Harry holds me to his chest and stays deep inside me. It’s just what I need, and he is perfectly gentle and calm.
After pulling gently out, Harry lies on his back next to me. He then pulls me to his chest, and I lie on him for what seems like an hour.
Finally, in the moonlight, I roll onto my side. The massive four-poster bed is large and soft, and Harry holds me from behind. His hand finds mine, and we hold each other close.
As if this, as if us…
Will never end.
31
SAMANTHA
The sun wakes us, streaming into the huge penthouse apartment in the chateau. I roll out of the high four-poster bed and walk to the tall windows.
I see it is sunny as I stand naked in the cleansing light. I feel movement in the room, and then I hear feet.
A minute later, Harry holds me from behind.
His large body is warm, protective, and strong. His thick cock is also pressed against my butt and rising.
“Morning,” he says against my soft neck. His voice is slow, low, and deep. As he wraps his big arms around me, he nuzzles my neck and hair. It feels nice; he feels perfect.
“Morning,” I say.
“Thanks for last night, and sorry to, ummm…”
“Mess with me?” I ask.
“Yes, I guess.”
I turn, and Harry holds me in his strong arms. “Well, just know that one day I will get you back.”
Harry raises a brow, then he holds my chin. “Oh, will you just?”
A bell rings, and we share a look. “That’s kind of early for William to send a message, no?”
“It is,” Harry says with a serious tone.
“Everything alright?” I ask. I move before Harry, intrigued, and I walk to the old pipe communication system near Harry’s four-poster bed. I get the note as Harry walks to a coffee and tea area.
It is next to old leather-bound books, and I do a three-sixty, taking in his rooftop apartment. “Nice place, Master Harry.”
It really is, and in fact, it’s spectacular.
Old oil paintings, statues, lake views, candelabras, antiques, and leather couches fill out the classy space. What looks like a cool office area is through a gap behind more statues.
Harry adjusts a fancy coffee machine as I walk back, naked, with his note.
“You read it,” Harry says, focused on making coffees.
I climb cat-like onto an old brown leather couch and curl my feet under me.
“Dear Master Harry,” I say, in my best Old English accent. “As per the ancient tradition, it is the day.”
“Oh, God,” Harry says, freezing.
“What day?” I ask, worried.
