I pull back just enough to look up at him through my lashes, his cock slipping from my lips with a soft, wet sound. “That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”
His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide as he watches me. The morning light catches the blue of his irises. I’ve always loved his eyes, how they change with his moods, how they darken when he wants me.
“Come here,” he growls, his voice still rough with sleep.
I shake my head, my hair brushing against his thighs. “Not yet.”
I take him back into my mouth, working him with renewed purpose.
“Harper,” he warns, his stomach muscles contracting. “I’m serious. I’m gonna?—”
I hum around him, the vibration making his hips buck. I want this. I want to taste him, to feel him come apart because of me. It’s been so long, and I’ve missed the intimacy of this connection, of giving him this kind of pleasure that he deserves.
“Babe, your lips look so pretty around my cock like that.”
His compliment boosts my confidence as I work him with my mouth and hand in perfect rhythm, remembering exactly what he likes. It’s amazing how muscle memory works, how my body remembers his after all this time. I know when to increase pressure, when to slow down, when to swirl my tongue just under the head to make his thighs tremble.
His breathing grows ragged, hips lifting slightly off the mattress with each downward stroke of my mouth. “Harp,” he warns, voice strained. “I’m close.”
I don’t stop. I don’t want to. I want all of him, want to make him come undone. I increase my pace, taking him as deep as I can, my hand working what my mouth can’t. He tenses beneath me, his thighs going rigid on either side of my shoulders.
“Fuck, Harper—” His voice breaks as his release hits, hot and sudden against my tongue. I don’t pull away, swallowing as he pulses, his fingers tightening almost painfully in my hair. The sounds he makes—half-groans, half-whispers of my name—send shivers down my spine.
When the last tremor passes through him, I slowly release him, pressing a gentle kiss to his inner thigh before crawling back up his body. His eyes are closed, his chest rising and falling rapidly, a thin sheen of sweat glistening across his skin in the morning light.
“Good morning, H,” I whisper, settling against his side.
He laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. “Good morning you beautiful woman.” His arms wrap around me, pulling me close until I’m practically lying on top of him. “Come here.”
His kiss is deep and unhurried, like he’s savoring the taste of himself on my tongue. For a moment I panic that my morning breath will be the biggest turnoff, but his hand slides into my hair, possessive but gentle, and he exhales against my mouth like he’s been holding that breath for ten years.
When he finally pulls away, he’s smiling at me with a tenderness that makes my heart ache.
“I’m seriously questioning if I’m still dreaming,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing my cheek. “You in my bed, waking me like that…hell, you in my bed at all.”
I can’t help but smile back, feeling a warmth spread through my chest that has nothing to do with the physical intimacy we just shared. “Not dreaming,” I whisper. “Very real.”
“You know,” he says, voice still rough from sleep and pleasure, “I had a whole plan for this morning.”
“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow, settling more comfortably against his chest. “What kind of plan?”
“The kind that involved me waking up first and making you breakfast in bed.” He traces lazy patterns on my bare shoulder. “Then taking my sweet time with you until you couldn’t remember your own name.”
I laugh softly. “I’m sorry I ruined your plans.”
“Completely derailed them.” He shifts us suddenly, flipping me onto my back with the kind of effortless strength that never fails to make my stomach flutter. “But that’s okay. I’m good at improvising.”
Sunlight filters through the curtains, landing across the rumpled sheets, the discarded clothes on the floor, the quiet proof that last night really happened. Finally, he exhales a slow breath above my head.
“So,” he says, voice still rough and low, “is this the part where we pretend we’re cool and casual about everything?”
I smile against his chest. “Oh, absolutely,” I say. “Very chill. Very ‘this-is-fine.’”
He snorts, the sound vibrating through me. “Okay, because I’m failing miserably.”
I tilt my head up to look at him. He’s watching me already, eyes soft and a little stunned, like he’s still wrapping his head around the fact that I’m here. That I stayed.
“Me too,” I admit.
