I want to feel it, too.

I push on his chest so he pulls out of me and I reach for him, sliding the condom off.

“No, Harlow, I didn’t mean—”

“Shh, I know,” I say, reaching for the wet cloth on the bed and using it to wipe him off this time. “Come here.”

I lay back, pulling his hips up higher, over my face. Of all the things he’s done to me, he’s never let himself finish this way.

With his knees on the mattress at my sides, he carefully slips between my lips, and into my mouth.

“Fuck.” He groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

He gives me tentative, short strokes at first until he’s wet and hungry and so tight against my tongue that I can’t help but make little desperate noises as he moves deeper. There is nothing in this world I want more right now than watching him slowly start to climb, his hands flat against the wall at the head of the bed, his chest shuddering with his jagged exhales. He chokes out a tight “Close.”

I slide my hands up his thighs, and to the middle, circling his base and behind his balls with both hands.

“Keep doing that and I’m coming in your mouth,” he warns.

I squeeze my hands, suck harder, and he arches his back, swelling against my tongue and coming with the hottest fucking groan I’ve ever heard in my life. He hovers over me, sweat dripping from his forehead onto the pillow beside my head, watching me with flared nostrils and savage eyes as I lick and kiss him.

Pulling slowly away, he sits back on his heels over me, catching his breath. “My God.”

His cock rests heavily on my chest and I feel thoroughly wrecked, in the best way. I’m exhausted, boneless, sweaty, and probably the most satisfied woman in the history of sexual relations.

Scooting down my body, Finn seems far more serious. He does a careful inspection of my breasts in the dim light filtering in through the bedroom window. His fingers trail across the nearly vanished bite marks. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

He lowers himself, covering my chest in small, sucking kisses. “I needed this tonight.”

“I needed it, too,” I say in a burst, exhaling a huge breath. “It’s scary how much.”

“You good?” he asks, rising above me in the dark. “You need more?”

“I’m perfect.” He could go again? Holy shit.

He bends and kisses the tip of my nose, as if he can see every one of my features in the dark. “Yeah.”

For all his surly expressions and monosyllabic answers, Finn is a surprisingly generous lover. I’m sort of rocked by the realization that he gets off on my pleasure more than he does when I touch him.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of amazing?” I blame my post-multi-orgasm high for the way my voice comes out a little shaky.

But, predictably, he laughs, pressing a kiss between my breasts. “No.” He gets up to walk across the room and into my bathroom, getting a drink of water.

“Well, for the record, you’re amazing, Sunshine.”

When he returns, the mattress dips and I feel the unbelievable heat of his body slide behind me beneath the covers. He’s careful not to jostle me but curls along my spine, the thick band of his arm sliding around my waist, hand splayed across my stomach with a new, thrilling possession. Eventually my breathing evens out and I’m in that delicious space just before sleep, where everything in the entire world is perfect.

“It’s you,” he whispers, and then bends to kiss my hair.

It’s you.

And suddenly, I’m on an epic mental bender, imagining all of the things he could have meant when he said it. It takes no time for him to clarify, though.

“I want to be good to you.” He rolls me to face him, and kisses me once before admitting, “I’m just fucking wild for you.”

“I think I spotted that just now,” I whisper.

“I mean,” he clarifies, “the I love you kind of wild.”

I feel every drop of blood in my body collect in my chest, pressure and thrill building, and then it bursts into my limbs in a mad rush of adrenaline and relief and a love so enormous I feel light-headed.

“Yeah?” I ask through a smile so dopey I’m relieved he can’t see me very well in the dark room.

But his laugh tells me I’m wrong, and he can see me just fine. “Yeah.”

I manage to say it back, laughing into the firm press of his mouth over mine, hard and rowdy, all over again.

Chapter TWELVE

Finn

I’M GROWING FAMILIAR with this position: in bed, my mind going nonstop while I stare up at the ceiling.

