13. Chapter 13
Grayson
I’m really not sure what I just agreed to.
It was just… Harlow was offering me everything I’ve ever wanted, and how am I supposed to say no to that? How was I supposed to resist saying yes?
Is it going to hurt? Definitely. But fuck, I’m already head over heels in love with Harlow. How can having this with him be any worse? At the end of our three-month marriage, I’m still going to hurt. I’m still going to wish for more.
Or… Or maybe I can use this time to try to make him fall in love with me too.
Ugh. The idea alone makes me feel bad. Like I’d be manipulating him. I can’t do that. So instead, I’ll take the gift for what it is and be thankful.
Not that I only want Harlow for sex. I’ve loved him since before I even knew what love was, and back then, I sure wasn’t thinking about sex. And now? I mean… I can’t deny that it sounds amazing, but it’s not like I’ve never had it or like I’m going to die without it.
I’ve lived this long loving Harlow Young, and I can do it for longer.
I just need to remember that this has an expiration date. Three months, and that’s it.
“What do you want to eat?”
Harlow shrugs. I really think I need to get him out of my lap.
Nothing about having his warm body pressed to mine is productive.
Sure, Harlow has always acted a bit like he wants to crawl into my skin, and it’s been a while since he’s been free to touch me the way he used to, but even so, we’ve never done this.
I’ve never had him in my lap, not with his legs straddling my waist and his face so close to mine I can see the fuzzy edges of each of his freckles.
“Well, we better go find something. We can just walk around and see what we stumble across.”
He makes no effort to get up, so I give him a little tap on his ass that gets him moving. His eyes widen as he scrambles out of my lap, and my heart jumps into my throat. That’s definitely something I wouldn’t have even thought about doing four days ago.
“How are we gonna dress?” Harlow asks, raking a hand through his wild hair.
“When is the fancy dinner planned?” I ask instead of answering him outright.
“The last night. I figured it would be romantic.” He scoffs, leaning over to open his suitcase. “So much for that.”
And that right there is the reason I have to be careful with the married-with-benefits thing. It sounds amazing on paper, and I’d love to jump all in, take what I want and need from Harlow, and have my fill—if such a thing even exists—but it’s dangerous.
I’ve always survived my love for Harlow because even with the way he’s always been overly affectionate with me, there’s always been a certain level of distance.
It’s easier to deal with how much I want him when I don’t know what his tongue tastes like. It was simpler to avoid the enormity of my feelings when he was engaged to someone else. It hurt in its own way, sure, but it also gave me protective armor.
Now? I’m not sure how I’m supposed to balance my feelings and him apparently wanting sex and our sham marriage.
I think I’m just gonna roll with it and hope I come out the other side.
“You’re quiet,” he says, snapping me out of my thoughts.
He’s standing in the middle of the room in nothing but skin-tight royal blue briefs. My throat goes dry, and if I was quiet before, I surely can’t form words now. “Sorry,” I croak out. “What did you say?”
“I said it was supposed to be romantic. So much for that.”
No, I heard that. Just forgot to respond, I guess. “Yeah, I mean, we can still have fun, though. Get dressed up all fancy and make up stories about people’s lives.”
Harlow laughs, leaning over to pick up a t-shirt off the ground. Is he doing this on purpose? Surely he’s not. But then, Harlow is used to getting what he wants, and especially from me, so I wouldn’t put it past him to tease me a little for telling him not right now to sex.
Truly, I don’t care about spontaneity. I cared about needing a second to get my thoughts in order before I dropped my armor and went there with him.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve done that,” he muses, pulling the shirt over his head before stepping into a pair of tight jeans. “Well, I’m ready.” Putting his hands on his hips, he cocks his head. “Are you just gonna sit there all night?”
I shake my head, then push to my feet. Maybe it’s not the best choice, but if he is teasing me… Well, two can play at that game.
Shoving my sweats to the floor, I step out of them, carefully adjusting myself in my boxers.
I’m not looking at Harlow, but he’s looking at me. If the way I can feel his gaze didn’t give him away, the way he blew out a sharp breath when my sweats hit the ground would have.
Ignoring his attention, I toss my shirt over my head, then pick up the suitcase and lay it on the bed before pulling clothes out.
