Chapter 23 Harper #3
The door. The risk. The shame I’ve carried all my life creeping in like a ghost. I should pull my legs closed. Cover myself. Say something that reminds him we’re not alone in this school. That someone could walk in and see me like this, ruined, bare, wanting.
But I don’t move.
I can’t move.
He sees that. And that’s what breaks him.
He steps between my legs, one hand gripping the back of my neck as he pulls me into a kiss that doesn’t ask, it takes. His other hand snakes under my thigh and lifts me with one smooth motion, dragging my body against his chest like I weigh nothing.
My back slams against the wall as his mouth crashes over mine, his towel-clad hips grinding into my center.
The thin, wet barrier of fabric presses against my soaked heat, the hard line of him obvious and pulsing beneath it.
It’s torture. Perfect, brutal torture. I rock against it, chasing friction like I’ll die without it, and he groans deep into my mouth.
“Fuck, Harper,” he breathes. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
He kisses me again, deeper this time, tongue sliding into my mouth with purpose, his hand gripping my thigh harder, holding me pinned against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist, my slickness smearing across the rough cotton of his towel.
Then he pulls back just enough to look at me. His pupils are blown, chest rising in sharp, ragged heaves.
“Bed,” he says.
Before I can even respond, he’s carrying me there.
His towel clings for one more second as he lays me back against the mattress, and I swear I can see the tension in him as he tries to hold on to that last shred of control. The man who’d once hesitated to touch me is gone. What’s left is need, wild, raw, and breaking free.
He drops the towel.
And fuck.
Everything in me clenches.
He’s thick. Heavy. The tip already slick as it drags along my thigh, leaving a hot trail that makes my toes curl.
He doesn’t rush, not yet. He just stares down at me, naked and spread across the bed, flushed and trembling, and I know he sees it all.
Every silent plea in my eyes. Every twitch of my hips.
“You’re soaked,” he murmurs, hand trailing down to tease his fingers through my folds. “Dripping.”
I gasp as he slips two fingers inside, curling them with precision, hitting that spot that makes my legs jerk and my eyes roll back.
He doesn’t tease anymore. He fucks me with his fingers like he already owns me, like I’m something to be claimed and carved into, his thumb circling my clit just enough to keep me begging, never enough to let me fall.
“I should make you wait,” he says, voice thick with hunger. “I should edge you until you’re crying for it.”
“You already are,” I pant, gripping the sheets.
He smirks. “Good.”
He slides down, mouth following the trail of his fingers, until his lips replace them entirely. His tongue works me open again, tasting me like he needs it, groaning as I writhe under him. I feel the orgasm building again, too fast, too soon, and when I cry out, his grip tightens on my hips.
“Not yet.”
“Sebastian-”
He shoves two fingers back inside while his mouth claims my clit, and I break, shattering on his tongue, thighs locking around his head, breath gone, body undone.
But he doesn’t stop.
He doesn’t stop.
He keeps licking, fingers curling, teasing, pressing until I’m shaking all over again, moaning louder than I should.
He climbs back over me, chest slick with sweat, cock throbbing against my inner thigh. His hand slides under my knee and lifts, and I swear my heart stops as he presses forward, bare, thick, and ready.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I do.
He pushes in.
The stretch is unbearable. Delicious. Perfect.
He fills me inch by inch, dragging it out, making me feel every goddamn second of it until I’m clenching the sheets and whispering prayers I don’t believe in. When he bottoms out, we both freeze, breathing like we’ve just survived something.
Then he moves.
Slow. Deep. Powerful.
The first thrust has me gasping. The second has me moaning. The third, he grinds his hips in a way that makes my eyes slam shut and my back arch right off the bed.
“Don’t look away,” he growls, grabbing my chin. “You take every inch. You watch me do it.”
And I do.
I watch him fuck me.
I watch him ruin me.
And I want more.
Sebastian draws his hips back just enough to make me feel the loss of him, empty, aching, desperate, before he slides forward again, slow and deliberate, dragging every thick inch through me like he’s carving his name into my body.
