Pride & Precedents (The Park Brothers #2)

18. Henry

Chapter eighteen

Henry

A fter the fight with my brothers, I'm on edge and doing a shitty job of hiding it. Byron at Starbucks took one look at my face this morning and handed me my usual black coffee, cutting the usual chitchat. Later, when I told that little fuckboy, Jeremy, to stop loitering around Camila's desk a little too firmly, she took it upon herself to call and apologize on my behalf, giving me the side eye the whole time. Then, after I raised my voice at Avery, the firm's head receptionist, for leaving one of my clients on hold for too long, people started practically scurrying away whenever I walked past.

I look up to the sound of a knock on my doorframe. It's Mr. Bannister. I sneak a glance at my calendar to check whether we have a meeting. We don't. Shit.

"Mr. Park. A word." The steel in his tone leaves no room for argument. Before I can answer, he takes off down the hall, leaving me with no choice but to jump up and follow him like a child chasing after his mother.

He nods to his assistant—a cute redhead most people call Cici—before pushing open the double doors to enter his office. As usual, it's striking. Over the years, I've expensed enough office furniture to raise an eyebrow or two in Finance. But unless you want your clients to balk at your hourly rates, you have to not only provide premium service but look expensive too. My office is a cardboard box compared to Mr. Bannister's. Marble coffee tables. Multiple Eames chairs. Suede couches. Ivory book ends on every shelf. I suppose these are the perks of being the founding partner in a firm with revenue greater than some countries' GDP.

Mr. Bannister takes a seat behind his large mahogany desk while I take one of the two seats facing him. They're intentionally shorter than his chair—it's one of the oldest intimidation tactics in the book—and I feel even more like a little kid preparing to get scolded.

"At BBS forget the bar exam and show her the bar in my boxers, ready to make her scream. Focus, Henry!

She reaches past me to add her own notes to my diagram and I know she's got it.

"The answer is D: $100,000 to the wife, and $25,000 to the son and the grandchild!"

"You got it!"

"Woo hoo!" she whoops, shaking with pure joy. Her happiness is contagious, and I pull her into a hug. Despite all the pressure from my family, I love the law. Seeing someone I care about share the same passion warms something deep inside my chest.

"Alright, counselor," she says from next to my ear. "Drop those drawers!"

She sits back to watch me as I stand and inch my boxers slowly down my legs. Her face is full of desire, which magnifies tenfold when my cock leaps out like a fleshy spear.

"Wow."

I almost laugh. I love a woman who's not afraid to say what she wants, to show me she wants me. If the look on her face were any hotter, my glasses would fog up.

"Well?" I say, standing naked before her. "You seem a little overdressed right about now."

She shakes her head to clear her daze and stands to face me.

"Of course."

Without hesitation, she takes the hem of her dress and pulls it over her head. The material catches on her hair, and the French knot from work tumbles free to release her beautiful espresso locks. Under her dress, she's wearing a matching bra and panties in sepia that accentuate the honey tone of her skin.

She's a true hourglass: full hips marbled with shimmering stretch marks, a defined waist, and ample breasts pushing against the lace of her bra. Her nipples are as erect as I am, begging to be touched, and my eyes wander down to notice the plump lips of her pussy visible through the thin fabric. I audibly gulp and she laughs at my eagerness. Before she can undo her bra, I replace her hands with my own on the clasp in between her shoulder blades.

"Please, allow me. I've been dying to see what's under all these sexy clothes you've been torturing me with. I'll be damned if you get to do all the unwrapping."

With a flick of my wrist, her bra is open and the straps fall down her arms. When it finally falls away, my mouth goes dry. Her breasts hang in enticing teardrops, each tipped with a large areola the color of milk chocolate.

"Incredible," I murmur.

I grab her roughly by the waist and pull her close enough to taste each nipple, the pebbled flesh scraping the roof of my mouth.

"God, Henry," she moans, but I barely hear her. Blood rushes in my ears. I am feverish in my need, the tip of my cock weeping precum that smears against her thigh in our embrace.

"I'm going to fucking ruin you, Camila. I'm going to kiss and lick every inch of you, and then I'm going to fuck you until you beg me to stop." My voice sounds foreign to my own ears. I've never been so ravenous.

With her nipple still in my mouth, I shove down her tiny panties and push her down on the couch. The aroma of her flower overwhelms me, growing stronger as I push her thighs open. Her pussy is gleaming, moisture running down her slit and already leaving a wet spot on the cushion.

Like a starved animal, I dive into her pussy. I nudge her clit with my nose, lick circles around her entrance, and nibble on her labia until her thighs tremble in my hands. If her moans and whimpers are any indication, she's enjoying herself as much as I am. I take her clit between my lips and push two fingers into her unexpectedly.

"Oh my God. Fuck. Ah!" she shouts. I curl my fingers against her G-spot and hum into her folds. My face is a mess, covered in the evidence of her arousal.

Her hips jerk uncontrollably in my hands, and I know she's close. I increase the speed of my fingers and suck more firmly on her pussy. Her pants turn into whines before she explodes, her climax forcing her to grind her pussy even further into my mouth. I lap it up as the tremors overtake her, impressed by the sheer volume of her screams. I hope no one calls in a noise complaint.

While she comes down from her first orgasm, I take the condom from my pants pocket on the floor and roll it over my length with shaking hands. I might actually die if I don't get inside her soon.

Sheathed and desperate to consume her, I cover her body with mine. She opens her legs to accommodate my hips. The wetness of her climax and the sweat on my body combine to make her inner thighs slick, offering no resistance when I push into her.

I guide my cock into her inch by inch until I'm fully seated and we both groan with relief.

"Fuck me, Henry. Make me cum again. I'm begging you."

"Don't say that," I grit out through clenched teeth. "You're so hot, and wet, and tight that I'm liable to embarrass myself if you add begging."

"I don't care," she answers, grinding her hips against mine in a circular motion. "We can always fuck again. We've got all night."

And there went the last of my control. At her open begging, her sweet promise of more orgasms to come, I begin thrusting into her, plunging in and out like the piston of a monstrous engine. There's no finesse, no subtlety, only the blind need pushing me to chase my own release. She arches her back to press those amazing breasts into my chest and squeezes my cock from the inside. It's over.

I drag my cock almost all the way out before thrusting into her to the hilt, my seed filling the condom in hot spurts. I shout into her neck, licking and biting any flesh I can reach. She's clenching around me, her tight pussy quivering with the telltale signs of her own orgasm.

"That…was…," she starts, sounding awestruck.

"Fucking amazing," I finish. She strokes my back as I come down and goosebumps rise on my skin.

Has sex ever been better than that? , I wonder, sleep beckoning to me like a siren into the tide. If I said yes, I'd be perjuring myself.

I jolt awake, fumbling for my phone out of habit. It's silent. An alarm didn't wake me. I look around, disoriented, but the world is blurry. I grope haphazardly and find my glasses under the coffee table, thankfully intact. A light blanket covers us. Us. Shaking off the remnants of sleep, I realize I'm snuggling against a warm, female body.

Camila. I slept with Camila. I slept over after sleeping with Camila. I slept through the night without my noise machine, my sleep mask, or my blackout curtains.

What the hell does that mean?