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When I push my tongue deep into her mouth, she stiffens, her palms flattening on my shoulders as if she can’t decide whether to push me away or drag me closer. She can’t control me—or the passion burning between us. It scares her. I feel it. But I’m not letting her go.
I change tactics, soften my grip on her tresses, lean back against the glass, and ease my lips away from hers until they meet hers with the merest brush.
Suddenly, she curls her fingers around my biceps and presses her curves against me like she can’t resist.
Score.
Without warning, I turn her in my arms, plastering her back to my front. My aching cock settles in the valley of her ass, driving me absolutely insane. But I fight to keep my head in the game, cradling her breasts with both hands, dragging my lips over her shoulder, up her neck, settling against the delicate shell of her ear.
“Harlow, baby.” I toy with her nipples, pinch them gently, flick them with my thumbs, gratified when her breath catches and she rests her head on my shoulder, arching her backside against my cock.
“Yes, Noah…”
It’s a breathless plea that fires my blood. I slide one hand from her luscious breast to her flat belly, then down to her feminine heat. She’s hot. She’s wet—and not just from the shower spray. In fact, she’s soaked and slick and ready.
I rub her clit slowly in dragging circles that I already know send her into a mindless frenzy and get her there fast. I press the other palm to the small of her back and urge her forward. Harlow doesn’t resist. Obediently, she bends at the waist and braces her hands on the glass in front of us. Then I spread her feet apart, nudging them wide with my own. She rushes to cooperate.
Seconds later, I’m spreading her folds open with my fingers and tunneling inside her with a long curse of pleasure ripping from my chest. “Fuck.”
Harlow arches and looks back at me, her eyes dilated, her cheeks beyond rosy. “More…”
I get a grip on my self-control, then twine my fist in her long, wet tresses, keeping her face twisted so she can watch me as I fuck her. “I’m going to give it to you, baby. Because no matter what you think, this does mean something.”
“It doesn’t have to.”
“But it does. I know it. And you know it.” I withdraw, then plunge in again, gripping the tile with my toes so I don’t keel over in bliss. “Who are you lying to?”
Harlow starts to buck like a horse that hasn’t been broken to a saddle. “You said it was sex. You said one day at a time.”
“I did. But it’s days later, and now this is more than just sex. I’m going to stay right here, so hard inside you, until you admit it.”
She starts writhing, but I can’t quite tell whether she’s fighting me…or moving with me. “Fuck you.”
“No, baby. That’s my point. I’m going to do more than fuck you. Way more. I’m going to make love to you. I’m going to get down to your soul and fill you up.”
Before she has a chance to object in earnest—and she will—I withdraw so slowly she can’t help but whimper. Then I slide back in as if I have all damn day to fill her up—all while leaning over her back and circling her clit with my fingers.
“Feel me?”
Her breath is a harsh din above the pounding spray of the shower, but she doesn’t reply. Instead, she merely sways with me, trying to speed up my thrusts.
“Do you feel me?” I repeat, my voice low and harsh. I don’t know where this is coming from except a need to make her acknowledge that we’re doing more together than scratching a mutual itch.
Harlow tenses, her fingers clawing at the glass as she tries to breathe past the pleasure. I know that’s what she’s doing. She’s trying to hang on to her control. Trying not to admit that the love we’re making is getting to her, too.
I stop everything—the slow grind of my deep plunge into her, the rhythmic torture of my fingers where she needs it most. I clench my jaw and grip her hips to absorb the punch of need that threatens to steal my breath. Denying her is killing me, but if I give her what she’s aching for, Harlow will assume she has me where she wants me and won’t think about this or us beyond the moment.
Her high whimper becomes a sharp cry of need as the lack of sensation hits her. “Noah…don’t.”
I’m not negotiating. “Do. You. Feel. Me?”
Breaths saw from her chest one after the other as she scratches at the shower glass again. “Yes. Damn you!”
It’s a very reluctant admission, but I’ll take it. “Good, this is me deep inside you, joining more than our bodies. Sharing more than fucking pleasure. I won’t make you acknowledge that today, but I want you to hear it. I want that floating through your head as I send you crashing into orgasm. Afterward, I’m going to climb in bed beside you again. I’m going to sleep next to you. And I want to wake up beside you. No more crawling away in the middle of the night to sleep on the sofa down the hall.”
“You snore.”
“You hog the covers, and I don’t care. I still enjoy curling up next to you.”
