Paige

PAIGE

I'm such a loser. It's only nine o' clock and my going away party has fizzled out. Dad isn't due back until the morning with a promise of bringing donuts. I could call him back early, but I'm wallowing. At least I still have half a bottle of Jack.

I'm usually a fan of it with Coke, but the can I opened is flat and I just can't be bothered. I'm hunkered down on my couch under an absolutely hideous throw my father refuses to get rid of. I'm slowly sipping a shot because I'm already half-drunk, and I don't want to do anything stupid while I'm alone.

Huffing, I squirm down deeper when the doorbell rings. I'm not expecting anyone to come back, but I get up anyway I down my shot and slowly shuffle to the door.

Henry is standing on the porch, the setting sunlight is hitting his light hair and it shows the spattering of gray around his temples. My heart stops for a breath before it beats too hard. His blue eyes narrow on me, like he's calculating just how drunk I am, and why I'm so rumpled.

God, I can't even take it.

"Dad's not home." Because, of course, the most gorgeous man to ever exist is best friends with my father. And the crush I've harbored for so long is dying in my chest.

"Hello to you too, ." He peers around me into the house. Henry has to think I'm an absolute loser for being home alone and drinking on a Saturday night. Which is fine, really, because that's what I think too.

I'm being scooted back inside with his hand on my shoulder, and I don't fight it. Why would I? I think it's the first time he's ever touched me. "Did you want some snacks or drinks or pizza? There's a little bit of everything left from the party."

His brow raises as he takes in the mess of food in the kitchen. It's the only mess because I've already cleaned up all of the empty cups and bottles before I burrowed under that monstrosity of a blanket.

"Everyone's already gone home. Apparently, my three friends went to lunch and got food poisoning." And I'm learning that drinking makes me babble. Great. "So, I'm just…"

I wave my hand around the empty space and go back to my bottle, pouring another shot and taking it like an adult.

Henry ventures further into the room, standing at the end of the couch to watch me pour another shot. "Is Patrick coming home soon?"

"In the morning." This time I don't fake it and sip at the whiskey.

His hands find his hips in that very Superman kind of way, and I bite my lip at the breadth of his shoulders and the way his muscles tighten under his T-shirt. "I'm not sure I can responsibly leave you here alone like this."

"Like what? Taking baby sips with my new buddy, Mr. Jack Daniels?" I grin, and I'm surprised when Henry smiles back.

"Yes. Precisely."

"Well, here's the thing. I'm safe at home and not out with a whole bunch of people I don't know, drinking who knows what, so I think I'm being pretty responsible if I do say so myself." And to punctuate that point, I take another sip.

Henry laughs. He actually laughs. And God, my stupid ovaries explode.

"But if you think I need a chaperone, feel free to grab a shot glass and a couch cushion and watch me get drunk." My head lulls back, and I blink at him.

His indecision has him peering into the open kitchen, then back at me, before he collects a shot glass and lowers himself onto the cushion at the other end of the couch. He sets the glass down, and I fill it, lifting my own in toast.

"This is such a bad idea," he says before he downs his shot.

I do the same and giggle. "I wonder how many bad ideas I'll have once I'm away at college."

After a small pause, Henry says, "You leave tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah. Moving in tomorrow. First day is Monday."

"Do you know what you want to study?"

I reach out for his shot glass again. "Questions like that are going to cost you."

Henry hands it over, after I fill it and pass it back to him, we both toss back the Jack.

Settling back into the cushions, I sigh. "I do know what I want to study. Business. I want to open my own, and it doesn't really matter what I want to do with it. I need to learn how to run one."

"It's a good base to have. As your passions change, so can your business."

"Is that what you did?"

His hands are so big around the shot glass as he rolls it between his fingers. "To start with. Now, we're pretty set in, but that doesn't mean I couldn't sell my shares and start something new if I felt like it."

"But you don't. Feel like it."

"No."

"That's what I want." I stare at the black TV, trying not to unabashedly stare at Henry, although I do follow his reflection in the glass. But I can feel him looking at me, so I swallow my nerves and meet his gaze again. "Right now, I want to be a photographer, but like a commercial photographer for those elaborate fashion designs. I want to be able to plan every little detail and watch it all come together."

He reaches for the bottle, but I snatch it up first. Henry pauses mid motion, leaning in toward me. "I'm not taking it away from you."

"Mm-hmm." But I relinquish the bottle.

Two fresh shots wait for us, and we gravitate a little closer as I ask him about where he started. At first, the plan was a bar and restaurant. Then, a bed and breakfast. Then, he opened his first hotel with his two buddies—Dad's two other best friends. And it grew from there.

The passion in his face as he tells me about it excites me. He seems equally interested in the dreams I talk about, what I expect out of school, and all of the experiences waiting for me.

The more we chat, the closer we get. Like old friends, I feel like I click with him. Even if that's insane. No one else in my life understands the drive I have to work for myself. To have complete control over my future, but Henry does.

And we keep drinking, sharing from the bottle until I'm far past the ability to keep all of my secrets buried. When I turn to talk to him, my knee lifts over his, and his hand squeezes it. His touch is warm and heavy, my body is so full of awareness at the point where we connect.

It's so stupid, but with all of the adventures coming my way, I want one more thing from my pre-college life. One thing to send me off to my future.

Every wiggle closer has my body telling me things that certainly aren't true, but I'm so tense that I feel like I might burst. With every inch I close between us, Henry doesn't pull back. I even catch him looking at my mouth a few times.

