Chapter Seventeen
Grace
His breath moves over me as he leans closer, my skin sizzling all over with humming nerves of anticipation.
I have to tell myself I’m not dreaming when Harry stops with his lips close to mine, our noses touching. We used to spend hours like this once upon a time, just staring into each other, greedily gulping every precious moment.
I sort of want to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.
Harry was tricking me … I was tricking him.
It’s all out in the open now.
Gemma is his fricking sister.
It all bounces around my consciousness, infusing every inch of me with unstoppable relief.
“Harry,” I whisper, smoothing my hands down his T-shirt onto his bare arms.
I squeeze his biceps. My body screams at me to do more, to slide down further.
But I somehow fight the urge … for now.
“Yes?” he whispers, the same withheld desire in his raspy voice.
“I just feel like the biggest idiot ever. All these years, we could’ve been together—”
He catches my words with a kiss, bracing the small of my back, and pushes against me, pressing our bodies together.
My nipples tingle like crazy as my breasts squash against him.
I let out a moan through the kiss, stifled as our tongues find each other, deflect, and then find each other again. We’re like dueling swords as we batter the scorching nerves in our mouths, exploring every torrid inch of each other.
“Sorry, Nancy Drew,” Harry smirks. “I interrupted you. You were saying?”
“Fuck you, playboy,” I gasp, grabbing his face in my hands. I feel light stubble grazing my palms as I grip on to his strong jaw. “Just kiss me. And don’t stop kissing me.”
He grins like a big jungle cat on the hunt. “I’ll kiss you, beautiful. But I can’t promise it’ll stop at kissing.”
I moan as I leap forward, basically tackling him backward on the bed.
I straddle him, grinding my pants up and down his crotch. His workout shorts are so thin I can feel all ten bursting inches of him pushing urgently against me, his engorged length dry-rubbing up and down my soaked sex.
I sit up slightly and slide my hand down his body, smoothing the material of his shirt so that I can feel the ridged muscles beneath. His abs press powerfully against my palm.
I go further, smoothing my grip over the pulsating outline of his manhood.
He groans, biting my lip softly, and then grabs my ass and palms it, massaging, pushing my cheeks together.
“Your fucking ass,” he moans. “I could spend years rubbing you like this, Grace. You’re so damnfine.”
“Hmm, maybe one day,” I whisper. “But for now …”
I feel a prick of self-consciousness as I slide away from him, wondering if I’m being silly and overly forward.
But when I stand up and start stripping out of my clothes, pulling my shirt over my head and wriggling out of my pants, I know I’m being anything but silly.
His face is one hundred percent desire and lust as he drinks me in.
