To say that Gabriella now held his rapt attention was to make a grave understatement. Henry's eyes utterly devoured the tableau before him: his beautiful young girlfriend, reclined on the firm cushioning mattress, one hand at a small, firm breast, the other delving between her legs, her tan skin growing more flushed with the moment. He made note of the way her lips stayed parted, how her eyes were heavy-lidded, but her own gaze never left his. Henry took in every nuance and savoured it, his breath nearly as shallow as Gabriella's.
"Yes," he answered her. The word came as a hiss, a momentary and insufficient release of his tension. On the occasions when it had been a genuine groupie pleasing herself for his pleasure, Henry would have observed right through the girl's climax, constantly giving direction and encouragement. But this time, his resolve faltered.
"But this time, I'd rather do the work myself." Henry pushed himself forward until he was stretched out above Gabriella's body. He moved her hand back from her sex and began to press against the warm wetness there. "Get ready," his whispered, "this may hurt a bit, but I promise I'll make it feel better."