Chapter 25
25
Harper was so overwhelmed by pleasure that she could barely breathe. The space between her legs throbbed with the ghost of Fraser’s cock as she hopped onto the bed. They’d shut the door, leaving Bernard to curl up on the couch with their abandoned clothes in the front room.
She could have told Fraser where her vibrator was, tucked into the drawer in the nightstand beside her, but it was much more fun to watch him tear through her suitcase like a man possessed, half-naked, tattoos flexing around freckled sinew and muscle.
When the remaining contents of her suitcase were strewn about the floor, he growled in frustration. “Where is it?”
“Oh, you mean this?” Harper slid open the drawer and pulled out the rose-shaped toy, eagerness plunging through her like a stone into a lake. She shivered when he glanced sharply at her, eyes darkening as he licked his lips.
“Evil woman.”
She grinned. Opened her legs wide to bear herself to him as she reclined against the pillows.
“I want to watch you,” he confessed gruffly. “Will you show me how you use it, love?”
She gulped. She’d never touched herself in front of someone before, never wanted to. But the hunger in his eyes devoured her own self-consciousness, and she realised, with her hand curled around her favourite toy, that perhaps she would give him anything he asked for if it meant he kept looking at her like that.
She inched a lazy finger between her slick folds. When she reached her clit, she whimpered and bit down roughly on her bottom lip, half-expecting to taste blood. “I’m already so sensitive,” she admitted. “I don’t know if I can.”
But Fraser’s hand was already wrapped around his length, which was hardening again. She felt like she might have come then and there just from the sight of him and what it meant: that he wanted her, badly.
Half of her wanted to crawl over to him, tear him back to bed with her and close this gaping distance. Half of her never wanted to move. She found that she wanted to watch him, too. When he’d been behind her, she’d hated not being able to see him come inside of her. Now, she had the perfect view.
“If you need to stop, we’ll stop,” he said.
“I never want to stop with you,” she admitted – then flicked the button on her toy. It came to life with a faint buzz – she’d been embarrassed to order anything louder – and she suddenly regretted choosing something so quiet, so subtle.
Before she started, she pinched her nipples, rolling them between her thumbs and forefingers. Fraser swore, pumping his dick again. Urging her on.
She pressed the toy to her overstimulated clit, gently at first, to make sure she could handle it.
She could. Just.
Her head tipped back without her permission, and it was an effort to keep her eyes open, to watch him as the silicone lapped at her. It wasn’t nearly as warm or satisfying as his tongue, but it was quicker, harsher, and it didn’t take long for a knot to build.
“Good lass,” he breathed. “Just like that.”
“Aren’t you going to help?”
Fraser steeled himself, barely able to tear his hands from his length for long enough to crawl onto the bed. He took the toy from her trembling fingers, planting heavy, hot kisses against her mouth. “You are so fucking sexy.”
She thanked him by tracing the outline of his tip, relishing in his sharp intake of breath when she followed the thick vein down his shaft. He responded in kind, finally pressing the toy back where she needed it until her legs were quaking and she was crying out. He watched her with a feverish, ravenous expression as she grew closer to her third climax. Just when she thought she couldn’t take anymore, he plunged his finger inside her, the friction audible.
“Oh, god.” A tear rolled down her cheek. She could barely hold herself up, but she kept her momentum as she worked him, too, revelling in his groans until her core tightened and she knew she was done for.
“I’m coming, Fraser,” she let out shakily, and then couldn’t contain her cries as both he and the toy left her unravelled. Her orgasm ripped through her, reducing her words to incoherent panting, and then she was pushing away the toy, his hands, without meaning to, afraid that any more would leave her shattered in pieces on the bed.
“Fucking hell , Harp.” He grunted, thrusting harder into her hand once, twice. It was all it took for him to climax with her, a shuddering weight on top of her spent, bliss-flooded body. He muttered her name, over and over. Not the one her parents had given her, but the shortened version only he used: Harp, Harp, Harp . Like she was a song he wanted to sing on repeat. Like she was his.
When her body settled back into the mattress, she sucked in a ragged breath and clamped her legs around his body. As fun as their game had been, she needed to feel him again, needed him to cling to her like a second skin. She felt safest only when he was that close.
He turned the toy off, pushed it aside. Left kisses on her jaw, her shoulder, her collarbone, until there was no part of her skin left unmarred by him. Until she might as well have been ashes in his hands.
I never want to lose this.
The thought lanced through her pleasure like a serrated knife, leaving her stinging.
But I am going to lose this. Sooner or later.
