Chapter 10 Harris
Harris
I don’t think she realizes what she’s doing to me.
The way she’s sitting there, her legs still draped over mine, her voice soft but steady as she says, “Consider this me asking.”
For a second, I don’t move. I stare at her, trying to wrap my head around the fact that she said it—that Lucy has the balls to ask me to kiss her.
Most women act coy. Or play hard to get. Or are so overtly sexy to make it clear that sex is what they want.
They usually don’t come out and say the words.
Lucy watches me, lips curved into a smile, like she knows she’s thrown me completely off my game.
Like she’s daring me to make the next move.
God help me, I’m not strong enough to resist her.
I let my hands slide a little farther up her thighs, feeling the warmth of her skin under my palms, and lean in slowly, my eyes locked on hers. Her breath catches—the smallest sound, barely audible—sending a jolt straight through me.
“You sure about this?” I murmur, my voice low, rougher than I mean it to be.
Her smile widens a fraction, and she tilts her chin up another inch. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”
There it is again—that quiet confidence that drives me absolutely insane. It’s like she knows she’s got me wrapped around her finger, like she’s been waiting for this moment as much as I have.
I don’t give her a chance to take back the words.
I close the distance between us in one smooth motion, my lips brushing against hers, soft and slow at first. Testing. Playful. But the second she sighs into the kiss, her hands sliding up to grip the front of my shirt, something inside me snaps.
I tilt my head, deepening the kiss, my hands tightening on her thighs as I pull her closer. She tastes like trouble—sweet and sharp and addictive as hell—and I know I’m done for.
Her fingers curl into my shirt, pulling me closer still, and suddenly, it’s not enough. The space between us, the slow and careful pace—I want more. I want her.
But then she lets out this quiet little sound against my mouth—half laugh, half moan—and it’s like she’s grounding me all over again.
Reminding me who I’m dealing with.
Lucy.
Badass.
The boss.
She is in charge, and I love it.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Her laugh is soft, breathless, and entirely too smug. “I think I have some idea.”
I shake my head, grinning despite myself, because of course she’d say that. Of course she’d be completely unfazed while I’m over here trying not to lose my damn mind.
“You’re wicked,” I murmur, my thumb brushing absently over the curve of her thigh.
“Only to you,” she quips, and I can’t help but laugh.
Her words hang in the air, playful and sharp, but there’s something else there too—something that makes my chest tighten. Before I can think too much about it, she leans in, capturing my mouth again, and just like that, I’m done thinking altogether.
This kiss is different—bolder, hungrier. Her hands slide up, tangling in my hair, and a soft sound escapes her that has my grip tightening on her thighs.
She shifts closer, knees pressing against my sides, and suddenly, I’m sinking back into the couch, her weight following me down.
“Wait a second—” I manage, but the words are lost as her lips move to my jaw, trailing heat down to the corner of my mouth, then back again.
She pulls back to smirk at me, her cheeks flushed, her breath shallow.
“What?” she asks, her tone equal parts sweet and teasing. “You said I’m wicked. Let me pretend that I am.”
I don’t get a chance to respond because her hands are on my shoulders now, pushing me gently until my back hits the cushions. She moves with me, her legs straddling my hips as she settles on top, and the shift in control is so seamless, so deliberate, it leaves me reeling.
“Jesus, Luce,” I murmur, my hands instinctively finding her waist, anchoring her in place.
“Luce,” she repeats. “Some of my best friends call me that.”
“Does that mean we’re friends?” I ask, my thumbs brushing soft, lazy circles over her waist. There’s a teasing edge to my voice, but my heart is pounding harder than I’d like to admit.
She leans in closer, her lips quirking into a half smile. “Friends?” she repeats, her voice light, almost mocking. “I don’t kiss my friends like this.”
Before I can reply, she dips her head, her mouth finding mine again, and any semblance of control I thought I had vanishes.
Her kiss is deliberate, commanding, like she’s making sure I know exactly who’s in charge here.
Her weight on me, her hair falling around us like a curtain—it’s too much and not enough all at once.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Guilty,” she says, unrepentant, her fingers tracing idle patterns over my shirt. Her gaze flickers down, lingering on my lips before snapping back up to my eyes. “But so are you.”
