Chapter 9 #2
I was halfway to my truck when I pulled out my phone and called Harrison instead of texting back.
He answered on the second ring. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I unlocked the truck but didn't get in yet. “Got your message.”
“And you called instead of texting back. Who are you and what have you done with Jeremy Price?”
I chuckled. “I just …” I leaned against the truck bed, right next to the back wheel well. “Wanted to hear your voice.”
“Yeah?” he asked after a pause, his voice dropping low.
“Mmm-hmm,” I hummed, picturing the way his eyes would soften when his voice sounded like that.
“Aren’t you sweet?” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“I’ve never been sweet a day in my life.” Heat crept up the back of my neck, and I scuffed the toe of my boot through the snow, carving a line in the fresh powder.
I heard Harrison snicker, but he didn’t argue. “What are you up to?”
“Just finished up with Stella.”
“Everything squared away?”
“Yup, we’re set.” I looked up at a sky filled with thick gray clouds, promising more snow. “You really making pasta from scratch?”
“I really am. I seem to recall you love carbonara.”
My chest tightened, but it was a good kind of tight. The kind that came from someone remembering small details about you, things you figured they would have forgotten.
We’d been at a hockey tournament our junior year, some chain restaurant outside of Providence after we’d won our bracket.
The team had been celebrating, and Harrison had ordered the carbonara.
I’d stolen a bite off his plate and ended up eating half of it before he’d shoved me away, laughing.
Then he’d ordered me my own plate, and I’d devoured both servings like I’d never eaten before, declaring it my favorite pasta ever.
And he remembered. After all this time, he remembered.
“That the one with the pancetta?” I asked, pretending I didn’t know exactly which dish he was talking about.
“Guanciale, but yes.”
That tightness in my chest loosened, warmth spreading through me like I’d taken a shot of good whiskey. “I could get used to this.”
“To what?”
“Coming home to you. You cooking for me. Us having dinner plans.” I hesitated. “All of it.”
Harrison paused again, longer this time. “Me too,” he said quietly. “I could get used to all of it, too.”
“Good. That’s … good.” I cleared my throat around the lump that had suddenly formed there. My throat went tight, my eyes burning slightly, and I had to blink a few times to clear them.
The cold air bit at my face, and I realized I’d been standing out here long enough that my fingers were starting to go numb around my phone.
“You okay? You sound odd.” There was something in his voice. Concern, maybe. Like he could tell I wasn’t saying everything I wanted to say.
“I’m great,” I said, pushing off the truck. “But I should let you go. I still have a few stops to make.”
“Okay.” Another pause. “See you at seven?” His tone shifted, sounding like maybe he didn’t quite believe me but wasn’t sure if he should push.
The uncertainty in his voice—the way he was clearly trying not to assume anything—made my hands tremble. Tonight, I’d make sure Harrison never had to feel uncertain about us again. About me, or what I wanted.
“See you then, Harry.”
I climbed into my truck, started the engine, and pulled out onto Main Street. The drive back toward my cabin took me past the turn-off to Harrison’s place. My hands tightened on the steering wheel.
Stop wasting time, Stella had told me.
I’d already lost seventeen years with Harrison. Seventeen years of moments we could have had, of mornings waking up next to him, of nights falling asleep with his body pressed against mine.
And for what? Fear? Pride? The stubborn inability to admit that some things were worth fighting for, even when they scared the shit out of you?
We’d been together for less than a week. Most people would say it was too soon to know. Too fast to feel this much.
But I’d loved Harrison Prescott since I was sixteen years old. I’d loved him through distance and silence and years of pretending I didn’t. I’d loved him through anger and hurt, and that moment four days ago when he’d welcomed me back into his bed, his body, his life.
I wasn’t falling in love with him.
I’d never stopped.
And suddenly, the idea of playing it safe, of pretending this was casual or new or anything other than what it actually was, felt like the stupidest thing I could do.
I wanted forever with this man.
And I couldn’t wait another minute to tell him, errands be damned.
I drove past the driveway to my cabin and pulled a u-ey, headed back toward Harrison’s house instead, my heart pounding against my ribs. The lights in the kitchen window showed his silhouette moving around inside.
