บททั้งหมดของ Her Only Exception: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

The air felt suddenly thinner, the space between them charged with everything that had been building since Paris. Andrea’s gaze drifted to the way the singlet stretched across his chest, the faint sheen of sweat at his collarbone from the warmth of the stove before she caught herself and looked away.Henry broke the silence first, voice low and rough from the late hour. “Couldn’t sleep?”“No.” She stepped inside, barefoot on the cool tile. “What are you making? ”“Eggs.” He cracked them into the pan with the focused efficiency he brought to everything. “You want some?”“Sure.” She leaned back against the counter, watching him move the eggs, like it was a task that deserved precision.He went back to cooking, but the easy rhythm from earlier in the evening had shifted into something quieter. Andrea watched him as he tilted the pan with the small flick of his wrist and the focused line of his jaw. She hadn’t realized how much she liked seeing him like this: domestic and half-dressed in t

She rode the elevator up to the penthouse alone, thighs still clenched from the conference room. Every step in the lobby had been torture; the black dress that had felt like armor this morning now rubbed against her swollen clit like punishment. She could still feel Henry’s fingers—thick, relentless, pulling her right to the edge and then stopping. Her body hadn’t forgiven her. It ached. It throbbed. It was demanding.Her phone buzzed as the doors opened.Mindy: Grabbing groceries, fried chicken & beer for girls’ night before Henry gets back. Be home in 45 mins. Don’t wait for me-relax!Andrea exhaled shakily. Forty-five minutes. She could survive that. She kicked off her heels the second she stepped inside, the cool marble soothing her bare feet. The penthouse was silent except for the low hum of the city far below. She headed straight for her bathroom, stripping the black dress off on the way and leaving it in a puddle on the floor.The shower was supposed to fix everything. Hot wa

She felt her heart slam against her ribs so hard she was sure Henry could hear it echoing in the quiet room.“Henry, what are you doing here?” The words tumbled out in a breathless rush. She sat frozen on the edge of the bed, oversized T-shirt riding high on her thighs, phone still clutched in her lap like a lifeline. Her cheeks burned hot. “When did you get home? I was worried sick! I was literally about to call you! I thought something happened at the office or… or that you were avoiding me after everything today.”Henry didn’t answer right away. He simply stepped fully inside, the soft click of the door shutting behind him slicing through the silence like a promise. He leaned back against it for a second, arms loosely crossed over his chest, that lazy, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His damp hair curled slightly at the ends, and the clean scent of his shower–warm soap and something darkly masculine drifted across the space between them.“I got home over two hours

Andrea woke to sunlight spilling across the sheets and the faint ache between her thighs. For one sleepy second she forgot where she was and just lay there, breathing slow, feeling the faint throb of every place Henry had touched her last night. Then she shifted, and the soreness bloomed–a delicious, secret reminder of Henry’s mouth, his fingers and the way she had shattered under him last night. She sat up slowly, heart already racing. The oversized T-shirt she’d slept in rode up, exposing the dark purple marks scattered across her breasts and the tender spots on her neck. She touched one with trembling fingertips. The skin was still warm, slightly swollen. A visible claim. She stepped out of bed, threw the bed covers off and quickly moved to the mirror. Her reflection in the mirror across the room stopped her cold and her cheeks flushed. Her lips were still puffy, eyes wide and uncertain. She looked like a woman who had been thoroughly ruined… and wanted to be ruined again.

Henry didn’t get home until almost one in the morning.The penthouse was dark and silent. He dropped his keys on the console table and walked straight to Andrea’s room, exhaustion pulling at his shoulders but guilt pushing him forward. He eased the door open quietly.She was curled on her side, breathing slow and even, one arm tucked under the pillow. The thin strap of her tank top had slipped off her shoulder, revealing the edge of a dark hickey he had left the night before. Her face looked soft in sleep, almost peaceful—but Henry could still see the faint crease between her brows, like even her dreams were waiting for him.He stood in the doorway for a long moment, hand resting on the frame, chest tight. He wanted to wake her. He wanted to crawl into bed beside her and explain everything right then. But she looked so tired, so peaceful and so small.He whispered into the dark, barely audible, “I’m sorry, baby.”Then he closed the door gently and went to his own room.Andrea woke to