His stubble scraped against her cheek, bringing her back if only for a moment. Exhaustion warred with the weightlessness she felt. She met his eyes, tangling her legs around his hips as he rolled just far enough onto the mattress that she wasn’t bearing all of his weight.
Gently, he pushed her matted hair from her eyes. “Have to clean up.”
“In a minute,” she muttered, voice thick with fatigue. “Stay just a minute longer.”
“I have to work, sweetheart.”
“A minute longer,” she pleaded again, kissing his throat until he succumbed. He sidled further down the bed, kissing her body again, as though he still hadn’t learned all he wanted despite journeying her skin for days. He took her nipple in his mouth, tenderly this time – not to initiate more, but just because he could. Because he wanted to.
It felt a lot like being worshipped.
Harper followed the curvature of his ear with her finger, then his harsh jaw and just slightly crooked nose. He looked up at her, resting his chin on her chest. His gaze swam with…
Adoration , she would have said if it wasn’t directed at her. She couldn’t quite believe it, or maybe she didn’t want to, so she pushed it down, pretended it was just plain fondness. An expression any short-term lover would wear.
But then he laced his fingers into hers and kissed each of her knuckles, and it was getting harder to lie to herself. Getting harder to convince herself that surely he couldn’t like her as much as she liked him. That would be too perfect, and perfect didn’t exist for her. Something was always off, wrong, ruined.
Feeling too vulnerable, she turned her face away, pretending to be interested in the moss-faded view of the woods outside. How quickly they had become her home, her safety net.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
She shrugged, forcing herself to look back at him. She ran her hands through his coppery hair, trying to smooth down the tousled waves she’d ruined earlier. “Nothing interesting.”
“That’s a lie. Everything you think is interesting. Bizarre, but interesting.”
She tugged playfully on a tuft above his forehead. “I’ve never done any of this before,” she finally admitted. “Sex felt scary. I followed their lead. Not the other way around. Like if I let myself go, if I felt too free, the other person wouldn’t want me anymore.”
“I want you more and more every fucking day.”
She scoffed, but he tilted her chin to force her to look at him.
“I haven’t, either. I’ve never been that eager to have sex before, or to let someone in. My walls have well and truly crumbled – for you.”
Cool fear flooded Harper’s veins when her eyes began to prickle. What did it mean? It was like the universe had thrown them together just to spite them. They couldn’t take this any further, couldn’t think about long-term, but they were…
Well, they were perfect for each other. So it felt like, anyway, in moments like this.
She wanted to tell him then, about the email from Chris, but she couldn’t bear to spoil such a peaceful, golden moment.
The end was coming. Did it matter if she told him now or later? It would hurt all the same.
“Are you okay?” he asked tenderly.
“Just sleepy.”
He left a final kiss on her cheek, then pushed himself up from the bed. “I’ll clean us up. You stay put.” He booped her nose. “Just don’t fall asleep yet.”
“No promises.” She shifted onto her side to watch him go, his naked form as familiar to her as her own now.
Once he’d left, everything flooded back. The knowledge that she would have to make her decision soon stifled her. She groaned into her pillow. Again, she felt like she’d been thrown off a cliff and he held the rope keeping her from falling.
How long before it snapped?
Harper couldn’t tell him. Not when her week had continued with more of the most mind-blowing sex she’d ever had. While Fraser remained busy with work, coming home to her in the evenings, she spent her days staring at her manuscript. By Friday morning, she’d managed to add less than four thousand words, which she would have been proud of a month ago. But that had been her daily word count last week, and now even the sentences she managed barely made sense.
What if the novel had just been a silly dream, a passing fancy? What if she really did belong in the corporate world, and she should just respond to Chris to tell him she would be happy to attend the interview?
Come Friday afternoon, she felt… flat. Not herself, or maybe just the version of her she’d been before coming to Belbarrow. Luckily, she’d kept busy at the preschool two mornings this week, and was now busy preparing for the autumn festival. It was simple, easy work, putting together stalls and decorating the streets with garlands. Eiley was there to help her.
If nothing else, she’d at least found connections she’d always remember here.
“Are you all right, Harper?” asked Eiley now. She was stringing a trail of fake autumn leaves around the stall table beside her, while Harper did…
Nothing.
She couldn’t remember what she was even supposed to be doing. There were twigs in her hand, rich red and orange paints on the table, and preschool children gathered around her still covered in their lunchtime spaghetti, so she was fairly certain she was supposed to be crafting with them.
Sky took one of the faux sunflowers lying on the crafting table without warning, enjoying the texture of the petals with an excited sound. The other children were growing restless, some of them calling out to the other preschool carers.
