16. Harlow
Chapter 16
Harlow
H oly shit.
One kiss.
One fucking kiss and I finally wrote something I’m happy with. How does one kiss lead to constructive writing? By motivating and inspiring me, that’s how.
I’ve written little poems and a few short stories in the past but nothing substantial. I thought my dreams of creating literature had died, but apparently, they were just hibernating. With one kiss, Harrison woke that all up.
In the past, I have had passionate lovers, relationships that satisfied me, moments that made my heart skip a beat. The feeling I had in the hallway with Harrison was much different from all that.
I knew I was egging him on, I knew that it was going to set him off. I wanted to. I wanted to get under his skin and see what he would do. How far wasHarrison willing to go?
He’s obviously looking for hisforever girl, and Lord knows I can’t be that with Heath breathing down my neck. But that doesn’t mean I can’t use this vacation to loosen up and inspire myself.
More than that, the kind of spark I felt in the buildup and that one kiss with Harrison is worth exploring before I sell my body to another man. Heath is trying to be a good man, trying to show me he’s interested in me as a person. Trying to get to know me and build something from a business deal. I appreciate that, but will passion grow there?
My fingers type furiously across my laptop keyboard, making quick work out of the scribbles I wrote down earlier. This might not be a forever thing, but there is something cathartic about handwriting my thoughts out. Some of them are hard to make out—scribbled feelings and running visions. I’m surprised at how well it all flows given its state.
What surprises me the most is the genre. I always saw myself writing something dark and mysterious. Thrillers, mysteries, maybe touches offantasy here and there, but erotica? That wasn’t something Isaw myself writing. It also wasn’t something I often read. I often bought books that had touches of closed-door romance, thinking they held more substance. Writing this now, I think I was sorely mistaken. This has plenty of substance.
That kiss.
I brush my finger over my bruised lips, thinking about the intensity that one kiss had. The burn of his stubble against my skin. The sounds he made and the way they turned me on.
I look over to the wall where Harrison had me pinned.
“Stop me, Harlow.”
I press my legs together and feel the pressure build between them. I want release. I want more.
The way he pressed his hard mouth to mine and demanded my submission. His lips felt so unrelenting. His jaw tight. I thought for sure it was bound to be an awful kiss, but it wasn’t. It was so much more. When I fought back, he only stood taller and pressed me further. He tested me and earned his way into my mouth. When I sank my teeth into his bottom lip, I could tell he loved it by the way he groaned.
He was a kid in my eyes. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. A young buck, as they say out here. I remember being younger and the boys I dated having tons of energy . . . and stamina. The thought of a sleepless night causes me to rub my legs against each other, creating light friction.
The kiss ended abruptly, and I was left disappointed. Harrison pulled away from me the minute he realized I was willing to push the envelope. When I fit myself over one of his legs and ground down on him, it was like a light switched off for him. He pulled away, apologized, and rushed out the door. The flush on his cheekbones was unforgettable.
For me, it was like a light switched on, reminding me that I was still a sexual being. I remember people talking about women hitting their sexual prime in their thirties, and I thought I had hit mine early. In my early twenties, I matched and even surpassed some of my partners’ libidos, then later this tapered down.
I enjoyed more than just sexual encounters and looked for a deeper connection.
Where Harrison was concerned, it was all sexualenergy. Charged up and begging to be released. Once he left, it was like all that sexual energy needed to be put down on paper.
I can’t believe how much I’ve already written and that it’s in a genre so outside of my usual taste. What’s even stranger is the specific content I was writing: BDSM erotica.
Typing up the scribble in combination with my recent memories of Harrison has me dying to release this built-up tension once and for all.
Grabbing my phone and stalking over to the kitchen, I open a small package of catnip for Cleo.Once she’s settled on the couch, I head upstairs to the bedroom. Searching through my bedside table, I grab a lovely silicone rose. She’s built for the kind of activities I have planned, always ready to provide me with the release I need.
A little research to help with this new genre of writing may be beneficial, too. With my phone, I start searching for some BDSM content . . . for research.
At first, I find some pretty heavy stuff—videos that make my eyes go wide and my brows shoot up to my forehead. Then, I stumble upon a group of videos of this woman, Lady V. She looks to be in her late thirties and the man she is partnered with is younger. He’s exquisite: lean, built, and hung. I read through the summary of some of their clips and settle on a submission and praise play. The description alone has caught my attention.
