Page 55

I gasp, arms shooting up, desperate to cover myself. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

My voice is sharp, furious—but every part of me is already betraying the words. My breath comes quick and ragged, skin buzzing, trembling—not from fear. No. This is want, raw and undeniable.

Henry leans in, breath hot against my skin, voice dripping with wicked intent. “You can lie with your mouth all you want, little viper. But your body’s already screaming the truth louder than you ever could.”

He shrugs, slow and deliberate, like a man ready to break but refusing to show it. “Call it a man who’s finally reached the end of his fucking rope.” His fingers twitch near my arm, dangerous and certain. “Now, move your God damn arm.”

I’m panting like a bitch in heat, but my stubborn streak wins. I keep my arm clamped tight across my chest like it’s armor. Henry doesn’t flinch. If anything, he smirks, like my defiance only fuels him.

“Fuck, keep that up and I’m going to come in my pants before the fun even starts,” he mutters, low and dark. Then without warning, he drops to his knees, yanking my sleep shorts down in one rough, hungry motion—panties sliding right along with them.

I barely have time to react before he snatches my free wrist, keeping me fully exposed—raw and wild and trembling.

“God damn baby”, he groans, gaze locked on my slick thighs like he’s found religion. “You may hate me, but your pussy…Oh, how she weeps for me.”

He rises slow, deliberate—like he's savoring every inch of the climb back to his throne. When he stands, he doesn’t rush, he leans in and licks—slow, filthy—up the column of my throat, a devotion dipped in blasphemy. One hand drifts over the curve of my thigh, light and torturous, tracing paths that make my knees buckle.

My moan escapes before I can trap it behind my teeth, and my arm falls limp at my side like surrender’s already inked into my flesh.

I’m standing bare as the day I was born, and he drinks me in with those hungry eyes before his mouth crashes down on my nipple—hot, greedy, relentless.

He freezes, chest rumbling with a low, guttural sound that shakes through me when he discovers the silver glint beneath his lips.

“Well, look at that,” he rasps, voice thick with hunger. “A pretty little surprise.”

He flicks one with his tongue, then closes his mouth around it, groaning like it’s a damn delicacy. I hiss when his teeth graze it—piercings always make me hypersensitive—and he doesn’t let up. He slaps the other breast, the sting sharp, electric. Then his mouth’s there too, chasing pain with pleasure like he’s starving for every piece of me.

He’s not soft about it. There’s nothing gentle in the way he handles me—and I like it. Like my body’s been waiting for this exact kind of chaos.

Henry Wilder always knew exactly what to give me, even when I didn’t fucking know myself.

He steps forward suddenly, pushing clothes aside on both sides, trapping me in the tight space. Never breaking eye contact, he pops the button of his jeans, slow and deliberate, the zipper sliding down with a teasing ease that has my mouth going dry. “Hands, little viper. Put ‘em the fuck up there.”

I reach out, shaky fingers clutching the clothes rack like it’s the only damn thing keeping me from falling apart.

“That’s it,” he breathes, voice thick with something dark and hungry. “Such a good fucking girl.”

Praise like that—crooked, sharp—hits me like lightning straight to my clit. I swear, I almost lose it right then and there.

“You better fucking not.”

How the hell does he know?

Henry smirks, thumbs flicking at my nipples, making me arch involuntarily. “Ten years later and you still get that same look right before you come. Spent too many nights with my tongue buried between those long legs not to remember.”

Boy did he. We have only had sex once, but younger Henry Wilder’s mouth and fingers were between my legs every chance he got.

He kicks my feet apart like he owns every inch of the floor beneath us, then pulls his jeans down in one brutal, satisfying motion.

“Now, don’t move those hands. You’re going to take exactly what I think you deserve.”

Wait—did this motherfucker just use my own words against me?

It’s tearing at my tongue to fight back—to scream that I’m not some fuck toy, not some prize to be taken. But Jesus Christ, this is the most fucking alive I’ve felt in well over ten years. It sets my blood on fire, dragging the flame higher, hotter, damn near unbearable.

I feel him press hard against me—sharp, urgent—and we both let out a breathless, ragged hiss at the shock of contact. But no, he doesn’t fucking push inside.

“Feet together. Now.” His voice drops into a growl, thick with heat and command, a wildfire consuming everything around us.