Work Text:
“Charlie, have the new Chanel skirts been delivered?”
“Yes, I was just about to-”
“And the vet, did you arrange an appointment for 7 pm on Thursday?”
“Well, no because it’s 7 pm-”
“It’s the only time Patrick can do post his canine yoga class - you know that. Book it. And the boots, when are they sending them over?”
“Which brand are you-”
“There are only two brands delivering boots this week, Charlie. And Locanda Ottoemezzo in Knightsbridge, did you book a table for 3 at 9? Miranda does not want to waste time perusing the menu so have you pre-ordered the lobster taglioni, denver steak, medium rare with béarnaise-”
“Amari, stop!”
Amari shifts her gaze from the folder on her desk, to her colleague. For some inexplicable reason, Charlie has sweat on his brows and is breathing heavily.
“Charlie…,” she says evenly. “Did you just run a marathon?”
“No, but it looks like I tried to, given the speed at which you were firing off those questions.”
Amari narrows her eyes. Charlie is a hard worker, and a responsible one. But the day she says that to his face, is the day she’ll buy a cocktail dress from H&M over Ralph Lauren.
“Those…questions are in fact just tasks Miranda gave you - I am making sure you performed them, that’s all.”
Charlie takes a deep breath. “As I was trying to say, Amari, I-”
Just then, a shrill voice cuts through Charlie’s explanation, again. Seriously, why is he reciting a thesis in response to a few simple yes, Amari or no, Amari questions?
Normally, Amari lets calls on her personal phone go to voicemail during work hours, therefore allowing the caller to be subjected to her very melodic and very chic greeting. But one thing Amari knows after working with Miranda for years, even without looking at a watch, is the time.
She is actually a time goddess in some ways. She knows the time at all, well, times. Like the back of her hand. Which is where her Cartier watch proudly sits but she does not need to look at it to know what time it is.
It is of the essence yes, especially working with Miranda, but it is also the time for her favourite call of the day.
Amari would rather sell her Chanel bracelet (the broken one, of course) before telling anyone that her favourite call of the day has nothing to do with Miranda, or Runway. Or fashion.
A blasphemy of minor proportions but she cannot help it.
Sometimes love can make you do stupid things. Such as, shoo away an exasperated Charlie, settle her papers, look around to make sure that no one is listening, and answer the call.
“Hello, Henry.”
—————
Amari is sleeping with a guy.
Amari is dating a guy.
Amari is in love with a guy.
Those three sentences sum up the wild journey she has been on over the last year. Initially, it was just a surprising but very pleasing fuck in a museum of all places, then one fuck turned into two into three into four. There was also a date between fucks number two and three which turned into dates two into three into….still continuing.
Now she is in love.
And the object of her desires is the owner of a wardrobe full of raggedy jumpers, and is a doctor (not the stethoscope kind) called Dr. Henry Loomis.
His surname got a chuckle out of her the first time he introduced himself, because it sounded like the perfect name for a corduroy trouser wearing adult man. But then, everything about him was unbelievable to her.
She had met him at the museum he worked at, the Natural History Museum. You know, the one with that giant skeleton saying “GOOD MORROW SIR” to you as you enter the foyer. They call him Dippy. Amari calls him Dusty, given how much dust he probably collects every single day, and walking under his majestic neck and tail makes Amari nervous for any specks that may fall on her.
That day, she was there to finalise details of an intimate dinner being hosted by Miranda with a few select brands. The museum was an odd choice for a dinner, but Miranda wants to stage larger fashion events in the coming months and years at one of London’s most famous landmarks, and inviting her collaborators to see her vision early on was all part of their new 5-Year strategy for Runway.
Charlie had overseen most arrangements for this dinner and Amari had stepped in at the final stage to make sure everything was set up perfectly.
Now, back to Henry. When she saw him for the first time, he had his back to her as he animatedly talked to a group of young adults, who were enraptured by his words. Amari does not remember what he was talking to them about, because her focus had been on the pair of very faded, and quite frankly hideous pair of trousers he wore, which covered up the second thing she focused on - his very grabbable arse.
She does remember their very first conversation though. Amari had to get past the group to the other end of the corridor where her team were standing, so she went up to the sea of students, with Henry stationed at the head of their group, still turned away from her.
She does not know how he didn’t hear the immaculate clicks of her Louboutins.
