“Yes,” I said immediately. “Please.”
No other words were necessary. Not for the way he angled himself at my entrance and slipped all the way inside. Not for the rough delivery in which he stroked. Pounded. Lost control.
My body felt like his outlet, hismuse. And I felt reverent as I fell apart from him playing me, pinching my nipples while he was thrust deep inside me. Coming undone completely as he strummed my center and lost himself to the baser desires of his body.
When we were done, we stayed there for a second, maybe longer, as he pressed his entire body against mine. Kissing me until I literally had to beg for air. I like how he kissed me aftersex. Like he needed to sign a letter his body had just written to me.
It was consuming. So much so that, if I thought about it too much, it could become overwhelming. But instead of fighting the emotions falling over me, I let them bathe me. Let myself wash in the glow of being something transformed in someone’s eyes. Being exactly right for someone in something.
“Good?” I asked him in a shuddering breath.
“Fantastic,” he said. His eyes bore down into mine and I could tell he was trying to see more than he was able to in the dim lighting. “Sorry for the ambush.”
“It’s okay.” I bit my lip. “I liked it.”
He smiled, his nose coming down to rub against my own. “I could tell by your screams, sweetheart.”
I smacked his shoulder playfully, but it was weak. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I could stand straight on my own right now. Though I wouldn’t tell him that.
Wariness leaked through my gut as I took in his space. He hadn’t even turned the light on. Maybe this was one of those hit-it-and-quit-it sort of things.That’s what they called them, right?
“Should I… go?” I asked.
Darkness shadowed his brow as he looked at me. “You’re kidding?”
Slowly, I shook my head.
His eyes changed. If his teasing on the phone made me wonder if I was just a convenience for him, the look he was giving me now made me wonder the opposite. His words didn’t help to ease those suspicions. His throat bobbing slightly in a swallow.
“Is that all you came for?” he asked carefully.
It shouldn’t have been a hard question. But it was. Or rather, it was hard to admit. Because what did it even mean that no, I hadn’t just come here for his body?
That instead, I wanted to tell him about my day. I wanted to hearhis deep laughter or for him to tease me like he always did. I wanted him to turn on the lights and show me his space and the life he lived outside the lines of our little deal. Outside the lines where he was just my client, or I was just his student of sorts.
The truth was, I liked being around him. I always had. I thought he was funny and sweet and maybe a little gruff sometimes but only sometimes. Before, I thought he didn’t see me as an equal. I thought he only saw me as the same naive girl everyone else seemed to see.
I didn’t think that now. He was making it clear that he thought me capable of more than I even thought of myself. Stronger. And ever since that switch flipped, I found myself addicted to letting myself finally enjoy being around him.
I could have lied but looking at his eyes, I think he could already read me, and I didn’t feel like pretending right now.
Slowly, I let my head shake again, the truth of it heavier in my chest than I thought as I hung my heart on my sleeve waiting for his response
My dread was unwarranted. A moment later he smiled, becauseof coursehe smiled, and he kissed me. Speaking close to my lips, he said. “Then gimme your keys. I’ll pull your car into the garage.”
His house in the light was every bit as surprising as it was in the dark. Harper seemed like he’d be a modern guy—one of those stainless steel everywhere men who only used the color black in their decorating.
No. His place was warm. Bright. Accented everywhere with light wood colors and warm textured fabrics. And he had pictures everywhere. Not in the family portrait way but in the art way. Paintings and collages and drawings decorating the walls periodicallyin tasteful configurations. All his art was beautiful, but it was notable that he almost didn’t have any pictures of real people anywhere.
Almost.
There was one person he had a picture of near the entryway. A girl. Skin dark like his, hair long and deep brown like his too. She was a repeat offender, with a photo by herself, pictured holding up a certificate with the biggest grin on her face and another one with Harper, hopped onto his back with her hands spread high in the air.
They looked young in it, though Harper was still old enough to have some of that rugged handsomeness surfacing. He was looking up at her with love in his eyes, that much was obvious. Maybe adoration too. But strangely enough, he didn’t have any tattoos.
How long ago was this? And who was this girl to still have a hold on him after so long?
Given the grand tour, Harper showed me the majority of his place. It consisted of all the regular stuff—kitchen, living room, hallways and more rooms.