But this view is new, and instead of the shadow of palm trees on the plaster above me, there’s the shimmering night-reflection of a pool in the courtyard just outside. Harlow’s neighborhood is quieter than Oliver’s: There’s no teenage band playing in the garage on the corner, no barking dog in the yard next door, fewer cars passing by at every hour of the night.

It’s so peaceful—with only the soft, measured sound of her breathing right next to me—that I imagine if I try hard enough, I could hear the ocean a few blocks away. It’s pitch-black out and she’s been asleep for the last hour, her leg slung easily over my hip and practically every inch of her bare skin touching practically every inch of mine. And when she shifts in her sleep, tightening her grip on the sheet at my waist, it’s almost enough to distract me from the silence, to tempt me into waking her up and wearing her out all over again.

Almost.

I’ve never been a huge talker. I’ve never had the inclination to put into words all the things that are going on in my head. Never felt the need some people have to fill silence with pointless chatter. I get the feeling that’s usually who Harlow is for people—she’s the one who carries on the conversation and manages to pull sentences from even the least talkative person around—but she never really tries that with me. She can outtalk and outwit almost anyone I know, and yet when we’re together, she’s okay with my silence. She’s okay letting me be me.

I thought I knew what we were for each other, but underneath the stress and anxiety of the last few weeks, something changed. It’s a complication I wasn’t expecting and now that it’s here, I want it. Last night was the first time we really talked about what we are, but did we actually decide anything? I want her. That’s all I really know.

Harlow mumbles something in her sleep and I shift to my side, brushing the hair from her face. When I’m this close to her it’s easy to forget the stack of bills waiting on the boat, the broken-down equipment and the start of the next season that gets closer and closer every day.

But fuck, I need to go home. I’ve been putting it off as long as I can but I’m needed there. I belong there. But how do I leave now? One smile or smart-ass comment from her and all my thoughts sort of rearrange themselves, the inappropriate, usually pornographic ones sliding to the front, while the important ones like family and responsibility are shuffled to the back.

I’ve tried to ignore it. I’ve tried to downplay the way my heart jumps in my chest when I hear her name, done my best to explain away the times I find myself thinking about her, wondering what she’s doing, worrying whether she’s all right. But I can’t anymore. I don’t want to.

Jesus, I’ve never thought this much about a woman in my life.

“Finn?”

I look down to see her blinking awake. “I’m here,” I tell her. I kiss her temple, her cheek, let my hand move down her body to rest at her hip.

“You stayed.” It’s not a question, and I feel the moment she really wakes up, realizes that I’m still here, with her. Harlow pushes herself up before she climbs on top of me. Her silhouette blocks the streetlights filtering in through the dark window and all I can make out is the shape of her body, the pink of her nipples against her skin.

“I stayed so I could fuck you again,” I tell her and she laughs.

Actually, I’m as surprised as she is that I’m still here. I’d promised myself I’d wait until she was asleep, I’d make sure she was okay and then I’d head back to Oliver’s. I’d come up with some sort of a plan. Clearly, I’m a liar.

Her hands move over my stomach, my cock already hard between her legs. She rocks her hips and I can feel where she’s still wet, the way she slides over me.

“Done sleeping?” I ask, placing a hand on each of her hips.

She nods, slow and sleepy. “Dreamed about you.”

I trace my thumbs in small circles over her hip bones and in, toward her navel. “What about?”

She rocks a bit more forcefully now, with intent. “This.”

With every shift backward she brings the head of my cock closer, closer, so close to slipping inside. Bare.

“Careful,” I warn, but it’s halfhearted at best.

Harlow’s head falls forward, the ends of her hair brushing my stomach, my chest. “Feels so good,” she says, hitching in a breath. “Oh . . . God, it’s so good.”

I know I should take control, guide her away from where I’m hard and greedy, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

One more time.

One more second.

“Wait,” I start to say, and hiss in a breath when I feel the gentle rise of her clit, warm and slippery. “Let me get something, sweetheart.”

