She curled away from him in the passenger seat, unable to gauge what he was about to do. She was freezing, her coat forgotten on a barstool. The entire ride back to the cabin was spent in silence. It took him miles before he flipped on the heat. Occasionally, she glimpsed the agents’ SUV in the mirror, but they were keeping a good distance. Henry slammed the brakes as he parked the SUV in the driveway, and she reached quickly for the passenger door.

“Did I tell you that you could move?” These were the first words he’d spoken to her since the bar. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. He’s really pissed.

Henry got out and walked with determination around to the passenger side. In one movement, he had her door open, lifted her out, and draped her over his shoulder. She knew, instinctively, not to protest.

One of his arms was curled around her knees, the other bracing her ass as he carried her upstairs. All she could see was his back and occasional glimpses of the now-familiar cabin flipped upside down. Her hair was a waterfall, nearly brushing each step. One dangling shoe fell from her foot. The other followed as he reached the landing.

Like she weighed nothing, he tossed her onto his bed. “You’re about to get what you want, now,” Henry told her, stepping out of his boots white unbuttoning his fly. She was a cornered animal, pushing herself away from him to the top of the bed, until she could feel the solid wooden beams of the headboard pressing against her back. Like most prey, she was torn between excitement and fear, unsure of exactly what was to come.

As Henry whipped off his shirt, she heard a mewling. Where’s that coming from? It took her a second to realize it was her. Henry moved toward her, gripping her bare feet and pulling her down onto her back. Her long button-up shirt rode up, but she resisted the urge to pull it down. She coiled her fingers around the bedframe posts, needing something to steady her. With a swiftness she’d never seen before, he tucked a finger into her leggings and stripped them off of her, revealing her tiny red thong and a sliver of her pale stomach.

He reached toward her underwear. Take them, she thought to herself, even as she was somewhat scared of the sudden shift in him. Wrapping a finger around the apex of the thong material, twisting it tight, he paused. As he looked up at her, she prayed that her eyes weren’t giving her away. Why isn’t he moving?

Not breaking their eye contact, he twisted the material around his finger once more. She gasped as the strip tightened all the way from her ass across her lower lips and clit. He jiggled it slightly, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. When he stilled again, she couldn’t stop herself from grinding into the material, trying to recreate that sensation that he so easily managed.

Smirking at her, he coiled the thong a third time, an impossibly tight screwing that almost, almost tread into painful territory but still toed the line. The pressure between her legs was putting her on edge. Again, he started to jiggle the fabric up and down. Slowly at first, then increasingly faster. She felt her grip loosen on the bedframe, but she wasn’t ready to let go just yet. Instead, she allowed her head to fall back, and the mewls to turn into low moans.

Henry stopped the bouncing, and immediately she pushed herself into the fabric. Her thighs opened wider, knees falling to either side. “Look at how wet you are,” he told her. She could feel it, the wetness trailing down the inside of her thighs. “Look,” he repeated, and she raised her head. He uncoiled the fabric from his finger, pinching the stretched-out fabric where it met her clit and lifting it so she could see. She’d soaked the cherry-red satin to a deep crimson. Part of her was embarrassed. Part of seeing what he could do to her with so little turned her on even more.

He grasped the material with both hands and ripped it apart with ease. “Now take off your shirt.” Her hands felt glued to the post. Only two buttons remained, but the long-sleeve shirt felt like the only safety net left between her and whatever Henry had become. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Dutifully, she let go of the post and propped herself up on the pillows. Her hands were shaking as she undid the first button, then the second. “Show me,” he demanded.

Shyly, as if he hadn’t seen them before, nibbled and sucked on them just days ago, she spread open the shirt to reveal herself. “No bra,” he commented, nodding. “That’s what I thought.” She blushed, feeling dirty. It’s not what you think, she wanted to tell him. In her rush to get to him, as soon as the Secret Service agents had walked in the door she’d scurried to get dressed. Finding a bra, or more suitable underwear for going out in the cold, hadn’t really been a top priority.

Henry rose to his knees and pulled down his boxers. His erection sprang from beneath the band. It was the first time she’d really seen his cock like this. The occasional brushes and reaches she’d tried before hadn’t prepared her. It looked huge—and like there was no way she could take it all.

She heard the mewling start again, but Henry reached down and grasped under her arms, forcing her to her knees and facing him. His warm, slightly rough hands moved from her collarbone to her shoulders, sliding her shirt down, past her elbows and gathering at the wrists. Trying to help, her nipples hardening more every time they brushed against his chest, she shook her hands to free them from the sleeves. “Stop it.” His voice turned her body to stone.

In one hand, he gathered the shirt tightly at her wrists, binding her. With the other, he gripped her thigh and pulled sharply. In a second, she was on her back, knees pointing to the ceiling and with hands unable to move from the makeshift bind.

Wriggling, she realized she couldn’t get away if she wanted to. Henry was crouched between her legs. She watched him lower his mouth to her breasts. He was rougher than ever before, sucking hard on her nipple like he couldn’t get enough of her. When she thought she couldn’t take any more, he eased off and offered light flicks that sent an entirely new rush of wetness between her thighs. As he moved to her other breast, she felt his cock brush briefly against her wetness. The heat of him was incredible, but even so she went still. What if he just plunged in? Fucked her suddenly… and painfully?

