Never Been Worse (Evergreen Park #3)

Chapter 13 – Harper

THIRTEEN

HARPER

The first two nights of our makeshift honeymoon, I sleep wonderfully, despite having Wes in bed with me, despite waking up wrapped around him each morning. I’m grateful that I seem to wake before him and am able to untangle myself before he notices, because I would be absolutely mortified if he realized I clung to him while we slept. It’s strange, since for as long as I can remember, I couldn’t even start to fall asleep if someone was in bed with me. It’s why Jeremy and I slept in separate beds when we lived together. I tried for a week to sleep in his bed, but I became so sleep deprived, I couldn’t trust myself to drive a car.

But two nights with Wes, and I’ve gotten the best sleep I ever have.

I am so totally fucked.

Wes has made it clear he would be just fine if we made things a little more realistic during our time together, but I know that would be a recipe for disaster, something I can’t even let my mind wander to.

So I’ve done my best to stay clear of him, to hide away in my room when I can, and only talk to him when completely necessary.

Unfortunately, when I shuffled from the bedroom where I woke alone, to get a cup of coffee, I forgot about this plan, resulting in me standing next to the coffee maker waiting for my cup when Wes walks out of the bathroom in a pair of shorts, sneakers, and no shirt.

“Good morning, little wife,” he says with a wide smile.

I simply stare at him. At his toned and tanned bare chest, at his messy hair, at his dimple that’s begging for my fingers to graze it.

“Harper?” he asks, brows furrowed just a bit, but that smile is still playing on his lips all the same.

“I, uh…coffee,” I say, stuttering like an idiot and gesturing at the machine now pouring dark liquid into a mug.

His grin spreads wider as he takes a step closer to me, reaching for a bottle of water on the counter and taking a sip.

“God, you’re fucking cute in the morning before you’ve had coffee,” he says, and then, like it’s an impulse he can’t avoid, he pulls me into him, pressing his lips to my forehead quick and hard. He holds it there for a moment, and I let my body relax into him, into his hold and the warmth of him, before he breaks it, stepping back. “I’m going for my run. Do you wanna go to the pool later?” I stare open-mouthed as I try and put pieces together to make words out of what he just said. “Got it. We’ll play it by ear. Later, baby.”

Then he’s stepping back and moving toward the door, leaving me frozen.

When I hear the door click, it knocks me out of my stupor, and without even stopping to get the coffee I came out for, I move for the stairs and my bedroom, tapping my phone screen as I go.

I need reinforcements, stat.

“Hey, babe, how’s married life?” Ava asks as she answers her FaceTime call.

“I’m spiraling, where’s Jules?” I say as I reach the landing and move toward the bedroom.

“What?”

“I need Jules to get on the call so we can chat because I’m spiraling and I don’t want to repeat myself.”

“Who’s spiraling?” Jules asks, motherly concern on her face as she takes us in, instantly pinning the panic on me. “Harp, what happened? I haven’t seen anything crazy in the tabloids. Did something leak?”

“No. Nothing happened that I know of. I’m just having a meltdown,” I say, closing the bedroom door and flopping on my bed.

“Mm, so if you’re spiraling with nothing happening, I think that’s a medical problem,” Ava says.

“Anxiety is totally normal,” Jules adds. “You’ve been going through a lot.”

“I don’t have anxiety,” I say, then roll my eyes when my friends give me a be serious look. “I mean, not some unnamed, undisclosed anxiety. I’m just spiraling because Wes was shirtless this morning and he kissed me on the forehead like it was normal and…” I pause, taking a deep breath that is very much needed before finishing. “You guys, I think my husband really likes me,” I say with the utmost seriousness, and Ava snorts out a laugh.

“I’m sorry?” she asks.

“I thought that was like, a prerequisite?” Jules asks. Her phone is set up somewhere in the kitchen, and distantly I can hear Nate’s daughter singing some song she made up to herself.

“Yeah, I mean, if you got married because you dated and did the whole rigmarole of a relationship. Less so if you got married because he’s in your ex’s favorite band and it sounded like a good idea at the time.”

“Hey, Harp, I hate to tell you this because you seem a bit frazzled as is, but I think your husband has liked you for, like, a long time,” Jules says, carefully.

“We’ve been saying that,” Ava says.

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

“I’m not having this conversation again. He’s doing me a favor, you guys. That’s all.”

“Ah, yes, I always give the quick favor of matrimony to my acquaintances,” Ava says.

I shake my head, not wanting to get into this. “I just need to…stop thinking about him in any way other than platonic.” Silence takes over the call before Ava sighs and sits back.

“You should fuck him,” Ava says, and I jolt back at the suggestion.

