Chapter Two
I fumbled in my chips bag for my room card as Harrison stood behind me, his warm breath on my neck, making little goosebumps spread across my skin. His hand rested on my hip, the other shot out and pushed the door open the second the keycard lock turned green.
We stumbled into my darkened room, the only light the neon pinks, blues, and yellows from the strip spilling in through the windows and highlighting the bed that dominated the space.
I shifted closer, drawn to the heat between us, my breasts crushing to his chest.
His hands tightened, and a low rumble moved through him, vibrating into me.
Harrison reached down, grabbing both my legs and lifting me up off my feet as he slammed me back against the wall.
I bit his lip as his thickness nudged between my spread legs.
His hips bucked, and a ragged moan ripped from my chest.
I was so far gone already.
But Harrison was in no rush.
His lips slanted over mine again—sure, practiced, utterly consuming.
He was kissing me like he had something to prove. And I let him, wrapping my arms around his neck, holding him close.
My pulse stuttered, then found a quicker rhythm it seemed determined to keep.
His tongue teased over mine, and my breath caught low in my chest, like it forgot how to leave politely.
My thoughts thinned out, fraying at the edges. I was suddenly too aware of where his hands were… and where I wanted them.
Before I could ask for more, though, his hips rocked against me.
I short-circuited.
A raspy moan ripped from deep in my throat, the sound making Harrison pull back to watch me as his hips ground against me again.
That rumble moved through his chest, a little darker, more feral. “That’s a good sound,” he said, his lips meeting my neck.
Want spread through my system, making me hook my legs around his lower back, my heels digging in as I used his body for leverage so I could rock restlessly against him.
His head lifted, his breath ghosting my cheek, warm and uneven, like he, too, was getting too caught up in the moment.
He watched me for a moment, eyes intense.
Then his head dipped again.
My lips tingled before he even touched them.
Then he muffled my growing moans as my hips writhed against him, driving myself up.
Harrison’s arms cinched around me as he pulled me away from the wall and walked me backward through the room.
He dropped down at the foot of the bed with me straddling him.
His hands glided down the slope of my back, sinking into my ass, then slipped lower still—over my thighs, my calves, before working the heels off my feet.
When they moved back upward, they started to gather the material of my black dress, sliding it up and off.
My skin felt too awake, every inch of skin he touched reacting faster than seemed possible.
“Arms up,” he murmured as he gathered the dress just under my breasts.
A shiver racked my body as I lifted my arms up straight in the air.
Harrison sucked in a breath so deep it shook his chest, then lifted the material free.
It fell, utterly forgotten, to the floor behind me.
“Fuck,” Harrison groaned as his gaze raked over my body—naked save for a pair of barely-there panties.
Want settled and spread, hot and insistent.
I felt dizzy by how the world narrowed to just him, to the way his blue eyes roamed over me, to how his fingers dug into my hips, as if he didn’t hold on, he would lose control of them.
The pause stretched—unbearable, electric.
Then, finally, his control snapped.
His hands moved.
Slid up.
Covered my breasts.
His touch wasn’t urgent. But not tentative either. Just sure—warm palms, steady pressure, and everything inside me started to tilt.
I swore I could feel him everywhere at once, the need a current coursing across every inch of skin.
My breath stumbled as his thumbs teased around my nipples, and I couldn’t quiet the sound that escaped my throat.
He circled, flicked, rolled until my hips were rocking restlessly and my moans filled the quiet room.
Only then did he knife up, turn, and roll me under him on the mattress.
But he wasn’t done teasing, exploring.
His lips and tongue worked down my throat.
The closeness was overwhelming in the best way—his heat bleeding into mine, the solid reassurance of him pressed near enough that I couldn’t tell where my breath ended and his began.
His hair teased over my sensitive skin, lighting little fires with each brush as his face settled between my breasts, breathing me in, then shifted to the side and sucked my nipple into his mouth.
A ragged cry escaped me as I arched up into his mouth; my hand slapped down on the back of his neck, holding him to me. But he had no intention of pulling away.
He tasted, circled, sucked, and nipped until I was panting, until I was writhing against him. Then he moved across my chest and made the need rise all the more.
My hands moved without planning—curled into the fabric of his jacket, pulled, tugged, chasing his warmth, the feel of him against me.
But he wouldn’t pull away to let me push the fabric from his shoulders.
He just pressed a kiss between my breasts and kept moving down, down.
Every inch he kissed felt louder then, places that never asked for attention suddenly insisted on it, nerves lit up one by one.
I was too aware of my heartbeat. Of how fast it was going. Of how it seemed to echo everywhere.
My thoughts scattered, no longer lining up neatly.
They arrived in fragments—heat, ache, yes, that.
His lips pressed to the triangle above my sex as his hands pulled my panties down.
Then his head tilted up ever so slightly, his gaze found mine, my own hunger reflected in his eyes.
I sucked in a steadying breath, my body knowing exactly what was coming next, and trying to prepare for it.
But then his head ducked again.
His tongue found the core of me.
And any thought of being prepared for the sensation felt laughable.
His tongue sparked a million little fires as time itself warped, coming slowly, then all at once, moments lost forever in sensation, in heat, in longing and pleasure.
