Chapter 20 Harris
Harris
This was not on my bingo card for the night.
Standing in Lucy’s shower, hot water sluicing down my back, I watch transfixed as she steps inside and makes room for herself—wet, naked. Yeah, I definitely didn’t see this coming . . .
I am absolutely not complaining.
Steam curls around us, thick and hazy. Every single inch of her is on display, dewy and slick from the water, her skin glowing under the dim bathroom light. I try to be subtle about it.
I fail.
Gorgeous tits? Check.
Rosy nipples? Check.
Slick, wet thighs? Check, check.
Water beads along her collarbone, slipping lower, trailing between her breasts before making its way down the dip of her stomach. I swallow, my throat dry, which makes no sense, considering I’m standing under running water.
Lucy doesn’t seem fazed by any of it. If she is, she’s doing a damn good job pretending otherwise. She reaches for the soap, movements slow and deliberate, lathering it between her palms before stepping closer.
Taking her sweet time.
My breath locks in my chest as her hands meet my shoulders, smooth and slick with soap, gliding over my skin. I tilt my head back under the water, exhaling through my nose, forcing myself to focus on my dick not getting hard.
Jesus Christ it feels good.
Her nails scrape lightly over my collarbone, a soft, barely there touch, but enough to send a sharp bolt of awareness straight down my spine. The tenderness of it—the care she won’t admit she’s giving—hits harder than her teasing did.
I stay quiet, watching as she works, the water sliding between us, steam wrapping our bodies in warmth.
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone like this.
Not just physically.
Emotionally too.
She’s quiet. Intentional. I feel her attentiveness in every slow stroke of her hands. Like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me but won’t let herself acknowledge it. At least not out loud.
Or. Maybe she’s waiting for me to crack first.
I give. “You always take your job this seriously?” I murmur, watching her lather up her palms again before smoothing them down my chest.
Her fingers hesitate for a second before resuming their path, gliding lower, enough to make my breath catch. “I thought you said you needed help. Suddenly it seems like you have an ulterior motive.”
“An ulterior motive.” I chuckle, leaning in, my voice dipping lower, brushing the shell of her ear. “Who, me?”
She laughs.
My hands twitch at my sides. I haven’t touched her once, but I want to.
Lucy doesn’t say anything for a moment, keeps lathering soap over my stomach, her eyes very pointedly avoiding mine.
“You’re quiet,” I note, watching her. “Something on your mind?”
She huffs out a laugh, betraying herself by sounding nervous. “God, you are so—”
She doesn’t finish.
I grip her waist, fingers pressing into her slick skin, and I swear to God, if she’s trying to drive me insane, she’s doing a damn good job.
I tilt my head, voice dipping lower. “Say it.”
Her eyes bounce to mine, something flickering in them that wasn’t there a second ago.
Worry.
“Annoying,” she whispers, pressing a kiss into my chest.
“Try again.” I force her to meet my gaze, and damn—she’s enjoying this power she has over me.
Her lips part, like she’s about to fire something back, something sharp and cutting, but then—
She thinks better of it. Changes the rules on me.
Her fingers slide lower, skimming the sharp dip of my hip bone, and I swear my entire body locks up.
“Oh,” she says, voice all fake innocence. “Were you expecting me to say something else?”
Fucking hell.
Of course I was expecting more. To play with her tits, perhaps?
My jaw clenches, my entire body wired with so much tension I could snap in half.
She knows it.
She thrives on it.
And when I think she’s about to put her hand on my cock—the way I’m wishing she would—she steps away. She reaches past me, twists the water off, and turns to face me, her expression unreadable. And then, without one single ounce of hesitation—
She steps out of the shower.
Naked.
Dripping wet.
Bare ass.
I drag a hand down my face, exhaling slowly, trying to shake the chaos in my head before stepping out of the shower. My towel is barely secure when I push open the bathroom door, scanning the hall for her.
I hear the soft shuffle of feet, the creak of her bed.
Bedroom.
My towel hits the floor somewhere between the bathroom and her bedroom, but I don’t even register it.
All I can think about is dick.
Mine.
Inside her.
I brace a hand against the doorframe, inhaling deep, willing some kind of rational thought back into my body.
It doesn’t work.
She’s leaning back against her pillows, sprawled out. “You lose something?”
My jaw tics. “You know damn well what I lost.”
Her eyes roam down my chest, to my cock. “You came chasing after me.”
“As if I wasn’t gonna? You’re fucking naked!”
Lucy laughs, tipping back her neck, water dripping onto her bedding. She does not care. Shimmies forward on the bed, legs hanging off the edge . . .
I step up, pulling her forward, standing between her thighs. My hands trail up, slow, deliberate.
My grip tightens, and I drag her closer until our bodies are flush. Until the head of my dick is at the entrance of her heat. The scent of her shampoo, the fucking smug glint in her eye—I should make her beg me to fuck her. Should make her chase me . . .
But I’m desperate for her.
When she lifts a leg, wrapping it around my hip, I’m gone.
She smirks. “You love being teased.”
I nod in agreement. “You love pushing your luck.”
Her fingers trail up her stomach and over her own breasts. “What are you gonna do about it?”
“Fuck you.”
I don’t wait. Don’t hesitate.
Her gasp is swallowed by my mouth as I lean down to claim her, her back arching, hands gripping my shoulders. Her nails bite into my skin, dragging, demanding, pulling me in deeper.
“God,” she breathes, head tipping back as I thrust, slow at first . . . to make her squirm . . . to hear the little whimper she makes when I go deep inside her.
I could make her wait longer. Draw this out. But I’m barely holding on myself.
“Not so smug now, huh?” I murmur against her throat, my lips trailing lower, tasting the salt of her skin.
She fists a hand in my hair, tugging me back to meet her gaze. Lust drunk, hazy, and completely unguarded.