I parked, killed the engine, and sat there for exactly three seconds before I practically shot out of my truck, up the porch steps, and through his front door without bothering to knock.
I dashed through the house, finding him at the stove, a wooden spoon in his hand. He turned toward me, confusion on his face, but I didn’t give him time to ask questions.
I crossed the kitchen in three strides, cupped his face in my hands, and kissed him.
He made a surprised sound against my mouth, but then he was kissing me back, his free hand coming up to grip my shoulder.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Harrison stared at me with wide eyes. “What—what was that for?”
His free palm slid from my shoulder to settle flat against my chest, the heat of it warm through my shirt. I was sure he could feel my heart pounding beneath it.
“I love you,” I said.
His eyes went even wider. “What?”
“I love you.” The words came more easily the second time. “I’m in love with you. I have been since we were kids, and I never stopped, and I don’t want to waste any more time pretending this is anything other than what it is.”
“Jeremy—” The spoon clattered against the floor as he let it drop, his hand coming up to cover his mouth.
“I know it’s fast. I know we’ve been together less than a week. But I’ve loved you for almost twenty years. That’s not fast. That’s just …” I searched for the words that would convince him. “That’s just my truth.”
He stared at me like I’d grown a second head, as behind him, something on the stove started to hiss.
“Your pasta,” I said, lifting my chin to indicate the pot boiling over behind him.
“Fuck the pasta,” he answered, his voice coming out rough. “Say it again.”
I reached behind him and twisted the burner knob, killing the flame. Then I took his hand, threading our fingers together. “I love you, Harrison.”
His hands came up to grip my shirt, pulling me down into another kiss. This one was deeper, more desperate, his mouth opening under mine as he backed me against the counter.
“I love you too,” he breathed against my lips. “God, Jeremy, I love you too.”
Something in my chest cracked open then, something that had been locked tight for too long.
I kissed him again, my hands sliding into his hair, angling his head so I could kiss him deeper. He made a sound low in his throat, his body pressing flush against mine, and I could feel every point where we touched.
His fingers twisted in my shirt as our tongues tangled together.
I couldn’t tell you how much time had passed, but when I finally pulled back, we were both panting, his lips were swollen and red, his eyes dark with want.
“Bedroom?” I managed.
“No. Living room,” he countered, already tugging me out of the kitchen.
We collapsed onto the couch, and it creaked beneath our combined weight.
Harrison kissed me again, his lips tracing the outline of my jaw before dipping down to my neck.
My eyes rolled back in my head as he nipped the skin there, his hands sliding up my shirt to scrape his fingers against my nipples.
I moaned into his mouth, arching into him.
“I love you,” he whispered against my skin, his voice low and husky.
He pulled back slightly, his hands finding the hem of my shirt and tugging upward. I sat up just enough to let him pull it over my head, then immediately reached for his. He raised his arms, and I yanked the fabric off, tossing it somewhere behind the couch.
His hands went to my belt buckle next, fumbling with it for a second before getting it open. I lifted my hips so he could shove my jeans and boxers down my thighs. I kicked them the rest of the way off while Harrison stood long enough to strip out of his own pants, his eyes never leaving mine.
When we were both naked, he climbed back onto the couch, straddling my lap.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, leaning forward to brush his lips over my collarbone.
My heart thundered in my chest as he trailed his mouth lower, kissing and nipping his way down my chest.
I watched as he dropped to his knees between my legs, his hands braced on my thighs.
He looked up at me, pupils blown wide, the tip of his tongue flicking out to wet his lips.
My hands shook as I reached down, cradling the back of his head, threading my fingers through his hair. I wanted him so badly it hurt.
He took my cock in his hand, stroking me once, twice. Then he ducked his head and licked up the length of it, swirling his tongue around the head before closing his mouth over me. I groaned, my hips jerking up, and he chuckled with me still in his mouth, feeling the vibration in every nerve ending.
“Jesus,” I gritted out.
He sucked me deep, then pulled back to tease just the tip, his eyes locked on mine the whole time. I’d had blowjobs before, but this was something else. This was worship.
No. It was love.
I dug my heels into the rug, my vision blurring at the edges. When Harrison finally pulled off with a wet pop, I was shaking, sweat breaking out across my forehead.
