Chapter 21 Andy
Chapter 21
Andy
Harlow is naked.
I finally have her stripped down to her birthday suit and beneath me, those gorgeous tits I’ve been daydreaming about jiggling with every move we make on the mattress.
I lean down to take one pink, rosy nipple in my mouth and feel Harlow’s nails skimming gently across my back. They scratch up my spine, up to the base of my neck. She gives my scalp a scratch, too, while my head is bent and I bask in her touch.
“That feels so good,” she moans as I continue sucking on her, her hands now tugging at my hair.
“I’m going to make you feel even better.”
I’ve been waiting days to see her. Have told those closest to me about her. Go to bed thinking about her and wake up wondering what she’s doing.
I’m not letting the chance to seduce her go to waste. Once she knows my secret—who I really am—I’m not sure how she will react or which way the wind will blow.
And speaking of blowing . . .
I stop sucking on her tits, my fingers moving to trace delicate patterns on her skin, round and round on her stomach, this dance of anticipation echoing the rhythm of my beating heart. It’s practically beating out of my chest at the sight of her curves. They’re pliant and warm, and when she arches her back, they’re begging me to explore them.
My hand moves up her sternum slowly, committing everything about her naked body to memory, seeing it in daylight for the first time. Her hair is down, and I revel in the silky texture of it beneath my fingertips.
Desire pulses through my veins.
I could have simply gone to the gym to quell the adrenaline—or run five miles—but what would be the fun in that? Until I met Harlow, I didn’t realize how good it could be with a woman when strong feelings were involved, lying next to her, having her gaze over at me and me at her. Naked. Sated.
Happy.
Harlow watches me.
With deliberate leisure, I trace a path down along her rib cage, to the curve of her hip, fingertips featherlight against her skin.
She squirms.
“You like that?”
In true Harlow style, she rolls her eyes as if my question were ridiculous. “Obviously, I like that” her eye roll says.
“Yes. And if you even think about stopping, you’re a dead man,” she warns, trying to put the fear of God into me.
“Tell me how you really feel about it.” I laugh, bending so I can put my mouth on her stomach, kissing above her belly button.
“This is seriously killing me.” Her voice is low. “I haven’t wanted to use my vibrator at all the past few days. It’s just not the same.”
“So what I hear you saying is that I came at the right time?”
She lets out a strangled laugh when I put my hand between her legs and stroke her inner thigh. “Stop using words like come and came . All it’s doing is making foreplay take longer.”
“I’ll consider that a compliment.” I chuckle. It’s a strained laugh, and I feel Sex Face rapidly changing my expression from one of ease to one of pain—the good kind of pain. The kind of pain that says “My dick is hard and ready for some good, good lovin’ and strokin’.”
Harlow bites her lower lip.
“I don’t want ...” She hesitates. “Can’t we just do it? I don’t want to lie here for twenty minutes fooling around.”
Say what now?
I laugh again, leaning down to nuzzle her neck.
“You’re annoyed because you don’t want foreplay, you want to skip to the sex? I’ve never heard a woman say that before.”
“Why are you still wearing clothes?” she grumbles, bottom lip jutting out. “I can’t be the only one lying here naked—it’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair.” But I agree—she shouldn’t be the only one lying here naked—going up on my haunches so I can pull the hoodie up and over my head, adding it to the pile of her clothes beside the bed.
Harlow watches me intensely.
Smoldering.
“Is your mouth watering?” I tease, because it most certainly looks like it is.
“Yes.” Her eyes sparkle, looking my body up and down, gaze hungry.
She meets my watchful gaze without flinching, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
“You are really something else, do you know that?”
“What do you mean?” Her hand is moving up and down her stomach, taunting me.
I move closer still.
“You’re not afraid of me at all, are you?”
“Why would I be afraid of you?” She scoffs. As if.
I give my head a little shake. “I meant, you’re not even intimidated.”
Lots of women have been intimidated by me in the past—not because I’m mean or aggressive. Mostly I think it has more to do with the pro-football factor than anything; they don’t see me as a normal man. They see me as superhuman, larger than life, and someone they have to work tirelessly to impress to keep my interest.
Harlow doesn’t look at me like I’m larger than life; when she looks at me ... it’s as if she sees a man she considers a friend. A man she considers funny. Smart. Attractive.
