Until tonight, he’d tried to play it cool with her, teased her, made her climax in ways he was sure she never had before. But he’d never completely let go. Not even the night in his ’57 Chevy. Even then, he’d been aware of every action he took, calculating whether it gave her what she craved. Letting go was risky.
But if he didn’t let go—and if he didn’t let her in—then all he could ever be to her was some hot sex on the hood of his car or in the front seat of his Chevy. But he wanted so much more with Harper. Needed more with every cell in his body, with every heartbeat, every breath.
He reached around her and dragged the coverlet down the bed, tugging the blanket and sheet to the bottom. He picked her up and was so far out on the edge of reason that he all but tossed her onto the bed.
He went to her nipples first, licking, sucking, until she arched against him. “The way you taste.” He swiped his tongue across a peak. “The sounds you make. The way your body begs for more. All of you makes me crazy, Harper.”
She threaded her hands through his hair. “You make me crazy, too.”
He crawled up her body, then rolled until she was on top. Spreading her legs over him, he pulled her hips down, riding her center without actually entering her. She was slick and hot. She curled her body around him, her hips moving up into his, quaking, gasping, her heart beating so hard he could feel it.
He’d never felt so wild with a woman as when he hauled her up, clamped his hands on her hips, and pulled her to his mouth. Jesus, she was sweet. Wet. He held her to him, drinking her in. He circled, spiraling down slowly until he touched the center of her pleasure.
Above him, she grabbed the headboard, her hips undulating, her body directing him, telling him how to move, where to kiss. He kneaded her hips in his hands, increasing the friction, the pleasure. Her sounds filled the room, gasps, sighs, little cries. He was voracious, consuming her as she shuddered, trembled.
And came completely apart for him.
But it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t let her go. Not yet. He had only enough thought left to grab a condom from the drawer before he came down between her legs. “Look at me.”
She opened her eyes, fuzzy with sated pleasure. “I don’t know who’s crazier anymore.”
“We’re crazy together.” Then he thrust home.
Closing his eyes, he held still, absorbed the feel of her around him. “So good,” he whispered. “So perfect.”
There was sex. And then there was this. One was merely physical. This was body and soul.
He pulled her leg to his waist and moved, slowly at first. She shuddered, circled his shoulders with her arms, and as she brought her other leg up, she looked into his eyes and whispered, “It’s too good.”
“It could never be too good.”
He held her hips, falling into her, retreating, then moving in deep again. Every muscle bunched, his blood pounded. And he could feel her around him, taking him, holding him tight. He could stay here forever.
Then she moaned. Her breath hitched. And he knew she was climbing again. He had to go with her this time, needed to jump off right along with her. Pumping faster, harder, going deeper, he steeped himself in her, “Harper. God. Yes. So good,” falling from his lips.
Her heart thudded hard with his. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and smelled their salty-sweet scent, tasted her on his tongue. The heat of her skin became his heat. Her body was indistinguishable from his. And when she convulsed around him, she dragged him over the edge with her.
He heard her name on his lips. He heard her cry out his.
Then his voice saying, “I love you.”
* * *
I love you.
Harper’s body, her head—but especially her heart—were all spinning as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. And what he’d just said.
“Harper?” He eased to his side, taking some of his weight from her, even as his arm tightened around her. “I love you.”
He’d put his hand on her cheek and turned her face to his as if he’d known she wouldn’t quite be able to process those three little words the first time he said them. And it was so tempting to say them back, her own I love you, too, right there on the tip of her tongue.
But the words wouldn’t come, almost as if they were locked up tight inside her, and she couldn’t find the key.
She could tell him about her fears—that he’d tire of her and Jeremy, that surely he couldn’t want to take both of them on when all the other men she’d come across had been horrified at the thought. But she already knew what he’d say—I’m not like them. And he wasn’t, because she knew how kind and generous he was.