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“Harry?” He could hear the confusion. The need. She was somewhere else already. It made him want to roar with victory.
“Tell me,” he ordered. “Tell me you want me to touch you.”
He let his fingers whisper over her centre. Let her know exactly what he meant. She gasped and jolted into his touch.
“Harry. Please.” The desperation he heard turned him inside out.
“Tell me.” A whisper against her lips.
“Please touch me. Please make me soar.”
He slumped against her. Relief flooding him. “My pleasure, baby. My pleasure.” His mouth crashed on hers as his fingers slid under the cotton edge of her boy shorts. A second later, he found heaven. Wet. Ready. Pulsing with need.
His tongue plundered the depths of her mouth, while his nimble fingers teased her sensitive and needy core.
Her mewing sounds mingled with desperate pants. He caught each in his mouth. Savouring the taste of her desire. Swelling with pride at her loss of control.
“Please,” she gasped. “Please.”
He bit her full bottom lip, tugging it into his mouth. Her hands fought to be free. He pressed them into the earth, earning another moan. Her hips ground against his. Her calf clutched his hip. Her heel digging into his backside.
“I’ve got you,” he told her. “Let go.”
“Oh, oh, Harry!”
And then she was soaring, just like he’d promised she would. Harry covered her mouth with his to capture her moans. Feeling her buck beneath him. Holding her tight as her body spasmed and stretched. Gently, he coaxed her back down to earth. To him. His arms wrapped around her, as he fell to his back. He pulled Magenta on top of him.
With a kiss to her forehead, he stroked her hair.
“Harry,” she said softly. She sounded dazed. Wrung out. Sated.
He smiled into her hair. “Sleep, baby. It’ll soon be morning. Sleep here, with me.”
“Harry, we need to—we should, I mean, there should be talking.”
“Tomorrow. Tonight we sleep.”
She lifted her head as though ready to protest.
“Please, baby, let me enjoy this. I’ve waited so long to be close to you. I don’t want to miss a second. I want to hold you. I want you to sleep. Give me that.”
She stilled for a moment, then her body relaxed. Slowly, she tucked her head back under his chin. Her hand snaked under his arm to curve up around him. Her knee bent to cuddle his hip. Harry held her close as her body went heavy with sleep. Her breathing deep and slow. He was never letting her go. Ever.
It was then he heard it, a whisper carried by the air. “Holy hell. Did you hear that? Harry has skills. Who knew? Is it wrong to get hot listening to your cousin get horizontal with your best friend? I might need therapy. And a man. I definitely need a man.”
He’d forgotten that the people outside could hear them.
Harry’s eyes clenched shut. His whole body became taut as he waited to see if Magenta had heard. When she didn’t move and her steady breathing registered in his panicked mind, he allowed himself to relax.
There would be no sleep for him. He’d planned to spend his night memorising the feel of Magenta curled up against him. Instead he’d have to spend it thinking about what he would do in the morning. How he would deal with the fallout. He needed a plan, because when that door opened and Magenta realised they’d had an audience, she was either going to kill him or hate him.
And he couldn’t allow her to do either.
13
Magenta couldn’t look at Harry. She was mortified. She’d woken up wrapped around him, and her first thought had not been to run—no, her first thought had been that she should get him naked and lick him all over. Then she remembered they were in a tent. In a mine. And that she’d let him…hell, she couldn’t even put into words what she’d let him do. Not that she didn’t have the words. Just that she didn’t want to use them in association with Harry.
She hung her head as she thought about it. Harry. The man she’d sworn to avoid. The man she’d made sure to get rid of when she was thirteen. The man she’d barely kissed before he’d had his hands in her knickers!
