I yank open the door and there he is. Harrison stands in the dimly lit hallway, silhouetted by the light streaming from the city lights outside, looking impossibly handsome in jeans and long-sleeved Anaheim Stars T-shirt and a team ballcap on his head, the brim pushed low so I can barely see his eyes.
“What are you doing he?—”
“Shhh.” He places his finger across my lips, and his other hand snakes around my waist as he walks me back inside. The mere closeness of him heats my body from the inside out making me hyperaware of how many times my body has craved this exact closeness. He stops the door with his foot and let’s it click shut as quietly as possible, I assume trying not to wake Connor.
“He asleep?” he asks, his warm breath washing over my cheek sending butterflies spiraling through my stomach.
I nod silently.
“Good.” He studies my face, those piercing blue eyes searching mine like they’re trying to unravel a mystery he’s been pondering for years. I can feel every heartbeat pulsing between us. I swallow hard as I step back slightly, but his hand tightens around my waist, drawing me closer. “Don’t,” he whispers, though it’s less of a command and more of a plea.
“What are you doing here?” I manage to ask, but it comes out breathy, like the question is more a wish than genuine curiosity.
“I wanted to see you one last time before I have to go,” he whispers. The way his gaze dances over my face makes my heart race. “I just…I really needed to taste you…one more time.”
The gravity of his words sinks into my bones, sending warmth flooding through me. “H?—”
“Please…” he interrupts gently, brushing a thumb across my cheek. “Let me.” My breath hitches as I feel the heat radiating off him, pulling me closer, inviting me to forget the world outside for just a moment.
Before I can respond, he grabs the bill of his hat and turns it around and then he leans in, his intent clear as he brushes his lips against mine. It’s gentle at first, an exploration, a question wrapped in comfort and unspoken longing. My heart thunders in my chest, and instinctively, I melt against him leaning into the kiss, feeling the soft press of his mouth to mine, tasting the lingering sweetness of the moment.
And then the air shifts.
Because I want more.
No, Ineedmore.
I’m desperately craving it.
I grip his face with my hands and kiss him back, hard. My tongue meeting his stroke for stroke. His fingers dig into my skin, playing with the waistband of my sleep shorts and it’s all I can do not to beg him to slip his hand inside and touch me. His thumb swipes up just underneath my breast and his chest rumbles with a low growl the moment he realizes I’m not wearing a bra.
God, I’ve missed his mouth.
I’ve missed his hands on my body, the comfort and ease that washes over me when he’s close to me. I’ve missed the way his tongue gently plays with mine, licking, stroking, teasing, before he becomes ravenous and possessive. Like he’s playing with his food before he eats it.
I want him to play with me now.
I want it so badly I can taste it.
I want him to rip my clothes off and explore my body with his tongue. I want to feel his soft touch on my skin. I want to push my fingers through his hair and remember what it feels like to have his face between my legs, devouring me like I’m his one and only meal.
I want to make him feel good too. I want to pleasure him until he can’t see straight. Apologize over and over again with my hands, my lips, my body. I want to feel his cock inside me again. The stiff member I feel between us now, I want it. I want it all.
I want him.
Our mouths collide with the urgency of two drowning people gasping for air. Each stroke of his tongue against mine feels like he’s reclaiming something stolen; ten years of mornings and nights, of casual touches and familiar tastes, of pleasured moans and raging orgasms. My heart pounds against my ribs as I press closer. The thought flashes through me that this kiss, this intimate moment between us could end quickly and that’s the last thing I want. So, I kiss him harder, desperately, as if I could somehow fold all those lost years into this one breathless encounter.
When we finally break apart he leans his forehead against mine, leaving just enough space between us so that I can see the emotion in his eyes, surprise mixed with a tenderness I remember him always having. Our chests heave and I arch against him, my body saying what my voice can’t.I’m yours if you want me.His gaze drops to where my tank top clings to my chest, my hardened peaks making an appearance. The muscles in his throat work as he swallows, conflict etched across his features, desire warring with something that looks almost like fear.
“It’s okay, H…”
“No,” he murmurs, shaking his head, his eyes squeezed closed as if he knows he’s regretting his answer already.
“But—”
“Not now. Not like this.”
“You don’t want me?” I can’t hide the disappointment from my voice no matter how hard I try. Hell, it’s all I can do to keep my chin from quivering.
