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Back The Companion Project Save as PDF
Chapters (89)
  1. Dedication
  2. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  3. ONE
  4. HENRY
  5. TWO
  6. EMMA
  7. THREE
  8. HENRY
  9. FOUR
  10. EMMA
  11. FIVE
  12. EMMA
  13. SIX
  14. SEVEN
  15. HENRY
  16. EIGHT
  17. NINE
  18. TEN
  19. HENRY
  20. ELEVEN
  21. TWELVE
  22. EMMA
  23. THIRTEEN
  24. HENRY
  25. FOURTEEN
  26. HENRY
  27. FIFTEEN
  28. SIXTEEN
  29. EMMA
  30. SEVENTEEN
  31. HENRY
  32. EIGHTEEN
  33. HENRY
  34. NINETEEN
  35. HENRY
  36. TWENTY
  37. TWENTY-ONE
  38. EMMA
  39. TWENTY-TWO
  40. EMMA
  41. TWENTY-THREE
  42. HENRY
  43. TWENTY-FOUR
  44. EMMA
  45. TWENTY-FIVE
  46. EMMA
  47. TWENTY-SIX
  48. EMMA
  49. TWENTY-SEVEN
  50. HENRY
  51. TWENTY-EIGHT
  52. EMMA
  53. TWENTY-NINE
  54. HENRY
  55. THIRTY
  56. HENRY
  57. THIRTY-ONE
  58. HENRY
  59. THIRTY-TWO
  60. EMMA
  61. THIRTY-THREE
  62. HENRY
  63. THIRTY-FOUR
  64. EMMA
  65. THIRTY-FIVE
  66. EMMA
  67. THIRTY-SIX
  68. HENRY
  69. THIRTY-SEVEN
  70. EMMA
  71. THIRTY-EIGHT
  72. HENRY
  73. THIRTY-NINE
  74. HENRY
  75. FORTY
  76. EMMA
  77. FORTY-ONE
  78. HENRY
  79. FORTY-TWO
  80. FORTY-THREE
  81. EMMA
  82. FORTY-FOUR
  83. EMMA
  84. FORTY-FIVE
  85. HENRY
  86. EPILOGUE
  87. ALSO BY CHELSEA CURTO
  88. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  89. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

But I’m not a quitter.

“I could play this game all night,” I say through gritted teeth. Even I hear the uncertainty in my voice. Henry smirks, a fresh spoonful of ice cream waiting for me, and I know I just spurred him on.

“Is that so?” He tilts the spoon at a precise angle, the dessert landing right between my thighs. “Better clean that up.”

Pushing my legs apart, he looks up at me with a mischievous grin. Then, his tongue parts me, sliding inside, and I almost lose the game right there, ready to forfeit and give in.

THIRTY-EIGHT

HENRY

The mix of ice cream and Emma is the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. I lick her skin with long, leisurely strokes, taking all the time in the world. I’m intoxicated, drunk on her, needing more and more to survive. She’d turn a sinner into a saint, asking to worship her existence.

Now that I’ve tasted her, held her, kissed her, laughed with her, wiped away her tears, watched her chest rise and fall in the early morning hours under the rising sun, and experienced nearly every wonderful piece of herself she has to offer, I know with the utmost certainty nothing, and no one, will ever be good enough again. I’ve been destroyed and brought to my knees.

It’s not torture.

It’s pure, unadulterated bliss.

“I need more,” she whimpers from above, thighs bracketing my head so I can’t escape or pull away. As if I ever would even if I could. I want to start a new life here, between her legs, surviving on her and her alone.

“What do you need, honey?” That term of endearment has become something I crave saying. I want to call her every name under the sky.

Honey.

Sweetheart.

Baby.

Sunflower.

Princess.

Zebra Cakes.

Words that convey a the smallest iota of my affection toward her. They’re kind instead of filthy. Sweet instead of degrading. Promising and fulfilling instead of open-ended and lackluster. Domesticated and monogamous instead of uncommitted and wild. All things I want to be with her.

“You. I need to come.”

I can tell she’s close to pleading, and I don’t want to push her too far or be the asshole who doesn’t follow through on his promises. My tongue moves away, the teasing ceasing as my pointer finger takes its place, sliding inside her pussy. I’ll never get over how tight she is. It’s obscene, really, how quickly she consumes me, drawing me in and asking for more.

“Happy to oblige.”

Kissing up her thigh, I relish in the way she squirms underneath me. I remember all her missed pleasure, years and years without release or satisfaction. Without being touched. While it’s going to be impossible to make up for all the lost time, I’m going to do my damn best to try.