Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

H er words were the gunshot at the start of a race, the bell in the theatre as the show was set to begin. His lips collided with hers with a tender fierceness as he pulled them away from the door and began walking toward the bed. Excitement coursed through Phee’s veins but a small thread of anxiety tugged, demanding its presence be known. Harrison stopped at the foot of the bed and let her legs slide down his until her feet rested once again on the floor. With a final scorching kiss, he stepped away from her.

“Tell me to stop, Phoebe,” he said as he whipped the linen shirt over his head and stood before her in only his trousers. His chest was smooth with only a simple line of hair trailing down from his bellybutton and into his trousers, each divot and dip illuminated by the dim light of the fire that burned in the fireplace. Swallowing, Phee drank him in, his beauty so surreal she was certain she was imagining the whole thing. If not, then perhaps he had been molded by human hands, his perfection so unbearably beautiful that it was the only way she could conceive his existence. “If you’re unsure you can tell me you’ve changed your mind and you must go.”

Phee shook her head and reached for the ties of her wrapper, pulling at the string until the fabric gave way. “I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to leave. I want you. I want this.” Removing it, Phee threw it to the floor, aware she stood before him in a cotton nightgown and nothing more. “What do you want?”

Harrison fell to his knees before her, his eyes drinking her in. “You,” he said, the word choked. “You’re stunning, Phoebe. So fucking lush and lovely.” He shook his head as he ran a hand across his mouth. “And mine. All mine.” There was no scrutiny in his eyes, no judgement. Only pure need as he rested back on his heels to look at her. With a groan, he pulled himself toward her, his head low as if he were meant to serve only her, and Phee released a gasp at the power that coursed through her as this giant of a man bowed at her feet.

With a deep breath, he raised his head to look at her, pushing the strands of his hair out of his eyes with his fingers. “I want to kiss every inch of you. To love you until you scream from pleasure, and then when you’re spent, I want to do it all again,” he said, and she could feel the heat from his words across the tops of her thighs. “Do I have your permission, Phoebe?”

“Yes,” she said, the words a whisper. A prayer.

Harrison sighed as he leaned forward, his lips falling to her stomach still covered by her nightdress. It should have impeded his touch, should have felt ridiculous, but it did neither. Instead, his warm breath and damp mouth wreaked havoc as the fabric created a partition, a damnable screen that separated her skin from the ultimate wickedness. It was bliss and punishment rolled into one as he kissed his way down her stomach toward her sex, never fully touching, never fully kissing, but killing her anyway.

As his breath fanned over her quim, Phee groaned as her knees shook with need.

“Grab the bedpost,” Harrison said, his voice low as his hands skimmed up her calves, pulling the nightdress with them.

Phee clutched at the wooden post behind her, leaning against it as if it would be her salvation from the velvety caresses of the man before her. His lips brushed back and forth at the top of her quim, smooth strokes and wet heat, that only rivaled his skilled hands that now stroked the back of her thighs, his deft fingers nearing her core, tempting her with destruction.

“Harrison,” she said, his name a plea.

“Rest your foot on my shoulder.” It was a command; one Phee would happily comply with.

Resting one foot on his rounded shoulder, Phee became aware of how exposed she was. Open to his wandering mouth and pliable fingers, she was overwhelmed by it all. The sensuality of the moment, the sheer boldness of it as the air of the room brushed against her hidden parts, nearly pulling her out of the haze he had so expertly directed her through, but when his tongue touched the swollen lips of her sex, his fingers gliding between her thighs to her core, she could not seem to care any longer. His torturous mouth unleashed chaos as he found the swollen nub at the top of her sex that longed for his touch, licking it with a persistence one would eat their favorite treat, swirling and gliding against it, all while his fingers slid and skated through the swollen folds, massaging her sex but never penetrating, never giving what she needed.

It was exquisite.

It was hell. To be so close to the oblivion of pleasure and never be thrown over its edges. Her legs began to shake, need so potent it left her begging, words of desperation slipping between her lips as she moved against him, aching with need. For him. For release. For salvation. “Please,” she cried.

Harrison shook his head, his warm breath an agonizing addition that only heightened the ache. “Not yet, love. Soon.”

“I can’t take much more.”

A husky laugh escaped his lips. “You can and you will, love,” he said, his tongue soothing her while his hands created mayhem of another kind, weaving against the swollen lips of her sex but never truly touching where she wished.

“What can I say?” she asked, her body moving against his mouth, searching for salvation. Her hands gripped the wooden bedpost behind her with such force she was certain she would break it as she hung on, her entire being shaking with need.

“There’s no magic words, Phoebe.”

“Please,” she gasped as his teeth joined the game, their soft nip at her bud nearly pitching her off the edge. “I’ll touch you anywhere. I’ll kiss you everywhere. I’ll love you for always.”

Harrison growled, her words releasing his control. He pulled her closer, her foot falling from his shoulder, pushing her forward into his waiting mouth which had become a labyrinth of sensuality, tongue and teeth, lips and skin set on a path of destruction at the engorged bud while his fingers slipped inside her core, stroking and rubbing until she could take no more.