I’m not sure how I resist the temptation to look at Harlow while I’m getting dressed, but somehow, I manage, and when I’m fully clothed, I finally glance at him. “You ready?”
His cheeks are slightly flushed, and his throat bobs with a swallow before he finally finds my eyes and nods.
Offering him my hand, I help him to his feet, and we walk into the hallway and toward the elevators, still holding hands.
I should have known that Harlow would never give me a moment of peace because the second we step inside, he turns to me with a grin. “You know, I’ve never been kissed in an elevator.”
Humming, I grin back. “Is that right?”
He’s the picture of innocence. Or so he fucking thinks. He nods solemnly, his blue eyes earnest.
The elevator starts its descent, and I turn quickly, grabbing his face and pressing him against the wall. His eyes dart to the side before finding mine again.
I lean closer, hovering my mouth over his. His breath punches out of him, and he tilts his head back.
“Should I kiss you in the elevator?” I whisper, my lips catching on his as I move closer.
The breathy noise he lets out has blood rushing to my cock. “What kind of husband would you be if you didn’t?”
Well, he’s got me there.
Tightening my grip on his jaw, I drag him closer, then slot my lips over his. He moans into my mouth, his lips moving fervently over mine and his hands scrabbling for purchase on my back.
Dragging my thumbs along his cheekbones, I use my grip to tilt his head, deepening the kiss as I press my body into his, caging him in entirely against the wall.
The elevator comes to a halting stop. It’s far harder to pull away from him than it should be, but when I finally manage it, I turn to find an older man stepping into the elevator alongside us.
Harlow giggles. “Sorry. We’re newlyweds.”
My heart thrums heavily at the words.
The older man smiles at us. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Harlow answers, grinning back. “We’re on our honeymoon.”
We’re also on our wedding, but I figure it’s best to leave that part out.
When the elevator stops in the lobby, the man shakes his head with a small laugh. “You boys have a good evening.”
“Thanks. You too.” I take Harlow’s hand, twining my fingers through his. “Was your elevator kiss satisfactory?”
Laughing, Harlow nods. “I think so.”
I wrinkle my nose. “You think so?”
He shrugs. “I guess we’ll have to try again tonight to double-check.”
Every time I think I get the slightest bit of the upper hand with him, he immediately proves me wrong. “Okay. I guess we will.”
Harlow groans the second we step onto the elevator. “Ugh. I am so full.”
“I mean, you ate six street tacos. I’m not sure what you were expecting.”
Groaning again, he hits the button for our floor. “They were so good, though. I’d do it again. Maybe not right now.” He shakes his head. “Definitely not right now, but in the future? Tomorrow? Yeah, I’d do it tomorrow.”
I shake my head with a laugh. “You never learn.”
The elevator lurches to a stop at our floor, and Harlow groans again. “And I ate too much to even get more elevator kisses. This is bullshit.”
“C’mon, you big baby.” I take his hand, leading him down the hall to our room. “Let’s go change into something more comfortable, and I’ll rub your stomach.”
“In bed?” Harlow asks, pouting at me as I fumble with the door lock.
“Sure.”
When we’re inside, he walks straight to the bed and plops down on the edge like the dramatic ass he is.
I put the Do Not Disturb tag on the door and close it, locking the deadbolt for good measure.
Harlow is stretched out on his back, his feet touching the floor, staring up at the ceiling.
“You look goofy.”
He shakes his head. “I look like someone who ate his weight in tacos.”
I did try to warn him against it. I shouldn’t be surprised, and truly neither should he. No impulse control at all. I guess it’s nice to know nothing’s changed. Okay, so everything has changed, but not really. He’s still just Harlow.
“You promised stomach rubs.”
“You have to change first.”
Dragging himself into an upright position, Harlow strips his clothes off, dropping them on the floor. Apparently, there is no modesty anymore. He really took ‘I want this to be a real marriage’ seriously, it seems.
It’s not like I’m complaining about the view. Harlow is stunning, and I would be stupid to not look at him.
When he’s in nothing more than his briefs, he shimmies up the bed, grunting and groaning like he might die, then he drops his head onto the pillow with one last dramatic groan and looks at me. “I’m changed.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I’d call that changed. You’re nearly naked.”
He waves a hand through the air. “Semantics.”
