Page 35 of Finding Home

The air freezes in my lungs and I have to work to keep my grip on her hand soft. My blood boils and rage surges through me. Her hand leaves mine, and the absence makes me feel like a kite that’s string broke. Drifting in a sea of rage. I knew she had been hurt, and I was pretty sure he wasn’t in the picture, but hearing it from her mouth sends me into a tailspin. Her hands come to my face, moving me to look at her. I resist at first, too consumed in my thoughts, but she pulls harder, and I give in.

“Jace, look at me. It all worked out. I was drowning in Maine. The pressure to keep up the carefully curated image my mom demanded was sucking the life out of me. Nothing I did was good enough. I couldn’t be who I wanted, live how I wanted. Hell, I couldn’t even pursue the degree I wanted. Getting pregnant and being forced to leave was the best thing that could have happened to me. You know she has never met her granddaughter? My dad didn’t even talk to me about it. Hell, I took a cab to the airport!”

“How?” I’m embarrassed at the tears in my voice. I shake my head and get control of my emotions. “She is missing out on knowing such an amazing kid. I can’t wrap my head around it. I hate that you’ve been hurt, but I’m grateful it led me to you. I can see the doubt flit through your eyes sometimes, the fear, but I will keep saying it every day if I need to, Harper. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, you are it for me. And Lizzie, I don’t think it’s any secret that she has me wrapped around her little finger. I’d do anything for you two.”

The first bars of “Bitter Sweet Symphony” play as Harper turns in my arms, wrapping herself around me, and rolling me onto my back, straddling my body. Her eyes are on fire, glassy from our conversation, but so clear, so vibrant, so sure. She removes my tee then slowly unbuttons the shirt she’s wearing, baring her beautiful body to me. Resting my hands behind my head and smiling up at her, I hand her the reins, letting her know she has full control.

Never breaking eye contact, she slides my boxers down and reaches between us, positioning me at her entrance before sinking down, taking me completely. The shudders running through me have nothing to do with the fall wind hitting the tent, and everything to do with the way this woman has me in a chokehold. Her hair cascades over her shoulders, just skimming the tops of her breasts. I’m incredibly happy that it isn’t long enough to cover them, because my girl has tits that belong on display like this. Watching her ride me, taking what she wants, and falling apart above me is now imprinted on my brain, and nothing will ever eclipse it. As we fall asleep, she’s tracing the lines of my tattoos with her fingers, idly, like she can't stop herself. And I have never felt so fucking content.

The soft pitter patter of rain on the canvas roof drags me from sleep. I fight it, too warm and content, not ready for it to be over. Not ready for this bubble we created to pop, and the real world to re-enter. Harper is still asleep. Her chestnut hair on display as it fans out around her head. Burying my face in it, I breathe in her scent. It’s still dark out, but no longer pitch black, telling me dawn is on its way. Neither of us slept much, waking up all through the night, insatiable in our need to claim one another again and again. I know she will want to be home when Lizzie wakes up.

My cock is ready for her again, but after how many times we came together, I worry she will be sore. Fuck, I hope she is just a little. I want her reminded of me every time she moves, with every twinge of discomfort bringing back the memory of the pleasure we found together. Slipping beneath the blankets, I find her center already wet and ready for me.

Gently, I begin running my tongue through her folds, loving the way she reacts even in sleep. A soft moaning reaches my ears, and I smile into her pussy, loving that I get to wake her up like this. Soon, her hands are in my hair, and her hips are undulating, riding my face. In no time, she comes. Not loud with screams like so many times last night, but moaning my name, a litany on her lips, over and over. For the second time in my adult life, I come in my pants, reveling in what she can do to me.

“Good morning to you, too, Jace.” She laughs when she can breathe again. Crawling up her body, I find her lips.

“Good morning, beautiful. It’s early, but I thought you might want to get home before Lizzie wakes up.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t wake me with an orgasm. I’m not sure my legs will work after last night.”

With a self-satisfied smile on my face, I pull her to me, rolling us, loving the way her body molds to mine, like it was made to be with me. Eventually, we get up and dress, never going long between touching or kissing.

“Harper,” I stop her as she starts folding blankets, tidying the tent, “let me take care of that later. I want you to be home when Lizzie wakes.”

“You’re too good to us, Jace.” Popping up on her tiptoes, she kisses me with her arms wrapped around my neck.

On the drive home, I remember something about our conversation from the night before. “Hey, babe,” I bring her hand that’s clasped in mine to my lips for a quick kiss, “last night, you mentioned not being allowed to study what you wanted in college. What did you want to study, and what did you actually study? I don’t think you’ve mentioned that ever.”

“Photography,” she says almost dreamily. “I was obsessed with photography in high school. Not necessarily with photographing people, you know, for family pictures and stuff. I wanted to photograph nature, or people in candid situations. I wanted to tell a story from behind the lens.”

“That wasn't an acceptable career path?” I ask, genuinely surprised.

“No, I wasn’t raised to actually want a job or career. I was supposed to be a little Stepford wife—prim, proper, and educated in the arts, but not actually perform or be employed in them. I was allowed to study art history and theory.” She rolls her eyes at that.

“I would not have fit in your world.” I shake my head, trying to imagine growing up like that.

“Good!” She laughs, scooting closer, and I’m very glad I drive a truck, so there is nothing between us.

“My turn,” she chimes happily. “Your tattoos. First, I’m obsessed, but when did you get your first? And do they have any significance or meaning?”

“Let’s see…I got my first tattoo, the one on my chest, when I was sixteen.”

“What? Your parents were okay with that?” she gasps.

“Not even a little! My mom was furious.” I laugh, remembering. “My buddy and I got fake IDs and did it without telling her. She didn’t find out for over eight months. Until we went to the lake, and like an idiot, I forgot and took off my shirt in front of her. She stormed across the dock and smacked my chest hard. I made it worse by laughing.”

“Oh, I can imagine.” Harper laughs, too. “What was so important about getting one that you went to all that trouble to get it instead of waiting until you were eighteen?”

“My best friend’s older brother had some struggles. He had bipolar disorder and they had been trying some new medications for it, but he didn’t tolerate them well and ended up taking his own life.” Harper sucks in a breath, moving closer somehow, squeezing my hand. “It was rough, and Jackson wanted to get a memorial tattoo on the anniversary of his death. Lee, his brother, had always loved Greek Mythology, so we both got a Trident on our chest to match the one he had gotten on his eighteenth birthday. Mom was pissed that I had marred my, according to her, perfect beautiful skin, but when she recognized it, she burst into tears, hugging me. Then smacking the back of my head saying, ‘It’s a beautiful tribute, you little shit!’”

“I think I would like your mom.” Harper laughs, just as my phone chimes. It’s in a holder on the dash, and when it lights up showing three missed calls and six texts, she gasps, grabbing my phone.

“Speak of the devil.” I laugh, seeing the word Mom flash on the screen.

“Jace! Are you ignoring your mom? What if it’s an emergency?”

“It’s not.” I laugh, I can’t help it, she’s so riled up. “They want to make sure I’m going to be at our family dinner next weekend. We have one every month at my folks’ house in Washington, and I have missed the last few. She threatened to come down and drag me back by my ear if I skipped again. This is her holding to her threat.”