“Just for a second?” she asks, grinding over me. “Ahh . . . right there. Right there.”

“Yeah?” I say, propping the pillow behind my head and watching my cock disappear over and over again between her legs. “Fuck, this is so crazy. Baby, what are we doing?”

But even as I’m saying the words, I’m canting my hips off the bed, helping her slide over me. There’s something about seeing her use me like this, use my body to get herself off, that leaves my brain fuzzy, trying to remember why we should ever stop. It’s just enough friction and I’m sure I could come from this alone, the two of us rutting against each other like a couple of teenagers.

Harlow leans back, reaches to steady herself on my thighs, and it’s that slight movement, the tiniest change of angle that opens her up, and lets the head of my cock slip inside.

“Oh fuck,” I say, tightening my grip to keep her still. I feel hot all over, feverish and hungry, and know I should stop this but every instinct fights against it.

Harlow moans and sinks down a little farther. “Do you want me to stop?”

I nod my head but the word “no” comes out instead. Actually a whole lot of curse words come out but I’m not sure Harlow is paying attention to any of them.

“Fuck. Right,” she says, voice pained. She straightens, and moves to climb off me but I reach for her waist, stopping her.

“God. Wait.” I take a deep breath, suddenly aware of the sweat at my temples, the way the sheets are clinging to my back. Every muscle is strung too tight, like live wires ready to snap with the slightest pressure. Her body feels like it belongs to me now. “Just let me . . . feel you. Just for a second.”

And I must be some kind of a masochist because why else would I torture myself?

Harlow’s skin is sleep-warm and her limbs heavy where they rest against me. I’ll never last more than a minute with her looking down at me—sleepy and needy—with nothing between us.

It takes me only a second to decide, to roll us both over and slip back between her thighs. Her legs fall open, knees bent and pressed to my sides. “I just want to feel you,” I tell her again, trying to ignore the eager way she nods, how willingly she agrees with me. Her mouth is too tempting, lips wet and parted, and I lean in, tasting her. “And if you want . . . I could pull out?”

She pushes her words out between tiny, biting kisses: “Would you . . . come . . . on me?”

There have always been things I’ve been into—things that got me off in the privacy of my own head—sex acts that are hard to bring up in a new, more tentative relationship. I want to be messy, rough, a little dirty, a little taboo. I want to claim Harlow everywhere, try anything she wants, and see the mark of rope and teeth and my spankings on her skin.

I like that she wants this as much as I do.

“You want that?” I ask, slowly pressing inside and nearly growling from the pleasure of it. “You want to see it on your skin?”

Harlow throws her head back, fingers twisting in the sheets. Her tits move with each of my thrusts, the mattress squeaks in the darkness, and I’m only vaguely aware that there are neighbors next door, people both upstairs and down. But the only thing I care about is the way she grips me from the inside out, how her skin looks in the moonlight and the tiny sounds that escape her mouth with every thrust.

I’m too close and it’s too fast but I don’t think either of us even cares. A spark flashes hot and moves down my spine, heat that settles in my lower body. I feel myself get harder, my fingers grip her hips so tightly I’m actually afraid she’ll be bruised tomorrow.

And then Harlow is coming, clenching around my cock and I’m holding on by a thread, riding her through it with my jaw tight and my body so tense just to hold my own release at bay. She gasps, pushes up into me, claws at my chest until her arms slide down my torso, feeling where I’m moving in her. With a groan I pull out, hand moving over my length in a blur and my orgasm is there, so close that I can’t hear anything but static in my ears. Her name is on my lips and I wish I’d thought ahead to turn on a lamp so I could see her face as I cover her stomach, her tits, her neck.

Harlow looks down at my come on her skin, runs a finger through it and around her nipple. The action is instinctive, and possessive . . . and I know in that moment that I am absolutely, thoroughly fucked over this girl.