“Henry,” I pant.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers before pressing his forehead against mine. His breath is warm and ragged against my cheek. “Come for me,Pajarito.”
His words send me over the edge. My body clenches around him as the orgasm crashes through me. I cry out, clinging to him as wave after wave of pleasure rocks my body.
Henry follows me, groaning my name as he buries himself deep inside me one last time. His body trembles, his grip on my hips tightening as he spills into the condom.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. Our bodies lie there, tangled and slick with sweat. When he finally collapses beside me, he pulls me into his arms without hesitation. I love this feeling.
“Pajarito?” he questions against my hair, his voice soft and content.
“Hmm?” I respond, too exhausted to form coherent words.
“You’re mine now,” he whispers.
A different wave of satisfaction washes over me, and I smile, knowing this is where I’m meant to be. “Yours, Henry. Always yours.”
The smell of coffee and something buttery wafts through the air, pulling me from a dream I can barely remember. I stretch lazily, my muscles aching in the best way. A smile tugs at my lips as the events from last night rush back in.
Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I reach for Henry’s discarded button-up from the night before and slip it on. The soft cotton brushes against my bare skin and a fluttering feeling appears out of thin air.
My smile doesn’t disappear as I navigate toward the kitchen wearing Henry’s shirt. He stands at the stove, his broad back to me, shirtless and barefoot. His dark hair is slightly disheveled, and his sweatpants hang low on his hips. The sight made me clench my thighs together.
“Morning,Pajarito,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. His voice feels like honey with a hint of spice. I wanted to drown in that sound.
“Morning.” I pad over to the counter and lean against it, watching him expertly flip a fluffy-looking pancake. “You made me dinner last night. You don’t have to make me breakfast too.”
“I don’t have to.” He smirks. “I want to.”
The same fluttery feeling from earlier returns in full force. I clutch my stomach from the intensity of my feelings for this man. Everything he says or does makes me feel like I can float on air. It felt like something I wasn’t ready to think about yet.
In typical Emma fashion, my mind starts doing its checks and balances. This moment felt good, but maybe it was too good to be true. The one thing threatening to sour this moment sat at the tip of my tongue, threatening to spill out at any moment.
I rest my chin in my hand as I watch him move around the kitchen. Now, I can’t help but think about what happens when summer is over. He said he wasn’t letting go of this thing between us, but what did that mean? Did that mean he was staying?
I bite my lip, turning the thought over as I muster the courage to ask without asking. My fingers trace invisible patterns on the countertop, my heart pounding harder than it should be for an innocent question.
“Pajarito,I can hear you thinking from over here,” Henry says. My eyes meet his, and I realize he’s been watching me for the past few minutes. My cheeks heat up.
“I was just thinking about how nice this is.” I gesture vaguely around the room.
Henry glances at me, raising a brow as he puts one of the pancakes on a plate. “Nice?” he repeats, clearly amused.
I roll my eyes with a smile lingering on my lips. “You know what I mean. It feels good being here with you.”
His smile softens, and it feels like the world shrinks around us for a moment, and nothing outside of this moment matters. But I know better than to avoid the unknown.
“I like being here with you, too,” he says, his voice warm. “Is everything okay, Emma? It seems like there’s something you want to talk about.”
I take a deep breath, trying to steady the fluttering in my chest. There’s something about his compassion and understanding that makes my heart skip.
Before I can make things any more awkward, I clear my throat. “What happens after the summer?”
Henry’s gaze flickers to me, then away, as if trying to gauge my tone. He keeps his hands busy, flipping pancakes, but I notice the tension in his shoulders.
“I don’t know yet,” he says, his voice low and guarded. “I’d like to stay, but there’s a lot I need to figure out first. There are things I haven’t wrapped up.”
I try to keep my face neutral, but there’s a tinge of regret. Maybe we should’ve discussed this before last night. In the harsh reality of daylight, it all feels so uncertain.