Amari tapped him on the shoulder, and she heard a very loud and very startled “JESUS CHRIST” in a voice that now groans in her ear as its owner thrusts inside of her. But of course, she did not know that at the time.
Her first thoughts when she saw him were “of course this man wears glasses” followed by “holy fuck why do they look slutty on him”. As he stammered out, “I-I am so sorry, I did not see you there”, she thought, “well yes you didn’t, you had your back to me.”
“Dr. Henry Loomis,” he jutted out a nervous and clammy hand at her.
Amari chuckled at the name, then eyed the shining palm and arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow. She trailed her eyes from his hands, to his bare forearms, since his jumper sleeves were pushed all the way up to his elbows, and up his broad shoulders, his neck and then finally his stubbled face.
“Charmed,” she finally said.
She fucked him in his office three weeks later.
—————
Well, that was a year ago. Now, Amari has been sleeping with him, dating him, in love with him and nobody at work knows about it.
She isn’t ashamed of Henry, not really. Sure, she pokes fun at his atrocious wardrobe, how he shops at thrift stores, how he enjoys going to antique markets, how he sometimes cries at dinosaur cartoons because they remind him of his childhood, how he buries his face in his cat’s fur and lets her lick his lips.
But Amari loves all of those things, because they’re so Henry. And she loves him, so she loves his wardrobe, his shopping habits, his cat and any and all differences that exist between them.
Don’t get her wrong, she would still be absolutely unforgiving of those things to anyone else, and would tell them so quite plainly. But Henry, he is hers to make fun of and love. No one else’s.
And he tries, bless him. He still confuses her Dior summer shirt for a Maison Margiala, but she did see him correctly point out a Sciaparelli the other day (“the gold embellishments on the dress remind me of fossils!” he had excitedly said). It doesn’t matter that an outrageous Sciaparelli gown is the easiest thing in the world to guess. A win still is a win.
But now is not the time to grapple with feelings she cannot untangle.
Now is for Henry, who has been talking about the bones of one of the sauruses (sauri? she still struggles with dinosaur lingo) being sent to Cornwall for some Jurassic festival.
“But they would not allow me, or another researcher, to accompany Floppy on his journey! They want to put him up in a makeshift display tent for three whole days, with no expert there to handle all of his parts and make sure he is okay. They said I am not vetted to be a member of staff and they have their own “experts” to handle him - but it’s Floppy! I see him every single day, I even clean the dust under his butt every week but I am not vetted to give him company? How outrageous is that?”
Amari covers her mouth lest anyone see her (and later question her) and smiles. Floppy, the Albertosaurus is Henry’s favourite skeleton and she can imagine him pacing in his office at the thought of being away from those precious bones. His face is probably red, he must be wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, as his glasses dangle off his fingers.
“Are you still there, my love?”
Amari quickly clears her throat. Her daydreams about her boyfriend can wait, especially when he is on the other end of the line.
“Yes, I am here. And yes, that is preposterous, how dare they?”
Henry launches into another tirade about the lack of ethics and respect shown by organisers and Amari smiles to herself again, but this time it is a sly little smile.
She cannot wait to be eaten out tonight.
——————
There may be something to say about how much Amari enjoys sex when Henry is a tad… frustrated. Which as she is discovering, has been quite often, especially over the summer. Scores of student groups, tons of tourists running all over the museum means chaos for Henry and his research team.
Sure, he loves speaking to people about his work and dinosaurs, but the man also has his limits and gets frustrated at the frequent disruption caused by large crowds in the usual running of the museum. It’s like if Amari had to speak with new Runway interns on the first day of their jobs. Or worse, answer their questions every two seconds. An unthinkable fate.
Above all, Henry is a scientist, and nothing brings him more pleasure than dedicating his life to research.
And to her cunt.
Yes, he is quite fond of her cunt. And he shows that with the insane gusto with which he laps her up. Amari is pretty sure if Henry was a dinosaur, he’d be a unique kind whose tongue wasn’t rooted to the bottom of his mouth (which, as per a conversation she had overheard one day from some kids at the museum, was apparently the case for most dinosaurs).
Anyway. Yes, Henry is quite fond of eating her out under normal circumstances. But when Henry is frustrated? Oh, it somehow just gets better.
Amari rubs her thighs together in anticipation as she takes the lift up to their flat later that evening, where she knows Henry is cooking their dinner (an extra kiss for him each night for being the cook out of them both, as Amari can only cook Runway interns who cannot tell the difference between ultramarine and cobalt blue).
