The House on Hancock Hill (14 page)

“Would that be such a bad thing?” he asked, looking slightly pink. Fuck, I was in so much trouble. “How’s your face?” He trailed his fingers lightly over my cheek, the bridge of my nose. It tingled, but didn’t hurt.

“It doesn’t feel like it’s going to fall off anymore.”

“Good.” He smiled. He moved his hand down my throat, over my chest. “Your ribs?”

I considered lying. “Still tender,” I admitted. Henry cautiously slid his hands underneath my T-shirt, pushing the fabric up my chest. The muscles of my stomach twitched when he thumbed the dips over my hips. Obediently, I lifted my arms and let him strip me bare. “Still pretty bruised,” Henry murmured, pressing his mouth to my collarbone.

“Will be for a while.” I touched his hair, those soft curls at the nape of his neck. This felt unreal, and I never wanted it to stop.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” Henry whispered. I saw a flicker of timidity in his eyes before he shut them and bent to put his mouth over my right nipple. All the oxygen in my lungs caught like it turned solid. I pressed against him, using the headboard behind me for leverage, hand tightening in his hair. It felt so good when his tongue flicked at the hardening bud that a searing rush of arousal shot straight down my spine. Henry fit his teeth around my nipple and bit gently. I eased a hot breath carefully from my lungs, which was of course what gave me away. Lifting his head Henry said, “You like that.”

“Yeah,” I tried to control the wobble in my voice and failed. “A lot.”

“Hmm.” When he went for the other nipple, he lowered me down on the bed. He didn’t close his eyes this time, but kept looking at me, his pupils dilating until there was barely a ring of caramel left around the black. I slid my hand down his side and tugged at his T-shirt until Henry lifted enough for me to pull it off. Tightly coiled muscles bunched and moved underneath his hot skin. He felt lovely and smooth. I wanted to strip him out of his boxers and taste every inch of him. Running my hand over his ribs made him squirm, and I laughed softly. Henry bit my nipple in retaliation.

“C’mere,” I whispered, tugging him up, lifting my head to meet him in a kiss. He held his weight off me, but I pressed my hand against the small of his back until he lowered himself. Henry made a small noise and broke the kiss at the lovely feel of our chests fitting together. He laid his forehead against my neck, and he hesitated. Then, like he’d made up his mind, he fit his knees between mine and gently pushed my thighs apart. It hurt a little but I was aroused enough to push it aside. A moan spilled out of my mouth, and I clung tighter, lifting my hips up, looking for friction.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted so quietly I hardly heard him.

“This is good. We don’t have to do anything else.”

He lifted his head. “Yeah?” He was smiling.

“Yeah,” I said, gripping the back of his head and kissing him while he pushed his hips against mine. I moaned encouragement into his mouth, and our bodies found a rhythm all on their own, his fingers and lips exploring me like I had treasures that needed hunting. He was quiet even though he began to breathe harder and harder. I tried to focus on making it good for him, but my own pleasure kept derailing me, and soon I was clinging to him, breathing hot against his neck.

“Henry, oh God, you feel so good,” I murmured, feeling the inexorable build of orgasm prowling my veins. “Don’t stop, don’t—”

“Jay.” My name a puff of air against my ear, and that was all it took. With a shout, my body bowed underneath his, and Henry held me through it—that rush of pleasure that was intrinsically self-serving but so much sweeter when shared. I’d pay for this orgasm later, but right now I couldn’t care less. Henry shuddered, his come soaking my already wet underwear as well as his, and went still. We lay panting in each other’s arms. Before I reached the point of discomfort, Henry lifted his head and kissed me.

“Sorry, I’m probably—” He rolled away, and I followed. I kissed his eyelids, I kissed his lips, I kissed the dip of his throat. He laughed shakily.

“You okay?” I whispered. He opened his eyes. From this close, they looked like molten gold.

He smiled. “Never better.”

“Me too.” He thumbed my bruised cheek and laughed in earnest.

