I slipped one hand between her legs and slid one finger easily inside her, then two, searching for the spot that would put her over the edge. I knew I’d found it when her body tensed up and I felt her muscles contracting around my fingers.

“Henry,” she said, almost frantically. “My God, it’s going to happen. It’s going to fucking happen, and it’s been . . . so . . . long.”

Beneath my tongue, her clit was firm and swollen and I sucked it into my mouth, flicking it with quick, hard strokes. She cried out repeatedly, her fingers fisting tightly in my hair, her entire body going stiff except for the rhythmic pulse of her orgasm around my fingers.

Fuck, it felt good to make a woman come, to know that I was giving her that kind of pleasure, to hear her sounds and taste her desire and see her bare before me. To touch her and kiss her and fuck her with my tongue just because I wanted to. And because she wanted me to. She wanted it so badly she’d come here in high heels and a red dress with no panties underneath.

And that wasn’t all she wanted.

“Come here,” she panted when she could talk again, yanking on my shirt.

I rose to my feet and she reached for my belt. “I want to get my hands on you,” she said against my lips. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

I groaned as she undid my jeans and slid her hand inside, wrapping her fingers around my cock. Fuck, it had been too long—if she kept working me with her hand like that, I was going to lose control and come all over her fingers.

Not that I’d mind a hand job from someone other than myself for once, but that wasn’t how I wanted this to go.

I took her hand off me and spun her around. She braced herself with two palms against the wall. I’d only intended to unzip her dress, but seeing her like that—the long, silky hair spilling down her back, that dress hiked up above her ass, her thighs bare, those high-heeled shoes—I couldn’t help myself.

Pressing up against her back, I lowered my lips to her ear. “Spread your legs.”

She stepped out slightly.

“More,” I told her, pushing my jeans down enough to take out my cock.

When her legs were opened wide enough, I paused. “Do we need to be careful about—”

“No,” she said breathlessly. “All good.”

I slid inside her, slow and deep. A guttural sound escaped my throat—she was warm and wet and soft and tight. She gasped and whimpered as her body stretched to accommodate me, arching her back and sliding her hands up the wall.

God, I hoped she left handprints. I’d fucking frame them.