When she opens the door to their flat, she is first greeted by the black cat Henry adopted and Amari named -
“We should call her Toothless, you know after that dinosaur film-”
“Amari, for the fifth time, that is a dragon film, not dinosaur, it literally says so in the title!”
“But weren’t they cousins?”
That was some seven months ago. Toothless, now was lounging on a little hammock in the entryway. Whilst the little menace tries to act aloof towards Amari (and the feeling is mutual), she waits every day in front of the door until both Amari and Henry are home.
Amari enters quietly, gives the cat a pat on her head and removes her Row Boheme MJs (convenient for commuting, her work Louboutins tucked safely in the office locker). She puts them in their designated box she had left next to the door before leaving that morning, and carries the box to the living room.
As Amari makes her way into the flat, she can smell the pasta sauce (Henry knows it’s her carbs day of the week today) probably bubbling away, and hears the latest episode of Paleontology Today podcast playing loudly, drowning out all sounds of cooking. It’s actually too loud, she isn’t even sure that Henry heard her enter-
“Good evening, my love!” she hears him say - rather, shout - the second before she materialises in the living room and kitchen space.
As she turns the corner, she is greeted by her boyfriend’s back encased in a white shirt, sleeves as expected folded to his elbows, as he stirs a pot of pasta with one hand, and lowers the volume of his podcast with the other. He puts both the spoon and his phone down and turns around, and gives her a shy smile before walking over to her.
Henry quickly wipes his hands on his trousers (she will say something about that later), before taking her box of footwear and two Christian Dior handbags (“We cannot get any of this sauce on Mr Dior”), and carefully places them on a side table. He then cups her face to gently kiss her lips.
“Damn you, and your dilfosaurus ears.”
The ears in question perk up. “If you are trying to compliment my impeccable hearing, then it’s Dilophosaurus my dear. But no worries, it's the thought that counts.”
Amari lets out an unserious scoff, and Henry brushes his nose against hers.
“Hmm,” she puts her arms around his neck, and kisses the mole on his jaw. “Where was this impeccable hearing you speak of, when you first met me and couldn’t hear my heels?”
“Well, I hadn’t met you then, I wasn’t attuned to you. But now, I am,” he says, giving her a soft smile.
Amari isn’t about to tell him how much that thought pleases her. So instead, she settles on, “Okay, lover boy. Now, tell me if Floppy is going alone to the circus.”
——————
“But I do not understand why they cannot take a replica if they don’t want you or your team to be there,” Amari says, as she takes a bite out of her lasagna.
“Because they want real artifacts but none of the real researchers,” Henry resignedly shakes his head.
“Can they not take a less…complex individual than Floppy? What about one of your vegan dinosaurs?”
Henry splutters out the water he had just drank. “Vegan? Amari, they are herbivores!”
Oof, Amari knows that look. It’s when she fucks up a dino fact, which she has done several times, at first unintentionally but increasingly on intention. Her error riles him up and she argues back, and it results in some delicious foreplay. Add the frustration already bubbling underneath his skin et voila! You get a flustered Henry who turns her on so much.
“Semantics,” she says, and watches his eyebrows somehow shoot up and scrunch all the same time. Adorable.
“Semantics? No, no it-it is an important distinction! We cannot force modern terminology onto these ancient beings-”
“But they literally follow a plant based diet ergo they are vegans.”
“PLANT BASED? Amari, they only eat plants! What do you mean by “based”? Which is why we call them herbivores,” he takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s-it’s like me calling your brown Prada boots with white stripes Dulce and Goddana because they look the same!”
Amari momentarily forgets the little game she is supposed to play and gasps. Confusing Prada boots with D&G? How on earth can anyone do that?
“Now, mister. It’s Dolce and Gabbana and those boots look nothing alike - this is false equalivalence!”
“Exactly my point, you probably cannot compare!” He puts his glasses back on his face. “Dinosaurs were not vegan, they were herbivores and if you don’t think the same then my point also stands for the boots-”
Oh she has heard enough, fuck the game and foreplay. Amari leaps up from her chair and plants her hands on his face, fusing their mouths to shut him up.
—————
Thankfully, Amari had changed into her silk pyjamas before dinner, because as Henry carries her to their bedroom, he isn’t exactly being gentle. He pushes her up against a wall outside their room, the hiss of the silk loud against the rough surface. Amari groans as he rubs his hardening length against her clothed cunt, as he plunders her mouth with his tongue.
