3. Henry

Chapter 3

Henry

My restraint is hanging on by a thread. Kissing her is all I’ve been craving for weeks, all I’ve thought about on both flights it took me to get here. When I cup her chin and tilt her head to look up at me, the pull to press my lips to hers is magnetic.

If I had my way, Saskia would be naked and on her third orgasm by now, but the whole point of this trip is to take our time to reconnect, to figure things out, to settle into each other’s company after so long apart.

The fear that I'll scare her off is real, and I can hold back a little longer. There’s all the time in the world now, for me to take her in, gaze into her eyes, free to look without shame or guilt. My thumb caresses her cheek, while the other strokes her back, my hand working over her body instinctively.

I’m in no rush, and I know for certain she’ll be very worth the wait.

Saskia has always been stunning. Long limbs, toned from years of getting up at the crack of dawn to lace up her trainers and pound the London pavements. At first glance, you might mistake her elegance for the fragility of a delicate woman, but those who know her best know how strong she is, both physically and mentally.

Her facial features are perfectly symmetrical, framed by the long strands that have fallen loose from the ponytail I’m now wrapping around my fist. Her eyes stay locked with mine, shimmering, waiting. I’ve always loved those bright blue eyes, that cute button nose, and the way her cheeks flush when she’s flirting. Just as they are now.

In the summer she tans easily, her skin turning a golden brown that I’ve always wanted to sink my teeth into. In the winter months, she’s a different story, the quintessential English rose. The layers of her top have me feeling like Saskia is a gift waiting to be unwrapped.

My hands graze over the tight leather skirt that hugs her peachy backside, leaving little to the imagination. I want to sink my teeth into that, too, but my fingers will suffice for now. I grip both cheeks with a firm squeeze, making her yelp and press her tits, firm and high, harder against my chest.

Oh yes, she’s a fucking dream, and I’m the luckiest man on the planet to have her all to myself this week.

My mouth drops to the expanse of bare flesh at her shoulder and her slender fingers curl around the back of my neck. I’m confident we could have each other naked in under ten seconds.

“You’re so beautiful, darling.”

The words barely scratch the surface of things I want to say to her.

And I will.

Soon.

The oven timer dings, and she releases me from her hug. “Take a seat at the table and I’ll plate everything up.”

For now, the least I can do is enjoy the delicious dinner she’s cooked for us. Saskia’s always been a brilliant cook. She arrived on her first day at university with a sharp set of knives and a head full of recipes, and I’ve been the grateful recipient of many of her meals ever since.

She’s taught me a few things over the years, though my days in New York are so long and busy, I can’t say I cook often. I hope to change that this weekend, and return the favour, looking after her the way she’s always looked after me.

The table seats six, far too big for the small dining area in her little country cottage, but I know when she’s out here, she likes to pass the time with a jigsaw puzzle. Something to keep her hands busy and away from her phone so she doesn’t slip into the habit of working all hours of the day.

In New York, I go to basketball games to unwind, but each to their own. She won’t need a puzzle this week, and she sure as hell won’t be emailing anyone on my watch.

She takes the seat across from me, and I’m grateful for the chance to sit and look at her while we eat.

“Is this Shepherd’s pie?” A ridiculous question when I know full well I’m staring at a plate of my favourite meal.

“Sure is,” she says, biting into a piece of broccoli with a satisfied grin on her face.

“When I asked you to rustle something up, I meant like a sandwich.”

She shrugs like this was nothing. “It was already in the oven.”

That’s Saskia for you. She has the purest heart of anyone I’ve ever met and if you’re in her life, you know you’re lucky to have her.

“You’re too good to me, you know that, right?”

It should feel strange being here with her after so long apart, but it’s anything but. My foot rubs against hers underneath the table, and unlike previous occasions, she doesn’t pull away.

We lose ourselves in talk of art over dinner, giving updates on our clients' recent purchases, name-dropping in a competitive game of one-upmanship we’ve been playing ever since we took our first positions as art dealers. Who’s buying art under a fake name, who’s splurging on pieces for mistresses, who might be going bankrupt in the new year. Of course, confidentiality is key in our world, and we’re often required to sign NDAs, but there’s nobody I trust with my secrets more than Saskia.

When we finish, she carries our dishes through to the sink, but I follow behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist to pull her away.

“I’ll wash up in the morning while you lie in,” I murmur against her neck. From this angle, I have a perfect view right down the front of her sweater. Those perfect tits, full and pressed together in whatever bra she’s chosen.

The ties of her top are looped around her waist and fastened in a neat bow at the back. I want to tug the ends free and watch the fabric fall from her skin, but that can wait.

She moans softly, tilting her head to give me more access to her smooth, delicate skin. The urge to lick her, suck my mark into her flesh, bite down just hard enough to make her whimper is all-consuming. For now, I settle for breathing, deep and slow, right above the surface of her skin.

Saskia has always loved the thrill of anticipation. You can see it in the way she works, the flush of colour in her cheeks right before she seals a deal. I’ve seen it many times over the years, though not nearly enough lately.

