Chapter 18 Harper
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HARPER
Iwake slowly, wrapped in comfortable warmth.
For a few seconds, I don’t know where I am, only that there’s a solid chest at my back and an arm draped over my waist like it belongs there, like it’s been there for years instead of hours. Harrison’s breath fans across the back of my neck, steady and deep, and I stay still just to feel it.
To feel him again after all this time.
I’ve missed him more than I could ever put into words and being here with him, like this, in his arms again is something I never thought possible.
The quiet hum of the city filters through the windows. Early morning light spills across the room as I shift just a little, my intent to turn and snuggle into his chest.
But then I feel it.
The unmistakable press of him against me, warm and solid, his body already awake even though the rest of him isn’t. My lips curve into a slow, secret smile because of course parts of him are awake.
I lie there for a moment longer, savoring the weight of his arm tightening instinctively around me when I move. The way his body reacts to mine without conscious thought makes something bloom low in my stomach, something affectionate and mischievous and deeply satisfied.
Last night flickers through my mind in warm, hazy flashes. His hands. His mouth. His tongue. The way he took his time like he had nowhere else to be. The way he made me feel.
Special.
Pleasured.
Happy.
It was like ten years hadn’t passed at all.
I turn carefully in his arms, just enough to face him. Up close, he looks softer in sleep. Younger. Vulnerable in a way he never is on the ice or in front of anyone else.
“You spoiled me,” I murmur under my breath.
His brow furrows faintly, like he heard me but isn’t quite ready to surface yet, which is fine.
I let my fingertips trace down his chest, slow and unhurried, feeling the steady strength beneath my touch.
His breath changes almost immediately, deepening, his grip on me tightening as his body starts to wake.
I can’t help myself. The temptation of him hard and ready against my hip is too much to resist. I slide my hand lower, feeling his abs tense under my touch, until my fingers brush against the soft trail of hair below his navel. His breathing changes again, deeper now, but his eyes remain closed.
Perfect.
Carefully, I slip beneath the sheets, moving down his body with deliberate slowness. The heat of him radiates against my skin as I position myself between his legs, my heart racing with anticipation. I haven’t done this in so long…haven’t wanted to do this for anyone but him.
I wrap my fingers around him, feeling the velvety hardness, the weight of him in my palm.
He’s exactly as I remember, except something about the fact we’ve aged into adulthood makes everything about his body even better.
A soft groan escapes him as I stroke upward, his hips shifting toward my touch.
“Mmm,” he murmurs, still half-asleep.
I lower my head, letting my hair brush against his thighs as I take him into my mouth.
His skin is warm, tasting faintly of salt and that uniquely Harrison scent that’s driven me wild since college.
When my lips reach the base of his cock, I pause, glancing up to see if he’s awake yet.
His breathing has changed, but his eyes remain closed.
When I pull back, I take him in my hand, stroking slowly, feeling him harden completely as I swirl my tongue around the sensitive head.
My own body tingles with satisfaction at the way his cock pulses in my hand, alive with need.
“God,” I whisper against him, my breath warm on his sensitive skin. “I’ve missed this.”
I suck him in, deeper this time, savoring the weight of him on my tongue as I hollow my cheeks.
And when I apply just the right amount of pressure and move up and down his length he stirs.
His hand slides into my hair, fingers tangling in the strands, not guiding, just holding.
I glance up to see his eyes flutter open, heavy with sleep and darkening quickly with desire as he realizes what’s happening.
“Harper,” he sighs reverently, my name sounding like a prayer on his lips. “Fuck.”
I smile around him, maintaining eye contact as I take him deeper, loving the way his abs tighten and his breath catches. His grip in my hair tightens slightly, and the small tug sends shivers down my spine.
“Jesus Christ,” he groans.
I hum in response, the vibration making him twitch against my tongue. “Good morning, H,” I whisper against his skin before taking him in my mouth again, slower this time, my tongue swirling around the head before sliding down his length.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his stomach muscles tensing beneath my palm.
“Best…wake-up call…ever.” His fingers flex against my scalp, guiding me with gentle pressure as I work him with my mouth.
I take him deep, savoring the way his breath hitches when I reach the base, my nose brushing against the coarse hair there.
