Chapter 19 Harper #3
Not just glancing. Not just looking. Watching, devouring, with the kind of hunger that makes my skin prickle and my thighs press together despite everything I’ve already given.
His eyes drag down the full length of me, lingering on my flushed chest, the mess between my thighs, the way I lick my lips before I take him into my hand again.
He’s soaked from me.
Still hard. Still twitching. Still pulsing like his cock has been begging for this.
And I plan to make him feel every second of that ache.
I stroke him once, slow, firm, my grip twisting just slightly at the head and he groans low in his throat, his hips jerking despite himself.
His fingers curl into fists at his sides.
I can see it in his face, the way his jaw clenches, the cords in his neck flexing as he struggles not to reach for me.
Not to fuck my mouth the way he clearly wants to.
But he doesn’t.
Because he’s waiting.
For me to take.
So I do.
I lower my mouth over the tip, dragging my tongue across the flushed head before sliding him between my lips.
The taste of him, salty and slick, spreads across my tongue, and I hum softly as I sink deeper.
Inch by inch. Until I feel him press against the back of my throat, thick and hot and impossibly hard.
Sebastian chokes out a sound, half curse, half prayer.
“Fuck...Harper-”
His legs shift. His hips twitch. His head falls back with a groan so guttural it vibrates in my bones.
I move slowly at first, my hand wrapped around the base, my lips and tongue working him in a rhythm that’s meant to tease, to undo.
I want him trembling. Desperate. I want him to remember this every time he looks at me.
He looks back down, eyes blown wide, mouth parted, chest heaving, and when I glance up through my lashes, I swear I see something in his expression break.
Like I’ve ruined him with just my mouth.
His hand lifts like he’s going to touch me, thread his fingers through my hair, grip my jaw, something, but he stops himself at the last second, shaking with restraint.
I suck harder in response, hollowing my cheeks and twisting my wrist just right, and that’s when the first drop of pre-cum hits my tongue.
I moan around him, and that’s it.
“Fucking hell,” he growls, hand fisting at his side. “You’re going to make me cum down your throat if you keep...shit-Harper.”
I ease off of him slowly, tongue trailing along the underside of his cock as I release him with a soft, wet pop. He’s panting now, sweat starting to bead at his temples, and his cock, slick and flushed, is still rock-hard between us.
Before I can speak, he grabs my arms.
Not roughly, but urgently. Desperately.
He pulls me up with one swift motion, dragging me back into his body like he needs me against him to remember how to breathe.
My chest presses against his bare skin, sticky and flushed, nipples pebbling instantly from the contact.
His hands settle at the small of my back, dragging me close. Anchoring me.
Then his forehead drops to mine, and for a moment, we just exist like that.
Breathing hard. Heartbeats thundering. Bodies trembling.
His cock is pinned between us, hot and wet, brushing against my stomach. My thighs are still slick, aching from how badly I want him back inside me, on his knees, inside me, anywhere.
But just as his lips part, just as his hand slides down to the curve of my ass and he rolls his hips into me like he’s seconds away from losing the last thread of control-
we hear it.
Voices.
Laughter. Close. Too fucking close.
A door slams somewhere in the hallway. The creak of floorboards. Heavy boots. The unmistakable shuffle of conversation bleeding in from the common room just beyond the door.
I go still.
So does he.
For a few tight seconds, the world narrows to that sound. The noise of reality pressing in on the raw, sweat-slick space we carved out for ourselves. We stay locked together, breath held, hearts thundering. My thighs are still bare. His pants are still open. We smell like sex. Like heat. Like us.
And we’re one laugh away from being caught.
Sebastian’s arms tighten around me, and I feel the tremor in his body as clearly as my own. He lowers his head, lips grazing the shell of my ear as he breathes out hard.
“We have to stop,” he says, voice raw, barely controlled.
“I know,” I whisper. “I know.”
But neither of us moves.
Because stopping isn’t the same as letting go.
And whatever this is between us, it’s not done.
Not even close.
His arms are still around me, his cock still pressed hard and aching between us, slick against my stomach, my thighs sticky and trembling. The sounds outside fade, but the damage is already done. Our moment, wild and raw and ours, has been forced back behind a closed door.
But he doesn’t let me go.
His grip only tightens.
His lips press to my temple, a soft, desperate kiss that feels more like a plea than anything else. His chest rises against mine in ragged waves, his breath still unsteady, like every second without me inside his hands might unravel him.
And then, quietly, rough and thick with everything we don’t say, he speaks.
“Stay here tonight,” he pants, voice cracking.
“Just... stay.”
The words knock the air right out of me.
Not a command. Not a clever line meant to tempt me back into his bed. It’s honest. The kind of thing someone only says when they’re terrified they’ll lose the high of your skin against theirs the second you walk away.
I don’t answer right away.
Because my body is still burning. My heart’s still racing. My mind is still trying to catch up with what we did, what we almost did, seconds from being heard, from being caught. And yet…
The part of me that was trembling before?
That part goes still.
Because I hear it in his voice. The truth.
This isn’t just about fucking.
It never was.
And when I meet his eyes, still flushed, still wide with something more, I know exactly what my answer will be.
But I let the silence stretch. Just long enough for him to feel it. To want it.
And then I whisper, barely above a breath:
“Okay.”