Page 17 of Dear Hattie

A dozen possibilities slide into my mind at once: sneaking up on Wesley in the shower and making him jump. Flirting with him in public when he has to behave. Coming in here late at night, locking the door, and crawling under the recording studio desk…

“You’re sure?” Wesley hands tighten on my hips, and he stares down at me with something like awe. Sheer longing. It melts something deep inside me, seeing that desperation on his handsome face.

A smirk twists my mouth. “I’m sure. Oh, this is gonna be—”

He scoops me up and stands, and I break off with a delighted shriek.

Ten

Wesley

This day will go down in the history books as one of the great victories of our time. Bards will write songs about the day that Harriet Fry finally said she wanted me. There will be a commemorative statue in the nearest town square. People will dance in the street and angelic children will throw rose petals in our path, and—

Harriet yanks on my hair as I carry her across the room in three strides. We both slam against the wall with twin grunts.

“Mine,” I keep saying, like a stuck record. Sucking kisses on her throat and pressing my face against her hair and grinding between her sweet, soft thighs. “Mine. Mine. You’remine, Small Fry.”

“Yours,” she agrees, wheezing out a laugh. “So be nice to me from now on, Tanaka. Well. Nice-ish.”

Ha. That’s fair. Because we wouldn’t beuswithout this back and forth, this battle of wits. Without the sparks that fly whenever our eyes meet across a room. And giving into this bone-deep longing for each other, finally admitting that we’re head over heels—that doesn’t mean our rivalry is at an end.

No: it opens up a world of delicious possibilities.

“Bet I can make you scream so loud they hear you over the sound proofing.”

Harriet snorts, thumping my shoulder. “Wesley.”

“It’s a good start. Now let’s work on volume.”

She’s still scoffing as I place her carefully on her feet, then drop to my knees in front of her. Her flowery skirt is soft as I gather it at her waist, then press it into her hands. Her panties are white.

“What are you—?” she splutters.

“Come on, Fry. Context clues.” Stroking one hand up her bare thigh, I coax her stance wider. “Youknowwhat I’m doing. Do you want me to keep going?”

Mute, she nods her head.

Thank god. Heart thudding, I lean forward. “As you wish.”

And these last few weeks, I’ve touched her through fabric. Brought her off through the layers of her clothes, grinding the heel of my palm against her skirt; felt her heat seeping through the cotton.

Now I’m tasting her through fabric, too. Harriet’s strangled groan soaks into the padded walls as I lick through her panties; her hands scrabble at my shoulders as I find her tight little bud and suck.

“Oh—oh my god—”

What’s he got to do with it? Growling, I hook her panties to the side and seal my mouth on her bare flesh, running my tongue up her slit.

“Wesley!”

That’s more like it.

And it’s everything I’ve obsessively imagined for the last weeks, months, years. Harriet is everything I dreamed of. She buries her hands in my hair as I lick and suck between her thighs, pressing my face greedily against her body; she rocks her hips and sighs. And when I push my tongue past her entrance, a tremor runs through her legs, and her strangled wail is the sweetest music.

It’s the most natural thing in the world, making her come. We were built for this. The two of us have always been in tune.

I wait until the shock waves have passed through her limbs and she’s slumped against the padded wall, breathing hard, then I push to my feet again. I’ve barely straightened before she fumbles with my belt.

“Yes.Oh my god, yes,” she says. “I’ve thought about this so much. I’ve wanted it for so long.”

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