Chapter 24
24
Fraser sat with Bernard on the middle step of his porch, shaking his head slowly from side to side at Harper. She was struggling to hold up a gigantic cork board in front of her face, nose squished against the back of the frame. “Where did you even get a cork board that big?”
Harper propped said board against his chopping block, ready to present him with her marketing strategy. The board was almost as tall as her, rising from the soil to her chest, and was covered in magazine clippings and note cards dense with scrawled and highlighted ideas. She’d even made a mood board of what his shop might look like, if he chose to open one.
At his question, Harper twirled a strand of hair around her finger, the picture of innocence, before she dropped the ruse and crouched guiltily behind the board. “Alice and Cam weren’t using it at the café.”
“You stole it?” His voice rose in… well, he didn’t know what. If stealing was bad, why did she look so terribly cute, with that hopeful smile dazzling him like sunlight? Besides, he couldn’t imagine she was a very subtle thief, if his experience of her trespassing was any indication.
“I borrowed it. Secretly. Without asking.” She scratched her head with the lid of the black Sharpie she held, then quickly brushed past her confession. “ Anyway —”
He couldn’t help but chuckle, scraping a hand over his face. “You’re ridiculous.”
There was a loud whoosh as an Unidentified Blurry Object flew towards him before the pen promptly bounced off his head. Bernard sniffed it when it fell to the ground, disappointed to find it wasn’t ball-shaped.
“Ridiculously amazing?” she said.
“That was implied.” He picked the pen up and threw it back at her feet.
Harper hummed, unconvinced, but her focus returned to the board. She pointed to the top corner, where Flockhart’s B it was simple, like him. Didn’t promise too much or too little. In the corners, silvery, gossamer-like wings and illustrated toadstools paid homage to his pieces on the Fairy Trail, not enough to make the card too busy, but enough to add a magical charm to the aesthetic.
How long had she spent making this? How much time out of her own busy day had she taken to come up with this plan?
He couldn’t believe her. Couldn’t believe how willing she was to encourage him.
When she saw that he was stunned to silence, she wrinkled her nose. “This is just a rough draft. It’s okay if you don’t like it. I have lots of other ideas for the brand name besides Handmade by Fraser . And graphic design is not my passion.”
“Are you mad? I love it, Harp. And the name is perfect.” He took her hand, squeezing as a chasm opened up inside him. This was becoming real. His work could become a living, breathing thing that people knew about. That people cared about.
She’d made all that possible.
“You could even make key rings – from wood, of course,” she said. “Maybe offer some out to potential customers, as free incentives to keep people coming back. I know it would cost a lot to set up, but I have a full plan in place that would hopefully ensure a profit in the long run. Plus, you said my rent is helping with your extra expenses. Couldn’t you put some aside for this?”
He did have a nice little stash of money saved from her weekly payments. Enough to at least print business cards and maybe carve the free gifts. Besides, most of his stuff was upcycled. He sought out fabrics from charity shops and flea markets, used scrap materials from his carpentry work, and there was no shortage of wood in the forest, as long as he kept planting new trees to replace the ones he’d felled.
He took a deep, jagged breath as he pushed the laptop into Harper’s lap. “This is a lot.”
“I know,” she replied gently. “And there’s no pressure. I just want you to know that your work deserves to be seen. I know what it looks like to hold yourself back. It took me years to work up enough confidence to write, even though there have always been stories in my brain. It’s scary, to want something so badly, but to be afraid that people might take it away or ruin it. I get it. I really do.”
He swallowed, finding his throat parched. She was right, and not just about his woodworking. He felt that way about her, too. He wanted her in every possible way, yet he knew one wrong move, one step too far, could leave him hurt. Ruined.
But she was here now, and she was doing anything but ruining him.
She was uprooting him. Planting him in new soil. And whether he liked it or not, he was growing.
He kissed her because he didn’t know what to say, what else to do. He felt her tense under him in surprise, then melt quickly after, abandoning the laptop beside her on the step. “You know me better than I know myself sometimes,” he whispered against her jaw, fingers tracing the knots of her spine through thick wool and soft skin.
“I am good like that, aren’t I?” she teased, brushing the overhanging hair from his brow. “Now, the website. How terrified will you get if I start talking about pay-per-click search campaigns and TikTok promotion?”
“Extremely terrified, but go on. I’m listening.”
“And what’s this here?” asked Fraser, jabbing at a cut-out photo of colourful, glittery balloons, pinned beneath a sticky note that read: Launch Party . “I don’t like the word ‘party’.”
