Page 39 of A Love Like Pumpkin Spice (Wayward Hollow #1)
Nic
“Your house is cute!” I say as I walk in. Thanks to Cinnamon and Pumpkin, our hangouts have been happening mainly at my place—they’re not quite as easy to take along and are not nearly as happy about it as Jensen, so it made the most sense.
A house is the best reflection of a person, and I was more than curious about Henry’s. And what can I say? It’s very close to what I expected. A simple, modern cabin style with solid wood furniture and a lovely, light ambience.
“Thank you,” he says with a sheepish smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, and I can’t help but grin. He’s nervous about having me here.
He’s adorable when he’s nervous.
He leads me to his living room. It’s so cozy. So homey. So … him . It has an effortless kind of comfort—as if every single part of it was chosen carefully, picked intentionally over time.
It is all warm wood tones, and one entire wall is made of glass, somewhat similar to my living room, only his faces the forest instead of a lake.
Golden light spills through the trees, and I can see a movement in one of the forests bushes a few feet away from his window front—maybe the wind, maybe a bunny, maybe a killer. Who knows?
“Oh God. Just imagine you look out there and suddenly see glowing yellow eyes,” I shudder and Henry bursts into laughter.
“ The same could happen at your place.”
“Nope,” I tease him, lifting my chin and glance up at him with fake defiance. “I’ve got a free view of the lake. No animals can sneak up to my home without me seeing. But this here”—I make a vague motion to his glass wall—“is basically an invitation for the big bad wolf.”
“Good thing Jensen will protect me,” Henry chuckles, and I lean against him happily as we watch the sun set. Through the window’s reflection, my eyes scan the rest of his living room, too curious to focus on nature’s daily spectacle.
There is a stone fireplace and shelves lining the other walls stuffed with books on animal anatomy and photography. There’s a gallery wall opposite it, with all kinds of images framed in simple wooden and a few golden-painted frames.
Curiously, I step out of his arms, walking closer to get a clearer view.
The first one that catches my eye is a portrait of Jensen. Golden light makes him radiate like an angel, his eyes closed with bliss, and I could swear he’s smiling. It screams serenity , the perfect image to show how at peace Jensen is with Henry.
The second one is of him and Jensen. They’re posing in front of a mountain backdrop in the distance. Henry’s kind face contains a bright smile as he kneels next to his dog, who’s gazing up at him like he hung the moon.
The third one is of a mountainscape that seems familiar. But the trees are covered in snow, reflecting light off the rising sun and painting the whole scenery a lovely pink.
“Did you take all of these?” I ask, completely in awe. I think I could spend all day staring at them.
“Yes,” he says shyly and walks closer until he’s right behind me, his arms snaking around me and his fingers locking right over my belly. I sigh, all too happy to lean against him and let him hug me tight.
“ They’re beautiful,” I whisper. The air is thick with emotion, all my senses tuned into him when I see another image that hits me like a sudden burst of cold rain. “Are those your parents?”
“Yes,” he admits after a moment of hesitation.
For a second, I close my eyes, waiting for the familiar pain to wash over me. The realization of what I’ve lost, the Band-Aid to be pulled off once again, only this time … it doesn’t come. As if I’ve pulled it off twenty times already, and the glue barely sticks to my skin anymore.
“They’d love to meet you,” Henry whispers, and I tilt my head. Unexpectedly, his words don’t cause a panic. No, instead, I find my insides filling with warmth, and I experience the sudden urge to meet the people who have raised this perfect person behind me.
“I’d love to meet them,” I whisper back, and he freezes for a moment in surprise. “Someday.”
“Someday,” he repeats and hugs me tighter. “How about a movie?”
“You know what?” I turn my head and glance at him over my shoulder. “A movie sounds perfect.”
Henry’s arm is warm around my shoulders, and the movie is … okay, I guess. Even Jensen already left the room, too bored with it. We settled on an action-filled, uncomplicated movie, but I stopped paying attention a while ago.
All I can focus on is the way his fingers are tracing slow circles on my hip. Each exhale brushes the top of my head, and I’m hyperaware of the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest, the tow of us breathing in rhythm without even trying.
He ’s so close. So familiar. And I want him so badly I could scream.
Thank God he apparently shares the same sentiment—he keeps glancing at me, his gaze staying on me longer and longer.
“You know, you’re pretty distracting,” he finally murmurs against my hair, and I can’t help but chuckle.
