Chapter 25 #2
Her pussy is my favorite place in the universe, and she grows even wetter with each kiss, and slicker still with every consuming thrust. We kiss like sloppy, crazed lovers, until she bites down on my lip.
She cries out, lets go of my mouth, and utters a throaty, hungry series of oh Gods that are nearly my undoing as she comes hard, calling my name.
Somewhere, tingling in my body, I can feel the start of an orgasm. But I’m not ready to stop. I slow down, grit my teeth, and fight off my own release.
“I want you to come again,” I tell her, my voice rough.
She just nods, and that’s all I need to know she’s game for multiples.
I pull out, my fingers tight around the condom, keeping it on. “Bed. Now. On your back. Legs spread. Leave the shoes on.”
She’s never been to my bedroom, but it’s not hard to find, and in seconds she’s on the navy blue comforter and open for me. I crawl between her legs, and shove back into her.
“Oh fuck,” I groan, my cock surrounded by her sweet heat once more. “You’re so fucking wet.”
“You got me that way,” she says, as I fill her.
“You’re so fucking sexy. You feel so good.”
“God, so do you. It drives me wild the way you fuck me,” she says, and every word from her mouth gets me hotter. She wraps her legs around my ass, and loops her hands around my neck. This is how I want her.
“I want to watch your face when you come again. You’re so beautiful beneath me. You’re so goddamn gorgeous when you come,” I say, and she trembles, gripping me tighter, pulling me farther into her.
I don’t want this to ever stop. I don’t want this night to end.
I want her over and over. I roll my hips and thrust into her, finding a new rhythm.
It’s fast, but not frantic. It’s intense, but not out of control.
It’s just fucking perfect, then more perfect when she raises her knees, sliding them up my sides, opening herself even more.
“You like that, princess?” I growl, as she widens for me, giving me her body in that position.
Her answer is a low, sexy cry of rapture. I drive farther, rolling my hips, hitting her in all the right places.
“I can feel you deeper like this. So deep that . . .” She trails off, her lips near my ear. She draws my earlobe between her teeth and nips. She moans against me, a sexy, beautiful noise as she whispers, “That I’m going to come again.”
My favorite words from her. “Do it,” I groan as I pump into her, and she grips my ass, digging in, holding on. Her face is pressed to mine as she rocks up. Her body detonates, and she’s like a Harper bomb under my hands, a beautiful explosion of lust and sensuality, and so much rapture.
That’s it. I’m done. I chase her there, pushing deep inside at a fevered pace, my own climax tearing through my body as she shudders beneath me.
Our cheeks touch as I come so fucking hard that nothing but incoherent noises fall from my lips, nearly as loud as hers.
Because, holy fuck, it’s so good with her. It’s so incredibly good.
Her moans don’t stop for a long time, and nor do mine as I collapse on her. My heart beats furiously. Beads of sweat slick my chest. And I’m so damn happy to have her in my bed, beneath me, with me, next to me.
I roll off her, tie the condom, and toss it in the bathroom trash. I return to her, and she’s the most beautiful sight ever—mostly undressed and fucked senseless . . . by me.
“Take off the rest of your clothes. I want to feel you naked,” I tell her, and I help her slide off the shoes, stockings, and the bra. She’s in nothing, just like me. I pull her into my arms.
She feels too good to be true.
* * *
“So this is your bedroom,” she says, glancing around a few minutes later.
My room is simple—blond hardwood floors, a king-sized bed, and a bureau with a handful of framed family photos, as well as stacks of sketchbooks and pens. On my wall is a drawing of a duck taped to bricks, aptly titled “Duct Tape.”
“Maybe you’ll show me your bedroom someday soon,” I say, as I kiss her neck.
“Actually, you’ve seen it.”
I arch a questioning eyebrow.
“My apartment is a studio. I sleep on the purple couch. It’s a pull-out.”
“I have fond memories of what I did to you on that couch yesterday. Had no idea it was your bed too.”
She taps my nose. “Don’t know if you know this, Mr. Brains and Beauty, but Manhattan is a teeny bit expensive,” she says, holding up her thumb and forefinger. “Especially for an almost twenty-six-year-old magician.”