“ What ?”

“Oh, you totally should,” Jules says, her voice going low with Sophie somewhere in the vicinity. “ You know .”

“I just said I need to only think about him platonically. Why on Earth would I fuck him?”

“Get him out of your system and all,” Ava explains with a shrug as if it’s common sense.

I think about it for a moment, seeing the value in it, but then quickly shake my head before she can get any grand ideas. “No. No! You’re insane. That would just... complicate things.”

“Then simplify it,” Jules says. “Have you thought about him while you…” The words trail off, and she blushes, but I don’t understand what she’s trying to say.

“While I what?”

“While you fuck yourself. Vibrator, fingers, whatever. Have you used him as your spank bank material?” Ava asks bluntly.

“I truly wonder how on earth you were crowned Miss Americana,” I ask, aghast.

“I was a personality win,” she boasts with a smile. “So, have you?”

“No! Of course, I haven’t! We’re staying in a hotel room together!”

“He’s not there right now, obviously, with you screaming about being in love with him and whatnot,” she says. My eyes widen, and I open my mouth to argue, but she keeps talking. “Maybe you should try. Maybe that will reset something in your brain. We packed you a vibrator.”

“You what?”

“It’s in the side pocket on the inside, left side,” Jules says. “We thought it would be good for an emergency.”

“And this is definitely an emergency,” Ava says.

“You guys are insane. Why would I—” A loud beep comes from Ava’s side of the call, and she curses.

“Fuck, I gotta go. I think I just burned cookies. Again. Love you, Harp. Go finger yourself and think about that hot rockstar!” she says, then hits end before I can argue.

“I hate to say this, but I have to go, too. I gotta take Sophie to the dentist,” Jules says.

“And then to the toy store!” Sophie shouts from the background.

“I don’t think so, miss, not with that room looking the way it does.”

“But—” Sophie starts to argue, but Jules gives her mom eyes, and she stops. I hear her feet pound on the floor before Jules smiles and looks back at me.

“Okay, I really do have to go. But you know, Ava might be right. Just…give it a try. Or, better yet, give him a try. You know, if this was a movie?—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go take your kid to the dentist,” I grumble, but then smile when I watch her face light up the way it always does when anyone calls Sophie hers .

“Love you, Harper.”

“Love you, Jules,” I say, then she ends the call, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I toss my phone and flop back on the big bed with a sigh. Nonetheless, my mind travels to all of the gentle touches and heated looks he’s given me.

Fuck it .

Maybe there’s some truth to working him out of my system, to scratching the itch . Maybe I’m just wildly sexually frustrated. It’s been an eternity since I had sex last, and I can’t even remember the last time I made myself come. Plus, Wes usually takes about an hour on his run, and it’s barely been fifteen minutes since he left. I sigh, dig in my bag, and find the purple vibrator right where Jules said it would be, then climb back in the bed.

This is so stupid.

Why do I feel nervous? I’m just going to…make myself come really quick and then move on with my life. Right? Right. And it has absolutely nothing to do with my new husband. None at all.

With that, I shift my pajama pants off, letting them and my underwear ball up at the foot of the bed before slowly, I part my legs. My hand shifts down my belly gently, and I force my mind to envision generic hands, not tattooed and calloused ones scraping along my soft skin. When I reach my center, I sigh, my legs widening further as I close my eyes and circle my clit gently.

God, that feels good. It’s been far too long.

Yes, this is exactly what I need. I’m just sexually frustrated, is all. My finger slides down to my entrance, gathering wetness that’s already there and sliding it up over my sensitive bundle of nerves once more, my hips bucking as I tease myself. I bet that’s what Wes would do. He loves messing with me, teasing me, and I don’t think that would be any different in bed.

But this is not about Wes, I remind myself. This is a fictional, fake man.

I sigh, sliding down again and slipping a finger into myself, pressing up to graze my G-spot, a small mewl leaving my lips as I slide out and add another. My free hand moves up and under my shirt, pushing the thin sleep bra aside and pinching my nipple, my breath catching as my mind replaces my fingers with Wes's calloused ones, my tight grip on restraint already demolished.

A groan leaves my lips, pleasure blooming quickly at the mere idea of his touch, of his hands on my body as my fingers roam back to my clit, my pussy already wet from the mere idea of this fantasy.

He would touch me like this, I know. Slow and teasing, taunting and absolutely soul-shaking. I picture it as I slide from my center to my clit again, tweaking it before deciding I need more, reaching over and grabbing the thick vibrator and turning it on.

