18. Luke
LUKE
Iclimb up the side of Sheriff Garrett’s house and to Harper’s bedroom window like the criminal she keeps accusing me of being.
The good sheriff doesn’t have an alarm system or even any perimeter motion sensors, which is good for me. But it makes me want to take him aside and talk to him about caring for his daughter properly. What the fuck? Any yahoo could break into her room.
That’s okay—she has me to watch over her now.
I pause outside her window to look in, rotating my sore shoulder, when the sight inside stops me cold.
Harper’s on her bed, fully clothed, her shoes on. But her jeans are unbuttoned and her hand is pushed down into the opening. Her head is tilted back against the pillows, her eyes closed and her lips parted.
And she’s thinking about me—I know it with absolute certainty because she says my name, just barely audible through the glass.
Fuck. My entire body lights up. My cock hardens instantly, painfully, and I have to grip the window frame to keep from falling off.
The sight of her flushed, breathing hard, her hips moving against her own hand, is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
Better than any fantasy. Better than anything that’s ever happened to me.
I watch for another second, committing every detail to memory—the curve of her neck, the way her breasts rise and fall with each breath, the way she bites her lip to keep quiet.
Then I slide the window open. Silently, I swing my leg over the sill and step into her room, closing the window behind me carefully.
Harper’s eyes pop open and she gasps, her hand freezing in her pants. “Luke.”
I step closer. She has a brass bed with ruffles around the bottom, which surprises me—I’d have pegged her for a plain wood frame—and seeing her in all that girliness just makes me hotter for her. “Don’t stop.”
“What are you doing here?” She blinks a few times, like she can’t believe I’m there. “You’re supposed to be with the woman you rescued.”
“She’s safe and sound at Blackthorn.”
She glances at her door. “Luke—”
“Don’t stop, Harper.” I move until I’m standing over her. I take her all in—the flush spreading across her chest, the hard points of her nipples under her shirt, her thighs pressing against each other like she’s trying to suppress her need.
I want to touch her. I want to take her hand out and replace it with mine. I want to lick her fingers clean.
I also want to keep her, I decide right here and now. I already lit up inside talking to her, but seeing her like this—scenting her—I know she’s mine.
It’s too soon to do what I want—she’s not on the same page yet—but there is one thing we can do.
I cup myself through my jeans, my eyes on her. “Keep going. Let me watch you come.”