“If you keep that up,” I warned, my voice low with warning. “I’m not gonna last.” I was drunk on him, on the way he smelled and tasted and felt, every sense overloaded.
He grinned, cheeks flushed, and crawled up to kiss me, the taste of myself faint on his tongue.
He straddled my hips, grinding down and making both of us moan. The heat from the fireplace had us slick and feverish, skin glowing in the orange light.
I reached out blindly for the end table, fumbling for the drawer where he kept a bottle of lube, and accidentally knocked over a picture frame.
He laughed, nipping at my earlobe and pulling back with a smirk. “Not necessary.”
“What?” I blinked up at him.
He bit his lip and shrugged. “I already prepped.”
I gaped at him. “You what?”
He wiggled his eyebrows, then turned around and presented his ass to me.
I nearly choked on my own tongue when he reached back and spread himself open.
There, nestled between his cheeks, was a shiny chrome plug gleaming in the firelight.
He gripped the flared end between his fingers and slowly pulled.
A small, desperate noise escaped him as the widest part stretched him, and my hands clenched involuntarily against the upholstery.
When he looked over his shoulder at me, his pupils had nearly swallowed his irises.
“Fuck,” I breathed out.
“That’s the idea,” he said, climbing onto my lap again and guiding me to his entrance.
He sank down in one smooth, fluid motion, his mouth falling open in a silent moan.
I had to grit my teeth to keep from coming right then. He was so fucking tight and hot.
“God, Harry,” I groaned, clutching his hips as he started to ride me, slow at first, then faster, more desperate.
He braced his hands on my shoulders for leverage, head thrown back, sweat beading on his brow. He looked incredible—wild, flushed, alive.
And mine.
“Been thinking about this all day,” he panted, grinding down harder. “Thinking about you inside me. Fuck, Jeremy. You feel so good.”
I drove up into him, meeting each of his thrusts, my hands roaming over his back, his sides, every place I could touch. I never wanted to let him go.
He leaned forward, pressing our foreheads together for a moment before pulling back just enough to look at me. Tears shone in his eyes—happy ones, I thought.
“Don't stop,” he whispered, his voice cracking.
“Never,” I promised, and I meant it with every cell in my body.
I reached between us and took his cock in hand, stroking him in rhythm with our movement. He was leaking enough to make him slick, and when I twisted my wrist just so, he cried out and clenched down around me.
“Come with me,” he begged.
I stroked him faster, feeling him tense and tremble, his mouth pressed to my shoulder as he bit down to muffle his scream. He came hard, pulsing hot over my hand and our stomachs, and the sight of him like this pushed me over the edge.
I followed him with a groan, holding him tight as we shuddered through it together.
He collapsed against me, our bodies slick with sweat and cum, breathing in unison. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed the top of his head, feeling more whole than I ever had before.
“I love you,” I said again, because apparently now that I’d started saying it, I couldn’t seem to stop.
Harrison hummed contentedly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my chest. For a while, we just lay there, the only sounds our breathing and the snap of the dying fire. The room had cooled, but I didn’t care. I’d stay here all night if it meant keeping him in my arms.
“I managed to save the noodles,” I said eventually when my stomach growled. “But should we be worried about the sauce?”
Harrison laughed, the sound vibrating through my chest. “No, I hadn’t even started yet.”
We both looked down then at our sweat and cum-slick bodies. Harrison wrinkled his nose. “We should probably shower before I finish dinner.”
I trailed my fingers through the mess on his stomach, then brought them to my mouth, sucking them clean. “I’m good.”
“Jesus Christ.” Harrison’s laugh was half-scandalized, half-aroused. He shook his head. “Hot as that was, you need real food. You get cranky when you’re hungry.”
“I do not.”
“Jeremy. You once threw a hockey stick across the locker room because someone ate your protein bar.”
“It was the last one.”
He laughed again, shaking his head, then his expression sobered. “I don't know what I did to deserve a second chance with you.”
“You exist,” I said simply. “That’s enough.”
He kissed me again, soft and sweet and tasting like promises.
“So,” he said when we broke apart. “Forever?”
“If you'll have me.”
“Jeremy Price.” His smile was brighter than coals in the grate. “I’ll have you for as long as you’ll let me.”
“Better make it forever then.”
“Deal.”