6. Six
Five Years Ago
I’m fucked.
Harlowe is way more than I anticipated. More beautiful. More vivacious. More captivating. More enthralling. I sound like a fucking thesaurus as I think about how much more she is now. Damn.
Of course she’s stunningly beautiful, she’s an international supermodel for a reason. But she practically radiates with life. Her smiles pierce through any armor I thought I had and spear me right in the goddamn heart. Every. Fucking. Time. And her fucking laugh. Jesus, it makes me smile and my cock sit up and take notice every time I hear it. No one else has managed that. It makes me a little furious, really, but I can”t stay mad enough to care about her effortlessly breaking through every wall to do anything about it. Instead, I’m laughing at her bad jokes, listening with rapt attention to her captivating stories of modeling life, and finding every opportunity to get my hands on her.
I thought I knew her body was tight and perfect from her photoshoots, and seeing her in person, but having her in my arms is an entirely different experience that makes me lose my damn mind every time, and it’s been less than twenty-four hours, and on a jet at that. I don”t have a limit when it comes to how much I want her. I’m liable to become obsessed, given the amount of time I have her at my disposal.
She’s absolutely trouble.
As promised, once Harlowe had a glass of champagne, she got a look in her eyes that let me know my time was limited before she would have her way with me. I pulled her into the private bedroom before she could take my cock out right there in the middle of the plane. We have a very discreet flight crew who would have looked the other way and given us privacy if needed, but there’s no need to subject them to that. And I’m feeling a little proprietary about Harlowe. I don”t want to share any part of her with anyone, crew or not.
Once in private, she unfastened the halter neck of her dress, freeing her fucking incredible tits before she pushed me onto the bed. Her eyes stayed on mine as she crawled over me, tits swaying, unbuckled my belt, unfastened my pants, and freed my cock as I raised my hips for her to move my pants down. She kept that eye contact as she licked up my shaft and swirled her sweet tongue over the head of my throbbing cock. I groaned as her hand stroked up to meet her mouth and she played there for a few excruciatingly good minutes. The sounds of her mouth sucking, hands stroking, and humming around me mixed with my own feral groans as she found every sensitive spot and knew just the right amount of pressure I wanted, hard, like she pulled it straight from my head. She finally broke her stare and hollowed out her cheeks to suck me deep into her throat, doing something with her tongue that felt so damn good I lost it. I grabbed her head and fucked into her mouth as she smiled around me like that’s what she had hoped for all along. This woman knew exactly what she was doing to me.
It hadn’t taken long to learn that Harlowe had her own way of doing things, and she’s very aggressive, yet just as easily bent to my will. It’s a new dynamic for me, as most women go meek and pliant in the bedroom, happy to follow my lead completely. I like the give and take we’re establishing. She’s keeping me guessing, making me work for it, challenging me at every step. It feels good and gives me all sorts of ideas for what this trip will be, not just in the bedroom, but in every activity.
She wasn’t lying when she said she wanted my eyes rolling back in my head. That’s exactly what happened as she took me down her throat. I saw fucking stars when I came in her sweet and talented mouth and she swallowed me dry. We had twenty hours and a couple of stops to refuel to get to know each other on the plane, and her face the first time I made her come is seared in my brain’s most beautiful images folder forever. She’s a fucking wildcat in bed, and I want to learn every noise she makes and every spot that sets her off. I will know Harlowe Sorenson’s body better than she does before this trip is over. It didn’t take us long to find ourselves comfortable around one another, our bodies naturally gravitating toward the other.
Right now, she’s nestled comfortably in my lap on the transfer boat as we make our way to the private island I booked, and I’m feeling far more relaxed than I expected to as I run my hand up and down her bare arm, actually enjoying the contact rather than going through the motions with the sole intent to seduce her. I didn’t think I was one for cuddling, but I definitely like having her lithe body tucked between my legs, her back tightly pressed to my chest, head on my shoulder, my arms around her waist, and her hair tickling my face as the wind whips around us.
I realize I’m not looking for the next thing, but firmly in the present, with the woman in my arms, focused on what’s happening right now. For once, I’m not craving the bigger push, the next rush, harder task, or moving the needle on what the goal is, personally, professionally, or otherwise. Is this just the feel of real relaxation experienced for the first time in years, or is this something more?
Is this what contentment feels like?
Could I be slipping into something as mundane as that this easily? I think the fuck not. I carefully pull back any emotions that may have leaked into each caress of my hand on her soft skin, pull apart the feelings that may somehow have entangled themselves right along with Harlowe, and remember what this is—a chance to get my fill of her and be done. It doesn”t matter what rules I’ve broken to get to this point. I won’t be breaking any more when the trip is over. No attachments. No repeats. We’re on the same page, no matter how good it feels right now.
Just keep fucking telling yourself that, man.
“Where did you grow up?” I ask in her ear over the roar of the boat’s engine.
She turns her face to be able to shout her answer back to me. “Atlanta, born and raised. I moved to LA at eighteen to start my modeling career and that’s my home base now.”
“Are you telling me we grew up in the same city and I managed not to have found you before this?” I ask, tightening my hold on her waist and feeling incredulity settle over me. She was so close and I never even knew it.
“You’re like twenty-nine, right?” She waits for me to nod before she continues. “You’re five years older than me. It’s not like we would have ever been in school together, even if I grew up near you, which isn”t likely, Mr. Moneybags,” she says playfully. “What makes you think that out of the six million people in the Atlanta metro area, we would have found each other?”
“We were destined to find each other, baby.” I deliver the words flippantly, but damn if I don’t believe them right down to my soul.
Yeah, I’m fucked.