“God, Harp,” he groans, his voice still rough with sleep. “Your mouth…fuck…”
I love reducing him to fragments, to half-formed thoughts and desperate sounds.
It gives me a heady sense of power, knowing I can make this strong, controlled man come undone with just my lips and tongue.
I hollow my cheeks, applying more suction as I bob my head, my hand working what my mouth can’t reach.
He seeks more, and I welcome it. I’ve always loved how he loses himself in pleasure, the way his control slips when he’s close. His hand in my hair tightens, not forcing but holding on like I’m his anchor in a turbulent sea.
“I’m not gonna last if you keep that up,” he warns, his voice strained.
I pull back just enough to look up at him through my lashes, his cock slipping from my lips with a soft, wet sound. “That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”
His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide as he watches me. The morning light catches the blue of his irises. I’ve always loved his eyes, how they change with his moods, how they darken when he wants me.
“Come here,” he growls, his voice still rough with sleep.
I shake my head, my hair brushing against his thighs. “Not yet.”
I take him back into my mouth, working him with renewed purpose.
“Harper,” he warns, his stomach muscles contracting. “I’m serious. I’m gonna—”
I hum around him, the vibration making his hips buck. I want this. I want to taste him, to feel him come apart because of me. It’s been so long, and I’ve missed the intimacy of this connection, of giving him this kind of pleasure that he deserves.
“Babe, your lips look so pretty around my cock like that.”
His compliment boosts my confidence as I work him with my mouth and hand in perfect rhythm, remembering exactly what he likes.
It’s amazing how muscle memory works, how my body remembers his after all this time.
I know when to increase pressure, when to slow down, when to swirl my tongue just under the head to make his thighs tremble.
His breathing grows ragged, hips lifting slightly off the mattress with each downward stroke of my mouth. “Harp,” he warns, voice strained. “I’m close.”
I don’t stop. I don’t want to. I want all of him, want to make him come undone. I increase my pace, taking him as deep as I can, my hand working what my mouth can’t. He tenses beneath me, his thighs going rigid on either side of my shoulders.
“Fuck, Harper—” His voice breaks as his release hits, hot and sudden against my tongue. I don’t pull away, swallowing as he pulses, his fingers tightening almost painfully in my hair. The sounds he makes—half-groans, half-whispers of my name—send shivers down my spine.
When the last tremor passes through him, I slowly release him, pressing a gentle kiss to his inner thigh before crawling back up his body. His eyes are closed, his chest rising and falling rapidly, a thin sheen of sweat glistening across his skin in the morning light.
“Good morning, H,” I whisper, settling against his side.
He laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. “Good morning you beautiful woman.” His arms wrap around me, pulling me close until I’m practically lying on top of him. “Come here.”
His kiss is deep and unhurried, like he’s savoring the taste of himself on my tongue. For a moment I panic that my morning breath will be the biggest turnoff, but his hand slides into my hair, possessive but gentle, and he exhales against my mouth like he’s been holding that breath for ten years.
When he finally pulls away, he’s smiling at me with a tenderness that makes my heart ache.
“I’m seriously questioning if I’m still dreaming,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing my cheek. “You in my bed, waking me like that…hell, you in my bed at all.”
I can’t help but smile back, feeling a warmth spread through my chest that has nothing to do with the physical intimacy we just shared. “Not dreaming,” I whisper. “Very real.”
“You know,” he says, voice still rough from sleep and pleasure, “I had a whole plan for this morning.”
“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow, settling more comfortably against his chest. “What kind of plan?”
“The kind that involved me waking up first and making you breakfast in bed.” He traces lazy patterns on my bare shoulder. “Then taking my sweet time with you until you couldn’t remember your own name.”
I laugh softly. “I’m sorry I ruined your plans.”
“Completely derailed them.” He shifts us suddenly, flipping me onto my back with the kind of effortless strength that never fails to make my stomach flutter. “But that’s okay. I’m good at improvising.”
Sunlight filters through the curtains, landing across the rumpled sheets, the discarded clothes on the floor, the quiet proof that last night really happened. Finally, he exhales a slow breath above my head.
“So,” he says, voice still rough and low, “is this the part where we pretend we’re cool and casual about everything?”