When Harrison collapses over me, he’s still in me.
“No fucking clue why people would want to come at the same time.” His dry accent is so close to my ear he might be in my head. “I prefer to watch you.”
When his head lifts, he’s grinning. My heart skips. He’s breathtaking like this. Happy and gorgeous and relaxed, and it reminds me of the strange closeness I felt while we were in Ibiza.
An alarm goes off, and I lift my head in confusion.
My phone.
“I have a show,” I state.
“You have a show,” he agrees.
When he says it, the meaning sinks in. “Fuck, Harrison, I have a show.”
I shift out from under him, shoving both hands through my hair. I start to stand, but there’s a hand in my face.
He’s already up, helping me.
My phone buzzes, and I find it lying on the floor next to my clothes.
Beck: Heads up that I have a girl staying over tonight. In case you two run into each other naked in the kitchen.
I’m barely done reading when I notice Harrison reading over my shoulder.
“You never slept with him.”
“Is privacy dead?” I complain, lowering the phone to my side.
But he stares me down.
“Beck’s really into this girl,” I admit as I grab my dress and tug it on.
“Stay over. Come back after your show.”
That feels like too much of him—a dangerous amount.
“No.”
“You’re punishing me for leaving you that night.”
Surprise has me jerking toward him. He’s only wearing black boxer briefs, his gorgeous body moving easily as he slips on his shirt and fastens the handful of buttons from the bottom.
“You were with me long enough to make me come,” I say.
Where is my damn underwear?
Harrison holds up my panties, and I cross to grab them out of his hand.
He holds on. “Just not long enough to make you stay.”
I pull harder, and this time, he lets go.
8
Harrison
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