Chapter 22 Harper #2
I can’t speak, can only hold onto him as he presses me firmly to the wall, his hips grinding alongside mine in a way that makes me gasp. The water continues to pour over us, creating a cocoon of steam and sensation that separates us from everything outside this moment.
I nod, unable to form words. The vulnerability of being this intimate with water streaming down my body is overwhelming but freeing. There are no more barriers between us now, physical or emotional.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, His hands trail up my sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake, the heat between us almost unbearable.
“There’s something about having that skin on skin moment with the one you love,” he murmurs against my ear, his arms wrapping solidly around me, holding me. “The one you need. The one you don’t ever want to be without.”
I sigh into his hold, wanting so much more than this but reveling in the comfort of his strong arms. “I love it when you hold me, H.”
“I want to make you feel good,” he states against my neck, his teeth grazing my pulse point. “I want to forget everything but this. Everything but us. I need you, Harper. I want this. Need this.”
“Harrison,” I breathe. “God, I want that too.” I want to lose myself in him, to let the pain of today wash away in the shower spray. I want to feel him inside me, around me, everywhere. I want him claiming me.
No.
I need him to claim me.
“Please,” I whisper, my voice breaking with need.
My back pressing against the cool tile as he holds me impressively with one arm, his other hand slides between us. His fingers find me and I arch against him, a moan escaping my lips.
“I love that sound,” he breathes, his eyes locked on mine as his fingers work against me. “I want to hear it again.”
I clutch at his shoulders as his fingers slide inside me with practiced ease, curling against me to find that perfect spot that makes me cry out. My head falls back against the tile as the water streams down between us, turning every touch slick and desperate. I can’t think and I can’t breathe.
But I can feel him, everywhere and all at once.
He withdraws his fingers, and I whimper at the loss, but then he’s pressing against me, the head of his cock nudging my entrance.
Our eyes lock, and in that moment, I see everything.
His fear, his love, his hope. I cup his face in my hands, our foreheads touching as he pushes inside me in one slow, deliberate thrust.
“Oooh, God,” I moan at the pleasure.
“Fuck,” he groans, his voice breaking. “Harper…”
I wrap my legs tighter around his waist, drawing him deeper. “I’ve got you, H,” I whisper against his lips. “I’ve always got you.”
He starts to move, his hips rolling against mine in a rhythm that’s both desperate and reverent. Each thrust drives me higher, the steam and the emotion and the sensation overwhelming me until I can barely remember how we even got here.
“I love you,” I gasp as he fills me completely. “I love you so much.”
His rhythm becomes more urgent, more desperate, as if he’s trying to push away the hurt of the day with each thrust. I cling to him, water streaming between our bodies, my back sliding against the tile with each powerful movement.
The heat builds low in my stomach, coiling tighter with every stroke.
“Look at me,” Harrison commands softly, his voice strained. “I need to see you.”
I open my eyes and find his intense blue gaze locked on mine, vulnerable and fierce all at once. The raw emotion there nearly undoes me, all his pain, all his love, all his hope reflected back at me. I cup his face in my hands again, my thumbs brushing away water that might be tears.
“I’m right here,” I whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Something fractures in his expression, and his thrusts become wild and relentless. I’m ascending toward oblivion, every inch of my skin electrified as he shifts, the thick head of his cock slamming against my g-spot with devastating precision.
“Oh God, Harrison—” My voice shatters as my pussy clenches around his length, my thighs trembling uncontrollably against his grip. “I’m going to come—”
His fingers bruise my flesh, pinning me against the cold tile as he pounds deeper, his cock stretching me to my limits. “Come all over my cock, Harper,” he growls, his voice guttural with so many years of pent-up need. “Give me everything. I need you. All of you.”
The raw possession in his command, the feral hunger in his eyes, the exquisite fullness of his thick shaft splitting me open, it detonates inside me.
I convulse around him, moaning his name as pleasure tears through me like a hurricane.
My pussy spasms wildly, gripping him in rhythmic pulses as tears stream down my face, overwhelmed by the realization that this—us, our finite connection—is what I’ve been missing all these years.
Harrison breaks seconds later, his powerful body shuddering against mine as he slams into the hilt.
“Harper—fuck—God, I love you,” he chokes out, his forehead pressed to mine as hot spurts of his release flood me, marking me from the inside as his.
His hips jerk helplessly with each pulse, his breath ragged against my lips as he whispers, “Always you, Harp. Only you.”
For several long moments, we stay like that, locked together under the now-cooling spray, our breathing ragged, our bodies trembling from exertion.
“I’ve never stopped loving you,” I confess against his neck. “Not for a single day.”
Harrison’s arms tighten around me. “I know,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple. “I know that now.”
He carefully sets me down, my legs wobbly beneath me as we stand completely exposed in every way that matters. He reaches behind me to turn off the shower, and suddenly the silence feels deafening.
“We should get dried off,” he says softly, pushing wet hair from my face with such tenderness my heart aches.
I nod, unable to form words as the reality of everything crashes back down. Our son is asleep in the other room, emotionally exhausted, and we just had sex in the shower while processing the most intense moment of our lives.
Harrison wraps a towel around my shoulders, his movements gentle as he rubs warmth back into my skin. “I need to check on Connor,” he says, his eyes searching mine for permission.
“Go,” I tell him, my heart swelling at the way he says our son’s name. Connor. Our son. “Check on him.”
Harrison wraps a towel around his waist, his movements careful and deliberate like he’s trying to steady himself. He looks back at me once more before slipping out of the bathroom, leaving wet footprints behind him.
I dry off slowly, my body still humming from our connection, my mind racing with everything that’s happened today. The accidental revelation. Connor’s heartbreak. Harrison’s devastation in the shower. The way we came together when everything felt like it was falling apart.
I find one of Harrison’s T-shirts in the guest bathroom closet and slip it on, the soft fabric falling to mid-thigh. My clothes are soaked through, so I leave them in a heap on the floor along with his, promising myself I’ll clean up later.
When I pad down the hallway, I find Harrison standing in the doorway of the second guest bedroom, just watching.
He’s changed into sweatpants, his chest still bare, hair damp and disheveled.
I move beside him, following his gaze to where Connor lies curled on his side, face peaceful in sleep, his cheeks still flushed from crying, the photo album clutched to his chest even in slumber.
“I wanted him to be able to sleep as long as he wants so I carried him in here,” he explains. “I hope that’s okay.”
My chest tightens at the sight. Connor looks so small, so vulnerable, yet so fiercely determined even in sleep, holding onto that album like it’s the most precious thing he owns. Like he’s afraid someone might take it away.
I slip my hand into Harrison’s, my fingers threading through his. “He took it with him,” I whisper.
Harrison nods, his throat working as he swallows. “Yeah.”
We stand there watching our son sleep, the weight of the day pressing down on us both. I lean my head against Harrison’s shoulder, drawing comfort from his solid presence beside me.
“Do you think he’ll forgive me?” I ask, voicing the fear that’s been gnawing at me since Connor’s tears first started falling.
Harrison’s arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer. “He will,” he says with quiet certainty. “He’s hurt and he’s processing, but he loves you, Harp. That doesn’t just disappear.”
“I hope you’re right.”