“Henry…” she rasps. “Bed, now. Fuck me, now.”
Giving her one last hard kiss, Henry puts one hand under her bum and the other on her back, and carries her over the short distance to their bed.
He deposits her on the edge, their mouths still fused as she reaches up to meet him.
Amari starts unbuttoning his trousers as she licks into his mouth, making him groan. But before she can pull them down his legs, he halts her progress with his hand.
“Let me see you first, my love.”
Amari pulls back and looks up into his deep brown eyes, nearly all black at the moment. The glasses on his face are askew, and she realises they need replacing given the polish on his frame has chipped off in places. She makes a mental note to call Rachael at Armani tomorrow. But that is for tomorrow
Right now, is all for Henry.
Henry, who is pulling down her silk shorts and removes her shirt, carefully folding them before placing them on the settee. They are Burberry, after all.
Henry, who kneels before her and looks at her with so much reverence that she wants to look away. But she does not.
Instead, she leans back and supports herself up on her elbows, as she watches Henry quickly pull his shirt over his head, revealing his fucking delicious chest and arms. Amari lets out an involuntary moan at the sight, and instead of being smug, Henry blushes.
He hides his flushed cheeks by quickly ducking into the space between her legs, nosing her underwear. He pulls it to the side and licks a broad but gentle stripe over her clit.
Amari breathes heavily, and slightly lifts up her bum. Henry takes the hint and divests her of her underwear, her last piece of clothing.
After that, Henry does what she knew he would do. He devours her. Attaching his mouth to her clit, he gently circles her bundle of nerves with his tongue, as he pumps one, then two fingers inside her.
Henry has mastered rhythm and coordination over the last few months. He was a tad inexperienced at first - Amari wasn’t his first partner, but he still needed a guiding hand. And there’s nothing Amari enjoys people more than pointing out people’s mistakes. Lovingly, of course.
So bit by bit, Amari told him what she likes, how much pressure she prefers and when, how many fingers she can take depending on the time of month. Combined with Amari’s impeccable teaching capabilities and Henry’s fast learning abilities (he was a scientist after all, one of the best in his field), Henry was quickly making Amari come hard and fast.
And then he started doing what scientists do best - experiments. He still loved to make her come quickly, but slowly, as he gained more confidence in his art, he also started gauging her reactions and adjusted his ministrations accordingly, so that he kept her on the edge for longer. It was frustrating but so arousing, and she always finished harder.
It took a few tries for him to get his technique right but now, Henry can earn a PhD in cuntology, the study of edging your girlfriend and eating her out.
And he is putting his research on edging to good use right now, as he fingers her but stops giving her clit the friction it needs.
Instead, he extends a hand to her tits, and plays with her right nipple as he swerves his tongue around her clit.
Amari buries her hand in his hair and whines. “Henry…god please!”
The sound is muffled, but she hears him say, “Hmm, please what?”
“You know, you bastard!”
He removes his head entirely from her cunt and she groans in protest. “Amari, you called my precious herbivores vegan. You know what you were doing.”
Of course she did.
He lightly pumps his fingers inside her - three now - and continues. “And you did this knowing that I was already upset about Floppy’s lonely journey ahead. Did you not?”
There is no point in lying, so she just nods.
“Thought so. Therefore, if you want me to give you what you need, you need to at least call Milred a herbivore.”
Now who the fuck is Milred?
Amari must have vocalised this thought as she hears Henry chuckle. “She is the Ankylosaurus at the museum, she is a herbivorous dinosaur. Do you not agree? Just say that she is one and…you win.”
Now those are the magic words. Amari is panting, with beads of sweat trailing down her chest. Her head feels heavy, and Henry’s fingers are doing wonders against her vaginal walls. But she needs more. And if she wins by agreeing that the bloody vegan dinosaur was a herbisomething then she doesn’t see this to be a hard choice.
“Yes, yes your damn Milly is a herbicide!”
“Herbi-vore, herbicide is something completely different-”
“HERBIVORE HENRY! Now make me COME!”
Her eyes are closed and her fingers pull on his hair, probably painfully. But she knows Henry is grinning, because she can feel the curve of his smile against her cunt, as he finally sucks on her clit the way she wants.
“Fuck- yes, oh don’t stop-”
Henry laps her up, licks her clit perfectly, as his three fingers thrust wildly inside her, and Amari screams, so close to the edge.
