Chapter 27
The next few nights roll by in a haze of orgasms for Harper, and hey, I’m not complaining that I get to have plenty, too.
Turns out Harper’s quite a giver, and she insists on working on her blow job technique.
Who am I to deny the woman her practical training?
If she likes taking me in her mouth, she should damn well avail herself of the opportunity.
Blow jobs from Harper just might be proof that somewhere, in some other lifetime, I was a very good person. That’s the only way I can possibly explain what I did to deserve the reward of her wicked mouth on my cock.
Like right now, on Wednesday night. She lies on her back on my bed, her head extended over the edge of the mattress, her hands clutched to my hips as I stand, deep in her throat, pumping my hips.
I’m moaning, too.
That’s the problem. I could come in another minute if I let her go on like this. But I just can’t. I’m not that selfish. I love her orgasms more than my own. Even as a fresh round of pleasure crashes into me, I find the will—Herculean task though it is—to pull my dick out of her lush mouth.
Her eyes are dazed as she stares at me, upside-down.
“Sit on me, Dirty Princess,” I tell her as I sink down to the bed, grab a condom, and cover myself in seconds. I pull her up, then position her reverse cowgirl style on my cock.
We groan in unison as I bury myself in her. I loop my hands around her and cup her tits as she thrusts up and down, picking up the pace quickly, her back flush to my chest.
“This won’t take you long, will it?” I whisper in her ear.
She shakes her head against me as she moans.
“Play with your pussy,” I instruct her. “Touch your clit as you fuck me.”
Her right hand slips between her legs, and she rubs as she grinds on me. “I’ve gotten off to you so many times, Nick.”
Those words send me spinning. Lust spirals in me, torquing into something more potent and powerful. Something that’s born of late-night fantasies and months of longing. “Me too, princess. I think about you all the time. I’ve fucked you so many times by myself.”
“Was it this good for you?” she asks, her breath uneven as her fingers fly over her clit, and my cock pushes in and out of her tight, wet heat.
“No,” I grunt, as her gorgeous back slides against my chest. “Nothing compares to the real thing with you.” Because she is all my fantasies, only better, so much better.
“It’s so good with you,” she says on a broken pant. She shudders, her breath hitches, and her words come out in a hot whisper. “I’m going to come all over you.”
“Do it, princess. Come on me,” I growl, because she loves to talk, she loves to announce her orgasms, and she loves to tell me when she’s coming, and I relish every single dirty, sweet, and filthy word to fall from her lips.
She circles her hips, rubs faster, and slams down hard as she cries out, “Oh god, oh god, oh god.”
Her sounds and her shudders flip the switch, and I follow her to my own sweet annihilation. My entire body jerks as my climax crashes over me, assaulting me with pleasure. I groan against her neck. “You kill me, Harper,” I say roughly in her ear. “I come so hard with you, you know that?”
She sighs, a sexy murmur telling me how much she likes hearing those words. “I love it when you come,” she says, in a breathless admission. “I love hearing your noises. I love the way you grip me tighter, how your breathing goes wild.”
It’s such an intimate moment, unraveling for someone, letting go of all control.
And, yeah, giving orgasms is my favorite hobby—but it’s fucking awesome that she wants mine so much.
Maybe that’s why they’re so good with her.
Because I feel even more. More intensity. More vulnerability. Like she knows me.
“That’s what you do to me,” I tell her, brushing my lips to her cheek. “You drive me wild.”
She leans her head back against my collarbone and loops her arms behind my head.
When her fingers play with my hair, I shudder. “I love that, too. What you’re doing,” I whisper.
“I know,” she says, her voice so soft. “You’ve always liked it when I touch your hair.”
Electricity sparks in my body, and I’m not sure if it’s the aftershocks or some new high from what she just said.
Because it’s not just that she knows me.
It’s that she’s figured me out. She’s learned my likes (numerous) and my dislikes (so very few), and then my absolute favorites, and she seems to want to give me as many of those as she can.