I slide it along my slit, wetting the thick head and wondering what Wes would feel like between my legs. He’s so fucking tall, so broad, his hands big and spanning. I know to my bones he’d be big, that he would stretch and fill me. I slide the vibrator up, moaning loudly now as it touches my clit, the sensation too much as I begin to pant, my hips moving up.

I could come just like this, a gentle touch on my clit and the mere idea of Wes Holden, but I want more.

I want to get him out of my system, to come hard and ease the ache in my belly and in my chest.

I move down until the head of the vibrator notches at my opening, a small moan escaping my lips at the stretch as I start to slide it in. Pleasure bubbles as I slide it out and then in again, each time moving another inch deeper, the vibrations and the stretch almost too much to handle as I picture my husband hovering over me, hands on the bed at either side of my head, his messy hair falling forward. I bet he would kiss me as he slides in, taking my breath away in more than one way, and I moan again, this time louder ,as I slide it all the way, the thick silicone stretching me.

I haven’t made myself come in some time, not because I was getting it good or regularly from Jeremy, but because I just…didn’t feel the need. I have never been a sexual person, thinking of sex and orgasms as just another check mark on my life task list rather than something one does strictly for pleasure.

But after spending so much time with Wes, the man whose every smile, every graze of his fingers on mine makes my entire body ignite, I feel like if I don’t sate this need, I’ll do something really freaking stupid.

Like open my heart for him when I just need to get off. And honestly, I don’t have room in my life for another impulsive decision.

Instead, I scratch the itch on my own, sliding the vibrator in and out, my other hand moving to make gentle circles around my sensitive clit, reminding myself I’m doing this for me . Not for anyone else.

But as I pick up speed, the vibrator hitting spots inside me that have gone untouched for some time, I find my hips bucking, a low word falling from my lips with a single breath.

Wes .

My mind takes on a life of its own, picturing him slamming between my legs, stretching my hips wide to give himself room. His hands holding my knees open with a pinch of pain that adds to the pleasure, hovering over me, sweat glistening on his face as he fucks me hard.

I don’t think he would be soft and gentle, but all-consuming and life-changing.

My mind pictures the way his hair would fall into his face, the way his eyes would lock on mine, capturing every moan, every blissful moment that crossed my face and categorizing it for future use the way he seems to do.

My hand moves up as I fuck myself, pinching and rolling my nipple hard the way I’d want Wes to, pulling it and wishing his calloused fingers were there instead of my soft ones. The pleasure builds in my belly as my breaths become heavy, as my whimpers become straight-up moans, and my mind is completely lost to reality.

“God, look at my little wife taking my cock so well,” he’d say, sliding in deep.

“Oh god,” I groan, the vibrator not enough, not filling me the way I know he would.

“That’s it, Harper. God, be loud for me, yeah? A fucking sight you are, writhing on my bed for me, for my cock. Do you want me to come inside of you? ” I never let Jeremy do that, always insisting on a condom despite my being on birth control when we had our once-a-month fuck.

“God, yes. Fuck.” I’d want him to fill me, to have him leaking out of me long after, a reminder of whose I am.

“Fuck, I’m going to fill you, Harper. Come around my cock and take me with you,” he’d groan , and I’d obey, unable to do anything but.

“Wes!” I moan in my fantasy and in reality, my hips bucking as I come undone with a low groan, sliding the vibrator between my legs once, twice, three times more as the aftershocks die down.

Laying there, my hand between my legs, sliding the vibrator out of me, and I mewl as I do, over-sensitized and still on edge as I turn it off.

“Fuck,” I grumble to myself, hating that despite my best efforts, I imagined Wes, and I still feel that burning desire in me.

I am so fucked.

So totally fucked.

The only option for a modicum of sanity is to avoid him from here on out. To keep things so professional, it hurts, because anything more could be catastrophic in more ways than one.

Placing the vibrator on the side table to clean it after I get dressed, I shift off the bed and grab a pair of sweatpants, sliding them up my legs. I’ll put on real clothes in a bit, but I think I’ll go get my coffee finally and maybe take a shower before?—

“Harper?” a deep voice calls through the door, and my entire body goes still. “Are you okay?”

“Uh,” I start, but the doorknob twists, and I look around the room frantically, seeing the vibrator on the nightstand, grabbing it, and tossing it into my bag and burying it under a shirt just as the door opens and Wes steps in. “Hey, I thought you were, uh, going for a run?”

His eyes are dark and heated, and I know.

I know I fucked up big time.

Fucking spontaneity!

I should have at least waited until we got home like a normal fucking person.

“I was. Now I’m back,” he says, then steps toward me. I step back, the look in his eyes hungry and all-consuming, stoking that fire in my belly again already.

He follows me step for step until my back is against the wall.