They had moved from the step over to the busy cork board, Harper perched on his chopping block while she adjusted her plans in red marker.
“Don’t worry, old man.” She grinned. “It won’t go on until the wee hours. We can make sure you’re home by ten.”
“Still past my bedtime.” He was unable to keep his touch from trailing over her curves, from the side of her hip, into the small dip of her waist, to her ribs. He wanted her. Badly. He’d never thought the words “closed-loop marketing” or “native advertising” would sound so sexy, but watching Harper shine in a universe she’d clearly grown comfortable in was…
It was inspiring, but it was also really fucking hot. More so because she’d done it for him. She’d said marketing wasn’t her passion anymore, but she’d imagined a world where Fraser’s work mattered – “art”, she was calling it, which he’d never considered it as before.
At his touch, she edged closer, finally abandoning her Sharpie to stand and press her back against his stomach. “Andy liked the idea of a grand reopening for Flockhart’s. You could make it a joint event. There’s lots of space in the B&B’s dining room, and I think it’s important in a community this close that you collaborate. I said the same thing to Andy.”
“It’s not a bad idea. Not at all.” He hooked his hand around the nape of her neck, desperate to feel her mouth on his but unwilling to stop her in the middle of a conversation that might just change the rest of his life.
“You could partner with the nature reserve in charge of the Fairy Trail, too,” she pointed out. “Imagine if you could have your own little stall to sell the figurines along the walk on sunny days?”
“Don’t you think we’re getting ahead of ourselves? People might not even want my tat.”
“Don’t call it tat,” she warned. “You have a gift. People will love it. This town is all about supporting different, unique, one-of-a-kind things.”
“I suppose that’s why I’m so obsessed with you,” he muttered against her lobe.
She shivered, more so when he pressed his body against hers and let his lips trace the space behind her ear, then the beauty mark by her jaw. Her cold, gold hoop earrings grazed his skin, teasing him. They hadn’t touched like this since she’d stayed at his house, and fuck, he’d missed her. Dreamed about her. Had woken up this morning hard and desperate to be inside her again. He’d even blurted her name when he’d used his hand to climax in the shower this morning.
His cock hardened. She turned her head and grinned up at him, shimmying her hips so her full ass rutted against it. God, help me , he thought. It was all he could do not to fall to his knees and take a bite.
“Are you trying to use sex to get me to stop talking about you?” she whispered.
“Maybe a little bit.” He swept her hair from her face so he could see her better, so he could memorise the way she looked in this moment, hold onto it once it had passed. Eyes the colour of the serene forest around them. Freckles uncovered on her cheeks. She was even more beautiful without makeup, all rosy patches and little blemishes, some scars left behind by stories he hadn’t yet heard. He traced the one that ran into her hairline, then moved his thumb to press against her lush bottom lip. “Maybe because I’ve been thinking about you. Constantly. I missed the way you feel against me. Around me.”
She blushed, but a wicked glint shone in her eye. The next second, he felt her palming his length through his jeans. His hips bucked, his self-control hopeless and weak when it came to her. “Maybe I’ve been thinking about you, too.”
“Oh, aye?” He cocked his head. “What have you been thinking?”
“I’ve been thinking about this.” She traced the leather edges of his belt, pressing when she reached the skin above it. Electricity bolted through him, from his belly button down to his cock. He felt like he might combust if she didn’t touch him properly soon. “And I’ve been thinking about how sexy you are. How strong and gentle, all at once. How good you make me feel when your hands are on me.”
“My ego can’t handle so many compliments.”
She turned and began unbuttoning his shirt at a devastatingly unhurried pace. When the cold autumn air kissed his bare chest, she traced the rim of his nipple until he was certain his skin was throbbing. Everything was throbbing. His entire being cried for her.
“I was thinking about how this time, I don’t want you to be gentle with me,” she whispered. “Maybe I want you to bend me over this chopping block and slam into me until we both come.”
“Fuck, Harper.” His fingers coiled into his palms at the image. Not even he could conjure something so sexual, so raw and primal. He’d never had a reason to until he’d met her. Now, it felt like they were in a race only she could ever win. He wasn’t used to being rough.
But for her, he might try.
He grabbed her hips, firmly enough that she gasped, and turned her back around so she was facing his block. She kicked the cork board away, bracing against him as he kissed her throat until the skin turned pink.
