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Her legs tighten around my hips and I can feel her pussy start to squeeze me. It won’t be long now, which I’m grateful for, since I’m not sure how long I can hold off my release.
“Latham,” she whispers against my lips, her body arching up into me.
I almost say it.
I almost tell her I’m falling head over heels in love with her.
Instead, I squeeze her hands tight and hold on for dear life as my hips begin to thrust. I’m chasing my release, knowing there’s no stopping this freight train now. She clamps down on me as her orgasm sweeps in, wild and reckless. My lips claim hers, hard and bruising, and I never let go of her hands. The base of my spine starts to tingle as she clamps down hard on my cock. Bright lights burst behind my eyelids as I come so hard I can’t seem to breathe.
When exhaustion sets in and I can no longer hold myself up, I roll to the side, pulling her with me. I bring our joined hands to my chest, not really ready to break that connection yet. She doesn’t complain though, just rests her head against my bare chest, right over my heart. I can’t help but wonder if she feels how hard it’s beating – and not just because of the exertion a few minutes ago.
Because of her.
Just being in my arms.
I also can’t help but wonder if all guys turn into wimps when they fall in love…
Needing to clear my head, I lean into her and place a kiss on her forehead. “I need to clean up.”
Harper releases my hands, but threads them around my back and wiggles in close. “Just a few more minutes,” she says, her voice tinged with sleep and satisfaction.
Who am I to deny her anything?
After a few more minutes, I gently move her body to slide out. I’m quick in the bathroom, anxious to get back to her bed, to wrap my arms around her pliant body. Snatching a clean washcloth out of the cabinet, I wet it with warm water and return to the bedroom. Harper tries to take the cloth from me, but I shake my head. “I got you.”
She doesn’t speak as I clean her up, running the warm material over her lower body, but I can feel her eyes on me. I toss the cloth into the hamper and slide back into bed. She immediately throws her arm over my waist and snuggles into my chest.
“Are you hungry?” I ask after a few minutes of silence.
“Not quite yet. I kinda like this,” she answers, sliding one leg between mine.
I pull her into me and kiss her forehead. “Me too.”
Comfortable silence wraps around us as I listen to the sound of her even breathing, though I don’t think she’s sleeping. So many questions filter through my mind. So many things I want to know about her. I’ve missed fourteen years of her life, while I was away in the military and she spent part of her time in New York.
Speaking of New York, I’ve heard a few stories, a few insinuations (mostly on Felicity’s part), but Harper seems to be pretty tightlipped about her time there. Did she meet someone, fall in love, and it ended badly? Was she not cut out for the competitive modeling world in New York? Was she safe and taken care of while she was there?
“Can I ask you something?” I finally ask when the scenarios running through my mind start to turn dark.
“Sure.”
“Tell me about New York.”
I feel her stiffen in my arms and hear her breathing catch. I know something happened; I’m just not sure I really want to know what.
“I went to New York to model. Didn’t like it. Came home. End of story,” she says, her heart pounding a hard beat against my chest.
Needing to see her eyes, I move until we’re facing each other, lifting her chin until we’re eye to eye. I can see it there, her panic and fear written all over her beautiful face. “I don’t want to push you, Sweetheart. I know something happened. I can see it in your eyes and feel it anytime the topic is brought up. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay, but I want you to know you can trust me with anything. I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
She seems hesitant at first, like trusting me isn’t something she’s ready for. I get it. She’s had a horrible past with a few douches who treated her like shit. I hate that, but I need her to know I’m not them.
Just when I open my mouth to tell her that much, she surprises me and starts talking. “I was eighteen when I first went to New York. I won a modeling gig from a local talent search at the mall right after graduation. It was a weekend gig for a toothpaste company, a large advertising campaign that included billboards, posters, internet PR, and television commercials. I was ecstatic, to say the least. I thought this was my big shot at getting out of Rockland Falls.”
She takes a deep breath. I pull her tighter into my embrace, needing to feel her skin against mine and let her know I’m there for her. “Anyway, after the job, a talent scout approached me. She had a few more jobs she thought I’d be perfect for. She talked about lights, cameras, and fame, and promised I’d be on a runway by the end of the year. I ended up signing with her right then and there, came back home and grabbed my stuff, and moved to a tiny little dump of a studio apartment with another girl trying to make it on Broadway.
“It was weird sharing a tiny four-hundred square foot space with a total stranger, but we managed. In fact, Mia and I became good friends. She helped me get a job at a local Starbucks, which is what actually paid the bills, though not very well. I ended up getting a second job as a hostess in a fancy steakhouse restaurant on weekends to offset the cost of living in New York City. Everything was going well, I was able to pay rent and utilities, and do a few small modeling jobs on the side. That money I was able to put back into a savings account, so I had money for any emergencies. It wasn’t a lot, but it was something.”
Harper averts her eyes, glancing down at my chin. She runs her hand along my jaw, letting my stubble tickle her fingertips. It seems to soothe her, and since I’m a huge fan of her hands anywhere on my body, I let her have the time to explore and touch without saying a word. When she’s finally ready, she goes on.
