I catch her gaze in the mirror as I slip my tie through my collar. “But then we wouldn’t have learned how much you love having your hair pulled.”
“True. Very true.” She grins, a gorgeous, shameless, wickedly giddy grin that makes me want to kiss her senseless.
But I resist.
If I start kissing her, I won’t want to stop, and I’ll never make it to Syracuse in time. The mountains got another six inches of snow last night and the roads are likely to be sketchy until I get to the highway. I need to give myself at least an extra thirty minutes’ travel time, no matter how much I’d rather use that time to show Harlow how well a morning orgasm would pair with her coffee.
Grabbing my briefcase, I point a finger at her face. “Don’t go anywhere. Stay right there in that bed. I’ll be back at least an hour before dinner, and we can pick up where we left off.”
She arches an amused brow. “Or I could go hang out with my family and meet you back here at five for pre-dinner banging and debriefing before the board game tournament tonight. I definitely want to hear all about your interview. I just want to do that while I’m riding your cock.”
Holy fuck, that sounds good.
And brings memories of last night rushing to the surface, summoning an intense response from south of my Italian leather belt.
I blow out a breath. “Or we could do that now. If I’m late, I’ll blame the roads.”
She laughs and holds up a hand with her fingers spread. “No. You have to go to your interview. You can’t let Pussy Fever throw you off course. You’re a highly capable, brilliant, professional man in the bedroom and out of it. So, go knock ’em dead, and I’ll be here to celebrate with you when you get back.”
Oddly touched, I murmur, “Thanks. I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
“Of course,” she says, her expression softening. “You’re pretty awesome, Olsen. I’ve always thought so, at least. And I’m pretty smart.”
“Even when I was being a controlling dick with Evie?”
She shrugs. “No, that wasn’t awesome, but it was coming from an awesome place. You love her and want to keep her safe. And that’s sweet. To be honest, I’ve always been a little jealous of the bond the two of you have. It’s obvious you’d do anything for each other. I always wanted that with Lauren, to be best friends as well as sisters…” She shrugs. “But we’re just too different, I guess.”
“Maybe you can still get there,” I say. “It’s never too late for a fresh start.”
She cocks her head, seeming to consider that as she takes a sip of her coffee. But when she rests the mug on her bent knees, all she says is, “You want me to call down to the valet for you? So the car’s waiting when you get down there?”
“Yeah, thanks.” I grab my coat from the back of the chair in the corner, something twisting in my chest as I back toward the door. “See you soon.”
“Soon,” she echoes in this wistful voice that makes the aching behind my ribs even worse.
I’m finding it physically painful to leave her, I realize.
It’s fucking crazy.
Not crazy. That’s just how love goes. Come on, you remember this part, when you’re first falling and being away from each other for more than an hour or two feels like torture, the inner voice pipes up as I descend the stairs to the lobby, sounding positively chipper about the whole thing.
I wish I were that optimistic. But even after a fucking incredible night of fucking, I can’t say for sure whether Harlow is going to be on board with more than a steamy vacation fling.
She’s holding something back, some part of her she doesn’t want me to reach…
Which would be fine, if I had been smart enough to do the same.
But I can’t seem to hold back with her. When she’s in my arms, it’s like all my walls and my common sense and the jaded part of my heart that knows how quickly a promising new relationship can go to shit, all simultaneously go on strike. I’m defenseless with this woman, and if I get in much deeper, she’ll be able to destroy me with a word and a flutter of her fingers as she says goodbye.
If I were smart, I’d spend the drive to Syracuse getting my head on straight and a few healthy boundaries back in place.
Evie’s always going on about boundaries, but most of the time, I tune her out. I love that therapy has worked so well for her, but I’ve never needed therapy to know how I feel or what I want.
Now, I wish I’d paid closer attention, though I suspect it wouldn’t have done much good. The cautious part of my brain wants boundaries, but the rest of me just wants to bask in memories of last night, playing them over and over again as I navigate the slick, winding roads, working myself up to the point that as soon as I park outside the Muskrats’ offices, I feel compelled to shoot Harlow a text.