Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
STERLING
It’s the early hours of the morning by the time I reach Harlow’s bedroom. Her lights are off, and I can hear her soft breathing as I slip inside her bedroom. I had every intention of going to bed with her the moment we got back from the bar, but my synesthesia had other ideas. Instead, I made up an excuse that I wasn’t feeling well, and that I’d see her in the morning. Which was partly the truth, at least.
She hadn’t been able to hide her disappointment, and yet again I’d felt like a prick for lying to her. I know that I should just tell her about my condition once and for all but right now, despite everything I know to be true about Harlow, I’m still uncertain as to whether she’d accept my synesthesia and how it affects me when so many other people haven’t. It’s unfair of me to make that assumption, but I’m just not ready to reveal that side of me, especially since my studio is filled to the brim with paintings of her in varying degrees of undress.
My obsession aside, I wasn’t in a fit state to have any kind of conversation with Harlow, let alone confessing my sins about painting my cum onto her image. Frankly, I was so consumed by the colours her voice had conjured, that I’d barely managed to get us home safely. Now that I’ve purged myself of them, by spending the last few hours painting another image of Harlow, I’m more able to think straight. And, selfishly, the only thought I had was finding comfort in her arms. Her presence brings me peace, and I know I have no right to search for that when I’m keeping such a huge part of me hidden, but here I am.
Crossing the room as quietly as possible, I strip naked, placing my clothes on the armchair in the corner of her room before sliding into bed behind her. She’s so deep asleep that even when I curl my body around hers, she doesn’t stir.
“Harlow?” I whisper, wanting to apologise, wanting to tell her everything.
Her body is warm and relaxed as she shifts in her sleep, and I press my lips against the curve of her neck, dragging in her scent through my nose. Despite feeling the exhaustion I usually do after an episode, my cock hardens against her arse.
“You sang so beautifully tonight,” I mutter, my palm settling against her stomach, feeling the soft rise and fall as she breathes. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you that.”
More guilt climbs up my spine. I’d been concentrating so hard on not crashing the car on the way back from the bar that I hadn’t even told her how fucking incredible she was. After everything we’d discussed earlier in the evening, I can’t imagine how hurtful that must’ve been.
“When you sang True Colours, it felt like every word was meant for me, Harlow,” I confess, my fingers tracing patterns over her stomach. It’s too dark to see what she’s wearing, but her legs and arms are bare, and her top has risen enough for me to know that it’s a shorts sleep set rather than a nightie.
My balls tighten, and I can’t help but gently grind my cock against her arse. She shifts again, her breath releasing in a soft sigh, and I press my lips against her ear. “Wake up, my little poet.”
For a beat I keep still, waiting for the moment when she realises that I’m in bed with her, but just like before she remains deeply asleep.
“I don’t know if I can stop,” I say, my palms sliding up the centre of her chest until my fingers cup her throat. The soft beat of her pulse, and the gentle rise and fall of her chest only adding to the indescribable need to bury myself inside of her. “You consume me, Harlow.”
Releasing her throat, I slide my hand back downwards, my fingers dust over her stomach just above the waistband of her sleep shorts. I should stop. I should wake her instead. I should confess my secrets, but my body has other ideas.
Right at the moment I’m about to slip my hand beneath her sleep shorts, she shifts beside me, rolling onto her stomach, the side of her face pressed into the pillow beneath her head.
“Harlow, are you awake?” I question, pushing off the duvet as I rise up onto my knees beside her. A shard of moonlight penetrates the gap in her curtains, and I notice that her hair has fallen over her face.
Straddling her, I hover above her arse, my knees pressed into the mattress either side of her hips as I lean forward and gently push her hair off her face. She lets out another soft sigh, her lips slightly parted, her eyelashes feathering against her cheeks. Unable to stop myself, I lean over and kiss her temple, willing her to wake up.
“Harlow, I need you,” I say, my voice hoarse, thick with desire.
But when I pull back she merely mutters something indistinguishable and I’m left with a decision. I could settle back beside her, go to sleep, and wait until morning to sink inside of her, or I could give in to my darkest desires and take her now.
The darkness wins out.
