Harper’s boots thud against the floorboards. The metal button of her jeans pops free under her fingers. She shimmies, denim sliding down pale thighs. The moonlight catches on the lace edging of her panties, on the goosebumps rising across her stomach. My breath catches somewhere between my lungs and my throat.
Her hands move to my waistband. The rasp of each metal tooth on my zipper seems impossibly loud in the quiet room. Blood rushes in my ears, in my fingertips, lower. I stumblebackward against the dresser as I kick one boot free, then the other, peeling off socks that suddenly feel ridiculous.
A small giggle escapes her lips. She steps closer, the heat of her nearly bare body radiating against mine. “Can I touch you?” The words vibrate against my neck, her lips brushing my skin with each syllable.
“You can do anything you want, Harper.” Her soft hands slip into my fly, pulling me out and stroking with intent. “Definitely a bratwurst.”
“What?” I ask, momentarily puzzled.
She giggles again, shaking her head while gazing into my eyes. “Nothing.”
Just as I’m about to question her cryptic comment, her fingers slip beneath my waistband, cool against my heated skin. The elastic snaps softly against my hipbones as she tugs downward. My boxers catch for a moment on my thighs before sliding to my ankles with a whisper of cotton. I kick free, my heart hammering against my ribs as Harper’s gaze travels slowly up my body, lingering where I stand rigid and aching. Her lips part slightly, pupils dilating in the moonlight that paints her silver.
Harper climbs onto the bed, and I follow. “Are you sure?” I ask.
“So sure,” she replies, her chest heaving, nipples pebbled in the dim light.
I bend down, lips brushing against the curve where her neck meets her collarbone. Her skin tastes like salt and something sweeter—maybe the wine from earlier. The soft flesh of her breast fills my palm as I trail my mouth lower, feeling her nipple harden against my tongue. A sound escapes her—half sigh, half moan—vibrating through her chest and into mine.
My fingers trace the lace edge of her panties, feeling goosebumps rise in their wake. Harper’s hips lift slightly off the mattress—just enough for me to slide the fabric down over thecurve of her thighs. The moonlight catches the moisture there, glistening. My hands shake slightly as I press my lips to the inside of her ankle, feeling the flutter of her pulse beneath paper-thin skin.
Between her thighs, I pause. Her scent is dizzying—earthy and sweet. The first stroke of my tongue makes my vision blur at the edges. Harper’s fingers find my hair, nails scraping lightly against my scalp, guiding me. “Ford,” she breathes, the word barely audible above the thundering of my own heartbeat.
Her thighs tremble against my cheeks, her breathing growing ragged. I feel the moment approaching in the tension of her muscles, in the way her fingers tighten in my hair. When it comes, her back arches off the bed, and she reaches blindly for a pillow, pressing it against her face as her body shudders. The sound she makes—muffled but unmistakable—leaves me light-headed.
I move up her body, each kiss leaving a trail of cooling moisture on her flushed skin. The pillow falls away, and her eyes find mine, pupils wide in the dim light. “You’re still sure?”
The question hangs between us as I position myself against her, the heat of her nearly unbearable. My pulse pounds in my throat as I wait.
“I’ve never wanted anything more,” she whispers before pulling me in for a kiss.
Her arms wrap around me, drawing me down until my weight presses her into the mattress. I ease forward, and her breath catches, her fingernails digging half-moons into my shoulders. She reaches down, her palm cool against my hip, guiding me deeper until there’s nowhere left to go.
I close my eyes, conjuring images of ice fishing with my father, of algebra equations, anything to dull the edge of sensation. Her lips find my collarbone, teeth grazing skin. Our mouths meet again, and I taste the salt of her on my tongue. I shift my weightto one elbow, watching her eyes flutter closed as I rock against her. When she gasps, I repeat the motion, memorizing the angle, the pressure, the rhythm that makes her fingers tighten against my back.
Harper pulls her mouth away and arches her back, her chest heaving. “You feel so good, Ford.”
“You have no idea how you feel,” I mutter, kissing her neck.
She draws her knees toward her chest, her ankles crossing behind my back. “Ford,” she whispers, my name breaking into two syllables as her breath catches. Her eyes flutter closed, then open again, finding mine in the darkness. The muscles in her throat work as she swallows.
The mattress creaks beneath us, keeping time with the rhythm we’ve found. Harper’s fingers trace constellations across my shoulders, then suddenly dig in, leaving half-moon imprints. Her lips part, a flush spreading from her chest to her cheeks. The sound she makes—half gasp, half cry—vibrates through me as her body trembles.
I bury my face in her neck, tasting salt, feeling the world narrow to this single point where we’re connected, until there’s nothing but her name on my lips and stars behind my eyelids.
I collapse beside her, our limbs still tangled, my heart hammering against my ribs. Ten years of wanting crystallized into this moment—her flushed skin against mine, the taste of her still on my lips, her floral scent mixed with sweat and sex.
The words “I love you” press against my teeth, desperate to escape. They’ve been waiting there since that first day in biology class when she smiled at me over a dissection tray. But I swallow them back, watching her chest rise and fall, her eyelashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks.
This fragile thing between us is too new, too precious to risk with three words that might send her running. Not when I’veonly just learned how her breath catches when I kiss that spot below her ear.
Chapter 29
Harper
Waking up, it takes a moment to remember where I am and who I’m with. I’m wrapped in Ford’s arms, and the memories of the night before flood back. A smile spreads across my lips. It was great—amazing, actually.
Sure, I enjoyed sex with Asher, but this was different. There was purpose and intention behind every move Ford made. Everything felt deliberate. He truly cared about how I felt and how good it was for me.
