Chapter 29 #3
We sink onto the sauna bench, our bodies tangled together, skin slick with sweat and desire.
Harry’s weight presses me into the warm wood, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck, chest, and stomach.
I thread my fingers through his hair, gasping and arching as his mouth works magic on my skin.
His skin glistens in the soft light, beads of sweat and rainwater trailing down his chest. I can’t resist tracing their path with my fingertips, marveling at the way his muscles jump under my touch.
I finally manage to break away, and, fingers fumbling, I reach for the Vaseline. I spread some on my fingers, then hesitate when I meet Harry’s gaze.
Sex doesn’t have to mean anything, I remind myself. It can be a purely physical thing.
But seeing Harry like this, as he patiently waits for me to prep him, he seems strangely…vulnerable.
My heart beats loudly, matching the thunderous pounding of rain against the sauna roof.
“We can stop at any time,” I say.
Harry’s gaze is unwavering, a mix of trust and something else I can’t quite decipher. And then, slowly, I reach out and touch him gently.
Harry’s breath hitches at the contact, a soft gasp escaping his lips. I try to ignore the way my own body reacts to his response, focusing instead on making sure he’s comfortable and ready for what’s to come.
Harry lets out a guttural moan I will replay over and over in my head for the rest of time.
As I continue, Harry’s eyes flutter closed, his expression pure concentration. His hole slowly softens around my fingers as I work them in and out of his body. I can’t hear anything but the pounding of my heart in my ears, the noise of the rain on the roof, and the gentle noises Harry is making.
“Are you ready?” I ask softly.
His eyes open slowly. “As I have no previous experience with this, I will have to trust your judgment.”
“Trusting my judgment is always a wise decision,” I say, and Harry snorts.
I put a hand on his hip, guiding him so he’s leaning against the bench and I’m pressed up behind him.
“This is probably easiest for your first time.” I try to keep my voice businesslike, to make this purely about sex.
But I can feel the tension in my own body. There’s a strange mix of nerves and excitement coursing through me.
I lean in close, brushing my lips against the back of his neck as I hold his hips.
The sound of rain hammering on the roof fills my head until everything boils down to the sensation of sliding inside Harry.
Harry trembles under my touch.
“That’s it. Let me in,” I say in his ear as I feel his body begin to give way.
This is just sex.
The choking feeling in my throat is just because I’m the one who gets to do this for the first time with Harry, and I know what a privilege that is.
And my absolute need to go slow, to catalog every whimper and moan of his, comes from a place of pride, from a place of wanting to make this good for him because of my ego.
Doesn’t it?
I try to take my time, moving in slow, shallow thrusts to give Harry time to adjust. His head lowers to the wall, and his back arches with each stroke, his breaths coming out quickly. His fingers are splayed out, bracing against the wall.
“You all right?” I gasp.
“Yeah…” His voice sounds strung out, hoarse. “Just keep…going slow.”
“You’re doing great,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper, depositing another kiss on his back as I slowly thrust deeper into him.
Fuck. This feels so incredibly amazing, being surrounded by Harry’s heat and pressure.
I finally am fully seated and hold still, giving him time to adjust.
“You good?” I ask.
“Yes. Move.”
I oblige, beginning to move inside him. The steam and my sweat combine, making everything slick, slippery, and raw.
“More,” Harry pants. “Faster.” It appears being fucked reduces Harry’s complex vocabulary down to single-word sentences.
“Go slow. Go fast. Such a contrary man,” I gasp as I obey him, speeding up my rhythm until it feels like I’m competing with the rain thundering on the roof.
God, it’s impossible to describe how this feels. Harry’s moans fill the room, driving me to go deeper, faster. I know when I’ve got the angle exactly right because his moans change into raw, unrestrained groans.
The sauna’s heat envelops us like a cocoon, the steam curling around our bodies in wispy tendrils.
I reach around to stroke him at the same rhythm I’m moving inside him, and his groans become even more guttural.
Harry’s body tenses, and I can feel him starting to shake in my arms.
“Come on, Harry,” I urge him, thrusting harder. “Let go.”
He groans loudly.
“Come for me,” I say, just above a whisper.
And just like that, he does. His body shudders, and he clenches around me, and I don’t have time to enjoy watching Harry orgasm because the way he clenches around me sends me over the edge as well, into the most epic orgasm of my life. My legs tremble with the force of it.
Holy hell. Holy, holy hell.
I pull out of him slowly and carefully, flopping onto the bench next to him.
My heart pounds, not just from the aerobic activity I’ve just done. What the hell am I going to say to him after that?
“Well, I’ve finally investigated, and I discovered there actually isn’t a stick stuck up your arse like I always suspected,” I say.
It appears I’m going with arse-related humor.
Luckily, Harry chuckles.
“And you proved you are very capable in one arena of life, even if it doesn’t creep into your politics,” he says.
“I always did think I had lots in common with Sir Francis Drake and Sir Ernest Shackleton,” I say.
His forehead rumples in confusion.
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, I was just in uncharted territory, wasn’t I?”
Harry groans, putting his forearm over his eyes like he’s trying to blot out the reality of my jokes.
I tug him to me so I can kiss the side of his head. He comes willingly, sliding across to bury his head against my shoulder. As I nuzzle into his hair, there’s that uncomfortable feeling inside me again. But rather than just stirring, it now feels like it’s hammering to get out.
Which is definitely not welcome.
I struggle to control my breathing, fighting down panic. I shift, putting some distance between us, trying not to mourn the loss of Harry’s body against mine.
We don’t have to define this thing between us. It’s something borne from exceptional circumstances, and I don’t need to spend time thinking about it.
Oliver always used to ask me for my analysis of the situation.
But I’m determined not to analyze what’s happening between Harry and me.