31. Harper
Harper
I awake with Jace's body wrapped around me.
His warmth and strength enveloping me. The smell of him, sandalwood and sawdust and just him, permeates my senses as I breathe him in.
The early morning light is a hazy blue that spills over the bed, a promise of morning edging closer.
Shifting in his arms, wanting to see him during this quiet hour, my fingers skim over his skin.
I trace the patterns of his tattoos, exploring his body while my mind replays last night like a scene from a movie.
It feels like a dream that I never want to wake up from. He loves me.
Once I’ve traced one arm, I let my fingers glide over the intricate design tattooed along his side.
We both slept naked, not wanting anything between us, and too tired to bother after round number…
I don’t even know how many. My lips tug into a smile at the memories, and I bite my lip as heat pools in my core.
Draping my leg over his hip, wincing slightly, my pussy, although ready for another trip to pound town, is actually pretty sore.
Of course, my horny pussy is only more turned on by the discomfort and the way it conjures what made it that way.
His body shifts closer to me; eyes still closed like even in his sleep the pull to be closer drives him.
Minutes later, his eyes flutter open, and the sleepy smile on his lips has my ovaries going into hyperdrive.
Sore pussy, ain't no thing, momma needs to get railed, hard.
“I love you,” he murmurs, pulling me in for a kiss, like now that he can finally say it he never wants to stop, and I never want him to.
“Love you, too.” My words turn into a gasp as his rough, thick fingers rim my pussy.
“Fuck, Harper, you’re already wet.” The torturous circles continue. “Are you sore at all? I know last night this took a beating.” He dips in slightly, still rubbing circles, like he is massaging and soothing my abused core.
“A little, but…” Biting my lip, I stop, not sure if I can finish that train of thought.
His movements freeze, and his fingers slide out of me.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I growl, gripping his wrist to keep him where I want him.
Warm air caresses my neck where his face is nuzzling as he huffs out a laugh.
“If you want this,” his finger rims me again, “finish that sentence.”
At this point, I don’t care. I’m writhing and prepared to beg for another orgasm. “I like the soreness. I like the way it reminds me of you inside of me”
“Shit,” his breath goes ragged, “you are dripping onto my fingers.”
“I did as you asked. Now, give me my reward.” I don’t even recognize the woman he makes me. Feral with want, insatiable in my pursuit of orgasms and to have his cum painting my pussy.
Knock, knock, knock. We both freeze, then Lizzie’s voice carries through the door.
“Noooooo,” I whine, dropping my head to his chest, and the rumble from it is soothing as he laughs, dragging his fingers through my folds, plunging deep a few times before withdrawing.
“A little preview of what’s to come later.” He holds his fingers out to me, and I pull them into my mouth, swirling my tongue over them, cleaning them before we crawl out of bed and get ready for the day.
“They’re here,” Jace says into my ear, his arms wrapping around my waist as a car pulls into my driveway.
Everyone should be arriving within the next hour, but we had Jace’s family come a little earlier so we could meet.
My hands tremble with nerves. Fuck. There is no way they’ll like me.
I feel like the girl from The Scarlet Letter, but instead of a letter, there is a neon flashing sign above my head that says, “teen mom,” “unwed mother.” I’ve never met a boyfriend's family.
Even with Curtis, I never met them as someone in their son's life.
Just as social circle acquaintances, then the inconvenience that their son knocked up.
“Stop fidgeting, babe, they are going to love you, both of you.”
We step onto the porch hand in hand. I try to pull free, not wanting to be judged for any PDA or something, but Jace holds firm, not releasing my fingers. Instead, he pulls them to his lips, ghosting a kiss along the back of my hand. My cheeks flame. “Seriously, in front of them?” I hiss.
“You found it!” he calls from our place on the porch, ignoring my comment all together.
His family all smiles at us. His mom zeroed in on our clasped hands, making me squirm again.
His dad does dad things, turning in a circle, taking in the property and even shaking the rail on the steps as he comes up.
Maddy, his sister, is staring at Jace with a smirk on her face.
I wonder what that is about; she looks positively devious.
“Welcome to my home, Mr. and Mrs. McConnell, I’m Harper.” Extending my hand to greet them, I’m feeling pretty proud that the tremor is barely noticeable.
