Chapter 35 Yeah, Sex Is Great, But Have You Tried Falling In Love?
YEAH, SEX IS GREAT, BUT HAVE YOU TRIED FALLING IN LOVE?
ALICE
Ithink I’m addicted to them.
It’s an issue.
Well, it’s not an issue in that it’s been bad. It’s been fantastic. My body’s insatiable, like it’s making up for my—entirely warranted—two-year dry spell. I haven’t orgasmed this frequently in… ever. Ryan might have had a great sex drive, but he wasn’t two people.
It’s only an issue in that while our mouths and fingers have been all over each other’s bodies, Harley and I haven’t fucked yet. And that shouldn’t be a problem, except for the fact that my mind seems to think that it means there’s something wrong with me.
My leg bounces underneath the table of this restaurant, shaking it enough to rattle the candle votive against my untouched water glass. Condensation runs down the clear panes, soaking the white fabric with an ugly damp splotch.
We’re at some new vegan place that Harley wanted to try with all of us, but I was the only one available to make the open reservation time. Our conversation has lulled as my anxious thoughts took charge, speaking over both of us.
“Alice, are you okay?” Harley finally asks.
“Why haven’t we fucked yet?” I blurt out.
To his credit, Harley doesn’t choke on the bread he’s chewing on. His jaw only stops grinding, and the strong column of his throat bobs once with his swallow. The muscles tense under his pale skin, making the long lines run taught.
“Did you want to?” he asks, cautiously.
“Well, yeah,” I say, awkwardly glancing down at my half-eaten lasagna. I lean forward, whispering so our conversation stays private, “Do you not want to?”
Harley’s eyes go wide. “No!”
“No?”
“No—I mean, yes. Of course I do,” Harley stumbles over his words. He levels with me, both hands braced flat on the table, staring through his round glasses. “What kind of question is that?”
“I don’t know, a real one?” I say, finding a bit of humor in his crazed and flushed expression. Our faces are inches from each other as we murmur back and forth. “You haven’t even tried.”
“Well, I—uh…” It’s as if his brain buffers. “I didn’t know it was an option.”
“Why wouldn’t it be an option? It’s been weeks. You eat me out, like, every other day. And your fingers have been so deep inside me you could probably tell me where all my organs are.”
Harley blows out a nervous breath as he pushes his glasses up with his middle finger. “Because you didn’t say anything about it. And Jessa’s trained me to only have penetrative sex when she asks for it.”
“That makes it sound so clinical,” I say, my nose scrunching. “It also makes it sound like you’re a dog.”
“I’m a good boy, Alice, I basically am a dog,” he jokes. “Though, I’m not complaining about it. I get lots of treats.”
My elbow finds the table, and my forehead falls into my hand. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“Everything okay here? Do you guys need a to-go box?” the waitress’s overly cheery voice rings out. Both Harley and I jolt back in our seats, like two kids who were caught sticking their hands in the cookie jar. “Maybe a look at the dessert menu?”
That lovely flush crawls up Harley’s neck as his attention flicks between the waitress and me. His tongue pokes his cheek as his expression darkens.
“No, just the check please. We have dessert at home.”
My back hits the front door the second Harley slams it shut. It’s dark—none of the lights in the house are on because no one is home yet, both Ori and Jessa working late—but it doesn’t matter, because I’m closing my eyes anyway.
His lips slant over mine, pillowy and giving. I nip and he groans. My tongue leads and his follows. It’s delightful, how responsive he is; how he takes everything I’m willing to give with enthusiasm.
“Bedroom?” Harley whispers, breathless, when I kiss down his long neck.
“Nope. Couch. Now,” I growl, biting into the flesh.
“Fuck.”
His throaty noises of approval rumble against my lips, and I swallow all of them as he lifts me up. My legs wrap around his hips, and he carries me to the couch, his lean limbs deceptively strong.
I fall onto the firm cushions and Harley crawls on top of me, fusing our mouths together.
He slots easily between my legs, and my skirt rides up as we grind into each other—his erection hot and firm beneath his slacks, rubbing gloriously against my underwear.
I normally don’t wear skirts, but Jessa encouraged me to wear it tonight, noting how cute I looked.
She’s always meddling, but I’m not complaining at the results.
“Clothes off,” I demand in my best imitation of Jessa’s dominance, kissing my way over his stubble and nibbling on his ear.
“Yes, ma’am.” Harley chuckles his aroused amusement.
His hands are fast and efficient in ridding us of our clothes, and then it’s a frenzy of touch.
Harley is everywhere.
His tongue swirls over my peaked nipples, teeth biting into them when my back arches into the sensation. His thumb circles my clit while he teases my core with a single curling digit. His erection presses into my thigh, smearing it with pre-cum.
My fingers weave into his white tresses, nails digging into his scalp, and his mouth pops off my breast, dazed expression turning confused behind his skewed glasses.
“Let’s get these to safety before we go too crazy,” I murmur. I pluck the glasses from his face, close them, and toss them as gently as I can onto the coffee table. My fingers find his hair again, and I push his face into my tits. “Resume.”
Harley hums, nibbling the flesh of my breast before trailing down my stomach. I sigh into the sensation of his tongue lapping at my skin, of it circling my clit—but it’s not enough.
Even as his fingers curl inside of me, pushing me towards the edge, I want more.
“Harley,” I say, breathless.
My fingers tighten their grip in his hair; his begging gaze meet mines, though he doesn’t lift his mouth from my core. It’s obscene, the look of him desperate and heady between my legs.
He gets off on giving.