I carefully move down the bed, pushing off the duvet covering and making room to remove her sleep shorts without disturbing her. My heart pounds in my chest as I gingerly wrap my fingers around the waistband and slowly slide the fabric off her hips and thighs. As the material reaches her knees, I shift my position to kneel beside her, easing the shorts off her legs and feet. She stirs slightly in her sleep, and I wait until her breathing becomes steady again. My entire body trembles with nerves as I finish the task, but when she shows no signs of waking, I know she is still sound asleep
“Are you wet for me, my little poet?” I ask, slowly trailing my fingers up her inner thighs. Her legs are parted slightly, allowing me to slip my fingers between her thighs to find out.
“Fuck, you are,” I breathe, my cock swelling with more blood as I finger her gently from behind.
When her hips start to rock, and a sweet moan releases from her lips, I can’t stop myself from easing her legs apart until the gap is wide enough for me to kneel between them.
A small voice in the back of my head is telling me to stop, to at the very least wake her up, but that night when I’d eaten her out on the piano, she’d told me she wanted me to ravish her, and in response I’d warned her that I was going to creep into her room, slide inside of her and fuck her awake, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
As gently as possible I lower my hips, holding the top half of my body up on outstretched arms as the underside of my cock rests against her crack. I leave it there momentarily as I drag in a breath, my arms shaking from the effort of not giving in and slamming my dick inside of her.
“Harlow, I’m going to fuck you now,” I warn, and this time my voice isn’t quiet.
Something shifts in the air, and I hear Harlow’s breath catch just as I adjust my hips, the crown of my cock slipping through her folds and grazing her entrance.
“Sterling?” she questions, her voice breathy, needy, alert .
I tense, breathing hard. Fucking trembling. “I’m here, Harlow,” I manage to utter.
“You came.”
“I’m about too,” I blurt out, my fucking mouth running away from me. Then I realise exactly what that means. “Fuck. I’m not wearing a condom!”
What the fuck was I thinking? Jesus Christ, I’m an arsehole. I move to pull away, guilt, shame, lust, desire, agony and desperation all swirling inside my chest.
“Don’t stop,” she begs, reaching back, her fingers grazing my hip as she tugs me towards her.
“What?” I gasp, the tip of my cock penetrating her hole just a little. It’s all I can do not to come there and then.
“I’m on the pill. I’m clean. Don’t stop,” she begs, her nails digging into my skin slightly before her hands fall away.
“I am too,” I reply.
“Good, now fuck me, Sterling. I need you.”
I don’t need to be told twice. With one powerful thrust, I slam into her, sheathing myself right up to the hilt. “Harlow!” I cry, her thready gasp and tight, slick pussy making my eyes roll back into my head.
“Oh my God, Sterling!” she groans into the pillow, her legs parting further as she gives me better access.
“I’m sorry,” I say, not for fucking her awake, but for not complimenting her on her singing, for not telling her about my synesthesia, for being so obsessed about her that I’ve painted my cum into her image on canvas, for keeping the darkest parts of me secret from her.
“I’m not,” she replies, misunderstanding me. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“I meant–”
“Please, Sterling. Just squeeze my throat with your beautiful hand, and fuck me.”
“Jesus, Harlow,” I exclaim, my voice strained as I lay my body over hers, slip my arm beneath her chest, wrap my fingers around her throat, and fuck her.
With every shunt of my hips, Harlow’s internal walls clench tightly as though trying to pull me deeper inside her body. Even though I’m the one with almost my entire weight on her back, I feel as though I’m being completely engulfed by her.
She might feel ravished by the carnality of this act, from the frantic fucking as our skin meets and I pound into her with uncontrolled movements. She might be gasping for air and simultaneously moaning as I gently squeeze and release her throat. Her body might feel slick as my cock slams inside of her tight, wet heat, and our skin glistens with sweat.
But I’m just as consumed by her.
I’m so fucking gone for this woman.
I’m as sure of that as I am of my affection for her.
Fuck that, this isn’t just affection or attraction. This is more. This is obsession. This is adoration. This is possession, veneration.
This is love.
I love Harlow Richards.
I may have only known her for a short period of time, but that means nothing to me. I don’t live by the same rules as everyone else. I’ve spent my whole damn life suppressing my feelings, trying to hide who I am, and being forced to conform to society’s norms. But I refuse to suppress this feeling a second fucking longer.
That realisation has me rearing upwards and taking her with me, our bodies still joined as she follows the movement until I’m sitting on my haunches and she’s spread over my thighs, her knees pressed into the mattress, her back to my chest and her slit stretched open wide, my cock buried deep. Fuck, I wish we were positioned in front of a mirror so that I could see how that looks. For now my imagination will have to do.