“More distracting than explosions and semi-good acting?” I ask, turning to look at him with what I hope is a charming smirk and not a please take me now expression.
Instead of an answer, thumb and index finger find my chin, and he turns my face, pressing his lips against mine in a soft, searching kiss. He’s testing the waters, but I’ve already cannonballed in.
I kiss him deeper, turning my body until I’m in his lap. His hands immediately find my ass and give it a tight squeeze that makes me grin into our kiss.
My fingers slide up his chest, chasing the sound he makes—a low growl that vibrates against my palm as he pulls my core flush against him. A sound somewhere between a gasp and a giggle escape my mouth.
“Way more,” he whispers and kisses me again, his tongue demanding entrance to my mouth and kissing the sanity right out of me.
I can’t help but shiver, burying my hands in his hair as a tiny moan falls from my lips right onto his.
God, I want him. Badly.
“You’re so sensitive,” he mumbles with a grin, dragging his mouth down my jaw and kisses a path toward my neck.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I whisper, already breathless.
“It’s a perfect thing,” he objects, sliding his hands under my shirt. “I love how you respond to me. It drives me fucking insane.”
I g asp, tilting my head back, giving him more space, and he doesn’t waste a second. His lips find that spot right below my ear that makes my whole body twitch, and I moan when his hands slide higher, warm and possessive and like they belong there.
“Jesus, Henry,” I whisper, writhing in his lap, rubbing against his hard cock beneath his sweatpants. It makes my brain short-circuit. That delicious pressure. His heat right between my legs.
His breath hitches, and then he’s pulling back only enough to watch me—eyes dark, pupils blown wide, his lips deliciously red from our kiss.
“You’re driving me crazy, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and rough. “You always do.”
I can’t help it—I smile, a little smug and aching and completely gone for him.
“Then do something about it,” I dare him breathily, biting my lip. “Please?”
And he does. Without hesitation, he grabs the hem of my shirt and yanks it up over my head, flinging it somewhere behind us without a second thought. His gaze drops, drinking me in as if I’m the most beautiful fucking thing he’s ever seen.
“Sweetheart …” His voice falters. “You’re so … fuck, I don’t have words for you.”
“You don’t need to have words,” I whisper, already reaching for his shirt. “Just touch me.”
That’s all the permission he needs. He surges forward and kisses me with enough intensity to ruin me, deep and demanding. One hand cups my breast through the thin lace of my bra while the other slips down, popping the button on my jeans open.
I break the kiss only long enough to murmur, “Bedroom?”
But he shakes his head, breathing roughly. “No. Here. Right now.”
He pulls my jeans down my hips, and I get up to quickly shimmy and kick them off. My heart thunders, and my skin prickles as his gaze burns into me. He takes my hand, and before I know it, my back is on the couch, and he’s climbing between my legs.
The air is electric against my skin, and then his hands are on my thighs, parting them, pulling my thigh over his shoulder and pressing a kiss to my skin then gently sets it down again.
He sinks down, kissing a slow path up to my stomach, and glances up at me as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of my panties.
“You want this?” he asks, voice so quiet it sends shivers down my spine.
“Yes,” I press out without any hesitation. “Fuck, yes.”
He smiles, mischievous and loving all at once, and pulls them off unceremoniously. He leans in and—holy fucking shit.
The first flick of his tongue makes me moan softly, hips bucking, and he groans against me as if he lives for it, like nothing makes him happier than my pussy.
“Just like that, baby.” His tongue is slow and steady, circling my clit just right, and every time I gasp or whimper, his grin widens.
“So sweet. You’re so fucking responsive. I could do this all night.”
His hands are firmly on my thighs, holding me open. He drives me further into madness. Every movement under control. I grab his hair, bury my fingers in it. Hold on tight. All I can feel is him.
His mouth. His hands. His breath on my wet pussy.
Every thought melts away.
“Fuck, Henry. Gonna come!” Moaning, I dig my fingers deeper into his hair. He doubles his efforts, moving faster.
“ Do it,” he mumbles, slipping a finger inside me. The way he glances at me through my legs should be criminal. “Come for me, sweetheart.”
So I do, and when it ripples through me, it’s not quiet. It tears through me in waves. I shout his name, loud and messy, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps licking me through it, keeps whispering how beautiful I am when I come, how proud he is of me, how much he loves hearing me fall apart this way.