“Oh, none of that, you call me Anita, and him Chris. Go calling him sir and he might get a big head.” She laughs, pulling me in for a hug, and bypassing the handshake all together.
“Nice to meet you,” Chris says, patting my shoulder, then tugging his wife back, muttering what sounded like, “Let the girl breathe, dear.”
“Hi,” Maddy greets me from the first step. “I was right, you are much younger and much better looking than gramps over here.” She points her thumb at Jace, who glares at her.
“I like her,” I mock whisper to Jace. His hand flexes on the small of my back.
“Come on in, Lizzie’s inside.” I lead them in, Jace’s hand warm on my back, and he keeps it there, knowing the way his touch grounds me.
“Lizzie, there are some people here I want you to meet,” I say as I walk over to my daughter while Jace takes everyone's coats. A gasp from Anita has my head whipping around.
She hisses, attempting to keep her voice low, but the reprimand her words carry is obvious.
Maddy is standing there with a shit-eating grin on her face in a Sofia the First shirt and necklace.
“When I said I wanted to wear a Sofia shirt you said it was pathetic and looked like I was trying too hard and would scare the girl.”
Maddy shrugs unapologetically. “I’m going to be the cool aunt that buys her things, so it’s okay. I stand by my opinion on you wearing one.”
“Wa!” Lizzie says beside me with her eyes on Maddy’s shirt. She walks right up to her, her eyes glued on the shirt and pendant. Then the squeal she emits is ear piercing, before she bounces up and down, flapping her hands in joy. Maddy plops on the floor, so she’s eye level with Lizzie.
“Do you like it?” She shows her the shirt and necklace then a couple of bracelets, too.
Tears burn behind my eyes and my throat feels thick.
I can’t believe she did this to connect with Lizzie.
“This one is for you.” She unclasps the bracelet, putting it on Lizzie who laughs and twists her wrist to hear the clink of the beads, holding her hand up to her ear.
Jace’s hand slides into mine, Lizzie finally notices everyone else, smiling at them, pointing to Maddy’s shirt, and showing off her new bracelet
“Well, now, this just isn’t fair,” Anita says to her husband, and I have to turn into Jace’s shoulder to hide my smile and muffle the laugh I can’t contain. Lizzie leads Maddy to her room, probably to show off her collection to an obviously equally obsessed fan.
“Anita, Chris, come sit down. Can I get anyone a drink? I’ll set out some hors d'oeuvres soon to keep people, well, Blake, busy until the food is ready.”
We settle on the couch, talking and getting to know each other.
Jace stays by my side, keeping contact in some form the whole time.
By the time Bree and Wren arrive, my anxiety over meeting his family is history.
Maddy finally shared Lizzie with Anita, who oohed and ahhed over literally everything Lizzie did.
It’s surreal seeing them accept her, us, so effortlessly.
Maddy is hilarious, such a typical little sister, her life mission to rile Jace, and she’s pretty damn good at it. I'm taking notes.
Blake walks in without knocking like he has been here a million times. He has come by to drop things off with Jace but never came inside before. His ability to walk into any space and be completely at ease is something I envy.
The rest of the work crew files in behind him; they, on the other hand, do not look sure what to do with themselves in their boss's girlfriend’s house.
Making a beeline to them, I greet each by name, welcoming them.
Bree comes out with the hors d'oeuvres, and they all look relieved to have something to do with their hands.
Wren chooses that moment to flit in from the kitchen, like a nymph blowing in on the breeze.
More than a few heads turn to watch her approach.
Her blonde wavy hair tumbles down her back.
The tips are dyed a deep red, giving her hair a playful look like it’s been dipped in a pile of fall leaves.
The woven hairband that wraps around her head sitting just above her brows looks like something you’d see at a Renaissance fair or a music festival, yet somehow, looks natural on her.
The gauzy white skirt she wears hits all the boho vibes, swishing around her ankles, making it look like she’s floating across the floorboards.
The burnt orange top is somehow loose and fitted at the same time, hanging off one shoulder, the color warm and earthy, and so Wren.
Her arms are adorned with dozens of stacked bracelets that jangle as she moves; her own personal tambourine playing her into the room.