Chapter 22 #2
And that line of thinking absolutely did not belong here, especially right now.
“Nope. Time for you to go to bed,” I said. “And you probably want to take something before you crash, or you’re going to wake up with one hell of a hangover.”
“No, I won’t. Never had a hangover a day in my life.” She pursed her lips, her brow furrowed. “But that’s probably more because I’ve never had friends to go out with. And it’s kinda sad to get drunk by yourself.”
At her admission, something uncomfortable lodged deep in my chest. I’d never allowed myself to think about Harper’s life after I shut her out of mine.
Intentionally. I’d been secure in the knowledge that she didn’t have to give up her dreams to stick around for some kid who—as her dad succinctly put it—was a waste of space and who wouldn’t amount to anything.
Doing so was the coward’s way out, but I knew if I got curious about her life, I’d go looking.
And if I went looking, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from going to her.
That was the last thing she’d needed from me. In order for her to get what she’d planned, the life she’d had set for years, I needed to not be in it. Her dad had made that perfectly clear.
“Well, I’ve been drunk plenty,” I said. “And I’m telling you to take some ibuprofen and drink a lot of water or you’re gonna regret it.”
“Fine.” She pursed her lips, one eye squinted shut as she regarded me. “But first, I gotta get out of these clothes. I’m so hot. Why’s it so hot in here?”
Before I could even comprehend her words, she shucked my hoodie, reached for the hem of her dress, and tugged it up, revealing inch after delectable inch of her gorgeous body.
I stood there frozen for way longer than I should have, but when Harper Davidson started shedding clothes in front of you, there was nothing you could do but watch.
At least until she got stuck with the garment halfway off. With the dress covering her face and her arms tangled over her head, she stumbled into a wall before letting out a giggle-snort.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, blowing out a deep sigh and scrubbing a hand over my face. “You couldn’t wait till you got into your room to strip?”
“Why?” She spun toward me. Her arms were still above her head, tangled in her dress, which gave me an unencumbered view of her wearing a pale-purple lace bra and white cotton panties.
Objectively speaking, the bottoms were plain.
Boring. But the tiny pink bow at the front of them was going to haunt my dreams for the next six months, easy.
“You’ve already seen it all before. Just the other night, actually. ”
“A fact I am painfully aware of.”
After a nonstop struggle—one in which I was absolutely not going to help—she finally extricated herself from the dress and tossed it on the floor, letting out a hoot of triumph.
“Feel better?” I asked, if for nothing more than to give myself something to do other than stare at every inch of skin she’d revealed.
“Almost.” She turned her back to me, the view of her ass in those panties causing my dick to stir. And then she reached back, unhooked her bra, and tossed it over her shoulder.
I caught it before it smacked me in the face, and I tipped my head back, blowing out a heavy breath. “Fucking hell.”
“You can stop staring at the ceiling,” she said. “I don’t mind if you watch.”
As she’d proven damn well the other night.
And there was no realm of reality where I wouldn’t love it, too.
I’d deprived myself of a hell of a lot over the years, women included, and I’d gotten really fucking good at it.
But having this woman—this nearly naked woman—living in my apartment and enticing me day in and day out was the greatest temptation I’d ever faced.
“Can you handle getting in bed on your own?”
She made a sound of agreement, and I took that as my permission to step away, gather a couple things, and give myself some fucking room to breathe.
Thankfully, by the time I made it back into her bedroom with the supplies, she was in her bed, the sheet pulled up under her arms. I blew out a sigh, equal parts relieved and disappointed, and I fucking hated myself for the latter.
“Shit,” she said.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, standing at the side of her bed.
She stared up at me, her makeup smudged, hair wild, eyes half lidded. Looking like she’d had a hell of a good night. “I forgot something.”
I tipped my chin toward her nightstand, where I’d set some ibuprofen and a bottle of water. “I already grabbed everything for you.”
She shook her head, eyes bright with mischief as she grinned up at me, and I knew I was in trouble. “It’s not to help my hangover. It’s to help my pussy.”
“Jesus Christ, Harper.” I groaned and scrubbed a hand over my face. “You can’t say shit like that to me.”
“Why not?”
“You know damn well why.” Because I’m not good enough for you—I’ve never been good enough for you—and going down this path with you again is a bad fucking idea.
“Don’t even pretend like this is tempting you. You’ve spent most of the time staring at the ceiling anyway.”
I clenched my jaw, crossing my arms as I met her stare. “Don’t mistake my chivalry for disinterest, sparrow.”
Her lips kicked up at the corner. “Are you saying you like to look at me?”
“Of course I fucking like to look at you. Have you seen yourself?”
She squinted one eye at me, as if trying to read if I was being honest. All she had to do was glance at the front of my jeans to see the proof of exactly how fucking much I liked it.
“I need my toy,” she finally said. “The one I used when you watched. Will you get it for me?”
Images of her using it immediately popped into my mind, and my cock grew hard as steel behind my fly. I cleared my throat, but it was no use. My voice still came out rough. “No, I’m not going to get your toy.”
“C’mon, please? Don’t you wanna play our game again?”
I swallowed harshly, forcing myself to shake my head, despite the fact that I wanted nothing more than what she was suggesting.
She blew out a long-suffering sigh before shimmying beneath the covers, obviously ridding herself of her panties. In all her adjustments, the sheet slipped farther down her body, exposing her tits to me, but she was completely unconcerned.
“Then I guess my fingers will have to do.” She wiggled them at me before slipping her hand under the sheet and spreading her legs wide. “It’ll take longer, but maybe not since you’re here. You’ll talk me through it, won’t you?”