Harrison claimed my lips again, his kiss hungrier, more demanding. And I was happy to give him whatever he wanted.
My hands moved between us, working his buttons free one by one. Then I pushed the material off his shoulders and pressed myself to his chest.
My skin pricked.
My breath caught and flipped.
It was too much, and not nearly enough.
As if sensing the thought, Harrison reached for me, turned me, pressed his chest to my back.
Then his hands were moving over me again, brushing, squeezing, flicking.
One hand slid between my thighs, thumb teasing my clit as two fingers thrust inside me.
My cry spread through my chest before bursting out—needy, desperate.
He gave me just what I needed, his fingers thrusting hard, deep, fast.
My head fell back on his shoulder, my lips pressing together, muffling my sounds.
“No,” he said, voice rough and velvety at the same time, “don’t hide it. I want to hear what I’m doing to you.”
A pleasant ache bloomed where restraint used to be.
And then I let him know how much I liked what he was doing, my whimpers and moans and quiet pleading filling the hallway as he kept thrusting his fingers inside me.
“Harrison, please,” I cried, reaching backward. My hand reached into his pants, closing around the hard proof of his desire and stroking him. “Please,” I begged.
A throaty groan escaped him as he reached back, fiddling with his wallet until he found protection.
I lost his fingers, but the disappointment was softened by the knowledge of getting something infinitely better.
Finished protecting us, he shifted closer. His thickness nudged me open. Then he pressed into me with a low growl that was muffled by my cry.
Every nerve screamed for more.
And he was happy to oblige, his hips dropping, then rocking back into me, making me feel each thick inch.
His hand moved between my thighs, working my clit as he moved inside me, his movements getting more insistent with each passing second.
Thinking felt optional right then, but something in me screamed that it was dangerous to want this much, to need someone so entirely.
But I had no choice but to surrender to the sensations coursing through me.
“Harrison,” I whimpered, though I didn’t know what I was asking for.
“Say my name like that again,” he demanded, his teeth nipping my earlobe.
“Harrison,” I cried, that deep, hard first pulse of pleasure.
My body clenched around him.
Then the pleasure broke.
I gave in to it completely, lost in the flood of sensation and need.
Each inhale felt charged, like breathing too close to a flame, but I couldn’t resist the heat.