“Sterling, please," she cries, the sound of my name on her lips is a fucking beautiful melody all of its own.
“You want it like this?” I grind out, my arms wrapped around her chest to keep her steady as I thrust up into her over and over, and she meets every thrust by slamming her hips against me.
“Yes,” she hisses, her hands flying upwards as she tangles her fingers into my hair and tugs.
“Deeper, harder, Sterling. Don’t hold back,” she whimpers, and my balls draw up so tight against my body that for a moment black spots dance in front of my eyes.
“Then get on your hands and knees, Harlow,” I demand, unwrapping my arms from around her chest, and pushing forward. She braces her hands on the mattress, my dick still inside of her as I raise one leg, my foot pressed into the mattress by her knee. Then, I reach forward and gather her hair in my grasp, thrusting into her, my fingers bruising her hip as I lose control.
I rut into her with deep, powerful strokes, and she takes every single one of them, pushing back against my hips just as roughly.
“I'm going to come!” she screams.
“Then come for me, Harlow," I plead, my movements more and more uncontrolled as my eyes start to roll back in my head. “Let me feel you shatter around me. I want you to break apart. Fuck, I need you to come for me. I can’t take any more, please just come!”
“Oh, oh, oh, ohhhhhh,” she cries, her body tensing, her breath hitching, her walls spasming violently around my cock as a wave of pure ecstasy seems to engulf her body causing a jolt of intense pleasure to shoot through me.
I can't hold back any longer; the sensation is too much.
“I'm going to come too,” I gasp out before pressing my cock one last time inside of her, and coming with a body-shuddering roar that mingles with her own cry of release.
Minutes later Harlow’s body is draped across mine, her leg thrown across my thighs, her fingers tracing patterns across my chest. We’re both covered in a sheen of sweat, satiated, relaxed, content.
“Can I ask you something, Sterling?” she asks after a while.
“Of course,” I reply as she eases the top half of her body upright and looks down at me.
“Have you ever come into my room at night before?”
For a beat I don’t answer. I consider lying to her, but in the end I just nod my head. “I have, yes.”
She bites on her lip, an unreadable expression crossing her features.
“I shouldn’t have… I… Fuck, Harlow, I’m sorry.”
Reaching up I cup her face, as she lets out a slow, laboured breath. “Did you touch me, Sterling? Did you touch me in my sleep?”
“Fuck,” I murmur.
“Did you?” she insists.
“Yes, Harlow. I did. I couldn’t stop myself. It was wrong. I know it was wrong. Fuck, I’m sorry .”
She shakes her head, but she doesn’t pull away like I expect her to do. Instead, she licks her lips and lowers her mouth to mine, kissing me gently.
“It was the night when I was on the call to my mother, wasn’t it?” she asks, pulling back.
“Yes,” I admit.
“I woke up the next morning feeling aroused. I was so wet, Sterling. I thought I’d dreamt it, dreamt you. But I didn’t, did I?”
“No, you didn’t…” My voice trails off as she stares at me. There’s no anger in her gaze, just a kind of knowing. It settles the guilt inside of me. “Do you hate me for it?”
“I don’t hate you for it, no. In fact, I want you to do it again, Sterling.”
“You do?”
“Tonight was the best sex of my life. Waking up to you in my room, with your body pressed against mine. I knew at that moment you’d been in here before, that you’d touched me in my sleep. That you made me come.”
“There’s something else,” I say, needing to confess.
“What?” she asks, as I push her hair behind her ear.
“I found your notebook. I read some of what you wrote. You have a gift, my little–”
“Poet?” she finishes for me.
“Yes, my little poet.”
“I thought I’d dreamed that too…” she replies, dropping another kiss to my lips. “Sterling, no one has ever made me feel the way you do. No one. I don’t want this to end.”
“It won’t,” I reply fiercely. “You’re mine.”
“I’m afraid…” she whispers out, her expression changing as she lowers her body against my chest once more, and I fold my arms tighter around her.
“I won’t let our parents come between us. I swear to you, Harlow. I promise I’ll protect what we have, no matter what.”
“Promise?”
“I promise,” I say vehemently, meaning every word.
Except that night I didn’t realise that she was talking about something else entirely, and that Harlow was hiding a secret that could destroy us both.