Fuck it. I strip down to my boxers, then crawl in next to him. As soon as I do, he scoots closer to me, and I rest my hand on the bare skin of his stomach.
The warmth of it under my palm is mesmerizing, and instead of rubbing like I promised, I spend a minute running my fingers over his soft skin. He squirms a little when I touch his belly button. “Ticklish,” he mumbles.
I glance up at him, and he’s got his eyes closed, his head tilted back on the pillow, his hair fanned out like a golden halo. Fucking radiant.
“Sorry,” I murmur back before resuming my exploration of his skin. I’ve never been able to touch him like this before, and while it shouldn’t seem like a novel experience considering all the ways I have touched him over the years, it feels like one.
Harlow sighs. “You’re not really rubbing, but it feels good anyway.”
I still my fingers for a second before starting up again, making mindless patterns on his skin, moving them in small circles, dragging them up toward his chest, and then back down, closer to his waistband.
“Mmm, that’s the stuff right there.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You’re acting like you’re dying or something.”
“Death by tacos. Might be a good way to go.”
At first, it’s nothing. Just my fingertips running across his skin, but after a while, every time they drift lower, Harlow’s breath catches. For a second, I’m not even sure I’m hearing it right, so I do it again to see if I get the same reaction.
I do. A soft hitch in his breath and a slight tensing of his muscles.
Looking up at him, I watch his face. His eyes are still closed, his face relaxed and mouth slightly parted. There’s a new flush on his cheeks. One I’m finding that I like the look of quite a bit. For some reason, it seems to bring out his freckles even more.
I want to kiss them. I have since we were kids.
I didn’t understand it back then. Not really.
I just wanted to be close to Harlow in any way that I could, and then, as we got older, it changed.
Each of his freckles called to me, and I wanted to kiss them one by one.
Wanted to see if they felt different from the rest of his skin under my lips.
There’s nothing stopping me. I could. He’d probably even like it. But it’s one thing for Harlow to initiate something or ask for it, like in the elevator. It feels wrong to do it on my own. Like I’m taking advantage, like I’m taking something that doesn’t really belong to me.
“You’re staring,” Harlow breathes, and I lift my eyes to his.
“You’re beautiful.”
The words are out of my mouth before I even have time to think about them. And Harlow’s eyes widen. Part of me wants to take them back, but I won’t. I’ve been holding them in for long enough. I don’t want to do it anymore.
“You really think so?” Harlow asks softly.
My chest aches at the question. I must have thought those words a thousand times over the years.
“Of course,” I whisper, pressing my palm flat against his stomach before dragging it up slowly until it’s resting just below his ribs.
“You have the most adorable freckles, and when you blush or your cheeks are flushed, they stand out even more. And right now? You look soft and cozy and maybe a little sleepy. Your hair is a mess and your cheeks are rosy.” I’m probably saying too much, giving too much away, but I feel like telling him he was beautiful opened me up, and I can’t stop myself.
“I’ve always thought you were beautiful. ”
His blue eyes stay fixed on mine for a second, and then his lips turn down a little. “You’ve always thought that?”
I nod. “Always.”
His eyes fall closed, and I feel suddenly terrified that I’ve cracked something open between us that can’t be closed again. My heart pounds incessantly against my ribs, my stomach flipping nervously.
“Will you kiss me?” Harlow asks without even opening his eyes, and I don’t know if it’s the vulnerability in his tone or the years of holding myself back, but I lean forward without even the slightest bit of hesitation.
His lips are warm and soft, and after a press of mine to them, I pull back. Harlow’s eyes are still closed, and I lean in again, this time bypassing his lips, and drop a soft kiss to the bridge of his nose, then to his left cheek, before moving to the right side.
I know there’s no possible way I could kiss each individual freckle on his face, but this is the closest I’ve ever come.
After one more quick kiss on his lips, I shift, then lie down on my back and pull him into my arms. He comes willingly, pressing himself against me. His skin warms mine, and he lays his head on my chest, then lets his hand rest in front of his face.
Maybe I need to call Josh and thank him.
I know this marriage isn’t real, and there’s a time limit on it. I know Harlow doesn’t have feelings for me the way I do him.
But I also know that I wouldn’t know the taste of his lips without this, and I can’t even find it in me to regret that.