M
Y
INTERNAL
clock woke me at five thirty the next morning. For the first time in what felt like days, I was nice and warm down to the very tips of my toes. From the darkness came the sound of breathing slightly out of rhythm to mine, deep and tranquil. Careful not to bounce too much, I turned to look at Henry. He was fast asleep. Part of me felt guilty about what had happened, but mostly I wanted to wake Henry up so we could do it again. Mouth parting, he mumbled something in his sleep, and I grinned. So young, he looked, so vulnerable; no laugh or worry lines indicated the years I’d missed.

As quietly as I could, I rose from the bed. At some point during my panic-induced coma, before we’d woken up in the middle of the night, Henry must have left the bed because my overnight bag and the new stuff I’d purchased was neatly stacked against the wall. The plastic bags would make too much noise, but I was rapidly running out of clothes. On a chair lay a bunch of Henry’s clean washing, and I grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of sweats off the top. I couldn’t find any socks or clean underwear without making too much noise, so I slipped out of last night’s boxers and into the clothes and tiptoed out of the room.

Pat lifted himself with a groan to greet me, and as I opened the back door for him, I spotted a pair of slippers that would keep my feet warm until Henry was up. I figured that wouldn’t be long since he’d mentioned going to work today—right before asking me to stay the night. While I waited for Pat to return, I found the painkillers on the counter and took one. My stomach protested a bit, so I ate half a banana, drank two glasses of water, and hunted for ingredients to make pancakes.

Today, I’d go to the station to sign those papers the sheriff had talked about, find a real estate agent to sell the land, and then it would be time to book my flight. It was my week to open the bakery on Sunday morning, and while I knew Denny’d have no qualms about doing it for me, I also knew the only reason I was considering stalling was Henry. And that would hardly be fair to either of us. By tomorrow, the pain in my ribs would be bearable enough to get on a plane; there was no cause for sticking around. The reflection in the French doors didn’t look like he agreed. I shook my head, let Pat back inside, and dried his paws.

T
HE
PANCAKES
were keeping warm in the oven, strawberries rinsed and sliced, and I was just pouring espresso chocolate sauce into a small creamer jug when I heard the stairs creak.

Henry walked in wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else, and I spilled sauce all over the counter.

“Crap,” I muttered, swiping at the strand of chocolate that dripped from the pan.

“Good morning to you too,” Henry said. Before I could lick the chocolate off, he grabbed my wrist and sucked my fingers into his mouth. I gasped at how painfully fast I grew hard, and put a hand on his chest to steady myself. He stared into my eyes, drew my fingers out of his mouth, and—still holding on to my wrist—kissed me long and hard. His mouth tasted of chocolate and coffee, sweet and slightly bitter all at once, fragrant and warm, like home. I sucked the welcome flavor off his bottom lip. He made a low growling noise, cupped my ass with his large hands, and lifted me on top of the island. The surprise of it startled me, but I readily spread my legs for him, and he forced them wider with his thighs.

“God,” he groaned. “Yes.” He latched on to my neck, kissed my jaw, and sucked on my earlobe while he thumbed my nipples through my shirt, having figured out and remembered my weak spots from the night before.

“Henry,” I whispered, clutching at his bare shoulders for dear life, wriggling closer, searching for any kind of friction. One of the slippers fell off, and I kicked the other one away, digging my bare feet into his thighs for purchase. Henry moved his hands to my ass again, holding me still so he could grind against me. With fumbling fingers, I reached for his fly, watching him for any flicker of uncertainty, but I needn’t have worried. As I lifted him carefully from his jeans—he wasn’t wearing underwear either—Henry pushed my loose sweats down as far as they’d go and freed me, tucking the fabric under my balls. With one hand, I held my pants down, with the other I clung to him as he kissed me and touched me. His long, deft fingers fit around both of us, and I had to look down, I had to see him. Beautiful and perfect we fit together, Henry breathing harshly against my cheek. My voice was thick and hoarse when I managed, “You’re not circumcised.”

“No.” Henry moaned when I let go of him for a moment and slipped my thumb underneath that soft-looking skin. He shuddered and pushed his hips up as he tightened his hand. It felt so good I nearly lost it, but I wanted to wait for him. “Does it bother you?” he asked.