“Obviously.”
I’m a goner. She knows it.
But instead of saying anything, I let my hand slide up to the back of her neck, pulling her back down to me, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our breaths mingling, the warmth of her body against mine.
I don’t know how far this is going to go, and honestly?
I don’t care.
Instinctively, my hands slide from her waist to the hem of her sweatshirt. My fingers pause there, hesitating, but when she shifts slightly, pressing herself closer to me, it’s all the encouragement I need.
I slip my hands under the fabric, the warmth of her skin against my palms sending a jolt straight through me as they move higher, tracing the line of her ribs, and the sound she makes has me ready to lose my damn mind.
My hands shift, fingers skimming over her bra, the thin fabric doing nothing to dull the aching in my pants.
My dick is so fucking hard.
Her breath catches again, and this time, she breaks the kiss, leaning back slightly, her head tilting to look down at me, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen.
My lips feel swollen too.
She moves again, more deliberate this time, and I can’t stop the low groan that escapes me. The sound seems to spur her on, her body pressing harder against mine as her lips find my neck, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin under my jaw.
“Fuck,” I mutter, my hands sliding lower, gripping her hips as I guide her movements.
The fabric of my jeans feels like sandpaper against me, but I don’t care. Not when she’s making those soft, breathless noises that go straight to my head, and lower.
Her hands are everywhere—my chest, my shoulders, my hair—like she can’t get enough of me, like she’s as desperate for this as I am. She tilts her hips, grinding against me, and my head falls back against the couch, my breath coming in short, uneven bursts.
“Lucy,” I manage, my voice hoarse, but I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.
Her name is the only thing that makes sense, the only thing that grounds me as she moves against me, slow and purposeful, the heat between us building with every passing second.
Her hands slide down, gripping my shoulders as she rocks her hips again, her movements gaining a little more urgency. I can feel her through the thin fabric of her leggings, the pressure sending sparks of pleasure shooting through me, and it takes everything I have not to lose it right there.
Her head falls forward, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispers, “You feel so fucking amazing.”
The words hit me like a freight train, my hands dragging her closer, pressing her more firmly against me.
“You’re killing me,” I breathe, my voice rough, and she lets out a soft laugh, the sound muffled against my neck.
“That’s the point.” Her breath is warm against my skin, and then she’s moving again, her rhythm matching the frantic pounding of my pulse.
Every roll of her hips, every brush of her hands, every breathless sound she makes—it’s consuming and overwhelming, and I’m completely, hopelessly lost.
“I feel sixteen,” she says. “The last time I dry humped someone was in high school.”
“Same.” I was having sex at an early age but indulged in the occasional dry-fucking session.
Her laugh is quiet but throaty, like she’s savoring every second of this. She shifts, the pressure perfect; my hands grip her tighter, my fingers digging into her waist as I try—and fail—to keep my composure.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she murmurs, lips grazing the shell of my ear, her voice sending a shiver straight down my spine.
“Believe it,” I manage, though my words are strained, almost lost under the sound of my own breathing. “I’m going to f-fucking c-come in my pants.”
“I would be so flattered if you did,” she says, lips brushing against my neck. “I can feel how hard you are.”
Like a rock.
I laugh, low and rough, my hands sliding up her back, pulling her even closer still . . .
“I’m gonna lose it,” I admit, my voice rough, and she laughs again, soft and breathless, her lips brushing against mine in a kiss that’s all heat and desperation.
“Me too,” she whispers.
Her hands tangle in my hair, tugging. Sending a bolt of heat through me.
I curse under my breath, meeting her gaze.
Her eyes are bright, wild, and full of something that feels like freedom—like she’s ready to jump and take me with her.
That’s it. That’s all it takes.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck . . .
“Oh shit,” I groan, the words catching in my throat as the hot rush of release hits me, thick and undeniable. My body jerks, and I pull back, mortified. Heat floods my face, and I press my palms to my eyes like I can somehow erase what just happened.
I keep my hands over my face, not daring to look at her, but I can feel her eyes on me, feel the tension hanging heavy in the air.
She pauses, her eyes widening for a moment before her lips quirk into a teasing smile. “Did you just—?”
“Come in my pants? Yeah,” I clarify, running a hand through my hair, mortified. “Not my finest moment, I know.”
