“Come here.” Henry opens the car door and sets both of our drinks on the hood. Without question, I walk up to him where he then grabs onto my waist. He effortlessly picks me up and sets me on the driver's seat, my legs dangling out the door. “Stay there while I grab my sweatshirt,” he says as he opens the back driver’s side door.
My eyes follow him the whole time, nearly drooling like a dog. The sliver of his toned stomach peaks out as he reaches up to pull his sweatshirt on. His happy trail that’s pointed toward his jeans once again losing me in a trance.
“Do you like what you see?” He chuckles.
Nodding—unaffected by him catching my wandering eyes—I mumble, “Uh huh.”
He shakes his head with a smile when he reaches into the backseat—for the sweatshirt, I assume. He shuts the door and walks back to me once again, looking so good I want to take a bite out of him.
“Hands up,” he demands.
My hands rise, doing exactly as he says. I don’t think I could say no to anything he asks of me.
“What are you doing?” I quietly ask.
“If I’m cold, then you must be too. I can’t have my girl cold.”
“My girl,” I whisper.
“S-sorry. I—” He sounds panicked. “That just came out, I’m sorry.”
“No,” I put my hand on his chest, stopping him, “I liked it.
At first he looks at my hand on his chest in shock. I watch as his face turns into a boyish grin. I remove my hand and help in putting his sweatshirt over my arms and head. Saying nothing the whole time.
It smells just like him—a masculine vanilla. I never want to take it off.
Instead of putting my arms down, I set them on his shoulders—wanting to touch him again—interlocking my hands behind his neck. I just stare in awe as he looks down at me in the same way.
There are no words being said, but neither of us move.
Stepping closer between my legs, he reaches to pull my hair out from under the hood and butterflies flutter throughout my whole body at his touch.
He moves his hand up and cups my face, brushing his rough thumb across my cheek.
I like him touching me, I like the feel of his calloused hands on my skin.
I unlink my hands from behind his neck and run one of them through his hair that has a groan leaving his mouth as he tilts his head back, his eyes closing. I like having this effect on him, knowing that my touch can cause this.
Deciding to be brave and accept the rejection if it happens, I take a breath and lean in to press my lips to the base of his neck where it meets his collar bone, feeling him swallow harshly.
“Maisie,” he rasps, hand moving from my face to my knee, squeezing ever so slightly.
“Mmm,” is all I reply with as I lick my tongue up his throat, tasting all that is him—my new favorite taste. I feel his hand tighten more on my knee. Gently I bite the skin under his ear and whisper, “Thank you for the sweatshirt.”
“God,” he whimpers. “If that’s how you thank me, I’ll give you a sweatshirt every day.”
Pressing one last kiss to his neck I pull away to see his lust filled eyes looking back at me, moving from my eyes to my lips.
He presses his forehead to mine, noses brushing against one another. “You’re so beautiful, Maisie.”
I close my eyes and smile at the simplicity of his compliment, making me feel like a teenager again.
“Can I ask you something?” he says as he plays with the strands of my hair, foreheads still glued together.
“Mhm,” I respond.
“If I wanted to kiss you, would you let me?”