“Not at all. It feels amazing, like velvet.” Placing one large hand to the back of my head, Henry held me in place and kissed me until he started to tremble. Tightening my arm and both legs around him, I murmured encouragement in his ear. The tension began to build in that sweet spot beneath my tailbone, turning my spine into hot liquid. A roar resounded in my head, like a plane fighting gravity as it tried to lift off, and then, in an all-encompassing burst of pleasure, orgasm rolled through both of us. Henry cried out, smothering the noise just a fraction of a second too late against my shoulder, and hot liquid splashed our abdomens over and over.

Wrung out and high on endorphins, I pushed away thoughts that were surely nothing more than sex-induced tenderness.

Panting hard, forehead still pressed against my shoulder, Henry mumbled, “What you do to me.”

“Tell me about it,” I managed weakly, petting his hair. There was chocolate sauce in it.

Straightening so he could look at me, Henry smiled and said, “I have to go into work today.”

“I know. I have a few things to do as well.” Henry nuzzled at my throat, and I tilted my head back. With the barest touch, he mouthed at my skin, and it made me shudder pleasantly. “We should probably shower first, though.”

Henry grinned wickedly. “Together?”

“If you want,” I laughed. “Have I created a monster?”

Henry’s gaze softened. He traced the line of my mouth, then ducked his head. “Just making up for lost time.”

In the shower, we did it all over again, only this time I took charge of him. Guiding Henry to brace himself against the tiles, I stood behind him and explored. I didn’t breach his body, although I could’ve with how beautifully he responded to my touch. The idea that no one had done this before, that he would let me,
wanted
me to, caused a warmth to spread through my veins that had nothing to do with the hot water. This was dangerous ground, and I steered my mind away from it, concentrating instead on making this as good for him as I knew how.

“Jason,” he croaked, then hid his face against his biceps.

“I’m here,” I told him, pressing my forehead between his shoulder blades. His cock was impossibly thick and hard in my fist, the foreskin pulled back taut over his width. His balls were already tight and drawn up. I knew he was on the edge, hanging on for as long as he could. I wrapped my free arm around his belly and held him steady as I picked up the pace, pushing my hips against his to spur on the little hitching movements into my fist. My cock slid between his buttocks, and the way he rutted back against me sparked stars behind my eyelids, but this was about him, not me.

I felt his coming ripple through his body, from the way his knees locked and then nearly gave out to the way he threw his head back before it dropped forward, and I held him tight throughout, intent on wringing the last bit of pleasure out of him. Too soon, he wanted to turn around, but I stopped him.

“Stay where you are,” I said. “Don’t move.”

He obeyed, hands still splayed against the tiles, and I looked down at where the water rinsed his come off my knuckles as I jerked myself off fast and hard, painting Henry’s ass and lower back barely thirty seconds later. There was something about doing this with him that turned me into a teenager on a hair trigger. Henry made a pained, hoarse noise when he felt my seed hit him. He spun around, pushed me against the tiles, and kissed me hard as he drew the last shuddering waves of my orgasm out of me by pulling my hips close against his. I held him and kissed him back until the warm water ran out—far longer than I’d ever let anyone bestow affection on me after sex.

I recognized the trickle of fear that entered my mind for what it was, but it was easy to push aside when he looked at me like he did then, as if no one else in the world existed.

In silence, we dried each other and got dressed, Henry kissing and touching me every few minutes with almost wide-eyed wonder, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to.

Back in the kitchen, he said, “You can drop me off at the clinic if you want, and I’ll take the snowmobile home.” He stroked my cheek. “Will you be all right?”

“Fine,” I assured him and kissed him briefly just because I could. And soon I wouldn’t be able to.

Like he’d read my mind, he said, “When will you go back?”

I looked away. “Whenever I can get a flight, I guess.”

“Will you stay until Sunday? I would like… I would like the weekend with you.” There was hurt in his eyes, as I knew there must be in mine. It would only make matters worse, we both knew that, and yet I wasn’t strong enough to say no.

“I’d like that.”

Henry swallowed, relief flooding his face. “Good,” he mumbled in my hair, holding me close. “Good.”

“Pancakes?” I asked.

A beautiful smile bloomed on his face. “Pancakes,” he said.

Chapter 8