He runs his hand down my stomach, and my body arches up instinctively, like it wants his hand where it belongs: back between my legs.
“You’re perfect when you come, Harper.” His hand travels back up, curving over my breast, his palm rubbing first one nipple, then the other. “Absolutely, perfectly mine.”
I can’t respond. I can barely breathe.
He stands, and before I can process what’s happening, he bends down and hauls me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing. I make an incoherent sound, my hands grabbing his jeans to steady myself.
“Bed,” he says simply, his hand slapping my ass as he carries me across the room. “I’m not done with you.”
39
LUKE
Ilay Harper down on my bed like she’s something precious—which she fucking is—and just take her in for a second.
She’s wrecked. Her hair is messy, curls wild around her head. Her lips are swollen from my mouth, her skin flushed pink from her neck down to her breasts. Her thighs are still trembling, and I can see where my stubble marked her skin. When she looks up at me, her eyes are hazy and unfocused, like she’s still floating somewhere between reality and what I just did to her.
Mine.
The word hits me hard, somewhere deep in my chest where I don’t usually let anything land. But Harper’s lying in my bed, completely undone, looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters, and it cracks me open.
I need her. I need to sink into her, wrap myself in her heat. I need her under me, over me, and any which way she’ll take me.
I feel like I’ve been waiting to find her all my life.
I strip off my shirt and toss it aside. Harper watches me, her chest rising and falling fast, and when I shove my jeans and boxers down, her eyes drop to my cock.
“Jesus,” she whispers.
“You did this to me.” I wrap my hand around myself and stroke once, slow and deliberate. “You’ve been doing this to me for weeks. Every time you looked at me. Every time you argued with me. Every time you pretended you didn’t want this.”
Her legs rub together restlessly. “If we’re assigning blame here, you’re not walking away from this innocently.”
“Sunshine, if we’re assigning blame here, I’m pleading guilty.” I lean over her, bracing one hand beside her head, and use the other to trace down her body—between her breasts, over her stomach, stopping just above where she’s wet and ready for me. “Happily guilty.”
I slide two fingers inside her, and she gasps, her back arching off the bed. “Luke.”
I work her slowly, watching her face, feeling her clench around my fingers. She’s so tight, so wet, and I know the moment I’m inside her, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.
Her hands snake between us, rubbing up and down my cock. Groaning, I push into her palms as I curl my fingers, hitting that spot that makes her cry out.
Her fingers tighten around me, making my eyes cross.
“Fuck, that feels good.” I drop my head to watch her touch me.
“Just think how good it’ll feel inside me,” she replies.
The thought nearly makes me lose it all over her hands. Sliding my thumb up her slit, I pull my fingers out and reach for the nightstand drawer, grabbing the box of condoms I bought after the first time I met her.
I rip the box open, tear a packet free, and roll the condom on. Harper watches me the whole time, her eyes hungry, and when I settle between her thighs, she wraps her legs around my waist and pulls me closer.
I position myself at her entrance. “You ready for me?”
“I was about to ask you that.” Her hands grip my shoulders, nails digging in. “Think you can handle me?”
“Sunshine, I was born to handle you.” I push into her.
And the world fucking stops.