My breath stutters with each pull and press, my hands clutching at the sheets as if I might float apart if I don’t anchor myself to something solid.
“God,” I gasp, the word breaking apart as he sinks deeper. “Sebastian…”
“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked, his forehead dropping to mine. “Feel me. Every inch. You’re squeezing me like you were made for this.”
He rolls his hips, not thrusting yet, just grinding, slow, devastating circles that press him right where I need him most. The friction steals the breath from my lungs, pleasure curling hot and sharp in my belly.
I whimper, hips lifting to meet his instinctively, chasing that pressure like I’ll die without it.
His hands slide under my thighs, lifting them higher, opening me wider. The angle changes everything. The next thrust sinks deeper, harder, and I cry out, the sound tearing loose from my chest before I can stop it.
“There,” he groans. “Fuck, Harper...right there.”
He starts to move then, finally giving in to the rhythm that’s been building between us.
Slow at first. Deep, powerful strokes that pull all the way out before pushing back in, his body rocking against mine in a steady, relentless pace.
Each thrust presses something loose inside me, pleasure stacking higher and higher until I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t remember anything but him.
The bed creaks beneath us, the sound obscene and grounding all at once.
His towel brushes my thigh, damp now, clinging uselessly to his hips as if it’s the last thin barrier between us and something completely unhinged.
Sweat slicks his chest, his muscles flexing with every movement, and I can’t stop watching him, can’t stop watching the way he loses himself inside me.
My nails rake down his back, dragging a broken groan from his throat. His rhythm stutters for half a second before he compensates, thrusting harder, deeper, his breath hot against my ear.
“You feel so fucking good,” he growls. “So tight. So wet. I could stay buried in you forever.”
The words hit something dangerous in my chest. My legs lock around his waist, pulling him closer, refusing to let him pull back as far on the next thrust. He laughs under his breath, and adjusts, pounding into me with shorter, sharper strokes that hit me right on the edge.
“That’s it,” he says, voice shaking now. “Don’t let go. Take it.”
The pressure builds fast, too fast, my body tightening, heat coiling low and violent. My moans turn breathless, desperate, my hips stuttering against his. He feels it immediately.
“Already?” he murmurs, teeth grazing my jaw. “You going to cum for me like this?”
“Yes,” I sob, the word torn raw from my throat. “Please...don’t stop.”
He doesn’t.
His hand slides between us, thumb finding my clit with brutal precision, circling just enough to send white-hot pleasure screaming through my veins. I break around him, body seizing, back arching off the bed as I come apart with his name on my lips.
He groans loud and deep, thrusting through it, riding out every pulse as my body clenches around him. “Fuck...Harper, just like that.”
He follows seconds later, rhythm faltering as he buries himself as deep as he can go, his body going rigid over mine. His breath punches out of him in a broken sound as he spills inside me, forehead dropping to my shoulder, his weight grounding and real and overwhelming.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
We’re tangled together, slick with sweat and heat, the room heavy with the aftermath of what we’ve just done. My heart is racing, my body still trembling in his arms, every nerve humming.
He finally lifts his head, brushing his thumb gently along my cheek, the touch soft in stark contrast to everything else.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
I nod, breathless, spent, utterly undone. “Yeah.”
Then his lips brush against my temple, soft and reverent, a stark contrast to the way he just split me apart and filled me like he needed to.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he whispers.
The words land heavier than they should, lodging deep in my chest, behind my ribs, somewhere near my heart where I’ve tried to keep everything untouched and unreachable. I don’t move, don’t speak, just let myself feel it, his voice rough with honesty, his mouth still warm against my skin.
Then it hits me, subtle at first, hardly more than a spark pulsing low in my chest. A flicker of heat, sharp enough to steal a breath, blooming and vanishing in the same heartbeat. It leaves behind a strange, hollow tightness beneath my ribs. Not fear. Not anger.
Something far more treacherous.
Something dangerously close to penitence.