I wonder how high I can get her just from the anticipation of my touch. How squirmy and desperate she would get before she begged me for more.

Nuzzling my face against the side of her head, I inhale the clean scent of her shampoo. “Let’s sit in the living room.”

She practically whines, which only spurs me on to make her wait even longer.

While I top up our wine glasses, Saskia bends to add a couple more logs to the fire. I suck in air through my teeth. Her body looks like heaven, and this outfit is a real fucking test of my patience.

It’s better suited to a day in the office than a relaxing weekend in a cosy remote cottage, but I know she’s made an effort for me, even if she’s trying to pass it off as casual. Mark my words, she’ll be extremely comfortable soon, and hopefully won’t be wearing much more than one of my t-shirts for the foreseeable future.

My cock twitches beneath my jeans. That’s my core memory of her, the morning after we first slept together all those years ago. Her legs, unfathomably long, disappearing up underneath the t-shirt that skimmed the tops of her thighs as she climbed back into my lap. Not a scrap of clothing underneath.

Fuck.

I think about it a lot more than a decent man should.

I take a seat on the longer of the two sofas, the one that sits in the middle of the room, facing the fireplace. This is a room that she designed with love and attention, a perfect escape from busy city life.

Saskia hovers, fiddling with a decoration on the tree. She’s understandably cautious now that I’m here. We’ve grown up, found our way in the real world. We have more to lose now.

She takes a seat at the other end of the sofa, kicking off her fluffy slippers, then tucking her legs up underneath her. I pat my thigh and she rolls her eyes, stretching her legs out until her feet are in my lap.

“That’s better,” I say, taking a sip of my wine and settling the glass down on the coffee table. I smooth my palm down from her shin to the top of her foot, wrapping my hand around it and pressing into the underside with the pad of my thumb.

Saskia groans lightly, sinking further down against the sofa cushions. I keep working my thumb along her arch, watching how the rest of her body responds.

“How was your flight?”

“I don’t want to talk about my flight.” I track my gaze from her foot all the way up her legs until I watch her throat bob.

“What do you want to talk about, then?”

Her question is barely a whisper, but in the quiet of the remote house, I hear her loud and clear.

“I don’t want to talk at all, actually.”

I don’t want there to be any awkwardness between us, but with so much buildup, I’m talking years of tension, I think we have to push straight past it. I’m certain we both know what we want, even if we haven’t been able to say it out loud for some time. We need to break down our walls so we can put ourselves back together again, anew. I can’t dance around it anymore.

“Come here, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

That’s new, but it feels like butter in my mouth, and I love it.

She’s smiling too much to move, hiding her mouth behind her thumb the way she does when she’s nervous. She has nothing to be nervous about with me, so I cup one hand behind her knee and reach the other around her waist, lifting her into my lap with ease.

She lands with a moan, her skirt riding up her thighs as she sinks down into me. It’s impossible to suppress a moan of my own when my hands find their home on top of her bare legs.

“Is this OK?”

“Very OK,” she nods, resting her hands on my shoulders.

“Good.”

My girl, at long last, is right where she belongs. I tip my head back against the sofa cushions so I can get a better look at her. Her eyes, full and bright even in the low light, that pouty bottom lip that drives me fucking nuts when she tugs it behind her teeth. I don’t want to be the guy that just stares at her tits, but I know they’re right fucking there and if I lower my gaze just a fraction, I’ll never be able to look away.

Please.

I see it written in her eyes.

There’s always been this thing between us, her reading my mind, answering without words, but some things need to be said out loud so there’s no room for mistakes.

“I want you so fucking much, Sass.” My thumbs stroke soft, lazy circles around the inside of her thighs. Her head slumps forward, and I feel the toned muscles twitching. Knowing the effect I’m having on her gets me even harder, and when she rocks her hips slightly, I wonder if she feels what she’s doing to me.

“Me too.”

“Let me hear you ask for what you want.”

“I… I…” I pinch the inside of her thigh and she yelps. “I want you to kiss me.”

It’s the very least I can do. Sitting up straight, I boost her closer to me, one hand under her perfect ass, the other tipping her chin until her mouth is just millimetres away from mine. This pretty, fiery, passionate thing. It was the very first thing I loved about her as I followed the sound of her laugh across a crowded lecture hall.

She sinks even lower and her lips land on mine, electricity zipping between us until she opens for my tongue and—

Bright light beams through the window, dazzling us both. She pulls back, shielding her eyes from the onslaught.

“What on earth…?” she says, climbing off me, straightening her skirt from where it’s ridden up high.

Saskia peels back the curtains, and the room darkens again as the driver kills the engine. I move to stand behind her, wondering who would be visiting at this hour, in the middle of nowhere.

A heavy sigh pours out of her when the car door opens and a shadowy figure steps out into fresh, crisp snowfall.

“Who is it?” I ask, and she tips her head back against my chest and groans.

“It’s my husband.”