“I thought you missed feeling me inside you,” he whispers, his eyes at least showing a flare of heat now as they focus on my breasts, as he adjusts his hips. “I do.” He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back. “Well then, here I am, inside you. So, let’s fuck.” This isn’t my Henry, but this is the Henry I get right now—one that’s hurting over the death of his father and the surprise visit by his mother. The closed-off Henry.