Just once more, just a one little push and……. oh, she finally sees those damned stars.
—————
When Amari at last returns to the land of living, she sees the side of Henry’s face, sans glasses, resting on her thigh. He is looking at her, smiling softly, as he rubs light circles on her other thigh.
“Where are your glasses?” she croaks. Lord, she must have screamed louder than she realised.
“Just here,” he points to them lying next to her thigh. “Didn’t want the frame to dig into your skin and leave a mark.
Fuck, she feels her cunt flutter at that. Damn him and his sweetness for making her more horny than she already is.
“Come here,” she says, as she climbs up towards the head of the bed, and Henry follows. She cups his face in her hands and kisses him deeply, tasting herself on his tongue.
Henry reciprocates enthusiastically, and groans when her hands migrate to his crotch, squeezing it.
“Off, baby, take these off.”
Together, they get rid of his trousers and briefs, and finally she feels his hard length against her body.
His kisses move from her lips to her jaw to her neck and then to her tits, as he sucks and licks her right boob, kneading the other breast and making Amari moan.
She pulls him back towards her mouth, and grabs his length, tired of the wait. But she knows there is one last question Henry is going to ask her in approximately the next five seconds before they can proceed. It’s something he asks each time, and it’s endearing and infuriating (given the timing) in equal measures.
Sex with Henry is both predictable and unpredictable. It is predictable because not once does Henry not prioritise her comfort and consent, even when they are being rough. He always asks her if she wants him to put on a condom, always starts out a little slow to let her adjust and constantly talks to her during sex.
But over the last few months, he has gotten better at understanding her bodily cues rather than relying on her verbal cues - if there is a position she isn’t enjoying as much, he now understands the fact by gauging how her body reacts to it. Equally, when she gets loud and grabby with her hands, he knows that whatever he is doing works for her. Lately, his dirty talk has become dirtier, he changes positions more often and less predictably, and is louder in bed.
All in all, sex with Henry is some of the best Amari has ever had, because not only is he an excellent participant in bed, but he is so eager to learn new ways to bring her pleasure.
As if on cue, Henry asks, “Do you-do you want me to put on a-”
“No, I need you just like this, Henry please,” she whines.
Nodding, Henry hovers over her and rests his weight on his arms, as Amari wraps her legs around his waist. Taking hold of his length, hard and leaking, she pumps him a few times, making him groan deliciously, before lining him up with her cunt.
Henry pushes in slowly, despite her slickness helping her accommodate him. When he is buried to the hilt, he thrusts lightly a couple of times, making her whimper.
“Fuck, I love you,” Henry moans and buries his face in her shoulder. She knows that the only time he swears is when he is inside her, which turns her on even more.
“Hmm, love you too,” Amari says against his mouth, before she gasps when she feels him slowly build up the momentum.
Her hands grab his arse, kneading the firm flesh, and her hips rise to meet his. The room is filled with a cacophony of sounds - their hips snapping against each other, the headboard banging against the wall, and their increasingly loud moans, sounding almost melodic.
Henry suddenly grabs her left leg and puts it over his shoulder, sliding in impossibly deeper. “All day, just thought of you - just being with you, inside you, like this-”
“Just there, just there, fuck yes, oh-”
“The way you hold me, the way you squeeze me - so fucking tight, like the jaws of an Aucasaurus clamping down on a juvenile titanosaur.”
Now, you would think name dropping a dinosaur eating his dinner as she has mindblowing sex would be a turn off for Amari. But you would be wrong. Amari loves this man, and for some inexplicable reason that she may need to dissect in therapy, she gets really turned on by his dinosaur talk when he moves inside her.
Therefore, Amari’s actual reaction consists of releasing a very loud moan, and grabbing Henry’s neck to pull him down to her mouth. They kiss messily as he pounds into her, and Amari feels herself getting close to her peak.
But then it all stops.
Amari is about to scream in frustration when Henry quickly flips her over, and pulls her up to her hands and knees. Fuck yes, yes yes yes.
Henry kneads her arse for a second before sinking into her again, picking up the pace he had left off instantly, and massaging her lower back as he thrusts.
Amari twists the sheets under her palms into knots, but she soon loses her strength. Her forearms collapse, and her face lands with a whoop on the pillows. She bites the fabric to muffle her moans, and reckons her posture probably resembles Milred eating grass off the ground. Yes, that is how mush her brain is right now.
