I didn’t want to go to sleep. I wanted to do this all night.
Owen: Go to sleep, Harlow.
Harlow: I need a shower first. Someone made me stand in a cold parking lot for like ten minutes.
Owen: It was five minutes.
Harlow: Felt like ten.
Owen: Drama queen.
Harlow: Good night, Owen.
Owen: Night, Har.
I set the phone down, still smiling like an idiot.
She said she needed a shower, and now that image was lodged in my brain. Harlow in the shower, steam curling around her, water trailing down the curve of her back to that little heart tattoo I definitely shouldn’t have been looking at that morning...
That morning.
The morning after Jax’s bachelor party, when she walked out of my bathroom wrapped in my towel, blonde hair dripping onto bare shoulders, looking at me with those wide blue eyes like she wasn’t sure if she should run or stay.
The morning that had changed everything between us.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, but it didn’t help. The image was burned in. Her, silhouetted in the doorway. The steam was rolling out around her. The way my body wash had smelled different on her skin.
I closed my eyes as my hand traveled down my chest, stopping at my waistband. My cock throbbed against the fabric of my shorts, a hard, insistent pulse that mimicked the frantic beat of my heart.
Harlow.
That memory, the one I tried to bury under logic and loyalty, surged forward. She stood in my bathroom doorway, wrapped in white terrycloth too big for her frame, gaping slightly where she held it at her chest. Water beaded down her collarbone. Steam surrounded her, carrying the scent of my soap on her skin.
My breath hitched as my fingers slipped beneath the elastic. I wrapped my hand around myself, hissing at the contact. Already slick, already sensitive. One slow stroke, and a groan tore from my throat.
I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to.
My mind shifted, the memory deepening, twisting into the fantasy I barely dared to entertain. It wasn’t just her standing there anymore. She was on her knees on the cold tile of my bathroom floor, looking up at me with those ocean-blue eyes, her lips parted.
In this version, I didn’t hesitate. I stepped forward, fingers tangling in her damp hair. She leaned into the touch, her cheek nuzzling my thigh. The towel fell away, my world narrowing to the heat of her breath.
“Owen,” she whispered.
Lifting my hips, I shoved down my shorts with my free hand so I could move faster. In my mind, her mouth wrapped around me, taking me deep. Velvet heat, the flick of her tongue, her throat opening. I fucked into my fist, imagining it was her.
“God, Harlow.”
Her hands gripped my hips, nails digging in. She looked up, gaze locked on mine as she took me deeper, swallowed around me. Pleasure ripped through me, and my hips jerked.
Just like that. Don’t stop.
She set a ruthless pace. Pleasure coiled desperately in my gut. My breathing turned ragged. Every muscle clenched. All that existed was the building pressure and the filthy sounds filling the silence.
“I’m gonna…”
She hummed, the vibration traveling up my spine, as she took me deeper.
The orgasm ripped through me, and my back arched as I came, my release pulsing hot across my stomach.