Luckily, Alice appeared next to them and offered her hand out. “I’ll show them how to do that, hen. Wreath-making took me years of practice.”
With an appreciative smile, Harper offered over the crafting materials, aware that Eiley still hadn’t received an answer. Aware that Harper still didn’t have one.
As soon as Alice had ambled away with the children, Eiley said, “Okay. Is that a no, then?”
“I’m just… out of my element. I’m not used to all this.” Harper motioned around her. Bridge Walk was busier than she’d ever seen the street before. Wooden cabins had been lined up on either side of the road, not yet filled with wares but still reminding her, with a faint twinge of homesickness and a pang of something quite the opposite, of Manchester’s Christmas Markets. Orange and yellow lights had been strung from one lamppost to the next, adding colour to the brick walls and faded awnings. Barrels spilling with bright sunflowers, marigolds, and fluffy purple pampas grass were set out between each table, with straw-stuffed scarecrows guarding the bridge on both sides.
It really was lovely. Harper of the past would have been impatient to capture it all for Instagram. Harper of the present just felt… lost. What if this festival was her last weekend in Belbarrow? If she accepted the interview, she’d have to go home as soon as possible to get her head on straight. Her mum had suggested as much, reminding Harper of how wonderful a higher salary would be for her future plans to raise a family, not to mention those expensive clothes she liked.
She was right. Those were things Harper wanted, and they required money.
But this place…
Her book…
Fraser .
“Harper.” Eiley sidled closer, brushing Harper’s arm lightly. “You were there for me last week. If something is wrong…”
Thankfully, Harper didn’t have to answer. One of the children, Asha, barrelled over with orange paint all over her hands. Harper began searching for some paper towels, then changed her mind.
“I have an idea!” she said to Asha, squatting down to her eye level. “Do you trust me?”
Asha nodded, scratching her nose and leaving it amber. Harper took a large white sheet of card from the table and lightly took Asha’s wrist, guiding her hand down. She left a perfect handprint in the corner. A few more, and they’d have a lovely border. “One more for each corner?”
Asha enjoyed lathering more paint onto her hands. By the end, her prints resembled abstract autumn leaves in vivid orange, gold, red, and green. Harper helped her clean up, then returned to her crafting table in the hopes of enlisting some more children who liked getting paint on their hands.
“You’re great with them,” Eiley praised. “And so creative!”
“Thank you. I figured paint is better on paper than on clothes.” Harper chuckled. “How are things with you? Have you heard from Finlay again?”
Eiley shook her head, expression turning as glum as the grey day. She ran her hand over the strawberry blonde crown of Saffron’s head, and the baby gurgled against her mother’s chest, snug in the carrier strapped to Eiley’s slim torso.
“I’ve decided not to give him any more chances,” she said, voice wobbling with sadness. “I’ve blocked his number from my phone. If he wants to see his kids, he can work for it this time.”
“You should be proud of yourself for that,” Harper said gently. “I know it isn’t easy to let go, but you deserve better, and you can’t be the best mum you can be if he’s getting in your head all the time, upsetting you with every phone call and text.”
Eiley nodded resolutely, looking just like her stoic brother in that moment, with her chin set and eyes narrowed. “Exactly. I just wish it hadn’t taken me so long to realise that. Thank you, Harper.”
“Of course.”
She elbowed Harper playfully. “But I did notice that you were trying to distract me. Not very subtly, either.”
Harper grimaced.
“It’s okay. I’m here when you’re ready. Just as long as it isn’t something Fraser’s done?”
“No. Your brother is aggravatingly wonderful.” Harper could no longer pretend that she wasn’t falling for him – in an all-consuming, devastating way that would make it all the harder to leave. But also all the easier, if she was sensible enough. At least if she headed back to Manchester early, she wouldn’t be delaying the inevitable. Like pulling off a waxing strip, it would be quick and… not at all painless. But quick. Maybe that was the best she could hope for.
Eiley beamed. “He is infuriatingly fab, isn’t he? I don’t know what we’d all do without him.”
That much was clear. The entire town relied on him in some way or other. He was everything to them…
But Harper wasn’t anyone’s everything . She wasn’t special like him. She didn’t even have much luck on Instagram at the minute. Since she’d stopped posting so often, the algorithm had turned against her, and her engagement was slowly teetering into oblivion.
“But you’re fab, too,” Eiley said, giving Harper a gentle nudge. “That’s why you’re so magnetic together.”
Harper wanted to believe her. But as more children flocked their way to paint their hands the colours of autumn, she couldn’t stop thinking of the email.
The interview.
The looming end.