I've decided. I'm going to kiss him. Half of my blood is alcohol right now, so even if he rejects me, I can blame it on that. I'm going to do it.

Lifting to my knees, I nearly moan at the way Henry's hand grips my hip to keep me from wobbling. It doesn't move as I slide across his lap, but his scruffy jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare.

Need tightens down my middle as I dip my face closer to his.

"." He probably means my name to sound like a warning, but it's soft and gruff. Fingers flex on my hip. I nibble my lip, and he focuses on it.

He's not pushing me away, and that gives me the confidence I need to close the gap between our mouths. Soft, sweet and lingering, the small kiss zaps straight down my center.

His other hand lifts to my hip, he holds me in place like he's fighting with himself. I kiss him again and feel him yield under me. My hands run across his shoulders, nails digging gently into his muscles.

My name drops from his mouth again, and I smile.

I feel bold and sink my hand into his hair, grabbing it gently at the back until he grunts. I say his name again, unwilling to retreat to look him in the eyes as I confess.

"I want you, Henry. I have for a long time."

His chest expands under my touch, and my nose brushes his. "You shouldn't."

"But I do. And see. Here's the thing. I'm an adult. I know what I want. And I'm giving my consent."

That grip on my hips tightens with his fight. "What about?—"

"Patrick won't be home until tomorrow. And I'm telling you…this is okay. I'm okay. You're not taking advantage of me, Henry." As if to prove it to him, and maybe myself, then I drop into him a little further and moan lightly when I feel him hard under me. "Besides, we don't need to tell anyone."

I don't wait for him to respond, I just start kissing him again, and it's like something's snapped in him. The hungry way he kisses me back sets me on fire. I grind down against him, but he's still not touching me. He's letting me make the moves.

Fine. I'll make a move.

I rear back, struck by the flush of his skin. I see the vibrancy and need in his blue eyes before I yank my baggy shirt over my head, revealing the small, sheer bra underneath. I'm not big-breasted, but I overflow from the fabric. When his pupils dilate, taking me in, my nipples harden.

Bracing my hands on the back of my couch, I practically shove them in his face. "God, Henry. Touch me."

Still, he hesitates for a few heartbeats. Then shudders and lunges forward to pull my right breast into his mouth and suck. The noise that escapes me sounds animalistic. My back arches. Knees spread. I need all of him.

Those beefy hands finally slide down my ass to squeeze me and move our hips together. I can feel so much of him through my leggings. They're thin, and I want him to tear them at the seam and take me.

After swimming in the sharp pleasure of having his mouth on me, I reach back between us, yanking open his jeans and wrapping a hand around him. Each stroke has his hips pumping, and as much as I like being in charge, I wish he'd throw me down and take me.

Instead, I whisper against his mouth, "Rip them open."

He grunts, fingers testing the flimsy fabric until the pressure creates a small tear. That's all it takes. I'm dumped into one of my many, many fantasies. He grabs the fabric in both hands and rips it open. And when I think he's going to hesitate again, he doesn't. His hand presses against my bare flesh, fingers sliding through my folds.

"Fuck, you're wet."

I nod. "All for you."

Finally, he takes control, sinking lower, lining us up so that he presses his head into me. And oh, God, it's happening. We slide together perfectly, and it's better than I imagined when I pleasured myself.

He catches me with his gaze, and I'm locked in, lost in this connection as I roll myself over his cock. After a couple of slow minutes, his arm locks around my lower back, and he pumps himself up into me.

My muscles grow weak as I sink into him. He's so deep inside of me that I quake.

Wrapping a hand in my hair, he pulls my head back, sharpening the angle and squeezing me down around him. This isn't a position I can fuck myself in, and it's amazing. I'm fluttering, bracing for the orgasm that's barreling at me.

When I crash, he cradles me, swearing against my throat as he lifts and lays me back on the couch. Renewed thrusting has me gasping.

Henry cradles my cheek. "You okay?"

I nod, and his mouth descends on mine, tongue plundering me with the same intensity as his cock. Building. Building. Building me back up. Clutching his shirt, I break away to breathe, getting the view of his abs between my thighs and the sight of him disappearing inside of me. It's the most erotic thing I've ever seen.

His head falls forward, and we watch together. I thrust back and hear him swear under his breath.

Reaching between us, his thumb brushes my clit, and I cry out. Henry nudges me with his nose, seeking a kiss as he strokes me closer and closer to oblivion.

I break with a keening wail, hips jerking under his, legs shaking. He pumps faster. Harder. Until his body goes stiff, and he pulses inside of me. Grinding together, he lowers himself over me, kissing my shoulder and throat as we catch our breath.

My entire body vibrates with how right this feels.

But a new tension worms its way between us as he pushes up to his forearms. Regret fills his gaze, and my heart breaks a little. I knew the chances were slim that I'd ever get this much. I can't say I expected unending adoration, but I didn't want him to regret me the moment we were finished.

I push him back, and he pulls out. His warm cum leaking from me.

"Fuck."

"Don't worry about it, Henry."

He frowns as he examines my face. "I'm sorry, . We can't—this can't be a thing."

I sit up and grab my shirt to clean myself up as he stuffs himself back into his jeans. "I know."

And I do, even though it hurts. Going to the bathroom, I give him the chance to slip away without having to face me. But really, I can't face watching him walk out.

I refuse to let myself cry when I hear the front door snip closed.