“Especially because you don’t wear thigh-high stockings. You’re so unapologetically you. You don’t try to be someone else, and it’s so refreshing. Jesus, honey. Look at how stunning you are. This fucking waist of yours.” He bends down, kissing my stomach before moving lower and lower, dropping to his knees, a man offering up a prayer. “This ass.” His hands skate around to my bare backside, squeezing the skin he finds. “And this pussy that makes me never want to come up for air. I want to devour you, Emma.” His tongue runs over me through my underwear and I groan.

“Then feast,” I say, threading my hand through his hair.

“Do you have a spare sheet?”

The question catches me off guard and I blink down at him. “Yeah?”

“Can you get it for me?” Henry asks, kissing the inside of my thigh before standing.

Nodding, I step toward my closet. I reach up to the top shelf, my ass becoming more visible as I pull the old sheet down, walking it over to him. He watches my every move, cupping my cheek and pressing his lips to my forehead when I hand over the tattered material. He lays the beige cover over my comforter, hiding the familiar white.

“Climb on the bed. I’ll be back in a minute. Arms above your head, and don’t move.”

“Where are you going? Is everything okay?” I don’t mean to sound panicked, but I’ve never had a guy walk out of the room like this before.

“Everything’s perfect. You’re perfect. I’ll be back in one minute, I promise.”

Henry gives me a soft kiss before he leaves, and I follow his instructions, taking residence on the bed and leaning against the pillows. My arms rest above my head, holding onto the headboard. I stretch my legs out in front of me, crossing my ankles, staring at the door and patiently waiting for him to return.

He reemerges holding a bowl and a plate, and I furrow my brows at the objects in his hands.

“Look at you,” he breathes out, kicking the door closed behind him. “Such a beautiful sight waiting for me. Are you doing okay?”

I nod. “You brought back food?”

He takes the spot beside me on the bed, mattress dipping under his weight. He’s barely out of my reach, and my fingers flex at the desire to touch him and have his skin on mine.

“Dessert. Someone wanted chocolate cake.”

“Yes, please!”

“Let me get comfortable, then I’ll give you a taste.”

“A taste of what?” I joke. Henry removes his pants and socks, tossing them out of the way.