9. 9
Killian
For one second, I wait for someone to laugh and prove Harlow is joking.
The guys say something I can’t hear, but Keysha talks over them, even louder than Harlow. She is a pretty black girl with a tight body. She is drawing attention as much as Harlow.
“My girl isn’t lying. I’m her best friend. I would know.”
I stare, unblinking and enthralled by the spectacle before me.
Harlow moves onto the steps just long enough to turn around and shakes her ass, teasing them. This is criminal. She’s got a thong shoved up those exceptionally round cheeks.
“Do ya want this?” Harlow says.
The fucker drooling over her nods.
She giggles like a schoolgirl. “Then you need to take me out on a date first.”
I cringe.
A date. That word disgusts me. I hate the idea of her swapping frumpy panties to impress some other man.
Now, I’m pissed.
I need to get rid of this beer, this blonde, and that bastard who’s too close to what’s mine.
Then—
She sees me from across the pool. She gasps. Shocked or happy, I can’t tell which.
I set the beer on the pool deck and straighten, unsure how this will go. She’s already on the move, heading straight for me. The water envelops her body as she swims to the deep end, where I’m still lounging on the ledge. She kneels on it beside me, her small hands on her thighs.
The weird thing is, my stomach fucking jumps. I like her this close. I spot the guys across the pool staring, and I can’t help but grin smugly. The girl came to me, and she doesn’t look back at those losers.
“Killian,” she says, her eyes glassy and concerned. “What are you—”
She stops herself short.
“This is a party.”
I nod.
“But you can’t be around drugs and stuff.”
I nod again, watching her, learning what drunk-Harlow is like.
“Why?” she whines, as if she genuinely cares. Her eyes spot the beer. “Oh, no! Have you been drinking? No! Kill-E-en!”
Her voice is so different. It’s not her usual self-righteous tone. It’s high-pitched and needy.
“Sorry,” I say, but I don’t mean it.
Her arms suddenly encircle my neck, and her chest presses against mine. Is she hugging me?
Oh fuck, she’s straddling me.
Hell yeah.
She rests back, her weight fully on my lap. Her eyes bore into mine as she cups my face.
“You’re so stupid, Killian,” she pouts, yet her voice is still playful. “Why ya gotta be like this?”
Her thumbs rub along my jawline before roaming. The pad of her thumb gently caresses my bottom lip. I’m stunned. I didn’t think she liked me — at all.
She leans in, her full lips barely brush mine. She pulls away, then repeats. I feel like if I move, she’ll sober up and leave. But God, I’m dying to taste her, to feel her tongue against mine.
She kisses my lips more firmly, and this time, I grab the back of her head and slam my tongue inside her mouth.
We kiss.
Not just kiss. We devour each other, both swept up in a first, charged and unforgettable moment. My heart thrums inside my chest. Yeah, her mouth is soaked with alcohol. I taste and smell nothing else but cheap vodka and soda, but it’s still better than I imagined.
“Uh, you’re a good kisser,” she whines into my mouth.
Oh, yeah. Alcohol makes her honest, and I’m exactly the wrong man to know that.
Then—
She grinds her fucking pussy right against my shaft, which is at full mast. It has been since she shook her ass for everyone to see.
That makes it even crueler when she stops and sits back. I fight, chasing her mouth for another kiss.
“Wait,” she says.
“Why?”
Her lips purse, but those drunken eyes survey my body. Her fingertips trace my tattoos slowly as they work their way down.
“These creepy villains all over you. Ugh... You’re so perfect,” she mutters bitterly. “I hate that.”
I smirk.
But then, she lands a sloppy little swat against my cheek. The bad side.
“What the hell?” I snatch her wrist to prevent a second strike, chuckling. “Did you just slap me?”
“Yep. Know what? I even like your stupid scars,” she slurs.
“Oh. Really? Go on.”
“What am I doing?” she says and looks around.
Oh, no. This isn’t over.
I grip her round hips and jerk her closer, then thrust against her pussy, letting her feel how hard I am.
She looks down into the crystal-clear water, seeing what I see. My cock is partially out, having extended past the waistband of my swim trunks.
“Whoa... That’s yours?” she says.
I try not to laugh. “Yeah. It’s mine. Wanna see all of it?”
She taps the tip and giggles, smiling like she did something extremely naughty.
“It goes all the way up to there,” she says in awe. “It’s huge. My ex wasn’t that big.”
Fuck, I love drunk-Harlow. She tells me everything.
“Great, I’ll let you feel it,” I say, and as casually as I can, I start untying my swim trunks.
She stops me fast, latching onto my wrists and scanning the crowd. “We can’t!”
