Her thumb moves, a tiny, unconscious stroke against my knuckles.
My grip tightens on her hand. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to say I feel that.
She inhales sharply, aware now too. Her gaze flicks to my mouth, lingers, then back up to my eyes. The air hums, electric, every inch of space between our bodies suddenly unbearable.
I shift closer, knee brushing hers. Neither of us pulls away.
"You shouldn't look at me like that," I say, voice low, rough.
"Like what?" Her breath hitches, but she doesn't blink.
"Like you want me to forget everything I just told you."
"Maybe I do." Her free hand lifts, hesitating before tracing the line of my jaw, fingertips light as a dare. "Just for a little while."
My hand slides to her thigh, thumb finding the soft skin just above her knee. Her leg twitches under my touch, parting slightly like an invitation.
The book tumbles forgotten to the floor.
Neither of us moves to pick it up.
My hand traces slowly up her thigh — searching, yearning, fingers dragging over soft skin like I'm mapping territory I've already claimed but can't stop exploring. I need to touch her. To feel her shudder under me. To taste the salt on her skin and hear that little gasp she tries to hide.
I lean in closer, burying my face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in deep. Her scent hits like a drug, intoxicating enough to drown out the concrete and chains and every bad decision that led us here. My fingers keep learning her body, skimming higher under the loose shirt, parting her thighs just enough.
My thumb finds her entrance, slick and bare, and I realize she's no longer wearing panties.
"Good girl," I coo against her throat, voice rough with approval, my own control fraying at the edges. Her breath catches. A sharp, needy little hitch that punches straight throughme, making my cock twitch hard against the tight confines of my jeans, begging for friction I'm barely holding back from giving.
I don't rush. I drag my lips over her neck first, slow and deliberate, tongue flicking out to taste the wild thrum of her pulse. Down her collarbone, teeth grazing just enough to raise goosebumps, nipping the flushed skin until she arches into me with a whimper. I kiss every inch I can reach. The sharp line of her shoulder, the dip of her waist, the soft swell beneath her breast where the shirt's ridden up, fabric damp and clinging now from her heat. Worshipping her like she's holy ground I've defiled, like I'm begging forgiveness with every press of my mouth.
Then I drop to my knees on the gritty concrete, the rough bite against my skin nothing compared to the fire in my veins. My hands slide up her calves, thumbs digging into the tense muscle as I start at her ankles — soft, open-mouthed kisses trailing wet paths up the insides of her legs. Behind her knees, I linger, sucking lightly until her thighs quake, breath coming in ragged pants. Higher — up to her bare hips, teeth scraping the delicate skin where thigh curves into hip, so close to her core that I can feel the heat radiating off her and smell her arousal thick in the stale air.
She's trembling now, fingers twisting in my hair, pulling me closer like she's afraid I'll stop. I won't. Not until she's shattered. Not until she's mine in every way that matters.
"Please," she whispers, voice broken, hips canting forward on instinct.
I look up the length of her body, eyes locking on her beautiful sage green eyes — desperate, pupils blown wide with need, framed by those loose blonde strands from her messy bun. "Not yet, doll," I murmur, my breath ghosting hot over her slick folds, close enough to feel her shiver. "I want to taste every fucking inch first."
Her hips buck involuntarily toward my mouth, a desperate, broken whine spilling from her parted lips, but I hold her thighs steady with a bruising grip, spreading her wider, keeping her exactly where I want her. My tongue flicks out again — deliberate, torturous — circling her clit with featherlight pressure before I seal my lips around it and suck.
She's dripping for me now, slick and sweet, coating my chin as I devour her like a man possessed. The first full taste rips a guttural growl from my chest, vibrating straight through her core. Her fingers yank harder at my hair, nails scraping my scalp, urging me deeper as her thighs clamp around my ears.
"DJ — fuck," she gasps, head thrown back against the couch cushions, spine bowing off the fabric like she's breaking apart already. The oversized shirt's rucked up to her waist, exposing every trembling inch of her — flushed skin, heaving chest, those sage green eyes half-lidded and glazed with pleasure.
I don't let up. I need to hear Goldilocks scream my name. One hand slides up her body, shoving the shirt higher to pinch her nipple between rough fingers, rolling it until she squeals. The other presses two thick fingers inside her, curling deep to hit that spot that makes her walls flutter and clench like a vise. I fuck her with my mouth and hand in ruthless rhythm — tongue lashing her clit, fingers thrusting and curling, stretching her while I hum low and filthy against her heat.
Her moans turn frantic, hips grinding against my face now, chasing the edge. "Please — oh God, please — DJ!"
I pull back just enough to rasp against her folds, "Come for me, doll. Let me feel you soak my tongue." Then I'm back on her, sucking harder, fingers pumping faster, until her whole body seizes — thighs quaking, back arching violently, a shattered cry tearing from her throat as she gushes over my hand, pulsing around my fingers in hot, endless waves.
I lap her through it, slower now, drawing out every aftershock until she's limp and whimpering, chest heaving. Only then do I rise, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, eyes locked on hers as I crowd her against the couch again. "Good girl," I murmur, voice wrecked.
We end up curled on the couch, her body fitting perfectly against mine like she was made for it. Legs tangled in a messy knot, my arm slung heavy across her waist, holding her close enough to feel every breath she takes. Her head tucked under my chin, blonde hair spilling loose across my chest, tickling my skin. The storage unit's stale air, the concrete chill, the distant drip — all of it faded into the background, replaced by the soft rhythm of her breathing syncing with mine, warm and steady. Hours blurred in that quiet, suspended haze, my fingers idly tracing lazy circles on her hip until exhaustion finally dragged us under.
A faint drip-drip-drip yanks me awake. Fuck. I must've passed out hard. My eyes crack open slow, gritty and unfocused, head pounding with that post-adrenaline crash. The bare bulb overhead casts long shadows, turning the room into something almost dreamlike.
Harvee's still curled into my side, face fully relaxed and peaceful in sleep. Her full lips are slightly parted like she's whispering secrets to herself. She's so goddamn gorgeous, effortlessly beautiful, even here in this shithole. The oversized shirt is twisted around her waist from our earlier tangle, riding up to expose the smooth curve of her hip and the faint red marks my fingers left behind. One arm's flung across my stomach, fingers loosely curled into my shirt like she reached for me even unconscious. Her cheeks are still faintly flushed, lashes fanned dark against her skin, and for a long moment I just stare, chest tightening with something raw and unfamiliar. Possessive. Protective. Real.