Marry Screw Kill(86)

“What are you doing? Trying to kill me?” I hum, trying to be patient.

“Turnaround is fair play,” she says with a wink. “Hush.”

After taking off my shirt, she moves to my belt, unbuckling and removing it.

She looks up at me with a smirk as she undoes my pants. She runs her hand down over me as she lowers my zipper. I’m coming undone, my breathing ragged.

Grabbing the edge of my waistband, she eases my pants down and follows with my boxer briefs. My dick springs out, pointing at her. He knows who he wants.

Reaching forward, she encloses her mouth around me. I toss my head back in ecstasy. Her mouth and tongue feel so f*cking good.

My hands weave through her silky hair, but I don’t pull. Instead, I move her loose strands out of the way so I can see her mouth working me over. She glances up at me, and our eyes meet.

The intensity in them overwhelms me. It’s a look of lust mixed with love. Combine that with her red lips surrounding me and I’m so damn close.

As much as I want her to keep this knee-buckling blowjob going, I need to bury myself deep inside her. Connect us as one. She deserves nothing less.

Bringing my hands under her chin, I lift her face up to look at me. She releases me with a question in her eye. Maybe a little worry, too.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asks, biting her lip. I smile down at her with all the love I gather in my heart.

“You’re perfect, Harlow.” I caress her cheek to reassure her. “I’ve dreamed of watching you move above me with your hair falling over your shoulders. That’s what I want. Are you okay with that?”

“God, yes.”

We progress to the bed and I lie on my back, gazing up at pure beauty. After putting on a condom, I’m inside her now. She moves and undulates against me like gentle waves at sea, in and out. My hands are free to explore and I wander over her curves as she makes love to me.

When she gazes down, the look in her eyes is my undoing. Her unleashed desire inflames me as much as her body, maybe even more.

We aren’t just having sex, we’re uniting in a way that feels sacred.

After a few more moves of her hips, I feel my orgasm building. I try to stave it off so I can bring her along with me again. I place my fingers on her clit and find her swollen from her last orgasm. Pressing against her, I move in slow circles, coordinating my movements with those of her hips.

“Hmmm,” Harlow says while rocking against me, “so close.”

“I’m waiting for you.”

I sit up and take over the motions, thrusting up as I pull her hips down. She contracts around me.

Bringing my mouth to a nipple, I suck, adding a little graze of my teeth, and she erupts. With a couple more pushes, pressure builds deep down inside me, then releases with an unimaginable force. Closing my eyes, I surrender to the ecstasy.

“Harlow,” I cry out, knowing she’s mine, and I’m hers.

I collapse back against the bed, bringing her with me in my arms. We lie there until our breathing slows. Minutes go by, and she goes limp in my arms. Brushing her hair aside, I see her eyes closed in sleep.

I loved her into unconsciousness.





Chapter Thirty-Four


Harlow



I spread my grandmother’s quilt over the green grass and flatten out the edges. A warm breeze rustles the shade tree above me. I chose this spot in the town center park to hide from the hot summer sun. For the last six weeks, I’ve come here almost daily to read and people watch. It’s been an inspiring place to write some new poems too.

A metro stop adjoins the park, bringing a steady stream of daily commuters to this quaint downtown. The streets are lined with little businesses catering to them. Bagel and coffee shops seem to outnumber all the others. An old-school cinema faces the park with its majestic art deco front.

Today may be the last time I visit my favorite place here in Park Ridge. I’m leaving to head to New York City in two days. I probably should be home getting ready for my move, but I wanted to come here one last time. I often wonder if my mother ever sat in this park like me.

A young couple sits on a bench close to me. I watch their interaction. He speaks, she laughs. She whispers in his ear, and he smiles. They are connected and paying attention to nothing else in their world, but each other.

I close my eyes and dream of Sin. Remember his handsome face, his glorious scent, and how his touch lights sparks over my skin. Two more days, and he won’t be a memory. He will be real, and mine.

I pull my leather journal, a gift from Sin, out of my backpack and open it to a clean page. I feel inspired to write about this park, maybe even something about the couple near me who appear to be very much in love.

As I’m digging around in my backpack for a pen, my cell phone buzzes. I pick it up, see it’s Sin calling, and accept his call.

“I was just thinking about you.” And your touch.

“Were you?” he asks in a playful tone.

“Always,” I add, because it’s true. “How’s your day?”

Sin has been back in New York City for six weeks now. He’s been adjusting to the intensity of med school. I’ve been adjusting to having him gone.

“Full day of classes, but I have a break before Gross Anatomy and wanted to hear your voice.” I start giggling, like all the other times he mentioned this class. The thought of looking at cadavers is gross to me. I would faint away on the floor for sure.