“Nobody cares. People fuck in the pool sometimes.”
“No, I can’t have sex with you,” she says. “I’ve only been with one guy.”
I squint at her, unsure I heard right.
“Just one?”
“I’ve only kissed one guy, too.” Her palm slams over her mouth, and she mumbles, “Oh my gosh. I kissed you. Now it’s two.”
Oh, fuck yes.
But the way she was teasing those guys makes me doubt it. My eyes dart to the loser across the pool. She follows my gaze and shrugs.
“I was just having fun. I wouldn’t date him.”
All that teasing, all that mouth, and she’s only kissed one man. No wonder she pushes me away every chance she gets. She’s probably scared of me.
I tip my head back, tense and dying to take her. To show her what I can do to her soft body.
“Come on, baby,” I say low and starving. “I’ll make you feel so good. All I want you to do is moan pretty.”
By now, I’ve opened my trunks and freed my cock beneath the water.
She notices. Her mouth falls open. Then she points, her wide, unfocused eyes filled with drunken curiosity.
I take her moment of wonder and make it mine.
I catch her wrist and close her palm around my shaft. Covering her hand with mine, I make her stroke me, slowly dragging her fist from base to tip.
She smiles, bashful and sweet, and curls her fingers tighter.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Just like that.”
My free hand slips between her thighs. I caress her through the bikini bottoms first, rubbing slowly over her pussy while I watch her face. I wait for that last flicker of uncertainty to disappear.
There it is.
I pull the fabric aside and slide my fingers down her slit.
Fuck.
I tease her entrance with one fingertip, but she rolls her hips before I can push it inside, taking me on her own.
Mmm. She’s tight. Maybe she hasn’t fucked for a while.
My breathing grows rough as she rides my finger. Each clumsy roll of her hips pushes her hand down my shaft. I press my thumb against her clit and circle it, firm and slow.
She shudders. Her grip tightens.
Perfect.
I release her hand and reach for her hip, ready to lift her onto my cock, but then, both of her hands suddenly clamp around my shaft.
I flinch.
She doesn’t notice. She’s too busy grinding against the finger still buried inside her, gripping me with both hands as her body writhes against my hand.
Damn, she’s a good time — wild.
Then her entire body locks.
Her pussy clenches around my finger. A sharp gasp tears from her throat, followed by a helpless tremor that runs through every inch of her. She collapses against me, her forehead dropping onto my chest as the last pulses roll through her.
What the hell was that?
I chuckle softly. “Hold up. Did you just cum?”
Her breath is slightly ragged against my skin. She presses her lips to my neck, giving needy little kisses. Once, twice, then stops.
Slowly, she sits up dazed, and stares into my eyes. Her eyebrows knit together, her expression mortified. It’s as if she just received terrible news.
“I have to go.”
“Harlow,” I growl as she tries to slide off my lap.
I grip her hips, but she keeps fighting.
“I mean it,” she exhales sharply, panicked. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”
“What’s wrong?” I keep my voice low and steady, desperately trying to calm her.
I guess even drunk-Harlow is difficult, because she flings herself backward like a wild banshee, disappearing into the water. I tie my trunks as fast as I can and rush after her. She’s out of the pool and running through the patio door. Keysha tails her.
“Harlow! Stop! What’s the matter?” Keysha calls.
We both catch up with her in the living room. She flings open the front door and looks back.
“I had sex with Killian!” Harlow cries.
We didn’t.
I furrow my brow, confused.
“I got off!” she clarifies in a devastated tone, as if that’s the worst thing in the world. Her phone shakes in her hand as she swipes, frantic. “I’m ordering a ride home.”
“I’ll take you,” I say, then approach cautiously.
“No, no!” She taps her phone. “Ride ordered. He’s close!”
“Why are you being like this?” I snarl.
She points at me with authority. “You are my patient!”
“Quit with that ethics shit. We’re past that.”
I take another step forward. She takes two steps back. Keysha intervenes, slipping between us.
“Back the fuck up. She doesn’t wanna talk to you right now.”
I squint, looking past her friend.
“Harlow. Come on,” I beg shamelessly.
She slips through the front door. I shove past Keysha, who tries but fails to stop me.
The car idles under a streetlight. Harlow says something to the driver, leaves the back door open, then jogs toward me.
I’m stunned when she hooks her hands behind my neck and yanks me down to her mouth.
The kiss is quick, but I feel every inch of her wanting more.
She breaks away, stumbling backward.
“Sorry! You’re just so freaking hot. Ugh! We’ll talk on Monday!”
Then she slips into the car. Poof. Gone.
I stand there, confused.
Why does this feel like more than a missed fuck?