She’s curvy with icy blonde hair and nude-painted lips. She has dark mascara painted on her lashes with a beautiful and dramatic smokey eye. Her nails are well-manicured, painted black, and pointed at the tip. Then I notice the middle and ring fingers on her right hand are manicured and painted but cut shorter and rounded.
Interesting.
She’s sitting in a wingback chair wearing a lace lingerie set, legs crossed with strappy heels on her feet.
“Come.” Her voice is husky, with a hint of an accent.
The man—wearing only tight boxer briefs—crawls to her feet, stops, and kneels in front of her.
“Take off my shoes.”
He goes to move his hands but is stopped by one tilt of her head.
“How would you like me to remove them, my lady?” he asks, voice so soft.
“With your mouth.”
Immediately he goes to the strap at her inner ankle and works to unbuckle it with his mouth. I wished they zoomed in for this. She watches with admiration as he attempts; it seems that he occasionally nips at her skin because she will pull her foot away.
“Careful,” she warns.
A shoe falls to the floor and he peeks up at her, silently asking her something. She nods. He kisses the inner part of her ankle and slides his tongue up her calf. Lady V hums in approval. He stops behind her knee, grazing his teeth there.
“Keep going.”
I’m zoned in and focused as he works his way up her inner thigh. Lady V slides deeper into the chair, opening her legs and draping her still-shoed foot over his shoulder.
“May I taste you?” he asks, pleading as if he would die if he didn’t.
“No,” she replies firmly.
I’m sorry, what? I reel at the thought of Harrison being on his knees in front of me and asking to eat my pussy, only for me to say no. I couldn’t do it.
The man on the screen growls and digs his knees into the ground, shifting side to side, obviously throwing a tantrum. Lady V grabs his chin harshly and makes him look up at her.
“Open.” Her thumb glides across his bottom lip.
He does. She slides her right middle and ring fingers into his mouth, gliding them in and out.
My eyes widen as I watch, my legs pressing hard together. I feel the wetness pooling between them. He hums as she moves her fingers with precision in and out of his mouth.
“Take off my underwear.”
His mouth faces a harder assault as his hands reach up and take off her laced thong. He grips the fabric in one hand, but not for long before Lady V holds her free hand out. This nameless man drops her panties into her palm.
She pulls her fingers from his mouth and pushes her thumb in, pushing his mouth open. She is artfully shifting the garment in her hand around, but I’m not sure what she’s doing with it. Then she answers my curiosity by placing it into his mouth.
“Can you taste me?”
Holy shit. She was making sure he got the inside of her panties.
He hums and nods.
“Is that enough? You got want you wanted.”
He whines and shakes his head. With the fingers she had in his mouth, she begins to finger fuck herself in front of him and I begin to use my rose. He is desperate to taste her, his erection pushing his briefs away from his body. I see him grip his thighs with white-knuckle force. Lady V works herself over and over in front of his face, moaning and asking if he wants to do more than taste her. He nods every time.
She pulls her hand free from herself and grips his chin with her wet hand while the other removes her underwear. Thick lines of drool string between his mouth and the fabric.
HOLY. SHIT.
“Ask me. ”
“May I please eat that delicious pussy, my lady? May I slide my tongue into you and bring you pleasure?” he begs.
My legs are shaking. The rose over my own panty-clad pussy is working at an even buzz. I don’t even remember taking my pants off.
Lady V smiles darkly. “Take off your briefs.”
He does, quicker than I’ve ever seen and barely coming up from his kneel before returning to position.
“Eat me,” she demands . . . and he does. With such desperation, I am shook. Never in my life has a man eaten me the way he is. His next breath means less than his tongue sliding along her cleft. Her heeled shoe digs into his back and his erection bobs and jerks. Not once do his hands leave his knees.
“I’m going to come.” She shudders in the chair, moaning loudly. “That’s it, eat my pussy like a good fucking boy,” she states harshly, pulling at his hair. I almost can’t believe my eyes. I see his cock jerk as he comes with her, not once touching it. Just her orgasm and words are enough for him. I’m right there with them moaning into the silent, empty room. I explode, and it has never felt this good.
Researching for my writing is . . . fun.
The only problem is I can’t just rewrite their experiences; I would feel like I was stealing them. Maybe I should experience some of my own. The thought of trying any of that with Harrison flies through my mind, and I’m immediately ready for another round. There has to be a way to get that kid out of his head and into my pants.