Phee screamed as her climax crashed over her, her hand falling to Harrison’s head, to hold him still or push him away, she was not sure. Her core clenched his fingers, greedy, desperately seeking out every last ounce of pleasure they could provide. And he hung on, one hand on her waist ensuring she remain upright, his shoulders strong and sturdy beneath her leg, bracing her as the storm swelled, then finally passed. He brought her back down with soft kisses, and tender swirls, with smooth caresses and loving words, and when she was certain her body would give out, he stood and lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her to the bed.

Laying her down on the rumpled quilt, then taking the space beside her, Harrison rubbed his nose against hers, before reaching for her hand and lacing his fingers through it. The silence stretched between them, a soothing quiet as she returned to earth. His scent covered the sheets that surrounded her creating a cavern of comfort as she turned toward him and buried her face in his neck. When his arm snaked out around her waist and he pulled her onto his chest, Phee sighed, the action so easy and yet so full of meaning.

“How are you, love?”

Phee smiled against his neck. “I’ve been through battle.”

His husky chuckle warmed something inside her and Phee wished she could get closer, wished she could envelope herself in him, never to be separated again.

“A battle, was it? Did you win?”

She snorted. “Absolutely not. I caved fairly quickly. You’d be disappointed.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he said, rolling them over so she was on her back. Her hair fell in her face at the motion and his strong fingers pushed it aside so he could see her, tucking it gently behind her ear. “I thought you conceded masterfully.”

“I shall win the next round,” she said, her fingers tracing the outline of one bicep.

“You know how competitive I am, Phoebe. Snap isn’t the only game I’m a master of.”

Phee laughed, turning her head to his arm and kissing the bare skin there, its warmth an odd juxtaposition of calming and exciting. “Yes, but I’ve beaten you in Snap before. I think you’re underestimating me.”

Harrison’s chuckle was smooth velvet against her skin, his lips falling to her neck to minister attention to the skin she had exposed. “You seem comfortable like this,” he said, kissing the sensitive area where neck and shoulder met. “You seem comfortable with me like this. No hesitation or fear. Even your climax seemed welcome.” He pulled back and looked at her.

Phee shrugged, heat flushing her cheeks. “I was curious and explored.”

His groan as his head fell forward filled the quiet room. “Are you saying you’ve touched yourself?” He growled as his head rocked back and forth across her chest. “I can only imagine how beautiful that was.”

“Beautiful?”

He pulled back, his pupils large and his breath rough as he looked at her. “Yes, beautiful. Your lush body open and inviting,” he said, his mouth falling to bestow a soft kiss on her lips. “Your hands wandering your warm skin, touching, stroking.” He kissed her again, his tongue slipping between her lips to tangle with her own. “Did you bring yourself to climax? Did you do it over and over again just to be sure it was real?” His hand fell to her side, stroking the outer cusp of one breast, then skating down to her hip and back again. “What did you think of? Who did you imagine?”

“Harrison…” Her breathing was rough as his heady questions and sinful hands worked in tandem to destroy what little sanity she had regained.

“Will you show me? Show me how you touch yourself? Show me what you like.”

Phee’s cheeks heated and she turned her head into his chest to hide the blush that no doubt took over her face. “I don’t know if I can,” she said.

“Can I?” he asked, his hand sliding down her thigh to grip the edge of nightgown.

Phee nodded and the fabric began to rise, Harrison’s hand slipping beneath its edge and making its way to the part of her that was once more eager for him. His fingers dipped into her heat and Phee squirmed against him, her quim sensitive and needy.

“What do I do, Phoebe?” he asked.

“Play with the seam,” she said, her face muffled against his chest.

“Like this?” His devilish fingers stroked the seam of her sex like an artist applying their brush for the very first time, his smooth digits gliding up and down, soft but sure, teasing the swollen lips beneath to come and play. Phee could only mumble a reply as her knees fell apart to give him more space to explore.

“Then what?” His voice was dark, heavy with need.

“Dip,” she said.

He kissed her neck before whispering in her ear. “Dip where?”

Biting her lip, Phee said, “Dip your fingers inside me. Get them really wet.”

Harrison chuckled, the sound guttural. “Happily.” His naughty hand slipped between the swollen lips, swirling in the heat and desire that he had created and Phee groaned, her hips raising to meet him. His fingers slipped and slid in the moisture, working the sensitive bit at the top into a frenzy and Phee could not help the undulation that her hips had taken on, dancing to the unheard music that Harrison played. It was torturous. He was torturous, playing with her again, bringing her close to ecstasy before slowing and Phee thought she might explode. Her own hands gripped the fabric of her nightgown, squeezing and twisting the cotton until she was certain she could split it in two.

When his hand slipped away from the bud that craved him a second time, Phee moaned, her hand rising of its own accord to join the play. To show him exactly what she needed. And when her fingers bumped into his, he growled, removing his own hand from her needy quim.

“Yes, love. Just like that,” he said, the words dark and sultry, and she knew she was about to perish.