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Harrison
I’ve had a lot of filthy fucking dreams.
This one is the best.
Raegan, the woman who’s graced every one of my fantasies since the day she ripped me a new one at a friend’s wedding, is on her knees. She licks a line up my cock, and my arse clenches as I tug on her hair.
I want her to get serious.
I want her to tease me for goddamned ever.
It’s understandable I’d be hard as a bloody teenager the night after I broke down her door, decided to do whatever it took to bring her back to me, only to have her surprise me in my own bathroom. Practically naked. Startlingly beautiful.
The next time we had sex again—I never let myself believe there wouldn’t be another time, though during a couple of dark nights, that thought tried to drag me down—I vowed I would be in control. Show her exactly what she’s been missing.
But there was no finesse when I took her against the wall. Only raw need, frustration twined around a shriveled black heart that’s only ever beat for her.
Now, I’m thinking of all the things we didn’t get a chance to do last night.
When I blink my eyes open, the dream gets better.
“Thank fuck,” I groan as Raegan comes into focus, her dark hair in sexy tangles around her flushed face. “I was afraid I’d open my eyes and find it was the dog.”
“If Barney gives head this good, I’m going to be concerned.” Her eyes flash as she rocks back on her heels. The sheet is wrapped around her decadent body, and I want to rip it away.
“Never. You’re far better.” I shift up on my elbows. “But something isn’t right.”
“Because I’m naked in your bed?”
“Because it’s”—I check the bedside clock—”eight thirty and you’re awake.”
“I get up early now, asshole.”
Those six words hurt.
Because they remind me I’ve missed out on her life.
She shifts away, and I grab her wrist, tugging her back over me. I press my lips to the tattoo. I hate that she marked herself without my knowing. Without my even knowing she wanted to.
I lace my fingers in hers, pulling her arms down so I can suck one of her nipples. Her back arches, pressing more of her perfect flesh against my mouth as she adjusts her hips across mine. Her wetness glides across my cock, teasing, and I growl.
“Any man who’s touched you? I can fuck him out of your head,” I promise. “Because I know you in here.” I thread my hand in her hair, brushing it back and stroking her temple with my thumb. “And here.” I press my other hand to her heart, the steady rhythm thudding beneath my palm.
I’m not angry—I’m determined. Committed.
“I didn’t come back for you, Harrison.”
Her words land like a blow I wasn’t prepared for.
I recover. “For Ash, then.”
She shakes her head. “I’m playing La Mer. I went to see Mischa.”
Every muscle in my body is tight. Hearing that name on her lips in my bed makes me flip her so fast the sheets get caught between us. “You did what?”
“He has a house in Ibiza. I took a meeting with him yesterday before you showed up.” She starts to slide out from under me.
No.