Her laugh is soft, warm, not mocking in the slightest. “You’re adorable,” she says, brushing her fingers over my cheek. “So relatable.”
Adorable.
So relatable . . .
Every man’s dream come true.
I groan, burying my face in her shoulder, half laughing at myself. “You’re being way too nice about this.”
She tilts my chin up, her smile softening. “You think I’m done with you? Not even close.” Her tone is teasing, but there’s heat in her gaze that sends a fresh jolt through me despite everything. “But maybe we take this slow for now.”
I groan, leaning back and covering my face with my hands. “I think I broke the record for most embarrassing moment.”
She laughs softly, pulling my hands away. “Come on. That can’t be the most embarrassing thing that’s happened to you. Besides”—her gaze drops to my lips, and she bites her own—“I’d say it’s a compliment.”
I narrow my eyes at her teasing grin. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Maybe a smidge.” Lucy traces my jaw with the tip of her finger. “And can I say: You’re ridiculously hot when you’re flustered.”
“Hot as in good looking and sexy, or hot as in sweaty and gross?”
“Sexy.” She hesitates. “And a little sweaty.”
That’s all I need to hear.
Hefting myself up off the couch, I tug my shirt down self-consciously over my semi-boner, hoping she doesn’t notice—or worse, that she absolutely does.
My face burns either way.
“On that note, I need a minute to clean up.”
Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she leans, one hand draped lazily over the back of the couch. She’s watching me like a cat who’s cornered a mouse, completely unbothered.
“Don’t take too long. I might miss you.” She pauses to tap her chin. “Might.”
“Seriously,” I call over my shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”
“You like it,” she replies, her voice singsongy and full of amusement.
In the bathroom, I shut the door and let out a long breath. Turning to the mirror, I catch sight of my reflection—flushed, disheveled, and still way too keyed up for my own good.
“Get it together,” I mutter to myself, running a hand through my hair.
I splash water on my face, the coolness shocking me out of the lustful haze she’s left me in. Glancing at my reflection again, I shake my head.
Red cheeks. Messy hair. Dilated pupils.
“She’s going to be the death of me,” I mumble to no one. “And quit acting like you’ve never felt a woman’s tits before.”
So embarrassing.
If I come in my pants from five minutes of dry humping, how long would I last inside her?
Don’t even want to think about it . . .
I would never hear the end of it.
I pull down my pajama bottoms and stare inside. Push them all the way down my hips, the sticky mess gobbed to my underwear and leg as I yank them off. Ball them up and toss them to the corner of the bathroom.
The thought of leaving them there crosses my mind; I groan and pick them up, throw them into the basket instead. No point in risking a follow-up roasting session if she finds them later.
In the hamper they go, banished to the depths of laundry purgatory . . . take a washcloth and wipe up the residue stuck to my inner thighs.
I need clean bottoms. I can’t waltz out there with my nads hanging out. After snatching a pair of pants from the hook behind the door, I pull them on.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door. Lucy is still on the couch, sprawled out with her legs tucked beneath her, scrolling on her phone. Her head lifts when she hears me, and the second her eyes land on my bottoms, her lips curl into a sly grin.
“Huge fan of the gray sweatpants.”
I grunt. “They’re keeping me decent.”
Lucy’s eyes rake over me from head to toe, landing on my middle section. My dick. It’s not a casual once-over either—it’s deliberate and sets every nerve in my body on edge.
I should head to my room, put on some damn pants, and pretend this never happened.
That’s the logical choice.
But logic left my brain the second she gave me that look.
I take a step forward, and her brows lift slightly in curiosity. Before I can second-guess myself, I’m kneeling in front of her on the plush carpet, hands spreading her thighs apart.
She gasps.
Doesn’t pull away, beautiful blue eyes widening as my palms gently slide over her flesh.
“What are you . . . ?” she whispers as she watches, transfixed, lips parting, her phone slipping from her hand and landing on the couch cushion beside her with a soft thud.
“Your turn,” I say, my voice low, teasing, as I look up at her through my lashes.
For a moment, the room is silent except for the sound of our breathing, the air between us charged with something I can’t put into words. My hands stay where they are, waiting, giving her the choice to decide what happens next.