She launched into this project ready and eager to discover what she liked, but she’s quickly discovered me.
And hell, I’m not picky—but I have my turn-ons, too.
The lingerie she wears, the words she says, and the dirty things I can say to her, too.
“It’s like you’re studying me,” I say, something like wonder in my tone.
“Maybe I am. Does that bother you?”
I scoff. “God, no.”
She pushes her back closer to me. “I like giving you what you want.”
I press my lips together, holding in my words.
You’re what I want. All of you.
* * *
A little later, after we clean up, she takes my hand and tugs me to the kitchen. “I brought you a present tonight.” Her eyes twinkle.
“Another present?” I ask, reining in a grin. I love her gifts.
She nods. “I slipped it into your freezer when I arrived.”
“How did you do that without me seeing?”
She rolls her eyes and flashes her hands. “Nick, it’s what I do. Sleight-of-hand. Misdirection.”
She opens the freezer and takes out a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream. “Your favorite,” she says with a smile.
I can’t help but grin, too.
I wanted to just screw her out of my system.
I desperately needed to just focus on the sex.
But every little thing she does is magic to me—lingerie, ice cream, shower showrooms. And the way she talks to me in the heat of the moment, opening up, sharing, making herself so vulnerable, I nearly let myself believe this can go on, and that we can eat ice cream together every night.
Okay, maybe not every night. Gotta stay in fighting shape. But enough nights. Only, that’s not what she wants. The here and now will have to be enough, so I’m going to just enjoy every second of this time with her until it ends.
With a sly grin, I back her up to the fridge, sneak a quick kiss, then steal the ice cream.
“No fair,” she says, trying to grab it back.
“If you’re good, I’ll share,” I tease as I hold the pint high, open the utensil drawer, and take out two spoons.
“You better share,” she says, and then she eats mint chocolate chip ice cream naked with me on the couch. I kiss her, and yes, the taste of the ice cream on her tongue is as good as I once imagined.
Wait. I’m wrong. It’s better. Everything with her is.
That’s why I give her a gift, too. It’s a small thing, but it’s something she told me she wanted. I grab the Sunday crossword puzzle from my coffee table, and hold it up in front of my chest, as if it’s a plaque I received to honor an accomplishment. “Voila. Finished it today.”
“Is this for me?”
I nod proudly. “It is.”
“Aww. You’re like a kitty cat bringing me a dead mouse that you killed.”
I laugh at her analogy. “Would you like to pet me in approval?”
“I would,” she says, running one hand through my hair and talking to me the way she did to Fido. “You hunted all the words. I’m so proud of you.” With her other hand, she turns over the newsprint. “What’s this?”
I tense momentarily when I see a gray outline. What was I doodling on the back of the crossword? She tilts the page at me, and it’s a cartoon of a puppet wearing a tight top, breasts spilling out. The bubble by her mouth reads: “How to send naughty texts: a dirty puppet tutorial.”
“Nick.” One corner of her lips quirks up. “I had no idea you learned all your skills from puppets.”
I laugh, relieved that she didn’t uncover a drawing of her, just of her co-stars in the doodles she inspired. I wiggle my fingers. “Don’t underestimate the filth appeal to a cartoonist of something you operate with your fingers.”
She laughs. “You are so bad. Tell me more about your puppets, Mr. Dirty Cartoonist.”
“I would, Miss Naughty Magician, but it might be hard for me to talk when my tongue is all over your hot body,” I say, then I spoon some ice cream onto her nipple and lick it off. Then on her belly, where I run my tongue across the cool dessert on her skin. She practically purrs.
Soon, the ice cream left in the pint is melting, and Harper is too, as I travel down her body and shut myself up in my most favorite way in the universe.
If I don’t keep my mouth occupied, I’ll tell her about all the times I’ve drawn her, and then she’ll know how hard it will be for me to let her go.
Even though this isn’t supposed to be difficult at all. This little fling should be the easiest thing in the world.
Only it’s not.