I nod, aware that her situation is different than mine. We’re both skilled enough to do what we love, but I’ve had bigger breaks.
“But I’m lucky to have that place,” she adds. “My parents bought it years ago as an investment, so I basically rent from them. They wanted to let me live rent-free, but I insisted on paying.”
“Hopefully they gave you a good deal.”
“They did. For a place in the 90s, it’s better than rent-controlled. And it lets me live in Manhattan, working kids’ parties for the most part.”
I prop myself up and run my fingers along her hipbone. “Is that the end game? I’m not saying you should do more. I’m just curious.”
“I’d like to do a few more corporate events since the pay is better, but for now, I’m happy.”
“Would you ever want to do a big, grand show, like in Vegas?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I really like working with kids. They’re fun and appreciative, and they believe in the illusion. They believe it’s all real.”
“You have no idea how badly I want to ask you to show me how to do the pencil trick.”
“You know I could never do that.” She stretches an arm to my nightstand, grabbing a pencil.
She presses her finger to my lips. “I’m not going to tell you how it’s done,” she says, then brings her right hand to her nose, while her left hand is curved next to it.
In a flash, she puts the pencil in her nose.
Or so it seems.
Equally quickly, the writing implement emerges in her other hand, as if she pulled it out her ear. Even though I know she didn’t put the pencil in her head, and even though I’m sure she hid it behind her hand, it’s still a cool trick. Because it looks real. Her sleight of hand is that smooth.
“Want me to do it again?”
I shrug. “Sure.”
This time she’s just as fast, but she swings her leg over my waist as she does the trick, which rolls her an inch closer, giving me the slightest peek at her curved left hand, where she hides the pencil.
I smile, awareness hitting me of what she just did. It’s a small thing, and a small trick, but it’s pure Harper. Revealing, without exactly revealing. Letting me into her world.
“Now teach me the secret to drawing a great cartoon,” she says, playfully demanding.
I raise my hand and brush her red strands over her ear. “Here’s the trick. You have to like what you’re drawing,” I say, my eyes on her the whole time.
She has no clue what I’ve just told her.
She can’t have any idea that I’ve drawn her, and how much I like her.
So much that it’s way beyond “like” right now.
She just smiles and says, “Good thing you like drawing a caped crusader who can make a woman arch her back and curl her toes in pleasure. Especially since you’re so good at that, too. ”
Screw Fido. Screw that stupid jealousy. Fuck any jealousy. Right now all I feel is one hundred percent satisfaction over a job well done.
Speaking of jobs . . .
“Would you want to come to a work party with me?” I ask, then I explain about the cocktail party that Serena asked me to attend this Friday.
“Do I have to throw a bowling match this time?” She taps my chest. “Speaking of that, you still owe me a rematch.”
“I promise you’ll get one. But will you come with me? Gino is such a capricious ass,” I say then hold up my palm. “Wait. Ass is good, we decided. He’s a capricious weasel, and he’s just jerking me around. But even so, I need to play the game and go. And I’d really like for you to be there.”
“Of course I’ll go. And as for Gino, fuck him.”
I point at her, my eyes lighting up. “Hey. That’s another one. Why is fuck an insult?”
“Hmmm. That’s an excellent point.”
“Right? Everyone says fuck him, fuck this, fuck off. But fucking is pretty much the greatest thing on earth.”
“We’ll start a new dictionary. We’ll take back the word fuck, and we’ll turn it into—”
“I know! We’ll say it like a blessing.” I soften my voice, and make it sound reverent and adoring. “Fuck you, my child. Go in peace.”
“Or,” she says, her voice rising in excitement, “we can use it when we like something. Fuck can go into our dictionary as like.”
I curl my hand over her hip. “Hey, you know what, Harper? Fuck showers.”
I take her to the shower and introduce her to the tiled wall, as well as my bottomless appetite for her. She’s pretty ravenous, too, and it’s fantastic to have her again as the water slides down my back, and her legs wrap around me, and she falls apart once more in my arms.
When she comes down from her high, she whispers in my ear, softly, sweetly, “Fuck you.”
I laugh lightly. “Fuck you, too.”