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“Don’t you want to say goodbye to your friends?”
I shake my head, leading him out the door. “I’ll text them.” They’ll probably be mad at me, but this isn’t the first time I’ve disappeared, and it probably won’t be the last.
In the car, tiredness overcomes me, and I slip into a sleepy haze of soft touches and warm kisses from Harrison. Even my subconscious can’t stop thinking about him. When my eyes open again, we’re at the flat and I realise that Harrison’s hand never left my thigh.No wonder I was dreaming about him.
Walking through the front door, I kick off my heels, place my light jacket on the hall hooks and flick the light on, a low glow casting its way across the space. Harrison closes the door behind me and removes his jacket too.
“Do you want a cup of tea?” I ask, turning to face him but walking backwards towards the kitchen. “I feel like tea is mandatory after a busy day.”
He chuckles, deep and smooth. “Sure, sounds good.”
Now I’m awake again, my body is a hive of energy and pent up sexual frustration. I don’t blame the champagne because I only ended up having one glass. I blame myself for the public claiming I performed of Harrison, who has shown me his gratitude in heated stares, soft touches and forehead kisses. My skin is branded with him at this point, so unless he’s going to ravish me, I’m going to busy myself by making tea, and then I’m going to pray to the vibrator God’s that my vibe is charged.
I reach up and pull out two mugs from the cupboard and place them on the worktop. “You know, today was actually fun,” I tell him as I flick on the kettle. “I wish you’d let me bitch slap your ex, but the look on her face when I said I was your wife… Priceless.” Harrison follows me, unfastening the cuffs of his sleeve and placing the cufflinks on the worktop.
He watches me for a moment, and something ignites in his eyes. A fire, a passion, a need. He stalks towards me, stealing a breath of air with each measured step. I turn my body slowly, gripping the edges of the worktop to stop me from reaching out and grabbing him, pushing my heaving chest outwards.
Touch me, my body begs silently.
He stops in front of me, our feet close but not enough to touch as his stare slowly roams all over me and I feel every single caress of his gaze. “You were amazing today.” His voice is gravelly and low.
I bask in him being so close. “Just being a good wife…” I say in a breathy whisper.God, why is he this close?
He pushes forward until his hips are grazing mine, but it’s not nearly enough; it’s just a whisper that sets me alight.
“Zoey…” he groans softly, ghosting his thumb over my bottom lip. His warm breath fans over my willing lips as his strong hands snake around me and settle at the back of my neck, holding me in place. “Tell me to stop.”
I gently shake my head. “Please,” I beg with every fibre of my being.
His hands tighten in my hair, and he pulls me closer, taking control. Before I can think, his mouth devours mine in a frenzy, fuelled by weeks and weeks of desperate need. Our lips collide, and I can barely breathe with the way he’s consuming me. It’s taking me higher and higher with every stroke of his tongue against mine.
He shifts one of his legs to rest between my thighs and I want to grind against him to find the friction that my body craves. But all too soon, he breaks the kiss as he hoists me onto the worktop, my legs immediately widening in invitation. He moves to stand between them so we’re at the perfect height for more kissing and touching.
I pull him the last inch and seal us together. His beard tickles my skin in the most delicious way. He groans into my mouth, his hands sliding behind me to grip my arse, his hands squeezing, caressing, and claiming my skin. He’s everywhere, and it’s still not enough.
My nipples ache as they brush against my jumpsuit, and I inwardly curse for not wearing something easier to get off in a hurry. I break our kiss, breathless and aching with need. “Harrison,” I whimper, tilting my head to the side as he continues to kiss down my neck, nipping, sucking, owning. I’m so drunk on him that I can barely see straight.
“God, you make me so fucking hard, Zoey,” he purrs into my neck, making everywhere clench with need. When he straightens and looks at me, his eyes are like swirling pools of lava, full of lust and raw energy that he can barely contain. I run my fingers through his hair, loving the softness of the strands as he groans, the sound so primal and needy that it makes me moan too.
His hands tighten against my arse and he pushes forwards just as I do, our centres crashing together with white hot heat. A gasp escapes when I feel how hard he is. He’s thick, mouth-wateringly perfect and I want nothing more than to taste him. “Let me see,” I purr, giving him a squeeze with my thighs before releasing him and pushing against his chest.
He steps back, his broad shoulders straining against the fabric of his shirt. One by one, torturously slowly, he undoes each button, never breaking eye contact and never fully revealing everything that I want. Every movement he makes is hyper masculine and controlled, and I hope that extends to the bedroom because whilst I’m grateful for his softness with me, I want nothing more than for him to be the one in control. When he reaches his belt, I interrupt his movements, jumping down to take over, but he grasps my wrists, his body heat burning into my skin. “Sweetheart, you need to learn patience. Sit back on the worktop.”
My bottom lip automatically protests and he laughs. “That pouty lip will be mine soon. Don’t you worry,” he says, as I jump back onto the surface, thanking my lucky stars that my prayers have been answered.
Demanding Harrison is a complete turn on.
I watch with wide eyes because I can’t look away as he uncovers every tight, sculpted muscle of his chest and reveals his defined stomach.God, his muscles.His body isn’t for show, it’s a temple, and I want to drop to my knees and worship every inch of him.
When he smirks and lowers his chinos, taking his socks with him, he’s left in his pale blue shirt, opened for my eyes only, and his black boxers that are not hiding what he’s packing. Instinctively I look at all of him, licking my lips as I take in every curve, edge and mouthwatering part of him.
“Do you want me, Harrison?” I ask, needing to hear his voice.
He exhales, but it’s rough, needy, desperate, and the sound travels south at warp speed, hitting my clit with a zap. His head lolls backwards, exposing his throat, half covered in his beard. I want to lick him, mark him and—Oh, Jesus. I watch as he palms himself over his boxers, his hardness pushing against his hand. All man.All mine.
“Sweetheart, I don’t just want you. I fuckingneedyou. Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed about this? About you … How you’d taste, how you’d feel … how you’d fuck.” He moans, and it’s the most erotic sound I’ve ever heard. “I’m feral for you, Zoey.” I swallow, a thickness coating my throat.
Arousal pumping my heartbeat ten to the dozen. “I want to touch you,” I moan softly.