His tongue found the core of me, and a tight coil formed deep in my stomach.
Harrison’s hands curled around my thighs, fingers digging in—firm, possessive.
And he just continued to tease his tongue over me.
My body tightened; sensitivity sharpened.
Every muscle tensed.
My thighs fought the hold of his hands.
All the while, his tongue circled, circled, circled.
The moment hovered on the edge.
Then went crashing over, taking me with it, my cries filling the room.
Pleasure washed over me over and over.
In the aftermath, I was shaky and tingling as Harrison released me and kissed his way back up my stomach, my chest, and finally, my neck.
This time, when I tugged at his jacket, he let me push it off his shoulders.
My greedy hands worked his buttons free next as his tongue and teeth grazed the shell of my ear.
I was desperate for the feel of him, dragging his chest to mine after the shirt fell away. A whimper escaped me at the press of him.
He groaned at the feel of my breasts beneath him as my hands trailed down his back, up his sides, then reached between us, palming his length through his slacks.
His hips bucked instinctively, aching for more.
I worked his belt loose, then his button and zipper free, before reaching inside to touch him without the barrier.
His curse tangled with my needy moan when my hand closed around his length and stroked.
His breath hitched as my finger stroked across the tip of him before slipping back down.
“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, his breath on my ear.
A whimper escaped me.
But he needed the words.
I pushed down his pants and pulled him against me, his length against my cleft.
“I want you inside me,” I said, my lips on his ear.
His body shook at my words as he rocked against me. Once. Twice. Three times.
Until I was moaning and writhing.
Only then did he pull back.
The cool air washed across my overheated skin as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet, then inside that for protection.
His heated gaze was on mine as he made quick work of the task before coming over me.
My skin felt like gasoline, his body the match.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re making it hard to keep control,” he said, teeth nipping my lower lip.
“So don’t,” I said, wrapping him up with my arms and legs, my heels digging into his ass, driving him tighter against me.
That rumbling growl moved through Harrison as he pulled back, his gaze on mine as his hips shifted, pulled back, then surged forward.
My throaty moan rolled out from somewhere deep at the thick stretch of him sliding inside me.
A shudder racked Harrison, equally affected as he stilled inside me, his forehead pressing to mine as he drew in a shaky breath.
“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, hips bucking just a little deeper, dragging a throaty sound from me.
“Harrison,” I whimpered, hips rocking, heels digging into his ass, desperate for the movement, for the friction my body craved. “Please.”
A sound rolled through his chest as he slowly slid back, then paused, his intense gaze on mine.
“I want you to remember this,” he said, thrusting deep, the pleasure scorching hot, making his words immediately come true. I’d never forget.
It was pure instinct then, limitless sensation.
The stretch, the warmth, the way my heartbeat stuttered in time with my breath.
His skin was heat and friction against mine.
I could feel every inch of him. Not just inside me. But against me. In my blood. In my bones.
My body arched, bowed, shook, clung.
Harrison surged, tightened, coaxed, gave me exactly what I needed.
Heat spiraled and coiled tighter and tighter until it felt like I might snap from the pressure alone.
“I can feel you about to come apart,” he groaned in my ear, feeling me tighten around him. “It’s okay. Let go. I’ve got you.”
I came apart around him, hips jerking, toes curling, body surrendering to the rush of pleasure as it coursed through me over and over.
“Fuck,” Harrison groaned when the pulsations eased and he settled deep, body jerking as he came apart as well.
His weight pressed into me after, and I clung tightly to him, my body racked with aftershocks.
And as the heat ebbed, I felt unexpectedly vulnerable, fragile—like my skin had been peeled back along with my composure.
It was just supposed to be fun, light, easy.
Yet the closeness felt suddenly dangerous.
Not because it felt wrong.
But because it felt a little too right.
I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat and curled until Harrison had no choice but to slip off to my side.
As soon as I was free of the physical weight of him, I fled the emotional weight as well, moving to sit off the side of the bed for a second.
“Where are you going?” Harrison asked, his voice thick.
Every ounce of me wanted to turn around, to slip against him, to curl on his chest and listen to his heart fall back to a steady rhythm under my ear.
And that was exactly why I rose from the bed, fumbling for my discarded clothes in the dark.
“I need a drink,” I said, holding my clothes to my chest as I made my way into the bathroom.
Alone, I leaned against the door, my heartbeat hammering.
“What the fuck?” I whispered to myself.
My head turned, catching sight of myself in the mirror.
The same long, dark hair, the same chocolate brown eyes in a round, feminine, delicate face, the same long, somewhat willowy body.
The only thing that was unfamiliar was that round-eyed, panicked look on my face.
Because what the hell was that?
Sex was sex.
Nothing more.
And yet…
And yet.
The drink thing was just an excuse to get out of the bed. But as I yanked on my panties and dress, I knew the only thing that could soften the sharp edges of these strange emotions swirling through me would be tequila.
A lot of it.
When I exited the bathroom, Harrison was already dressed as well.
His gaze found mine.
“I’m hitting the bar. Come. Or don’t.”
With that, I grabbed my bag and rushed out of the room.
I remembered the bar.
I remembered the first sweet sip of that strawberry margarita.
I remembered Harrison there beside me.
After that, well, it got real blurry.