“I heard you,” he whispers, his body just inches from mine, the heat of him and the masculine smell of sweat and desire rolling off him in waves.

“Heard?” I say, but I already know what he heard. Me, moaning his name as I came harder than I ever have while picturing him fucking me senseless.

His hand trails down my arm, featherlight and gentle, until he grips my wrist. “Were these in you?” he whispers, lifting my hand up until they’re between us. “Were these inside your pussy? Were you touching yourself, making yourself come while you moan my name?”

“Wes, I didn’t?—”

“You can lie to yourself all you want, little wife. You can keep that wall up for as long as you need. It’ll just make it that much sweeter when it finally crumbles, and you let me in.” Then I watch in utter fascination as he brings my fingers to his mouth, trailing his tongue over them, and a moan fills the room as he does.

When he smiles, I realize it isn’t him moaning at all, but me doing so at the feel of his tongue cleaning me off.

“Fucking perfect,” he says, then steps closer, closing the gap between us.

My hand moves up to his neck, gripping the damp hair there as all common sense leaves my mind and all I can think about is getting Wes. Getting more . My head tips up, and his tips down, and then we wait there, lips almost brushing.

“I won’t take anything I’m not freely given, Harper, so if you want to taste yourself on my lips, you’re going to have to take it,” he whispers.

And because I’m fucking out of my mind , I do just that. I lift to my tiptoes, pressing my lips hard to his. He groans deep, the sound vibrating through my thin shirt, against my nipples, as my mouth opens and his tongue slides against mine. I taste it there, the mix of him and me, and it’s everything , so damned perfect.

I want more.

I want everything with him.

His lips trail to my neck, groaning as he tastes me, licking and nipping and sucking, and I move to try and get more from him.

Fuck it. What could it hurt to fuck my husband?

“We could…” I whisper, then clear my throat, my breathing coming hard despite my taking the edge off just minutes ago. “We could...you know, take the edge off. Scratch the itch.”

“Scratch the itch?” he asks, his body stilling.

“Friends with benefits,” I say, moving my body against his, suddenly needing him more than I’ve ever needed anything. “A year is a long time.”

Yes, yes, this makes sense. We could tamp out this burning desire between us, keep the marriage sham going, but also sate our needs in the process. Everything is so much simpler, so much clearer when it’s just the two of us, when my mind doesn’t get in the way.

“We could do more. Be more,” I whisper.

His lips leave my neck, and he stares at me for long moments. I think he’s going to give in, to agree to this and give me everything I somehow know he could give so fucking well , but then he shakes his head.

“I don’t want you the way a man wants a friend, Harper Holden. I could never be just friends with benefits with you.” His hand moves up, brushing my hair behind my shoulders. I can barely focus on anything but how much I like him saying my name like that. Like I’m his .

I bite my lip, knowing that is exactly why we can’t be anything more than friends with benefits. Why, in reality, we shouldn’t even be that , but I’m a weak woman. I tip my chin up, looking at him, my pulse pounding, my eyes pleading, but my voice calm and even.

“That’s what I can offer, Wes,” I tell him. “I can’t make any promises for something more, but I can give you that.”

Wrong words, obviously. His lips tip up at the edges, his fingers moving to my chin, gripping it in between two fingers and forcing my eyes to meet his. His endless depths of green eyes consume me, making me wish I could ignore reality, that I could jump and pretend the fall wouldn’t crush me.

“Then, when you’re ready for more, I’ll be here. I get it, Harper. You were fucked over, and he messed with your head. You need time, and you need space. But I’m not letting this get fucked and complicated just because we have wild chemistry. So I’ll wait for you.

“Friends with benefits is all I’ll ever be able to do,” I warn, hoping he’ll change his mind. I just came, but it barely took the edge off, and even that isn’t much with his body too close and confusing.

His smile widens, making my stomach flip.

“I’m a patient man, Harper.”

I groan aloud, his stubbornness turning into something irritating.

“This is silly, Wes. There’s nothing to be patient for. I’m not doing a relationship again. Why do you even want that? Why won’t you just accept what I’m able to give you while we’re in this agreement? There’s no need for both of us to be miserable this whole year.”

His entire demeanor changes, and he shakes his head, stepping back. “I’m not going to let this be some itch you scratch, Harper, because this? You and me? It’s something special.” He steps back, leaving me feeling cold and empty, in desperate need of his touch in more ways than one.

“Wes—” I start, and he shakes his head, a small smile on his lips hiding something more. Hurt? Disappointment?

“When you’re ready to admit this could be something more, Harper, you let me know. I’ll be waiting.”

And when he leaves, I know two things for sure:

One, my husband most definitely likes me.

And two, I am so totally into my husband, even if it's a terrible idea.