I grin. “In a romantically moronic sort of way.”
“Careful,chérie!” He raises a warning finger. “If you call my twenty-year-old self a moron, then what does it say about your nineteen-year-old self?”
I give him a nonchalant shrug. “It says I was in love with a moron.”
“What if I’m still a moron?”
“Then I still love a moron.”
He stares at me, long and deep, his gaze probing, searching. I hope the L word didn’t spook him because there’s no turning back now.
I square my shoulders, a flutter in my belly. “That declaration was just as overdue as yours, Henri. It had to come out sooner or later. But, please, don’t feel pressured to reciprocate?—”
“I love you,” he says. “You stole my heart the moment I first laid eyes on you. And you’ve held on to it since then, my tenacious princess. It’s always been you. No one else but you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Don’t move!” I dart to the door.
Once it’s locked, I rush to the windows and hastily draw the shades, ensuring complete privacy for what I have in mind. Only then do I return to Henri’s side. My movements are cautious and gentle as I pull back the covers.
He watches me act, a glimmer of anticipation in his brown eyes.
I begin to caress his thighs and crotch through his thin pajama bottoms with the waistline serving as my limit. Above it, underneath his T-shirt, bandages that cover his skin serve as a reminder that he’s still sore. But, despite this vulnerability, his arousal builds quickly. It fills me with infinite joy to see his desire surge, undeterred by his weakened state.
My gaze lingers on the tented area below his waist. “How about we relieve you of your pants?”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Cautiously he props himself on his arms and lifts his butt off the bed.
It’s my cue to grasp the top of his pajama pants and pull them down and off, exposing his beautifully sculpted lower body and cock. The latter stands at full attention, pulsating with pent-up want.
I position myself at the foot of the bed, my hands hovering delicately over his thighs as I bend down. For a moment, I just breathe, inhaling the scent of his skin and his masculinity mixed with that of fresh linens. My hands tremble with desire as I begin to rub them up and down Henri’s bared thighs, tracing the contours of his sinewy muscles with my fingers. I adjust my position so that my lips can join my hands.
As I trail kisses down to his knees and back up to the crotch, I sense his muscles flexing. His breathing grows heavier and his hips buck. Henri moans softly, urging me to continue—or escalate. I lick and kiss every inch offered to me, but I take special care to avoid his straining cock.
“What you’re doing is called cruelty,” he complains, his voice hoarse.
“Not at all,” I retort archly. “It’s called deterred execution.”
Normally, he’d laugh—but not now. A quick glance at his flushed face tells me my teasing has erred on the side of cruel under the circumstances.
And so, I give him mercy. I reach out and wrap a hand around his erect member. Henri growls in response, his hips bucking into my touch. His reaction and the feel of his hardness electrify me and pushes me over the edge of restraint. I stroke him, my fingers gliding along his thick length, reveling in the silky warmth of his skin. The need that drives him is palpable.Literally.
“Please,” he begs.
I lean forward and take the tip into my mouth, savoring the taste of him—salty, musky, sultry. Lust made flesh. He groans. Gently, I flick my tongue against the sensitive tip, watching his eyes roll back. I flick it again and again. His hands thread through my hair, but he doesn’t guide me. He just keeps them there, hugging my head, his long fingers massaging my scalp.
A whimper escapes him as I sink a little farther, my lips sliding down, enveloping him deeper. I swirl my tongue around the bulbous tip and over his sensitive areas. He tenses and throbs in response. The pheromone-laden scent of his desire intensifies. Familiar and heady, it never fails to draw a response from me. I feel my core clench with want.
Too bad.Hopefully, next week when Henri’s bandages are gone, we can have penetrative sex.
His hands tighten in my hair and tug gently as he thrusts upward into my mouth, filling it in a way that sends shivers of delight down my spine. I moan around him.
“Oh, fuck, Gigi,” he grits. “That feels so good!”
I’m about to make it better still!
My tongue plays with the slick crown, laving and lapping, and making him moan. And then, without a warning, my mouth engulfs him fully. He draws in a loud breath.
