I almost nodded—but then thought it might be more fun if I answered no. So I shook my head, pulled my lips from his thumb. “Show me.”

He unbuckled.

Unbuttoned.

Unzipped.

Then he reached inside his pants and pulled out his cock, which was huge and thick and hard. He stroked himself a few times, and I felt myself growing wetter.

“Let me,” I whispered.

He positioned the tip at my lips and I licked it like an ice cream cone with my tongue. One side then the other. Around in a circle. This way and that, while he gripped his shaft in his fist and worked his hand slowly up and down.

“Like that?” I asked coyly, batting my lashes at him.

“Fuck yes. Now open your mouth.”

I did as he asked, and he pushed his cock between my lips, slowly, inch by inch, until he hit the back of my throat. For a second, I was scared I might choke, but then he pulled out. When he slid in the next time, it was only halfway, allowing me to play and tease and suck as he gently flexed his hips. His hands moved to my head, and he groaned as he adopted a quicker rhythm, a harder drive, a deeper thrust.

“You make me so fucking hard,” he rasped. “Even when I have all the control, I don’t. Every fucking second is a struggle around you.”

Without the use of my hands, I had no control whatsoever, and the fear of choking or suffocating was real in my mind. But I loved his guttural sounds of ecstasy, the way his fingers tightened in my hair, the salty-sweet taste of him on my tongue. The animal noises I made were instinctive, helpless, throaty, frantic. Part of me was embarrassed by them, but another part thrilled at letting go of caring what I looked like or sounded like—I didn’t have to conform to a manufactured version of myself anymore. I didn’t have to be perfect all the time. I could be dirty. I could be real. I could be me.

“My God, your ass in that skirt,” Henry growled, and I realized he was watching this in the mirror. Somehow, that made it even hotter. “I have to fuck you while you’re wearing it.”

Suddenly, he pulled his cock out of my mouth and yanked me to my feet. With my hands still tied, I felt myself being pushed toward the mirror, then spun around to face it. Henry dropped down and reached beneath my skirt to tug my barely-there red lace panties down my legs and help me step out with one foot. When he stood, he braced himself against the mirror with one arm, wrapped the other around my waist and slipped his hand under my skirt, between my thighs.

I moaned, my legs nearly buckling as he played with my clit—stroking it softly while he whispered in my ear. “Did sucking my cock make you this wet? Did it?”

“Yes,” I managed. I could feel his cock pushing against my bound hands and I tried to rub it. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I could scarcely believe the woman in the glass was me. My hair was a wild mess. My lipstick was smeared all over my chin. My skin was flushed. My eyes were hooded and my mouth hung open.

“I love how greedy you are for me,” he said, his voice gravelly with lust as he moved his fingers faster. Christ, he knew exactly how to touch me. “I tell myself you’ve never been this way for anyone else.”

“I haven’t. Oh God, Henry,” I panted, that familiar panic setting in, the one I always felt when an orgasm hovered and I worried it would shimmer in front of me and then disappear, a mirage. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

Of course, he didn’t stop, because this was my new life, not my old, and I was with someone now who put value on my pleasure and not just his own. I nearly wept as the orgasm rocked my body above his hand, turning my legs to jelly.

I was barely steady on my heels again before I felt my hands being freed, and I caught myself against the mirror with both palms just as his cock pushed inside me. My skirt rode up as he drove inside me again and again, his hands gripping my hips. I watched myself in the mirror, took in my hiked-up skirt and wide-spread heels, my red knees and wild hair. And I watched Henry fucking me savagely from behind, heard his ragged breathing and clenched-teeth cursing, felt his fingers digging mercilessly into my skin.

When he looked over my shoulder, our eyes met in the mirror, and two seconds later, he exploded inside me, his body going still, an arm hooking around my waist, his chest heavy against my back as his cock throbbed inside me. When the spasms subsided, we were still for a moment. He laid his forehead on my shoulder.

Chills broke out across my skin, and I shivered. But it was a good shiver—one of anticipation for the future, of the promise of being happy again, of all the possibilities that lay ahead.

Henry picked up his head. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

“You sure? Was I too rough on you?”

“No. I might have some explaining to do about the rug burns on my knees, but I am more than okay.”

“Good.” He planted a kiss on my shoulder. “Because there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Sounds serious.” I was teasing him a little—my sweet, sexy, serious Henry—but he nodded.

“It is, kind of.”

“Oh, okay. Give me a minute?”

“Of course.”

Henry waited in my bedroom while I went into the bathroom to clean up a little. When I came out, he was standing by my dresser, looking at a framed photo of my kids when they were little.

“Did you take this one?” he asked.

“Yes.” I pulled a new pair of underwear from a drawer and slipped them on beneath my skirt. My feet were bare—I’d kicked my heels off on the way to the bathroom.

“Cute.”

“They are. And hopefully I’m not messing them up too much.”

He turned toward me, his hands in his pockets. His top shirt buttons were undone, and he hadn’t put his tie back on yet. His hair was adorably mussed. “Did you ever talk to Whitney last night?”

“Yeah. I think we understand each other.” I hesitated before adding, “She asked if we were dating.”

He was quiet a second. “What did you say?”

“I said no.” I ran my thumb along a nick on the wooden dresser top. Probably I’d put it there with my hairbrush on a bad morning. “Isn’t . . . isn’t that the truth?”

“Is that how you want it?”

I looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t want to rush you, and I know we’ve been saying we don’t really know what we’re doing, and we don’t want to make this public yet, but . . . I feel something for you, Sylvia. And I don’t want to hide it.”

My heart swelled with hope, and I rose up on my bare toes as if buoyed by the feeling. “I feel something for you too.”

His arms came around me. “I was up all last night thinking about you. I know this isn’t what you planned. I know people might say we’re moving on too fast. A fucking boyfriend is the last thing you need and the last thing I ever thought I’d want to be at this point. But I want more than sneaking around with you. I mean, I want the sex, don’t get me wrong, but I want to take you on real dates too. I want to be good to you.”

I smiled. “You are good to me.”

“I want to be good to you out loud. I want to help you settle into your new life here—I want to be part of it. I want to take you back to that party and kiss you at midnight.” He kissed my lips. “I want you to be mine for real.”