Dirty Rowdy Thing (Wild Seasons, #2)(83)

“Don’t get dressed.”

Harlow stops, backing into the wall. I slow a little, taking the last few steps to her over the span of what feels like a million rapid-fire heartbeats. I can see her pulse in her throat.

“Finn.” She leans her head back against the wall, looking up at me as I step so close I’m only a few inches away from her.

“You love me?” I reach forward, finger the tie at her waist.

“Yeah, you idiot.” She licks her lips, and then bites the lower one because, f*ck, she knows it makes me hard. “I told you that already. You think it goes away after a few days, like a temporary tattoo?”

Laughing, I bend, pushing the heavy terry cloth aside to kiss her collarbone. She smells like shampoo and the soft smell I couldn’t forget in a million years: honeysuckle and warm stone, Harlow and mine.

I loosen the knot at her waist and pull her robe open, groaning at the sight of her bare skin, golden and smooth.

Her eyes close and she moans hoarsely when I run my palms from her hips to her breasts and back again, pulling her forward into me.

“I’m sorry,” I say into the warm skin of her neck. “I’m glad we’re not rehashing, but I want to say it anyway. I’m sorry I split town, I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you yesterday. And I’m so f*cking sorry I didn’t call to find out if we were pregnant.”

She pushes me away so that she can look up at my face. “ ‘We’?”

“Fuck, Harlow, you didn’t do it alone.”

Laughing, she agrees with a nod. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Baby, that was two weeks of f*cking miserable.”

She falls silent, pressing her face into my neck. After a few seconds, she hiccups and nods wordlessly and I realize . . . she’s crying.

I pull back to look at her, cupping her face. “Hey . . . no, don’t. I—”

“I thought it was done,” she says. I wipe my thumbs over her cheeks. “At the boat? I thought you were done with me. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get over you. I’ve never had to get over someone before.”

“I wouldn’t have let it be done.”

“You left, though.” She looks up at me and two more tears run down her cheeks. “You just left and then wouldn’t talk to me and it was terrifying because with you I realized I’m that person who finds their guy and that’s it.”

My chest twists and I tug my shirt over my head in a rush before pulling her against me. I need her skin on mine, need to get my heart as close to hers as possible, and she shrugs out of her robe, pressing into my heat, her arms going around my neck.

The Harlow everyone sees is a force to be reckoned with. This vulnerable Harlow is rare. She’s just told me she feels what I feel—this is it, I’ve found my girl and that’s it—and I don’t want to f*ck it up with her.

“We talk about everything,” she promises into my shoulder. “And you don’t ever leave me like that again. Promise me.”

“I promise.” I pull back and kiss her, a glancing touch across her lips. I mean it to be small, a seal on a promise, but her mouth opens and the sound that escapes is a sob mixed with a moan and f*ck me, it’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard her make because it’s so raw.

In an instant her tongue is sliding over my lips, my teeth, my tongue and her pleading little noises are filling my head. She slides her hands down my body and presses her palm to the front of my jeans and I was already quickly getting there but under her touch I harden, needing her so much it feels like a match has been lit beneath my skin.

She slips free the buttons and digs her hand in, under my boxers, and, with a tight gasp, curls her hand around my shaft. I need my f*cking jeans down at my ankles and her legs up around my waist.

I need her skin and her sounds and the sharp burst of her breath on my neck. I need her taste on my tongue and— “I’m on the pill now,” she says between her wild, sucking kisses. “I started it the day I got my period.”

“Jesus f*ck,” I groan. “There is no better combination of words in the history of time.”

She laughs, shoving my jeans down, and I kick them off with my shoes, stumbling against her and pressing her into the wall.

“I’ll be slow later,” I tell her, reaching between her legs. My fingers slide across her clit, down into the unbelievable slickness. Fuck me. “Later, I’ll take my time but I just—”

“Stop talking,” she says on a tight exhale. “I know.”

Lifting her, I pull her legs around my waist and she holds herself there, watching me reach between us, rub the head of my cock over her. Up and down, barely in—f*ck, f*ck—barely out again.

“Look at that.”

She sucks in a tight breath. “I’m looking.”

The slight give of her body as I ease just in and out is a torture of bliss. My arms are shaking with how much I want to pound into her but she mistakes restraint for strain: “I realize this hotel thing is a novelty, but this one does come with a bed.”

Laughing, I walk the two steps over to it and lower her onto her back, following closely so I don’t lose the feel of her for one single second.

Her legs come around my hips and she pulls me down and in, guiding me inside her so f*cking slow and hot, I have to stop when my hips meet her thighs because honest to God I could come right this f*cking second.