Epilogue #3
“I’m happy right here.” I stare at her perfectly waxed pussy and lick my lips.
“Someone could hear.”
I look up at her from between her thighs. “Then be quiet.”
Her eyes go dark, and I put my mouth on her. She moans instantly. The sound she makes is sharp and needy, and her hand flies to her mouth, but I grab her wrist and pull it away.
“No.” Her eyes widen, and I kiss her pussy again, slower this time, licking into her until her thighs shake around my shoulders. “No hiding,” I tell her. “Not from me.”
“Steel,” she gasps.
“Good. Say it again.”
Her fingers slide over my shaved head, holding but not pushing. “Steel.”
I groan against her, and she jerks, hips rolling. There she is, just Harper taking pleasure with the same stubborn courage she uses for everything else.
I give her my mouth until she is shaking, until her curses turn soft and filthy, until she stops pretending the club outside matters. I slide two fingers into her, slow enough to feel her stretch around me, and her whole body bows.
“Fuck,” she curses loudly.
I lift my head just enough to watch her. “That’s it. Pretty girl. Take what you need.”
Her cheeks flush deeper. “Don’t call me pretty girl like that.”
“Why?”
“Because it works.”
My chest rumbles with laughter, and I curl my fingers. She almost comes off the bench, but I hold her down with one hand on her hip, mouth back on her, fingers moving harder, deeper, exactly the way I have learned she likes.
Harper is not quiet, but she tries. She bites her lip. She turns her face into her shoulder. She fists one hand in my shirt and the other in her own hair. But she is not quiet. And every sound she gives me feels like a vow.
I talk against her body, dirty and low, telling her how good she tastes, how perfect she looks spread out in my garage while the whole club drinks outside, how much I want her losing control because she knows I’ll catch her every time.
When she comes, she says my name so hard it breaks. I keep my hand on her hip, holding her through it, gentling my mouth but not leaving her until she tugs at my shoulders.
“Too much,” she whispers.
I stop and stand, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Her eyes follow the movement, and I like it too much.
“My turn,” she says.
I laugh once, rough and low. “Bossy.”
“I learned from the best.”
She reaches for my belt with hands that shake just enough to make my control bleed. I catch her wrists.
Her eyes flash. “Don’t you dare.”
“Not stopping you.” I kiss the inside of one wrist. Then the other. “Watching.”
Her breath hitches. “You’re impossible,” she whispers.
“You love me.” The words leave my mouth before I can decide whether I should say them like that. Easy. Like I’m allowed. Like love belongs to me now.
Harper stills and the noise outside fades. Her hands rest against my belt, and her eyes lift to mine.
“Yes,” she says softly. “I do.”
Everything in me goes quiet, and I cup her face. “Say it again.”
“I love you, Marcus Holt.” My name in her mouth, and my heart in her hands.
I close my eyes for half a second because if I look at her too long, I am going to do something humiliating like feel an emotion out loud.
She laughs softly. “Are you overwhelmed?”
“No.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Yes.”
I kiss her. This time, the heat is still there, rough and hungry, but something deeper moves under it. Something that makes my hands careful even while my mouth is not. Something that turns every touch into a promise I plan to keep until my last breath.
She opens my belt and pushes my jeans down. Her hand wraps around girth, and my forehead drops to hers.
“Fuck.”
“That’s the general plan,” she says.
A laugh tears out of me and turns into a groan when she strokes me slowly. Mean woman.
She leans in, lips brushing my ear. “You want to know what I’ve been thinking all day?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been thinking about your hands on me in places you definitely shouldn’t touch me during a barbecue.” My hips jerk into her hand, and she smiles. So beautifully fucking cruel, and I love it. “I’ve been thinking about how hard you try not to stare when I bend over.”
“I fail.” My words are low and strained as she continues to stroke me.
“Constantly.”
“You do it on purpose.” I accuse lowly.
“Yes.” She chuckles.
I growl, and she laughs until I grab her hips and pull her off the workbench. Her feet barely hit the floor before I turn her around, press her hands to the scarred wood, and cover her body with mine.
“Harper.” Her head turns just enough for me to see her face. Her eyes are dark with desire.
“Yes,” she all but moans.
“Tell me.”
She swallows. “I want this.”
“How?”
Her hands flex against the bench. “Hard.”
My control snaps by degrees. Not wild enough to forget her. But enough that the leash goes slack.
I press a kiss to the back of her shoulder. “You say stop, I stop.”
“I know.”
“You say slow, I slow.”
“Steel...”
“You say my name like that again, and I may lose my mind.”
Her smile is pure sin. “Marcus.”
I shove her thighs wider with my knee and push inside her in one deep stroke. She cries out, and I stop, every muscle locked.
Her hand shoots back and grips my hip. “Don’t you dare stop.”
I bury my face against the side of her neck and move.
Hard. Deep. Out of control in the only way I allow myself to be with her—reckless with need.
The workbench creaks under her hands. Tools rattle against the wall.
Outside, the music pounds louder, laughter rising every few seconds like the whole fucking club is celebrating while I fall apart inside the woman who somehow became my home.
She pushes back against me, takes me, meets every thrust like she wants the same madness.
“Fuck, Harper.”
“More.” The word is breathless. Demanding. Perfect.
I give her more. One hand locks on her hip. The other slides up her body, over her ribs, beneath her shirt, finding skin, heat, the wild beat of her heart under my palm.
“That’s it,” I say against her ear. “Take me just like that. You feel how good you are for me?”
She whimpers, and I love it even though I never thought I would like that sound from anyone. From her, it almost kills me.
“Answer me,” I demand, thrusting harshly.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I feel it.”
“Good girl.” Her body clenches around me, and I nearly lose the last bit of my control. “Fuck. You like that.”
“Shut up.” She moans.
I laugh into her hair. “No.”
“Steel.”
“There she is.” I thrust deeper, and her words break apart. “My sharp-mouthed medic. So fucking pretty when you let go.”
Her head drops, and I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her upright against me, still moving, still buried inside her. Her back hits my chest. My mouth finds her throat. My hand slides down, over her stomach, lower.
She gasps. Outside, someone bangs on the bay door.
“Everything good in there?” Fury shouts.
Harper freezes, but I don’t. I cover her mouth with my hand just as she moans, my other hand working between her thighs while I move inside her, strumming her distended clit.
“Answer him,” I murmur against her ear.