And she has no idea who I am, though she will soon enough.
I’m going to tell her before I leave, I swear.
“I’m not intimidated by you either.” She pauses, her hand rising to stroke my chest, across my pecs, fingers plucking at one of my nipples. “Why are your pants still on? Take those off.”
So bossy.
“Look at us,” I murmur as I shuck my pants, my voice a low, husky whisper. “Seems like we’ve uncovered secrets about each other. Now I’m seeing you in the light when before we were in the dark.”
I use the word secrets to gauge her reaction, knowing full well I’m going to drop a bombshell on her later—but once I’ve thoroughly dicked her down and made her come. The dicking comes first.
“Secrets.” She laughs, a sultry sound that hangs in the air like the sweetest melody. “Secrets are meant to be shared, don’t you think?”
Her fingers trace another lazy pattern down my chest, causing my cock to twitch.
“Absolutely. But some secrets are best served later.”
I cringe at the cryptic words.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her eyes have fire in them, lips pouty from being kissed so much.
“You’ll find out.”
My dick could not be any harder.
She’s right; this foreplay nonsense is taking way too long.
I reach between our bodies, fingers finding her clit—so wet—already hot for me as the room closes in around us, the atmosphere getting heavier and heavier with the unspoken tension.
“More” her eyes say. Stop hesitating.
“You’re playing with fire, do you realize that?” I whisper, lips brushing against her earlobe, dick desperate to explode.
Her breath hitches when my body moves over hers, and I position myself between her legs. Lower my hips and let my dick drag between her thighs.
Fuck.
Yes.
“Aren’t you curious about getting burned?” she whispers back.
I burst out laughing, chest rumbling, arms trembling, wanting to be inside this woman who lies beneath me. I want her to know my secrets—all of them—and my past.
“That was the cheesiest thing I’ve heard anyone say.”
“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. It felt appropriate since you mentioned fire.” She is not even a bit bashful.
“Maybe danger is what we need.” I add some gravel to my voice and lace it with a mixture of boldness and restraint. Sort of like a pirate?
Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. “Oh my God. Stop it with that voice. Please.” She laughs too. “If we start this goofy shit, it’s going to kill the mood—I want to get laid so bad I can taste it.”
The heat between her legs grows as I reach the apex, fingers teasing at the edge of forbidden territory.
Yum.
I remember how good she tasted the last time my head was there, licking and sucking her.
Harlow’s breath catches, and I lean in, capturing her lips in a hungry kiss because kissing and football and fucking are three of my favorite things, not necessarily in that order .
Life is good.
Life is damn good.
“Condom,” she reminds me gently, and I hesitate, this time coming more prepared with a whole half a dozen.
I wrestle one out of my wallet. Tear it open, then expertly slide it on.
With a deliberate slowness, I guide myself inside her, the heat of the moment a palpable force, almost as good as the heat of her pussy.
Our eyes lock.
Her lips part.
All I see when I look at her is my hunger mirrored in hers, a shared longing that transcends words, if those words are Fuck yes ...
I moan, all the way inside her.
I pull out.
Push in.
I don’t want to hurt her, but she’s already so fucking wet and we’ve barely touched each other . It’s the most difficult damn thing I’ve had to do this week—not pounding in to the hilt and burying myself.
Every movement, every touch, is a testament to the intimacy that unfolded between us, a fusion of two souls becoming one in the most primal of dances. I’m a fucking poet now. Is this the new version of me? A dude who thinks about how happy he is while he’s in the middle of banging someone?
I thrust.
Thrust again.
Thrust and grind, listening to her breathy sighs and moans and her voice whispering my name; feel her hands on my back, nails raking up and down my spine.
“Oh God, Andy ... you’re so hard,” she utters, spurring me on. “I love it ... yes, there ... keep going ...”
I am so fucking hard.
I feel like a goddamn superhero.
“Push harder,” she demands, both hands on my ass, thumbs digging into my hip plates. “Harder, Andy ... f-fuck that feels good.”
Hell yes, it does.
“Oh shit ...” Her moan is loud. If we were in her hotel room, the neighbors next door would hear it through the walls. “Feels s-so good ...”
So good.
So goddamn right.