Chapter 25 Flirting Might Actually Kill Me #3
That’s all he needs to undergo a transformation. All the hesitance is gone.
Our lips resume their forceful collision as I’m lifted onto the counter.
My body is eager, matching his frantic energy.
My legs wrap around his waist—narrow but solid—and my hands run through his hair.
The messy strands on top are silky soft, but the sides and back have the same texture of a blending brush.
Suddenly, I’m burning up. Why did we put on sweaters when we could have been doing this from the get-go?
I groan. He groans too. Our kisses turn sloppy. Our breath runs ragged. Our bodies grind and rub and it’s pushing me towards release. I’ve never come from dry humping someone before but tonight might be a first.
Harley’s hands slip under my tank top, tracing over each divot in my spine.
“Is this okay?” he asks in between breaths and kisses.
“I told you to make me feel good,” I murmur my frustration. “Everywhere is free game, Harley.”
“Fuck,” he groans, and I use the opportunity to lick into his open mouth.
Our tongues dance briefly before he pulls back to kiss along my cheek, my ear, down my neck.
“I just want to make sure.” His words puff against my pulse.
I grip his hair tightly and pull. He squeaks and looks at me with wide, lust-filled eyes; his pupils have taken over his irises completely.
“Stop overthinking this,” I say firmly. “I wouldn’t say yes if I didn’t mean it. Okay?”
“Okay,” he whispers.
“Now, I haven’t orgasmed in two years. And I’m fucking desperate,” I say, and he visibly gulps. “Don’t stop until I come in my already soaked panties or, if you so choose, on your fingers. Because you have really nice fingers. And I think they’d feel fantastic inside me.”
Harley’s head drops into the crook of my neck. His teeth start nibbling, licking, sucking on the expanse of skin, making me squirm. I tighten my grip in his hair for emphasis.
“Is that clear enough for you?” I ask, breathless.
“Much clearer than my glasses,” he mutters against my neck, swiping his tongue up my jugular.
I laugh. He laughs too, his body shaking against mine, though it quickly turns into a moan as I grind my core against his arousal.
“Come here,” I beg on a whisper, pulling his lips back to mine. “Keep kissing me.”
We don’t talk again after that. Our bodies speak for us.
Hands. Tongues. Lips. Teeth. It’s like building a fire. Start with the kindling. Layer on the sticks. Once it’s strong enough, drop on the logs to catch. They do, and then it’s a blaze.
Jean on jean rubbing together, soaking through. Nails on skin, raking out raised red lines of our pleasure. Popped blood vessels in the shape of our lips and bruises in the shape of our fingers.
I hope he leaves a mark. I hope he lasts. I need proof of him on me like I need air to breathe.
As if he can sense how close I am, Harley’s hand shoves into my shorts, not even taking the time to unbutton them. He runs two fingers through my wetness and murmurs expletives I can’t make out as he suckles on my earlobe.
All it takes is a few strokes of his nimble fingers over my clit to set me off. My pleasure triggers his. All the sweet noises run from our throats.
Harley kisses me through the come down, then gently eases his hand out of my pants.
And when he lifts his fingers to his lips and sucks them clean, I’m breathless all over again.
Harley wraps me in a strong embrace and we nuzzle into each other, heads falling to each other’s shoulders as our breathing steadies.
From this angle I have a perfect view of the wet spot on his crotch. I pull back and snort, though I have the decency to cover my mouth to try to stifle it. His hands find the counter on either side of me; he looks down at himself and huffs.
His gaze lifts to meets mine, and we both stare at each other with dopey, unbelieving smiles.
Did we really do that? The air carries our thoughts between us.
Yes, and it was fucking erotic, the buzzing cicadas outside answer.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jessa’s voice cuts through the kitchen, causing both of us to tense.
Harley looks over one shoulder, and I peer over the other. We both gape as Jessa throws her head back, releasing a frustrated sound from the threshold of the sliding door.
“I missed our first secret sexy time?” she groans. “No fair.”
When Steph, Erica, and I leave, Jessa and Harley both give me see-you-later kisses on my cheek. Sweet. Innocent. So different from the ones Harley plundered from me an hour before.
We’re halfway back to my house, three idiots walking in the middle of the road—but it’s midnight in a small town, so it’s fine—when Erica throws her arm around my shoulders and shakes.
“So…” she slurs. “They’re hot, Ali.”
I smile. “Yeah. They are.”
“They seem nice,” Steph says, turning around so she can face us as she walks backwards.
“They are,” I repeat.
“Ugh, give us details,” Erica says, shaking me again. “Where did you and Harley sneak off to? Was he so overcome by your beauty he had to ravage you? Give us something.”
I push her away, shaking my head. “Something like that.”
“You’re killing me here!” Her frustrated cry echoes down the street, but it’s accompanied by laughter.
My laughter.
What a nice sound I’ve become reacquainted with.