Dirty Rowdy Thing (Wild Seasons, #2)(84)

She’s staring right at my face, straight into my eyes; our faces are close enough that we’re sharing a breath, back and forth. I lift my chin just slightly and I’m kissing her, and it’s too intense somehow but I can’t look away. I’ve never felt this. I want to tell her that but it sounds clichéd and plain. This feeling is so much larger than some trite words like never before and no one else.

“You’re it for me,” I tell her.

“Yeah.” She nods, her upper lip glistening in the warm room and maybe also under the strain of this shared tension, this need to move and dig deeper and feel. I’m just terrified if I pull back even once, I’m coming.

Harlow writhes beneath me, rubbing and f*cking up into me and I’m holding still, trying to keep my shit together but it’s a losing battle. It’s not going to take long for either of us. I’m so hard I’m nearly busting in her. She’s swollen, hot and so f*cking wet and I can tell by the flush of her chest that she could get off in under a minute rubbing on me like this.

She plants her heels into the bed and arches as I slide my hands beneath her shoulders, digging my hands into her hair, pressing my face into the damp strands. And then, under me, covered by me and filled full of me, Harlow f*cks me like nothing I’ve ever had in my life. With her nails digging into my ass to hold me still, she circles and rocks up and grips me so tight—her body sucking all around me so wet, so good, holy f*ck—gasping into my neck as she moves and growls and rubs herself right where she needs it, squeezing and tugging my cock while she gets herself off on me. She’s grinding, I’m shoved in deep, and her mouth is pressed right to my ear like she’s pushing every word in there, giving them only to me.

“So good,” she gasps. “God, it’s so good.”

I’m barely hanging on; just waiting to hear the sound of her quick breaths and hungry little gasps that will tell me she’s coming. “Get there,” I manage.

She hiccups, and moans, nails digging into my skin, and with a relieved exhale, she comes so hard she shakes in my arms, pulling me over the edge with her. I can’t be still anymore. I pull back and stab back in, f*cking her hard now in long, urgent strokes as I start to come and she cries out into my neck.

I don’t want it to be over. I don’t want to move off her but for as long as her legs are, she easily weighs eighty pounds less than I do and so I roll to the side, falling beside her on the mattress.

“You know how gross hotel comforters are, right?” she says, breathless.

I close my eyes, still feeling warm and liquid beneath my skin. “What?”

“People who have sex in hotels—”

I reach over; press my palm over her mouth. “Shh.”

She giggles under my cupped hand and licks me and f*ck, I’m over her again, tickling and pulling her arms over her head and sucking at her jaw and her neck and her breasts. The relief hits me in a burst, like the wind has knocked open the window and blown across the bed: I’m here with her. The business may not have been saved in the way I wanted, but we won’t lose our boats. My life is moving forward and I have the love of my life naked beneath me and everything will be okay.

But then I halt my mental uncoiling, because there’s one thing we haven’t discussed at all. “How’s your mom?”

She stills under me, giving me a look that tells me the best time to ask this was maybe not when I was nuzzling my face between her breasts.

“Sorry, I swear I wasn’t thinking about your mom’s chest. I was thinking about how relieved I am and how everything seems to be sorting out, and then I thought about what you’re going through. We haven’t talked about it yet.”

Harlow pulls my face up to hers and kisses me so thoroughly I have to pull away to get some air.

“Thanks for asking me that.”

“Well?”

“Let’s get dressed,” she says. “We can talk about it over beers.”

She stands, and I follow her into the bathroom, sitting on the lowered toilet seat and running my hands up her legs, resting my head on her navel while she rubs some lotion on her face, ties her hair up in a messy bun. Now she smells like she did before, but also like the clean smell of her sweat and sex.

“You’re thinking about how much you love me right now, aren’t you?” she asks.

“Yep.” I run my palm over her hip and between her legs. She shivers when I slip my middle finger into her, stroking slowly. Kissing her stomach, I mumble, “Fuck. Fuck that’s hot.”

“What?”

I look up at her. “I can feel my come in you.”

This makes her laugh. “You’re a dirty, dirty man.” But she doesn’t step away. And she can’t hide the way her chest flushes and nipples grow tight.

“I like it,” I admit. I want to see it. I don’t admit that yet, though I don’t know why. Maybe because if I give voice to the thought, I know we’ll never leave this room tonight.

Her hands slide into my hair. “I like it, too. I like a lot of things I didn’t know before.”

There’s a moment where I wonder if she’s talking about the sex, or the rope, or something else, something bigger. Stepping away, she reaches for a washcloth and holds it under the faucet. “But don’t get any ideas. You’re taking me out.”