Once he’d given the same part pain, part pleasure attention to her other breast, he started kissing upward, tasting the salt of her collarbone. The higher he climbed, the more she could feel him pressing into her. The tip of him was starting to dip into her folds. Just barely, and she could feel her back arching into it. But she couldn’t get over the fear of what he might suddenly do to her. When he tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck, she took the opportunity to bite lightly. She didn’t want to hurt him, and the taste of his skin on her lips forced her to push against him even more. What the hell is wrong with you?

Henry jerked his head back with a start—and released her wrists leisurely.

She was greedy, slipping them out of the sleeves and reaching for him. “Not so fast. I’m only letting you use your hands if you’ll be a good girl. No touching. Not yet.” Henry rose to his knees again, and when she tried to follow he pushed her back down. Kneeling between her legs, he languidly stroked himself. Once. Twice. “See what you do to me.” It wasn’t a question. She looked down to his hand, hovering at his tip which was covered in wetness. Pre-cum. Sam had freaked her out once, telling her how even that contained semen.

Henry lightly slapped his tip against her clit, the slightest of movements. Again. As he pressed it against her and began sliding himself up and down along her begging clit, she closed her eyes and let out a loud groan. “Look at me,” he said, and she obeyed.

He rubbed faster, their juices mixing together. She inched her hands gradually toward his thighs. Digging her nails into his skin, she pulled him back and forth, making him move faster. “Tell me what you want,” he said. But she couldn’t. The words stuck in her throat. She was close.

Henry stopped, going completely still. “Do you want me to eat your pussy?” he asked.

She nodded. She was getting so wet she thought, maybe, she could take in his imposing size, but the thought of him drinking her in was too tempting to pass up.

“Say it.” He was unmoving.

“I want you to,” she whispered quietly, a wave of self-consciousness washing over her.

“You want me to what?”

“Eat me.”

“No. That’s not what I asked you.” Keeping one hand on his cock, he grazed her nipples with the other—but still didn’t allow her any satisfaction from below. “Now. You want me to do what?”

“Eat my pussy,” she said, watching his fingers draw circles around her areola.

“The whole thing,” he said.

She looked at him quizzically. “Say the whole thing.”

“I…” she began, and he pinched a nipple. “I want you…” she continued, and was interrupted by an unexpected light slap on her swollen clit. “Fuck. I want you to eat my pussy,” she burst out.

“Please,” he said.

“I want you to eat my pussy, please,” she said, grinding her feet into the mattress to keep her clit pressed against his fiery cock.

“That’s good,” he said. Moving his hands under her ass, he lifted her groin up as he lowered his face to the sweetness between her legs. This time, there wasn’t as much teasing, no fervent kisses around her pink foldes. He kissed her clit softly before working it adeptly with his tongue. As he slid a thumb into her, thick and foreign, she called out. With his index finger, he began circling the rim of her ass with the faintest of touch. She was so wet she’d soaked into the bedding and between every crevice she had. Still, she braced at this new exploration.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. It was the first time she witnessed a touch of the old, caring Henry since he’d thrown her over his shoulder like a caveman. “I won’t go any deeper than this.” Reassured, she felt herself relax and ease into the enjoyment of it. Her clit, his thumb teasing just below her G-spot, the sensations rippling near her ass, it was almost too much. Her fingernails curled into his hair.

Henry released her, rolled onto his back. “Sit,” he told her, motioning her to get up.

“I don’t—”

“Sit on my face.”

She climbed onto him, lowering herself to his lips as she faced his cock. Both his hands were on her ass cheeks, spreading them apart. Riding his mouth, getting permission to control the speed, playing with her own nipples, it was shooting her toward orgasm.

Henry lowered one arm to himself, starting to stroke. “Let me,” she said, desperate to lick and suck his cock. For once, he didn’t stop her.

Stretched across his tight stomach, she took her first taste of him and took in everything. Her own juices on his tip, the pre-cum, and that musk she couldn’t get enough of. But when she tried to take him all the way into her mouth, she faltered. It’s just so big.

He let out a grunt of frustration, lifting her off his face. “Fuck, Ellie,” he told her, flipping her onto her back and lowering himself onto her. Again, she felt his cock pushing into her. “Tell me,” he growled into her ear.

“Fuck me,” she replied, digging her fingers into his lower back. “Please, just fuck me.”

With that he buried himself all the way into her, filling her up entirely. Their rhythmic movements synced up instantly. After the initial shock of taking his entirety, a sharp and brief bite of pain, sheer pleasure took her over. “You feel so good,” he told her, over and over, kissing her neck as they moved faster.

She was nearly there, about to come with him inside her, when he let go with a sharp cry. The rush of him coming inside her, filling her up completely, brought her to the hardest orgasm she’d ever known—it made her bite into his shoulder to keep from completely losing it. He stayed there, inside her, letting his throbbing cock bring fresh waves of pleasure to her over and over again.