“Do you want that now?” He squeezed her full breasts through her clothes. He’d never been gladder for the six-foot fence surrounding them, nor the seclusion his cabin brought. In this corner of the world, nobody would stumble across them. They were free.
Her head bobbed against his shoulder, a nod. “Yes.” She gulped. “I’m on the pill, and I was tested a couple of months ago. You don’t need a condom if you’re safe, too.”
“I am. Got tested after the last time I was with someone. But if it gets uncomfortable…”
“Then I’ll tell you,” she assured, placing a gentle kiss on his chin.
Then, she guided his hand down, over her stomach, under the waistband of her leggings.
“You’ll be the death of me.” He slid his hand quickly between her legs, finding her perfectly wet and ready. When he stroked her, she jolted against him, and he held her steady as he dipped his finger inside, curling towards her G-spot. “Will you be a good lass and tell me something?”
She moaned, fingers lacing through his hair. “Fuck, Fraser.”
“Have you been using your little toy this weekend?” he asked, voice hoarse with desire. Imagining her, spread wide on his bed, in his cabin, as she pleasured herself. “Have you been thinking of me while you play with it?”
She nodded, rocking against him now. “Yes.”
“I’ve been thinking of you, too.” The confession made him feel vulnerable, but powerful at the same time. “In the middle of the night, I imagine your pretty mouth around my cock. In the shower, I shout out your fucking name.” He thrust another finger inside her, moving quicker now.
“Oh, god.” She turned her face away from him, moaning, but he needed to see her. He tipped her chin back, swallowing more pleas from her mouth with a frenzied kiss.
Her impatient ruts brushed his cock, each harder than the last, and it was an effort to keep going, to not throw her over the block now and have done with it.
But he wanted this first. He wanted her to come around his fingers so that the next orgasm would feel even better for her.
He got his wish, her walls clenching around him all at once as her erratic breaths ripped through the clearing. She buckled against him, trembling when he brushed her clit with the lightest of touches.
When she’d steadied herself, he wrapped her hair around his fist with his free hand and tasted her on his soaked fingers with the other. She didn’t need to be told what came next. Together, they grappled to undo his belt and roll down her leggings. She didn’t bother to step out of them, nor him from his jeans, too rushed, too needy, to waste any time.
Harper bent over the chopping block finally, her bare ass dimpled and perfect in front of him. He swore again. Gulped. Traced his fingers over her swollen pussy until she was panting.
“Are you sure?” he asked gently.
“Do I look unsure?” She wiggled to prove her point, and a rich, belly-deep laugh erupted from him.
“You look like a fucking Aphrodite sculpture,” he said, lining himself up. When his tip brushed her, she whined. He wanted that sound recorded, wanted to hear it night and day. “You talk about my art? Your body is art, Harp, and you can’t even imagine all the ways I want to worship it.”
He entered her before she could reply, mouth opening in a silent, stolen shout of pleasure as she stretched around him. Feeling her wetness, her heat, without barriers felt so intensely good that he had to bite his lip to keep from groaning.
Her knuckles turned white at the edge of the block, back arching as he sank deeper, deeper, until she was taking all of his length.
“Go hard. Fast,” she begged.
His fingers dug into her hips, and he obeyed. The sound of their skin slapping together filled his ears as he thrust into her again and again. He would never get tired, would give her everything she needed for as long as she needed it. He felt like he was floating somewhere outside his body, like bliss had been given a physical form in the shape of Harper, and it carried him now somewhere higher, where nothing else could touch him but her.
“Good?” he asked, panting. “Tell me it feels good.”
“ So good.”
He clamped her hips against his, burying himself until it felt as though they were merging together completely. When he found her clit, running dogged circles over it, she let out a hoarse cry.
“Fraser!” she sobbed. She chased her orgasm wildly and hurriedly, and then that knot in his stomach was unravelling, his seed spilling into her until they were slippery and spent. Until he wasn’t sure he was even still here. His body felt too weightless, too exhilarated, to be real.
He caught her before she could collapse against the chopping block, his arms folding around her stomach as he steadied his breath against her shoulder.
“I’m not done with you yet,” he said.
“Oh?”
He was already fingering her swollen, slippery clit again, and her thighs clenched around his hand as though unsure whether she wanted to keep him there or push him out. “Where’s that toy of yours, hmm? I think it’s time we played with it together.”
Slowly, she rolled her body so they were facing one another, her hair a wild tangle around his hands and jaw reddened from his rough kisses. Still, she smiled hazily and led him into the cabin.