18. Harper
18
HARPER
I wake with a sharp gasp, bolting upright. I search my dark room, the shadows seeming to hold too many monsters to count, and fumble for the lamp on my nightstand. It clicks on, and my eyes burn in the sudden brightness.
Nothing.
Empty room.
Just a sore, aching pussy, a salt-and-musk taste on my lips, and the memory of Camden wrapping his hands around my throat as he fucked me.
I was sleeping .
The fear I woke up with—that it was Max hovering above me—melts into rage. I swing the blankets back and stand. I fell asleep naked, but now I jerk on a t-shirt and shorts. I check my phone for the time and freeze at the new notification from WatchMe. Another video posted… and judging by the caption, I’d have to guess it’s the blow job.
Asshole.
I take a breath. Pause. I consider what to do, how to pay him back for this, and grab my phone. Plus something else, hidden deep in my nightstand. Supplies in hand, I stalk out of the room.
The hallway is empty. The house dark and silent.
It’s perfect, unfortunately, for some stalker to creep in and wreak havoc. Who even knows if the doors downstairs are locked?
I shake my head and rest my fingertips on Camden’s doorknob. I don’t know if he’s expecting me… I don’t know how much time has passed since he was in my room, or if he went right to sleep, or if I’m about to walk in on him doing something else.
Is this how he feels when he comes into my room?
Anticipation sings along with my anger, and it pushes me forward. To turn the knob, to slip into his room before one of the other guys ruins the moment and comes out to pee or something.
His room is darker than mine. It takes a long moment for my eyes to adjust, and I strain my ears to catch any sound.
His breathing.
It’s steady, slow, and deep. He’s sleeping.
I grit my teeth and tap the screen of my phone, using that tiny bit of light to guide my steps to the edge of his bed. He’s splayed out on his back, one arm over his head. The other is on his stomach.
He doesn’t look cruel like this.
He just looks…
Harper Shay, do not say handsome .
I glance around, and my gaze lands on his hockey bag. I leave his side and crouch before it, carefully unzipping it and fishing around. When my fingers find the familiar texture of tape, I smile. It’s not duct tape, but it’ll do.
Ten painstaking minutes later, Camden’s arms are secured over his head. His wrists have been thoroughly taped to his headboard.
The laces from his skates probably would’ve been better, but they’re not in his bag for some reason.
Whatever.
I also opened the blinds on his two wide windows, letting in a bit of light. Enough to see without squinting anyway.
I bite my lip. He either didn’t wake up—I made sure to go so slow—or he’s the world’s best actor. I glance to where I set my phone after I found the tape. It’s been recording this whole time, but I’m not sure I want to… Yeah, fuck it.
No one has to see it if it comes out like shit.
I slide his blankets off his body, kick off my sleep shorts and straddle his hips. I let my weight settle on him, and only then do I let myself register the sharp burn of arousal between my legs. I knew it was there. I woke up with the sensation, woke up knowing what happened.
And now I’m going to take what I need from him.
I reach down and palm his dick. I take a second to work my fingers through the gap in his boxers and grip him directly, slowly stroking him to hardness. When he’s tented up, I shift forward. He doesn’t react when I expose his length and navigate it to my slit. I’m wet from his edging and his cum, and it makes accepting his size all the easier.
My breath comes out in a short exhale when he fills me.
On top… it’s a different angle like this. I roll my hips, taking him deeper, and my eyes flutter.
No. I need to focus.
I push his shirt up, exposing his abdomen, his stomach, his chest.
He has a six-pack while sleeping. I didn’t really know that was a thing, unless he’s flexing. My gaze whips to his face, but his eyes are still shut.
Maybe he should join me in consciousness.
I lean forward, putting my face over his. With one hand, I cover his mouth.
With the other, I pinch his nose.
Wait for it .
The deprivation of air snaps him awake. He jerks under me, every muscle in his body cording.
“Shh,” I say in some mockery of what he said to me, “it’s just me.”
He thrashes, and I release his nose. His nostrils flare when he inhales. His gaze cuts through me, so different from his sleeping, peaceful expression. His biceps leap as he yanks at his wrists, and his brows furrow when they don’t move.
I used a lot of tape.
His nostrils flare again, and his jaw works under my fingers. My palm is clapped to his lips, my nails digging into his cheek.
But his fury is nothing compared to the shock that flickers across his face when I roll my hips.
“Oh,” I groan. I lift up a little and lower back down, and he hits a deep part inside me that needs it again. “You feel good like this.”
He shakes his head, glaring.
“No, no.” I move again, rolling. The micromovement sends shivers of pleasure through me. “You don’t need this— I do.”
