Mister O(72)

Electricity crackles down my body as I start to push in. I fight back the urge to tell her everything I feel. To let her know that this isn’t just my first time without a condom.

That it’s another first.

A bigger first. One that means so much more than the purity of pleasure. One that could tip over my future and turn it into a whole new color.

I ease into her.

“Harper,” I groan. “This is . . .”

Words fail me. There just aren’t any to convey how immense it feels to slide inside her. She wraps her legs around me, and, like that, I fill her completely. I brace myself above her as the sheer intensity of the pleasure ripples through me. I stare down at her face—her lips falling open, her blue eyes glossy as she looks into mine. God, this is almost too much. But I crave it like oxygen, this connection to her.

I thrust, and she rises up. I stroke into her, and she takes me deeper. We find a perfect rhythm, wrapped in silence for the first time. For two talkers, we’re speechless, and I can’t think of anything else to say. I can only feel. The heat of her body. The beating of her heart. The softness of her breath on my face as I lower to my forearms. She hooks her ankles tighter, and I pump harder, deeper.

She moves beneath me, our bodies like magnets seeking their opposites. “What are you doing to me?” I say on a thrust.

“The same thing you’re doing to me,” she says, running her fingernails up my back as she arches her hips.

“Tell me you feel it, too.” I grit my teeth because it’s so f*cking good, and I’m so goddamn close, and no way am I firing early.

“Yes, God, yes,” she cries out, and that’s as much of a confirmation as I’m getting or seeking right now. She rocks up into me, hunting for more, and I give it to her. I give her everything she wants, taking her harder, because I want it, too. This deep connection. The physical that’s so much more. I wrap my arms around her, and she pulls me even closer. We’re chest to chest as my hands slide up into her hair.

“I don’t want it to end,” she moans.

“Oh God,” I say, as a wave of pleasure crashes into me. Her words. They wreck me. They ruin me. “Please come. Please f*cking come now.”

I quicken the pace as desire assaults me. She clutches my shoulders then my face, running her hand over my beard as I f*ck her and make love to her at the same damn time. She’s so free with me, such a crazed little sexy thing, needy and hungry, as I ride her to the edge.

She buries her face in my neck, kissing me all sloppy and messy as her breathing turns wild, then she calls my name. The sound of it on her lips sends a charge across my skin. She cries out under me until she’s boneless, senseless, and falling into me. That’s how she feels. At last, I’m free to chase her there, and it’s such a relief as my orgasm pulses through me, rippling in waves, gripping me as my shoulders shake, and my whole body jerks.

I groan, still high on her, breathing out hard. Another exhale, as I start to come down.

“I don’t want this to end, either,” I say, and my mouth claims hers. If I don’t kiss her, I’ll tell her, and now’s not the time. She made that clear a few weeks ago, and I love her quirks. I swallow all the words with my lips on hers, but the whole time, they play in my head.

I’m so f*cking in love with her, I can’t stand the thought of this ending.

A few minutes later, I roll out of bed, and head to the bathroom to clean up. Grabbing a washcloth, I wet an end with warm water and return to her, all stretched out and sleepy-beautiful on my bed. Gently, I clean her, and she shoots me a sweet smile.

“Thank you,” she murmurs and rolls to her side. I toss the washcloth in the hamper, slide into bed with her and pull up the covers. She’s spending the night with me for the first time, and I hope it will be the first of many. I loop my arms around her and bring her close.

“I have nothing left to teach you,” I say softly. “Maybe we’re done with the teaching and it can just be us?”

She murmurs something that sounds like yes, then in seconds she’s asleep.

I kiss her hair, run my fingers through it, knowing that tomorrow we can figure out what this means exactly. I can say the words in daylight, since I know that’s how she wants it.

When I tell Harper, there needs to be no question about it for her. Harper knows I love sleeping with her. Harper knows she turns me on like crazy. I can’t risk her thinking it’s the endorphins steering the ship. The words I want to say need the weight of the sun behind them, not the wispy dark of moonlight.

Tomorrow, I’ll tell her everything, and I’ll have to tell her brother, too, that I’ve fallen wildly, madly, relentlessly in love with my best friend’s sister, and I can’t imagine living without her.

As her breath ghosts over my arm in a steady, even pace, I practice. Kissing her hair, I whisper, “I love you, Harper Holiday.”





34





Harper is a champion sleeper. I’ve never seen someone snooze like she can.

She’s killing it in the starfish competition, too, and I’m not surprised at all, given the way she alternated all night long between octopussing me, and kicking me with her wild, wiggly legs as she slept.

Good thing I have a king-sized bed.

But even with all that flipping and flopping, the woman hasn’t stirred once. Not to pee. Not to yawn. Not to raise an eyelid or burrow deeper under the covers.