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His hands drag up my sides, cupping my breasts. The touch feels so damned good, and too soon he’s reaching back to unfasten my bra, dragging it down my arms.
He groans against my lips as he grabs my ass. “This get bigger?”
Despite the angst of being apart from him, I’ve done better at taking care of myself, eating healthy and working out rather than ignoring my body’s needs. “This isn’t the time to accuse a woman of stress eating—“
“Not what I meant. You’re fucking hot, Raegan. Every second that passes, you only get hotter to me.”
This is a bad idea. But the arousal pounding through me like a tidal wave won’t let me say no.
The apathy I’ve been dealing with in my gigs, the fatigue, the restlessness, I want him to fix it tonight. And tomorrow can’t possibly hurt more than today or yesterday or the hundred days before that.
I brush my fingers across his hard length through the fabric and he twitches against my touch.
I’ve missed every part of him, including this one. I close my grip around his length, straining to encircle him all the way. A tight exhale forces itself from his lungs, but the look on his face screams approval.
“Yes. Touch me.” His hiss turns me to liquid.
I free his cock from his shorts with impatient hands.
He’s thick and proud, jutting up toward his clenched abs, his swollen tip already leaking.
My body aches at the sight of him.
“You open that mouth any wider, I’ll think you want me to fuck it.” Harrison’s low rasp strokes along my skin like a dirty caress.
“Keep dreaming.”
Far away, I hear the sound of the shower click off.
Harrison boosts me up so I’m braced against the wall. My breath is uneven, my legs wrapped around his hips and my grip on the back of his neck. Our foreheads press together, his fierce blue eyes boring into mine.
My body’s resistance is nothing compared to gravity, and he fills me completely on a single stroke. I’m stretched full of him, our angle making him sink farther into me every time I exhale. The feeling of his cock rooting deep leaves me gasping.
As he rocks into me, I grip the back of his neck, holding on for the ride.
“Jesus, Raegan,” he mutters against my ear as if I’m the one tearing him apart instead of the other way around.
When I lean in to kiss Harrison, he fuses our mouths. The kiss deepens, his tongue fucking my mouth while I clench harder around his cock. He shudders, releasing the kiss so I can breathe and cry out.
White-hot pleasure burns, makes me rock my hips against his to chase every bit of friction.
Every second is meant to make up for a day, a week, a month. It has to. Because every gig, every smile, every picture was a lie to bury the truth:
That when Harrison King left me, it took an entire persona to hide my anguish.
He swivels his hips, making me whimper. “You’re so fucking tight.”
Damn, I’m not going to last. I’m too fucking sensitive from missing him, and everything about tonight has me wound tighter than a drum. I’m about to go off.
“Come for me,” he murmurs.
The next time he pulls back, my back slips down the wall an inch. I dig my nails into his neck. Instinct.
“Not letting you go.”
He means he won’t drop me. But as the feel of his body, his closeness, his Harrison-ness, drags me over the edge after all this time, and as my orgasm triggers his, making him clench and spurt inside me…
It would be easy to imagine he means something else.
When he carries me to his bed, tucking me in next to him and locking an unyielding arm around me, I could dig an elbow into his gut and run for the door.
I don’t.
Tomorrow, things will go back to the way they were, but I let myself have tonight.
