Page 33 of Never Enough

I stare at him. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to come sit right here so I can eat your pussy."

My face flames. But I don't have time to feel embarrassed because Henry is lying there, looking up at me like I'm a meal he's been waiting for. I kneel and remove my panties. Not gonna lie, it’s totally awkward and dumb from this position, but eventually I get them off and tossed on the floor.

"Come on," he says. "Put your knees on either side of my head and let me devour that gorgeous pussy.”

I laugh—a real, surprised, slightly hysterical laugh—because leave it to Henry to make me laugh while simultaneously making me so turned on I can barely see straight. It's the most disarming thing about him. The way he can shift between devastatingly sexy and infuriatingly charming without any apparent effort. Like he was born knowing exactly how to undo me.

I crawl toward him across the mattress, and God, I want to explore more of him. I want to run my hands up the broad expanse of his chest, feel the coarse hair that dusts his pectorals and trails down his stomach, and trace the lines of muscle that years of ranch work carved into him. I want to map him with my fingers the way I've been mapping him with my eyes for the majority of my life.

I'm completely bare now, and my nipples tighten so hard they ache, pressing against the air like they're reaching for him.

His gaze rakes down my body. Slow. Thorough. His hand grips his cock through his boxers and he squeezes, jaw clenching.

"I could come just from looking at you, Gracie." His voice is gravel and want. "Now let me have your pussy. I'm starving."

Lord help me.

Gently, and no doubt awkwardly, I get into position. My knees on either side of his head, my thighs bracketing his face, everything I have right there, inches from his mouth. I feel utterly exposed. Vulnerable in a way that has nothing to do with nudity and everything to do with the fact that this is Henry beneath me. Henry, who knows me better than almost anyone. Henry, whom I've loved since before I understood what the word meant.

His hands come up to grip my thighs and his breath ghosts across my most sensitive skin. I shiver.

"Fuck, you smell delicious.” He gives me one long, slow lick straight up the center, and my entire body jolts. My hands fly to the headboard to steady myself. "And that's the prettiest pussy I've ever seen."

Then he devours me.

There is no other word for it. This isn't a tentative exploration. This isn't a man going through the motions. Henry eats me like he's been dreaming about it, no, like he's been starving for me. I grip the headboard tightly.

His tongue plunges inside me, and the sound he makes, a guttural, satisfied groan, reverberates through my core. His stubble scrapes against my tender flesh, rough and electric, adding texture to the slick glide of his mouth. The combination of sensations is almost too much—soft tongue, rough jaw, warm breath, strong hands gripping my thighs hard enough to bruise.

He licks up the side of my folds, tracing the edge of me with devastating precision, then circles up and around the hood of my clit. Close, so close, but deliberately avoiding the spot where I need him most. Over and over he does this, a slow, torturous circuit that has me grinding down against his face and abandoning every shred of dignity I've ever possessed.

"Henry, please,” I beg.

I'm riding his face and I don't care. I'm begging and I don't care about that either. My fingers twist in his hair and my hips chase his mouth with a desperation that would embarrass me if I had any higher brain function left, but I don't. That's gone. Henry's tongue has eliminated it entirely.

Then his tongue finally finds my clit.

He circles it. Tight, focused, relentless little circles. Then my orgasm doesn't build so much as detonate. It tears through me like a lightning strike, white-hot and all-consuming, and the waves keep coming, rolling through my body in pulses that seem to last forever. My thighs clamp against his head, and I'm dimly aware that I might be suffocating him.

I scramble to move, to lift myself off his face before I actually kill the man, but he follows me. Stays with me. His mouth doesn't leave my skin until the last tremor fades and I'm gasping above him, trembling and wrecked and barely conscious.

He shifts us, or I shift, or gravity intervenes, and then he's looking down at me. Propped up on one arm, his mouth and chin glistening with my climax, his expression is so tender it makes my chest ache.

"We don't have to do anything else if you aren't ready," he says. His voice is rough but his eyes are soft. "No pressure from me."

I look up at this man—this man who just gave me not one, but two earth-shattering orgasms without once asking for anything in return.

Something in my chest breaks open. Not breaks apart. Breaks open. Like a door that's been locked for years finally swinging wide.

"I want to," I say. “I’ve wanted you this way a long time. I’m sorry I didn’t wait⁠—”

His finger goes to my lips. “No, we’re not doing that. Nothing matters but you and me. Here right now. This was meant to be. You an me are everything that’s right in my world. I don’t care how long it took us to get here.”

“I love you, Henry.”

He smiles and it’s kinda dopey and sweet. “I love you, Gracie Lynn. Always have, always will.”