She feels Henry shift slightly, and hears him grab onto the headboard above her, as his groans increase in volume. He is still talking, some gibberish and some words of praise, but she knows he is getting closer to finishing off. She herself is quite close but she needs that last push-
With the hand that’s not holding onto the headboard, Henry reaches between Amari’s leg and rubs her clit in tandem with his thrusts - oh yess, that is exactly what she needs.
She comes about twenty seconds before he does, her entire body shaking and her moans reverberating through the room without abandon. Henry grabs onto her hips with both hands and thrusts frantically for a few seconds, before coming inside her.
“Holy shit,” they both sigh unanimously, as they collapse in a heap.
—————
After they have cleaned up, brushed their teeth, and put abandoned plates of pasta in the freezer, they lie in their bed, naked still but content with the stillness around them.
Amari draws circular patterns on his chest, and Henry kisses the top of her head.
“Did you get what sounded like a highly anticipated delivery of skirts, then?” Henry breaks the silence.
“Hmm?” Amari is in a bit of a daze, and looks up at him.
“The skirts - you said last month that the office was due to get a large delivery of skirts. I believe it was…Chanel?”
Amari bites her bottom lip. She is surprised he remembers.
“Ahem, yes, yes we did. Miranda likes them. But there are notes for Matthieu for the next collection that I need to send.
“Hmm, is that the…”
“Artistic Director of Chanel, yes.”
“Weren’t there also some boots? Consignment to be delivered today? Two brands?
“LV and Tom Ford,” she says with a smile. And then suddenly, “Oh SHIT, I forgot!” she exclaims.
Henry is at once alarmed. “What happened?”
Amari hops out of bed and grabs her dressing gown. “I just forgot something I brought home, just give me a second-” and she rushes out to where she knows her handbag still sits.
She hears Henry call out from their bed, but before he can come out looking for her, she grabs the little box she is looking for, and rushes back.
“Is everything okay? Did you forget some- what is that?” Henry has put his glasses back on and points to the box in her hand.
Amari is suddenly and uncharacteristically nervous, but she has been preparing for this for a couple of months now. She sits in front of him, and offers the box to him.
“A gift for you.”
She watches his face melt, his eyes shining with so much love and…is he about to cry?
“Oh my love, you didn’t have to…”
“Open it, Henry,” she says, rubbing his thigh.
Henry sniffles lightly, taking the box from her, and opens it.
He finds a silk tie inside, and she sees his eyes widen. The tie is beautiful, yes, but it is the pattern which holds the most value.
It resembles scales on a dinosaur’s skin.
“Amari…this is…”
“For your grant meeting next month. Custom-made for you. You need to make an impression and your outfit is the first thing those investors will see. It needs to be perfect and I will help curate-”
She is cut off by the hard kiss he plants on her lips, his tongue parting them and entering her mouth. She grabs the back of his head and deepens the kiss as picks her up and sits her on his lap.
They break for air and he rests his forehead against hers.
“This is so… thoughtful of you, I do not know what to say. Thank you, my love,” he whispers.
“It’s nothing, but I am glad you liked it.”
“It’s not nothing, you gifted me a custom Tom Ford tie and I will proudly wear it-”
“Wait, what?” Amari leans back and looks at him with wide eyes. “How did you know it’s Tom Ford?” Henry hadn’t unravelled the tie enough to see its tag on the other side, and the black box is without inscription or logo.
Henry looks a bit embarrassed. “It’s a bit silly,” he says, tugging on his ear.
“No, tell me, how did you know?”
“Well… I may have a folder on my computer of the different designers you name drop in our conversations, and when I have the time I like to look at their craftsmanship and styles. I am still not there yet with telling them apart but I was looking at Tom Ford just last week so I suppose I remembered his style. You also ran out of the room when you mentioned Tom Ford so it wasn’t all that hard to guess.”
Amari is astonished but so touched. She hugs him tightly and then kisses him hard.
“I love you. We cannot use that tie for anything other than its intended purpose but I promise I will find a substitute to show you exactly how much this means to me.”
Henry carefully puts the tie and box on his bedside table and then flips them over. Hovering above her, he gives her a light kiss on her lips.
“Well, maybe in the meantime I can show you how much your gift means to me, and in a way that will not damage any piece of clothing,” he says, and lowers his head again.
Amari giggles.
Yes, she is never going to oppose that offer.