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He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his muscular chest. His manly scent fills my nostrils, a mixture of laundry detergent and his sweet aftershave, and I’m a goner. If Nate were to bend me over the bar right now, I wouldn’t stop him. I want him so bad my lip trembles along with the rest of my body. My heart hammers against my ribcage like it’s ready to make a prison break.
“Harley, we’re ready for you,” Callie calls out from across the room.
“Open your presents,” Nate growls against the shell of my ear, nibbling on the lobe. I bite my lip to stifle my moan. “Then, we’re fucking in the treehouse. I know your panties are soaked through for me. I know you want my cock, Queen. And you’re gonna get it, too. Years of pent-up sexual tension. Years of waiting patiently to be inside you, to feel you. You will feel me every time you move for the next week. You’ll never want another cock again.”
A gasp falls from my lips.
I couldn’t think of a better memory to create with Nate. He should have been my first. I should have been his. And if everything works out, we will be each other’s last. I want it all with Nate, every kiss, every touch.
“Nate…” My protest dies in my throat.
He looks like he’s possessed when our eyes meet. “You. Are. Mine. And I want everyone to know it, Queen. Until death do us part.”
Chapter Nineteen
Nate
The animal came out to play. Harley doesn’t know this side of me yet, but she will. Soon. I blame it on the light-blue dress that hugs her curves. Every time she sways her hips, the damn fabric brushes against my thigh, reminding me how easy it would be to slip my hand beneath it. To rip it from her body. When she laughs, the thin strap on her left shoulder slides down her arm. My eyes instantly fall to her freckled skin, and I can’t stop myself from fixing the strap back into place. Anything to touch her.
Harley leans forward in her chair, giving me a quick view of her tits as she lifts another box from the floor. I feel like I’m going to spontaneously combust with each second that passes. What the hell is wrong with me today? Is it because Callie banned real alcohol at this party? Nah, I’m not an alcoholic, though I do like to drink. Maybe it’s the fact I have waited years to have her. Years of envisioning the sounds she would make. How she would taste on my tongue.
Jerking off to the same woman for the last twelve years does something to a man. And not in a good way. My cock swells every time she’s close. It’s as if Harley’s body is a goddamn Bat-Signal, sending out a distress call to summon my cock. She’d laugh if I told her that, since she’s named after the girlfriend of Batman’s biggest rival, the Joker.
Harley is only halfway through opening the massive stack of presents. I feel like we’re at an Italian wedding, each gift more lavish than the last. Our guests spared no expense, Carl Voss and his wife, Sonja, included. Because of the generosity of our new investors, we’re going on an all-inclusive trip to Fiji.
“Oh, my God,” Harley says when she opens Jules’ present.
I need to high-five Jules for picking out the skankiest lingerie I have ever seen. Seriously, thank you, Jules. The white lace leaves zero to the imagination, perfectly see-through. Harley’s eyes find mine, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She stuffs the lingerie back into the bag, her chest rising and falling, unable to look at our guests. Stefan, of course, has to be a dick. He raises his fingers to his mouth and whistles. Harley closes her eyes and visibly cringes.
“Thank you, Jules,” Harley says after she collects herself, setting the bag on the floor. “But that was… umm. Yeah, anyway, next…” She extends her hands to Callie, who gives her a box wrapped in white and gold paper.
The rest of the gifts are the standard wedding shit you would expect. Silver picture frames, crystal cake sets, Swarovski champagne flutes, and a bunch of useless crap we will never use. Sweat dots Harley’s forehead by the time she tears the paper from the last gift.
She lets out a relieved breath as she approaches me. Her hair is curled at the ends, styled into a low ponytail that rests over her left breast. Willow called Harley before we left for the party, guiding Harley through the process of doing her hair. Harley couldn’t have cared less if she wore a single speck of makeup. But since Willow sent her the cerulean dress, she begged Harley to complete the look. I’ve never been more thankful for Willow.
