Make Me Forget (Make Me, #1)(19)

The hair covering her sex was a dark copper, a few of the curls dampened from her arousal. The color of it was such a striking, erotic contrast to her white thighs. The vision of it drove him mad. He knelt and dipped his thumb into her cleft, rubbing her clit in a tight circle. She was wet and warm. He heard her whimpering in pleasure, but couldn’t pull his gaze off the sight of her *.

Enthralled, he drew closer and fisted his heavy erection. He rubbed the swollen crown between her sex lips, wetting himself with her. This time, her groan made him look up at her face. She slicked the tip of her tongue along the seam of lips that were as lush and pink as her glossy, fully exposed sex.

“Please,” she whispered. “Fill me up.”

Unbearably aroused, his fantasy flashed forward to driving into the soft, tight clasp of her body and staring down at her as her cheeks flushed red and her lips formed his name.

“Is it enough for you?” he snarled. He was on fire, enraptured by the jolt of her firm breasts as he thrust into her furiously, entranced by her eyes. “Is my cock enough for your little *?”

“Yes. It’s more than enough . . . it’s so good,” she managed, because in the fantasy, he took her harder. Faster, and her bound body rocked beneath him. She was his.

His for the taking. His to liberate . . . when he was ready.

In reality, his body flexed and strained as he jacked his cock with savage abandon. God, he needed this after seeing her tonight. Smelling her. Tasting her. As always, she was so close, and yet so far from him.

But not in his fantasy.

“You’re mine. Mine to do with as I please.”

“Yes,” she moaned feverishly.

“I’m going to come. I can’t stop it.” He grimaced, deep in the grip of the graphic fantasy. “I’m going to come on your beautiful * and then rub myself on you until you’re shaking right along with me.” Because of course, in his fantasy, there was no condom to separate them. Not even that thin barrier was allowed between Harper and him in the fires of his mind. “Would you like that, Harper?”

“Yes,” she moaned. But instead of sounding crazed and on the verge of climax, her acquiescence came out like a distressed whimper.

It stopped him dead in his tracks, ripping him out of his lurid fantasy.

His head jerked to the side. He saw the unmistakable, real-life form of Harper McFadden standing there, her body rimmed with moonlight. It’d been her whimper. Shit. He was held so fast in the grip of arousal that, for a moment, he wondered if his lust had somehow bidden her to him. The thought faded completely when he made out how pale and tense her face looked in the dim light . . . how stiff her posture was. Her gaze flickered downward over his body, and he became hyperaware of his throbbing cock squeezed tightly in his hand.

“I’m so sorry. I forgot my purse.”

He hardly registered her words. Instead, he heard the tremor in her voice. He knew what it meant. It was Harper, after all. They’d always been connected. Perhaps his out-of-control lust hadn’t called her here, but it did affect her now. Slowly, he released his erection and removed his hand from the wall. He turned away from the warmth of the shower toward her.

“You forget a lot of things. Or maybe you just want to forget.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Do you mean I forgot my purse on purpose?” she asked, sounding a little offended. She also sounded breathless. And she wasn’t avoiding looking at him. All of him. He could feel her stare on his cock.

“No.”

Fuck logic. It was as if in that moment, there was only one possible direction to take when it came to Harper, and it had nothing to do with rationality. He took a step toward her. He sensed her unease as he took another step, but her feet remained planted.

“I mean just what I said. I mean that you want to forget so many things. I can help you forget, Harper. You can help me forget some things, too. Maybe that’s why you came back.”

He honestly wasn’t sure if it was just bold, wishful thinking on his part, or an accurate guess at Harper’s intent. He didn’t have his true answer until he held out his hand, and she slowly walked toward him as if in a trance.

*

She was out of her mind. She knew it, but it didn’t stop her from walking toward the naked, moonlit form of Jacob Latimer. Nor did it halt her from lifting her hand to meet his.

His fingers felt long and warm and wet enfolding her. The shower water must have been hot. She had the electrifying thought that he grasped her with the same hand that had pumped his cock so furiously a moment ago. A tremor of mixed arousal, anxiety, and amazement went through her. She touched his damp face, moved by something she sensed in him.

“Why are you so . . .”

“What?”

She blinked at his tense query. Sad. Intense. Lonely? She thought those things, but she didn’t say them. How could she, when he was practically a stranger to her? Those weren’t things someone thought about a stranger, let alone said.

He doesn’t seem like a stranger. Mysterious, exciting, forbidden . . . yes. But not a stranger. She shook her head, bewildered.

“Shhh,” he murmured, obviously feeling her shudder. He pulled her against him, his arms surrounding her. His heavy cockhead bumped against her belly, but he pulled her closer still. It slid up further against her stomach, the rigid column of the shaft sandwiched between them. His flesh steamed into her. He was so hard. So large. Everywhere. She pressed her lips against a damp, dense pectoral muscle. Without telling herself to do so, she slicked her tongue against his warm skin, gathering water droplets. He grunted softly and clasped the back of her head, his fingers burrowing into her upswept hair.