Page 103 of One Wrong Move

I touched her, kissed her neck, and listened to the sweet sounds of her labored breaths as she came around my fingers.

The memory had been replaying in my head since it happened. Yesterday morning, in the little B&B room after we woke up. In the car during our drive back to London. While I watched her cuddle the dogs last night, curled up on my couch, in my living room, in my home.

Sleep was impossible last night.

It was always torturous to know she was just a floor down. But now… fuck, I wanted to be in the same bed as her again.

I tossed and turned and wondered if she was using her vibrator, and it was the first time I’d been jealous of a piece of silicon and two batteries. I got up before dawn. Went for a run. But none of it helped, so here I am, abusing the water pressure and aching for Harper.

Her touch, her smile, her body, her lips.

I reach down and stroke my cock. Grip it tight and close my eyes, like I had to in that bed with her, to avoid going off too soon.

Having her hands on me after all these years…

It had been a different kind of torture. Agony comes to mind, but the kind you never want to end.

I stroke slowly. Picturing her with that towel dropped to her waist and her perfect bare tits. Rosy nipples, a flush on her cheeks, and the damp curls cascading over her shoulders.

The image I’d told her I would forget.

I’m a bastard. But right now, there isn’t a smidge of morals left in me, not as my hand moves more urgently, and I see her in my mind’s eye.

I want to make her orgasm again. It’s a need as overwhelming as my urge to come, right now, and I bite down hard on my tongue. My breathing accelerates in rhythm with my quick strokes. The water isn’t great for friction, and it’s just a bit painful, my grip slightly too tight, and damn it if this isn’t exactly what I need at this moment.

She’d been so wet and silky around my fingers, and squeezed me so tightly when she came. Fuck. Based on what she said, I wonder if she’d ever had someone focus on her G-spot like that. It feels like a goddamn crime if she hasn’t.

It is a fucking crime that I hadn’t tasted her.

I widen my stance and pump into my hand like it’s her heat. With my need for Harper pounding through me, my palm is such a poor replacement for her. But it’s something; something I have to do because I can’t go through my day like this. I won’t be able to focus on my work. Haven’t since she moved in, but it hasn’t been like this before.

And now I know what her pussy feels like around my fingers. And I know how it feels to hold her while she sleeps.

I groan as the pressure builds, coiling at the base of my spine. Relief is only seconds away, and?—

“No, Stanley! Stop!” The voice cuts through the blinding haze of pleasure. Her voice. I break off with another groan as the rising pleasure morphs into the pain of no release. Look through the glass shower door to the bathroom…

At Harper, standing there in an oversized T-shirt.

She’s holding one of the walking hot dogs in her arms, her eyes wide… and locked on me.

“Hello,” she says quickly. “Good morning. I’m so sorry, I fed them, and then they went exploring, and he just raced up here. Your bedroom door was slightly ajar so he got in and, and… and… you’re showering.”

I turn to face her. Naked. My cock still painfully hard, jutting straight out, and her gaze drops to it.

And then quickly flits away.

“Yes.”

Harper’s cheeks are burning, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, and she looks so beautiful and so surprised that I have to swallow another moan.

She hasn’t seen me naked before.

Let her look, I think, and take a step out of the shower and onto the plush bathmat. Water drips down my body, and my cock feels heavy, bobbing in the air.

“One second,” she says quickly, still averting her eyes, and drops Stanley behind her, in my bedroom. The next moment, she’s closing the bathroom door.

With her inside the room.

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