“Shut up,” she whispers, voice rough with need. “Don’t stop.”
I grin, my grip tightening as I pull her impossibly closer. “With pleasure.”
Her body arches beneath me, her breath breaking in a gasp that sends a shiver down my spine. I drag my lips over her collarbone, lingering at the pulse point beneath her jaw, feeling the way it pounds in time with mine. She’s warm and pliant in my hands, her skin damp.
Lucy buries her face in my neck, her lips brushing my skin, a quiet moan spilling against my throat. I swear it’s the most intoxicating sound I’ve ever heard.
“Jeez, you feel so fuckin’ good,” she whispers, voice barely audible, but I feel the plea in the way her body moves against mine.
Her hands slide down my back, fingers digging in as I move, as I press her deeper into the mattress. She meets me with equal fervor, breath sharp, gasps ragged, body molding to mine like we were made to be together.
I’m braced above her, forehead resting against hers as we move together while the heat builds and builds and builds . . .
“Look at me,” I murmur against her lips.
Her eyes flutter open, heavy lidded, pupils blown wide. And damn if that sight alone doesn’t undo me.
When we finally shatter, it’s together.
I collapse against her, burying my face in the crook of her neck, my breath coming in uneven pants. Her fingers comb through my hair, slow and gentle, grounding me.
Finally, she exhales a breathless laugh.
“Well,” she murmurs, voice hoarse. “I’m so glad you’re not a murderer.”
“Nope. Just murdered your pussy.”
My body buzzes, oversensitized, and hers trembles slightly as she exhales. The air in the room is sticky with the smell of sex and shower gel and wet bodies.
I prop myself up on my elbows, peering down into her flushed face.
Beautiful.
Freckles.
Brown hair.
Strands of it stick to her damp forehead, and her lips are swollen from my kisses. Lucy looks like she belongs here, tangled in these sheets with me.
She blinks up at me, eyes still half lidded but sharp. “What are you thinking?” She smiles. “Sorry—I know guys hate when women ask that.”
Do they?
Lucy stretches, arms above her head, affording me the opportunity to lean forward and suck one of her nipples in my mouth.
Pink.
Perfect.
She inhales sharply, fingers threading through my hair before she seems to remember herself. Her hands slide down to my shoulders, pushing gently. “You need rest.”
I groan against her skin. “I need you more.”
She huffs out a laugh, shifting beneath me. “I’m serious.”
“I’m thinking that . . . I’m going to be a mess at that logrolling bullshit.”
Lucy’s eyes go wide as she bolts upright. “Oh my God, you’re right.” She presses a hand to my ribs, gentle but firm, and winces. “The bruise is getting worse.”
“Well, I’m not going to no-show. Annabelle would kill me.”
Lucy shakes her head, lips pressing into a line. “No, she wouldn’t—she was on the phone with me when I thought a lunatic was breaking into my house. She’ll understand.”
I shake my head too. “No. Not doing that to her.”
Her fingers trail along my side, cautious but curious. “Harris—”
“I’m fine.” I catch her wrist and squeeze, not enough to stop her but enough to make her pause. “It’s not that bad.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
“Besides,” I add, tipping my head back onto the pillow, “I already know how this is going to go. I’ll show up, do the damn logrolling, probably fall on my ass a few times, and then Annabelle will yell something about teamwork before letting us all get drunk at the bonfire.”
Lucy hums, sliding back down beside me, her bare leg curling over mine. “And what if you wake up tomorrow and can’t move?”
“Then I’ll crawl there.”
She smacks my chest lightly, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Stubborn.”
“Determined.”
“Same thing,” she murmurs, tracing patterns on my skin. “You should get a tattoo here.”
I glance down, watching as she draws an invisible design on my rib cage, beneath the worst of the bruise. “Oh yeah?”
She nods, her head resting on my shoulder now, her lips barely brushing my skin as she speaks. “Something tough.”
I huff out a laugh. “You don’t think I’m already tough?”
“You are,” she says, tilting her head to meet my gaze. “But this would make you even tougher.”
I smirk. “And what exactly would make me tougher?”
“No idea.” She bites her lip, then grins. “Maybe a bunch of trees—a tree line and mountains, to commemorate your time in my little town.” She pauses, eyes glinting mischievously. “And my vagina,” she adds, giggling.
I choke on my breath, caught between shock and laughter. “Oh yeah?” I slide my hand down her back, fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles against her hip. “You want me to get a tattoo of your pussy on my body?”
“That is so gross,” she laughs, smacking my shoulder.
I chuckle, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Would you ever get a tattoo?”
Lucy shrugs, staring up at the ceiling. “I’ve thought about it a few times but have no idea what I would ink on my skin.”
I tilt my head, watching her. “Nothing at all?”
“Well . . .” She stretches, her body shifting against mine. “I like the idea of something small. Maybe meaningful. Except every time I think I’ve found something I might want, I talk myself out of it.”
My thumb brushes her wrist. “I think tattoos should mark a moment.”
Lucy exhales, eyes searching mine. “Like . . . the moment you leave?”
Ouch. That was a sharp dig.
Still, I hesitate. The truth is, I don’t know.
I don’t know what happens after I’m gone.
I don’t want to think about that.
I want to exist here, in this bed, with her.
So I tighten my grip on her hip, pulling her closer. “We’ll figure it out.”
Her lips part, like she wants to argue, like she wants to demand an actual answer, something tangible she can hold on to as I smooth my hand up her spine, feeling the warmth of her skin, the steady rise and fall of her breathing.
Neither of us speaks.
Neither of us moves.
At some point, she shifts, her forehead tucking under my chin, her breath ghosting across my collarbone.
“Lucy?”
“Yeah?”
“My back is killing me.”