Chapter 17 Lucy
Lucy
It starts slow.
The way his lips move across my stomach, leaving a trail of warmth, making my breath hitch as I stare down at him.
His hands are steady now—no more trembling like before, when he slipped off my thong.
Now they’re confident, gliding over my thighs like he’s been waiting to touch me like this forever.
I’m not used to this. Not used to someone taking their time, savoring every second like I’m something worth worshipping.
He looks up at me, his dark eyes locking with mine, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. There’s something in his gaze that’s deeper than desire. It’s admiration.
Devotion, even.
I bite my lip, watching as he presses a kiss above my hip bone, his stubble grazing my skin in a way that sends shivers down my spine. My hands are in his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands, and I can feel him smile against my skin like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
God, he’s good at this.
It feels like ecstasy.
My breath comes out in a shaky gasp, my back arching off the bed as I give in to the feeling, to him. My fingers tighten in his hair, and he groans against me, the sound vibrating through my body like an electric current.
Oh God . . .
I want to come so bad.
But I don’t. I want him to be inside me when it happens. I want . . .
To come together.
Feel his body racking with his own orgasm.
But the sight of his head between my legs . . .
“Oh God.”
So fucking hot. Sexy.
I watch as he sucks my clit, close to double vision. Intoxicating.
Finally, I push at his shoulders, needing him closer. Wanting his dick to fill me up. “Harris . . .”
He shakes his head.
“Please!” I push at him again. “Fuck me.”
He hesitates. Moves, using my thigh to wipe his mouth before climbing back up my body, hard dick brushing against my leg.
Yes, yes, yes . . .
“Condom?” His rough voice wants to know, and I tilt my head toward the bedside table, pleased with myself for being prepared. A Girl Scout.
I pant as he tears the package open and slides it on. Giddy with anticipation. Mouth watering with need.
So hungry for his dick.
Greedy.
I almost laugh, but hold it in.
Harris presses a kiss to my collarbone, then my jaw, before finally reaching my lips.
“Still mad at me?” he murmurs, his breath warm against my mouth.
“No.” My own breath is a whimper, slipping out as he shifts, hitting that spot that has me seeing stars.
His lips curve into a delicious grin, teeth grazing my bottom lip before he bites down, just enough to sting.
“Good girl,” he says, his voice a rough, sinful rasp. “Because I’m not even close to being done with you.”
Good girl.
The way he says it—low and dark and dripping with arousal—makes my whole body clench around him, heat pooling low and tight as he starts to move again . . .
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his thumb tracing along my bottom lip. “You like that, don’t you?”
“Yes.” So much.
Harris rocks into me, deeper, harder, making me gasp. “I know you do.”
If this is how he plans on apologizing, he can piss me off any time he wants.