He says something. The words get caught, muffled against my palm, and I don’t really give a shit what he wanted me to know. It could’ve been a swear, for all I know.
That would ruin the vibe.
Speaking of vibe…
I lean over and snatch the bullet vibrator from his nightstand. It springs to life in my fingers, and I put it on my clit.
I groan louder. My hips jerk at the sensation.
Knowing I could’ve done this on my own, in my room, in peace, filters through my mind. And maybe Camden’s, too. But it’s all the better to torture him while I’m at it.
So he just watches, bound, while I take my pleasure from his cock—which only seems to grow harder inside me, pulsing every time he bottoms out inside me—and the vibrator.
As worked up as I was, it barely takes any time at all before my orgasm shudders through my body. My pussy squeezes, my back arches. He shakes his head again, and my hand slips off his mouth.
“Jesus, Harper,” he breathes. His hips jerk, thrusting deeper inside me. He fucks me from below while I can’t seem to move, my body caught in spiraling pleasure that goes on and on. “What are you doing?”
He doesn’t seem pissed—and, surprisingly, my anger has slipped away, as well.
“You don’t seem to know how to pleasure a woman properly.” I lean away and flash the now-still vibrator in front of his face. “Figured you needed a lesson.”
He grunts. His arms yank, muscles cording, but the tape holds fast.
Which is probably for the best.
“You think I needed a lesson in how to make you come?” His voice rips out in a low growl.
I narrow my eyes.
“Any woman?” he adds.
I shrug. He flexes, and a new tingling pulse shoots through me.
“How insulting.”
“Experience speaks for itself,” I murmur.
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t need a lesson. And I can prove it.”
I snort. “Pass.”
“Sit on my face.”
I go still.
Of all the things I expected him to say, that was not it.
His gaze bores into mine. “Climb up here, hold on to the headboard, and ride my face. Unless you’re fucking scared.”
That might be one word for it. And yet, I find myself rising up and letting his cock slide out of me, and I crawl forward. I navigate around his tied limbs until his wrists sit on my thighs, and his face is right under me.
All I need to do is lower myself down…
“I’m suddenly worried about suffocating you.”
“That should be the least of your concerns.” He presses down with his forearms, and I… sit.
His mouth connects with my pussy, and I swear I immediately see stars. I grab on to the headboard, digging my nails into the metal, while he works magic.
I take back what I said—he knows how.
He’s just an even bigger asshole for withholding.
His tongue spears me, and I cry out. I slap my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound and grind myself down on him.
More. I need more.
And, like he can hear me, he gives it. He tilts, his tongue flat against my clit, his breath hums out, the slight vibration of it nothing compared to the bullet that made me climax earlier.
Never mind that he breaks into my room and fucks me while I sleep.
Never mind that he films and posts it.
Never mind the rose that was on his desk .
I groan through my teeth, and his low chuckle rumbles up through me.
“Less laughing, more—oh, fuck.”
His teeth scrape my clit, and my eyes roll back. He sucks it into his mouth hard, the tip of his tongue flicking against it. Too soon, he goes back down and thrusts inside me. His nose brushes my wetness. I reach down and rub my clit until a spike of pain in my thigh stops me.
He pinched me.
“You’re the biggest—” The words die in my throat.
Calling him the biggest anything would probably only boost his ego anyway.
My clit is back in his mouth, and the sucking pressure too great. My body tenses, my thighs quiver, and I rise up off him instinctively. His forearms catch my thighs, his elbows digging into my hips. He yanks me back down, and I explode. My pussy clenches on nothing, not for the first time, but he doesn’t let up. He keeps sucking, teasing, licking, until sweat collects on the back of my neck, and my thighs shake.
He doesn’t care.
My mind blanks when he draws another climax from me.
I tumble sideways off him, collapsing to the bed for only a moment before rolling out of his reach.
Just in case.
I heave a breath once I stand. I pull on my shorts, undoubtedly giving him a nice view of my ass, and retrieve my phone. I end the recording, then glance back over my shoulder at him.
He licks his lips, then grins. “Satisfied? Cut me loose, Harper.”
My attention shifts to his erect dick. Worst-case scenario? He traps me in here and puts that to use… which would be fine if I didn’t have to be up for class in a few hours. After three orgasms, my legs feel a little like jelly.
Besides, he got a blow job and sex.
It’s only fair if I leave him here.
In fact, that seems like excellent revenge.
“I’m sure with your proven oral skills, you can figure out a way to get free on your own.” I blow him a kiss, phone in hand. “Sweet dreams, Church.”