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Harley leans back, removing himself, before sucking on his fingers, his lips swollen and red. It has the same effect, all these years later. I slowly feel the heat inside me ebb away, and I relax, my legs quivering.
He exhales, a satisfied expression on his face. I can hardly believe the genuine smile on his lips.
“I missed the taste of you.”
I comb my hair back from my face, feeling hot and flustered. I wipe at the sweat with my shirt, and when I push my shirt back down, Harley is looking at me with a hungry, dangerous smile.
“Do that again.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s late, and you’re drunk.”
“Not that drunk.”
“Drunk enough.”
My body is unsteady as I go to walk by him, but he pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around my waist. He peers up at me.
“I’m sorry I showed up in the middle of the night.”
“It’s okay.”
“Is it?” he asks.
“No,” I say, but don’t mean it.
“You still hate me?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe you.”
For a moment, I forget that I do hate him. My fingers betray me. They push through his dark hair. His face looks perfect in my hands. Brilliant blue eyes. Tanned, unblemished skin.
His eyes close. I let the other run down the side of his face, much like he did to me before.
“Go to sleep,” I say.
“Here?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Yes.”
I step back and search my cupboard for a spare pillow. I offer it to him, and he silently takes it. He throws his shoes onto the floor. I flick the lights off and pad over to my bed. I desperately feel like a shower but don’t trust myself around Harley, naked, in such a cosy space. I tell myself to go to sleep and not think, but it doesn’t work. I hear his soft breathing not far from me and it’s killing me.
He should leave.
But God, I want him to stay.
Just as I’m drifting into sleep, I feel the side of the bed dip, and I say nothing when he crawls in beside me. I press my lips tightly together as I feel him nestle in behind me, his hand finding my waist.
“Night, Josie,” he whispers.
“Goodnight, Harley.”
