Page 63 of Rootbound
Henry
There’s a race going on inside my chest. That’s the only explanation for this feeling. It’s a marathon, one I began running the moment I watched Tait Logan descend the escalator at the airport. One that’s picked up the pace over the last few weeks, galloping to a finish that I hope is just a beginning.
Just being in her atmosphere is addicting. She’s funny, she’s smart, witty, moody. Hell, she’s got a labyrinth of a mind and working my way through it is how I’d like to spend my days.
She pulled back before on us physically, sure. But now, instead of just knowing I’d love to get in her pants, to be her friend… Now I fuckingknowI want into her soul. She’s crawled beneath my skin, tattooed herself onto me with her wacky laugh, her kindness, her damn goofiness. She feels inevitable to me, and I have the desperate need to makeher feel the same. To prove to her that this, whatever the hell it is between us, is worth seeing more of.
I hurry us up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and into my room,. I note how small she feels compared to me, thrown over my shoulder like this. Yet every moment she’s come to mind over these weeks, I’ve realized how very abundant she has always seemed, in so many ways. A force in the form of curves and edges, humor, warmth, and heart. Andthatpoetic thought has me pausing a step.
Back to the business at hand, Henry.
I’ve paid special attention to her gorgeous tits finally, but damnit if her ass hasn’t made me want to put my head through a wall for the last few weeks, too. I feel like an evil pirate, hauling my wench away with despicable plans, fucking giddy at the prospect of unraveling her further. I indulge myself with a smack on that ass, earning me a squeal.
When we get to my room, and I settle her on her feet, I have to remind myself to breathe again. Take this slow. Drag it out and savor it.
I take a step back to take her in, her pretty dress entirely open and hanging from her shoulders. Before I can move to do it, she steals my breath by sliding it off completely, letting it pool around her feet. Damn, I love that confidence. I clench my fists at my sides, desperately wanting to be everywhere at once. Her eyelashes flutter, the same desire reflected in the flush on her cheeks. The gold glint of her earrings matches the flecks in her eyes and in the eyeshadow stuff she’s put on her lids and—fuck—I’m noticing her eyeshadow now. I’m a goner.
She keeps her eyes locked on mine whenshe slides her hands under my shirt and up. I’m too tall for her to reach to pull it off, so I finish that for her.
I watch her, chest rising and falling, as she undoes my jeans—the sound of the zipper sliding down blaring through the room. I thank God that the moon is full tonight, shining through all the windows and casting her in enough light for me to see her so clearly.
I’m vaguely aware of Eric Church singing from downstairs, and I smile because I can’t think of anything more accurate than wanting to rock some sheetrock and knock some fucking pictures off the walls with this woman.
My jeans slide down, and her wide-eyed expression at the strained state of my briefs makes me feel like a Neanderthal. No more games. I don’t feel self-conscious over my physicality, no matter how perfect she is. Determination surges, and I walk her backwards toward the bed, refusing to break eye contact as I lay her down.
Before I can drop to my knees in front of her, she surprises me by placing one booted foot on my abs, giving me a front row peek of her glistening, swollen pussy, causing an actual growl to rumble out of me.
“Take these off?” she asks with a naughty smile, flicking her eyes to the boot.
I apparently can’t manage words yet—Neanderthal-mode firmly engaged—but I oblige, peeling it off with the accompanying sock, nipping her ankle before she drops it and props up the next.
I let myself take her in briefly as she comes back up onto her elbows, her wavy hair floating wildly around her shoulders. She looks at my briefs and licks her lips, and it feels like my dick literally jumps, carrying me to stand between her legs.
“Tait… fuck.” I reach for the nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom when she traces a hand up the outline of my cock, and says, “I’m on birth control, haven’t had sex in a year, and am clean.”
My eyes fly to hers. They look vulnerable, and I’m gutted by the expression. “I’m clean. It’s been about six months, despite what I know you overhead from Grady. I can show you my bill of health if you’d like.”
“I trust you.”
Three words.
Three fucking words and my world is changed. She could have said those other three words in that moment and I don’t think even they would have been as impactful. Trust is a conscious decision… the heaviest decision in my book.
I bend to push my forehead to hers, her hands holding mine as I stroke the sides of her beautiful face.
I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat, then straighten, cupping her jaw to have her look in my eyes. “Thank you. I trust you, too.”
She beams at me, then slides her hands to my waistband, swiftly pulling down my briefs and freeing me.
“Jesus Christ!” she exclaims.
“There you go, again. Woman, it’s Henry. Hen-ry.”
She smirks, but before I can laugh at my own joke, she squeezes me, running her hand up and swiping her thumb through the precum beaded at the tip that I can’t bring myself to be embarrassed about.
Before my vision can get a chance to clear, she leans forward and swipes her sweet tongue between my balls. Theworld goes white, and I let out a choked, very smooth, “Ahfuckshit.”
A few moments and inches in her hot mouth tell me that this won’t be conducive to me lasting long, so I cup her jaw and bend to kiss her again.