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I drop the garbage bag in my hand, pacing around the house to reach the boys.
“Tonight?” Harvey scoffs. “She won’t be riding—ever. And of course it’s fucking you—she’d never do this to me!”
“Harv . . . that’s not up to you, man . . .”
The next thing I know, there’s a loud thud—his bedroom door—and I make my way to his room. I knock, then I let myself in. After closing the door, I walk to his bed, and his wheels come to a stop in front of me.
“Gemma, promise me,please.”
I swallow. “I won’t go on it. I’ll take it to a garage or something in the spring.”
“You don’t get it.” His expression turns deadly serious as he grabs my hands, forcing me to give him every ounce of my attention.
“Gemma, babe, I swear I’d fucking kneel if I could. I’m begging you ... ”
“I promise, Harvey. I won’t ride again—”
“Promise me.”
“I promise. Shhh. You don’t need to worry. It’s me and you—always. But you need to promise me something too.”
He nods, his jaw ticking as he waits for me to speak up. I take a deep breath. “You need to promise me you won’t keep shutting me out.”
His thumb touches my bottom lip, and I wonder if this ismyHarvey coming back to me, or the result of drugs.
“I promise, sweetheart.”
“Just hold on a second. I’ll be back.” I leave his room to tell Gia and James to go home to their daughter. I thank them before they leave, noticing that Hen must’ve left after the argument.
Not long after, as I stand in Harvey’s room, an undeniable hunger crosses his eyes. He stares at my leather skirt in yearning, reaching his hand out for me to grab.
“Harv,” I whisper, knowing he’s probably only looking at me this way because he’s high.
“Don’t talk.” He shakes his head. “Don’t stop this; just don’t say anything.” I nod, clearing my throat, hoping he wants me as much as I want him. “Your skirt—take it off.”
I do so, slowly, letting the leather pool at my ankles.
He stops me as I’m about to remove my cami and tells me, “Not too fast.”
I end up kneeling in front of him, my eyes staring up, no doubt showering him with lust and pleadings of their own.
He covers his mouth with one hand, the other tightening around the armrest of his chair.
I crawl to his lap and straddle him, my hands weaving through a heap of blond hair. I kiss him, moaning when his hand reaches for my pierced nipple inside my bra. His eyes are on absolute fire when he pulls back and glances at my lips.
When we kiss again, the past months blur in my memory, as if the mere touch of his lips is enough to perfectly mend the cracks of my wounded heart.
I’m loving the grunt he releases in my mouth. The sound, music to my ears.
He wants me.
I go at his pace, desperate to let him set something he’s comfortable with.
Why couldn’t he kiss me before? Why now? What happens tomorrow when the drugs wear off?
“I missed this—I missedyou.”
I repeat his words over and over until they’re ingrained in steel inside my head.
