve been drawing hearts on my skin the way you draw hearts around Rick Eden’s name.”
“It’s Reed Easton, and I have not.” Humiliation awoke within me, threatening to claw its way up my throat.
He pressed another kiss to my finger. “Don’t look embarrassed. It’s?—”
“Don’t you dare say cute,” I cut in.
“Cute.” He grinned, pressing another kiss there.
With a dramatic flair, I groaned, closed my eyes, and flopped down onto my back, using my other arm to throw over my eyes. “Stop. Just stop torturing me all the time.”
Henry’s deep chuckle made my insides swirl with euphoria, even when my embarrassment tried to take over.
“But torturing you is fun,” he said, letting my hand go to bring his body closer to mine. His naked chest came against my side, his dick against my thigh.
“Sadist,” I muttered petulantly, even though I didn’t feel petulant at all. It was a role I took on easily around him, guarding my own heart from the way it threatened to beat too wildly in his presence. Sometimes I worried he could hear it.
“I think you like it more than you let on.” His voice took on that sexy edge again that usually preceded him becoming horny.
I was about to pull my arm away from my face when he held it in place and leaned down so his mouth was next to my ear. “Leave it there. Keep your eyes closed. Let me even up the score a little.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he trailed a finger up my stomach, between the valley of my breasts, until it came to a stop above my beating heart, which only beat faster while I waited for his next move.
“Tell me what you feel.” Slowly, ever so carefully, the pad of his finger started to move over my left breast, and it took me a second to realise he was tracing letters over my skin—a word I couldn’t make out. I tried hard to concentrate on the flow of his finger instead of how good it felt to be touched by him, and my lips parted when he came to a stop, only for him to go back to the beginning to start all over again.
“You got it yet?”
I rolled my head against the pillow. “No. I… wait. Was the first letter R?”
“Yeah,” he breathed, moving on to the next. “And this one?”
