She giggles—actually giggles—and the sound nearly undoes me. Then her fingers dip beneath my waistband, and I jerk toward her hand involuntarily, all that carefully maintained control evaporating.
“I think I like it too,” she murmurs. “You’re so responsive.”
That’s it. I can’t take another second of being the good boy who waits patiently.
I flip over to face her, grateful for the lamp I left on. I need to see her. Need to memorize this—her flushed cheeks, the curve of her mouth, the desire in her eyes.
I hook my arm around her neck and kiss her. I meant to start slow, soft, tender—but the second our mouths connect, something in me snaps. Slow can wait. Tender can wait. Right now, I need her like I need oxygen.
The thought hits me like cold water: We were supposed to talk. She said she wanted strings. But is she still planning to leave with Z? Is tonight just goodbye?
Fuck it. I’m too far gone to stop now. If this is all I get, I’m making it count.
She throws a leg over my waist, pressing against me, and—oh God—she’s under the covers with me. When did that happen? Her thighs part, and I press forward instinctively, grinding against her through too many layers of clothing.
The pressure, the heat, the friction—it’s exquisite torture.
She must feel it too because her hands are yanking at my shirt, pulling it up and over my head. My arms get tangled in the sleeves, and we both laugh, breathless andmuffled.
Harper slaps a hand over my mouth, eyes dancing. “Quiet. Can’t let them hear.”
“I know how to keep you quiet,” I say against her palm, then kiss her again before she can respond.
This time, she reaches for her own shirt. Bold. Confident. She pulls it off in one fluid motion and?—
Holy shit.
She’s not wearing a bra.
I freeze.
For a second, I can only stare at the universe’s most perfect breasts. She’s beautiful. Perfect. Her breasts are small, round, and plump, with dark, peaked nipples pointed straight at me.
My hands rest on her waist, trembling. I’m frozen like every circuit in my brain just overloaded.
“You can touch me,” Harper says, amused but with an edge of something else. Nervousness? Vulnerability?
My hand shakes as I reach up, cupping her gently. Soft. Warm. So impossibly soft. My thumb grazes across one peak, just like I read about in the library. The book said this was a major pleasure center, and judging by the way Harper’s back arches, her breath catching, the literature was absolutely correct.
That small success gives me courage.
I drop my mouth down to replace my thumbs, and her reaction is immediate. She gasps—high, breathy, uncontrolled—and her back arches into me like she can’t help it. The sound shoots straight through me like lightning.
Nothing we’ve done before compares to this. To her. To the way she’s responding to my touch.
“God, Harper,” I breathe against her skin. “You’re so?—”
“Enough,” she gasps, hands fisting in my hair. Not pulling away. Pulling me closer. “Caleb. I need—I need you.Now.”
She reaches down, shoving at my pajama pants and boxers in one decisive movement. I freeze, but Harper’s unfazed. She’s not looking—just feeling, confident and certain.
Her small hand wraps around my cock, warm and certain, and I have to close my eyes against the intensity of sensation suddenly overwhelming my body.
Her other hand cups my jaw, forcing me to look at her.
“I have an IUD,” she whispers, voice steady but eyes burning. “And I’ve never been with anyone else without protection. So if you’re clean and you want to…”
Want to?