I could suffocate him with my thighs, and he’d be happy to die so long as the juice of my orgasm coated his tongue.
“Stop,” I say, trying to force all the cool haughtiness I can into my voice. I release his hair and push up on my elbows. “Get up.”
Harley whines his disapproval, but he’s quick to comply, scuttling up and standing next to the couch. My throat bobs, much like his erection does against his abdomen. I could easily lick over his crown and suck him down my throat if I wanted. But that’s not where I want his cock.
Rising to my knees on the couch, I trail my nails up his chest and hook my arms around his neck.
“I want to ride you,” I say, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. He curses under his breath and I giggle. “Now, sit.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Harley flops back on the couch with that wide, beaming grin that crinkles the skin around his rust-colored eyes. Though it falls, too quickly, when I hook my legs over his hips and notch him at my entrance. “Wait.”
My hand freezes, gripping the base of his cock. “What?”
“Condom?”
“I have an IUD. So unless you want one, I’m okay to go without.” I rub him back and forth over my slit, coating him in me, causing his head to fall against the cushions.
“Nope. All good here,” he mutters. My hips tilt, and I slowly lower myself, inch by inch, onto his cock. “Fuck.”
The stretch is noticeable, but manageable. Harley’s more long than he is girthy. My hands brace on his shoulders, and my nails dig crescents into the freckled skin as I bottom out.
We pause, breathing together, as I lean forward, my nose nuzzling his.
“Good, because I love the idea of being filled with your cum,” I whisper bravely. “I kind of have a breeding kink.”
A strangled sound rips through his throat as his hands find my hips, gripping tight and guiding me along his shaft.
“You never fail to surprise me,” Harley murmurs as we come together.
It’s slow, and sensual, and so much more than sex as we stare into each other’s eyes, foreheads pressed together.
“You feel incredible,” I murmur back.
“Incredible,” Harley echoes. “So tight. So wet.”
“Kiss me,” I say, or command, or beg. I don’t think it matters which intention they fall from my lips with, because Harley would answer the call no matter what. “Kiss me, Harley.”
I don’t have to say it a third time.
Lips turn puffy. Tongues tangle. Teeth bite. My arousal builds with every frantic swivel of my hips. One of Harley’s thumbs falls to where we’re joined, rubbing torturous circles around my clit.
The pleasure crests, and I tighten around him, the faint flutters of my budding orgasm making an appearance.
“Fuck,” Harley groans into my mouth.
I ride him with increased intensity, and his thrusts match me with fervor. They’re still decidedly gentle in comparison to some of the times Ryan would pound into me from behind. But he’s not Ryan. And this isn’t some feral claiming after weeks of being apart.
This is Harley. My soft, uniquely beautiful, kind stranger, whose blushes inspire my muse, and whose presence fills me with the comfort of being seen.
There’s too much emotion; it’s tucked in the divot between Harley’s brow, splattered in the freckles on his cheeks, shining in the depths of his blown-out pupils. I’m sure he sees it in me, too, by the way his teeth dig into his lower lip, drawing blood.
I lick it away. The metallic tang of him fills our mouths as our kissing turns sloppy.
My heartbeat fills my body, thrums in my neck, pulses on my tongue as it dances with his.
We grind and thrust and kiss and bite and moan until we throw ourselves over the edge.
I flutter around Harley and his warmth fills me in spurts. We fly high in the ecstasy, and when we come down from it, I linger in the afterglow, wrapped around him. Full. Whole. Sated.
His hands are pressed firmly into my back, and my sensitive nipples brush against his chest with every heaving breath I take. Eventually, the aftershocks cease, his cock softens, and we have to part.
Harley sets me down on the couch, telling me to hold still before hopping off into the dark house.
He comes back with a wet washcloth. Sitting between my spread thighs, he watches as his cum drips out me. I almost tell him to push it back in, just to see him blush again, but his dopey grin is too pure, so I let him do what he wants and clean me up.
But when I gasp at the rough cloth swiping over my throbbing clit, his grin drops. A hungry look takes over his face, tongue swiping over his teeth. His head dips, too fast for me to realize what he’s doing, and licks along my seam.
I yelp, smacking his head.
“Stop that,” I scold, though there’s no bite to it.
He licks his lips and tries to go in for another taste—to lap up the mixture of us leaking from me.
I dig my nails into his scalp and pull him up to me, despite his pouting groan.
“As hot as the idea of you down there is, I cannot do a round two right now.”
Harley hums, as if he wants to challenge me. But with a quirk of my brow, he quiets, wrapping his arms around my hips and resting his head on my belly.
“Cuddles though?” he asks.
“Absolutely.”
Eventually, we move from the couch. Harley carries me upstairs—despite my protests—and dutifully dresses me in one of his shirts and a pair of boxers before pulling us into bed to wait for Jessa to come home.
The world is quiet as we lay in the dark of his bedroom, save for the bugs outside and our contented sighs.
Harley latches onto me, nuzzling into my chest as if it’s his favorite pillow.
My fingers trace his exposed spine lazily, playing with the elastic of his boxers when they reach the bottom and with the short crop of hair at the base of his neck when they reach the top.
“Gods, I love you,” he murmurs.
My fingers freeze in the valley between vertebrae.
“Really?” I ask.
“Mhm.”
My palm spreads out on his back as a means to steady myself. A throbbing beat fills my ears, my own heart drumming up a panic.
“Harley?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not just saying that because you’re sleepy and orgasm drunk, right?”
“No, Alice.” Harley lifts his head so I can meet his half-lidded gaze and see how serious he is. “And don’t worry, I don’t need you to say it back.”