I told myself I was trying to avenge Aidia’s hurts, but I think I was trying to remind myself how easy it was to become one of those women I protected. As long as I didn’t let someone close, I couldn’t become one of them.
Until now, men’s wanting has never been something that could sate me. It always felt a meal devoid of substance. No matter how much I consumed, it left me feeling empty.
For the first time, I feel how Henry’s desire could fill me up, scatter shadows from my aching hollows, and thaw my frozen heart. I see how staying could heal me as much as ruin me.
I’ll never forgive Henry for this. I can’t afford a weakness.
When I finally pull away, I’m breathless and shaking.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispers against my lips.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re forgetting to hate me.”
I can hardly breathe around the lump in my throat. Because I don’t hate him at all.
“I do hate you,” I rasp.
Henry tilts my chin up and brushes his lips to mine so gently. “No,lovely. I don’t think you do.” He kisses the corners of my mouth so tenderly. “It’s scary, isn’t it?”
“Scary?” I laugh bitterly. “Scary is too small a word. This is world-rending.”
I don’t want this. I want to toss the revelation in the nearest well and watch it get swept away in the current.
“Beautiful, wretched wife. You will be my undoing.”
That was always the plan, but I didn’t expect to wreck myself in the process.
He kisses me again, and I want my robe off. I want his shirt off. I want nothing between us.
Henry slides his hands under my ass. He lifts me as he stands, crosses the room, and sits down on the edge of the bed with me straddling his lap.
I unbutton his shirt as he yanks on the sash of my robe. There’s too much between us. I don’t want to talk or even think about how I feel. I just want him inside me.
But Henry doesn’t want to go fast. When I reach for the button on his pants, he grabs my hands.
“I will let you do a lot of things, Harlow, but rushing me when I’ve waited so long to take my time is not one of them.”
He twists to lay me on the bed beneath him. He kisses me slowly, his hands tenderly stroking my hair.
I don’t know why my heart is racing like this. We’re only kissing, but I can hardly breathe. He brushes his lips along my jaw and down my neck. His teeth skim down my neck, and I have never trusted someone like this—enough to bare my throat without a hint of hesitation—enough to be hurt beyond repair.
Some part of me is forever braced for pain. I keep waiting for the sharp slice of his teeth, but it never comes.
Henry places kisses along my collarbones and down the valley between my breasts. This is homage. It feels like he’s trying to make up for the lack of touch in my life. He cups my breasts, chasing each caress with his mouth.
So often, I’ve felt fractured between who I am and who I pretend to be. But this is the first time I feel whole again—with him touching me.
He works his way lower, down the lines of my stomach and over myhips. Then, he lowers himself to kneel on the floor, wraps his hands around my thighs, and yanks me to the edge of the bed.
The first brush of his tongue has me arching up off the mattress. I’m already so sensitive, every nerve in my body feels lit up.
It’s clear he was holding back before. With no audience, he is ravenous. Not like he’s trying to prove something to me, but more like he’s trying to prove something to himself. When I start to squirm, he pins my hips to the bed. He’s merciless, plunging his tongue in deep, sucking my clit into his mouth until my thighs are trembling and my hands are fisted in his hair and I’m so mindless with pleasure I can’t stop saying his name.
The climax breaks over me, and it feels like I’ve been cracked wide open. I don’t recognize the hoarse cry that escapes me. My aura is spread out wide, throwing off little golden sparks in all directions. I have never felt more out of control, and I like it.
I’ve always had an intimacy with pain—an awareness of the many ways that I could hurt. I never fathomed that my body could feel this good.
