Page 69 of Freefall

“Harper. Stop.”

“No, please.”

The plea in her voice tests every ounce of my resolve. I tighten my grip on the phone, fighting the urge to give in. It would be so fucking easy. One word from me, and I could listen to her fall apart. But that’s not what I want, and I know deep down it’s not what she wants either.

“Stop right now, or you won’t get to come for a week.”

Silence.

Then there’s a huff of frustration followed by a string of curses, most of them directed at me. A dark chuckle works its way up my throat.

“Fuck you,” she hisses for the second or third time.

That only makes my grin widen. I settle deeper into the mattress and listen as she tries to get herself back under control. Her breathing is still uneven at first, frustration threaded through every exhale, but finally the frantic edge disappears.

I make myself wait until I’m certain I’ve dragged her far enough back from the edge.

“Again.”

She makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper.

If I had it my way, I’d drag this out until neither of us could fucking stand it anymore, if only to hear the neediness wrapping around every word she says like a vine. There’s something addictive about knowing I can unravel her from miles away with nothing but my voice. But I have no idea how much time we have, and I don’t want to waste a second.

Harper works herself back toward the edge, and all the while, I tell her what to do.

Where to touch.

How hard.

How fast.

I hear the exact moment it happens. Her breathing changes, turning shallow and uneven, and those desperate little sounds start catching in her throat like she can’t decide whether to stifle them or let me hear.

“Nate…”

My name comes out somewhere between a curse and a prayer.

“Can I…please?”

I don’t answer, letting the uncertainty linger for one more second, even though every part of me anticipates what comes next almost as much as she does.

“Sir.”

The word is so soft that I almost think I imagined it, but it doesn’t matter if I did. Any thought of making her wait disappears.

“Come for me, Dani.”

Her cry breaks through the phone, sharp and breathless, a mixture of relief and pleasure. Then a chant of “thank you” spills out, the words tumbling over and over until she finally falls quiet. For a few seconds, all I hear is breathing. Then, softly, “God, I didn’t realize how badly I needed that.”

Hours later, that phone call with Harper is still playing on a loop in my head.

Get it together, Nate.

I drag a hand down my face and stare at the front door of the guesthouse. This shouldn’t make me nervous. I’ve seen Daisy a few times this past week. But this is different.

Tonight, it’s just us.

No Harper. No teachers hovering nearby. No one to step in if I screw something up.