"Aren't you going to … " Harper doesn't finish the sentence, and I shake my head, too turned on to even talk for a moment.
I want to be inside her so badly, but I also want to make her feel as good as possible before I do.
"Not yet," I say, slowly rubbing her clit. Harper cries out, and I feel her muscles clench around me as her climax starts, her whole body shuddering.
I work her right up until I feel her body relax against me, and slowly, very slowly, withdraw, bringing my fingers up to my mouth to taste her. She tastes just as good as ever, and knowing I got her off, tasting it on my fingers, makes me even more turned on than ever.
It only takes Harper a minute or two to recover, or so it seems to me, and we're kissing again, touching each other. I'm guiding the tip of my cock up against her soaking wet folds. I hold her close as I slide into her, groaning against her neck as I feel her tight, wet pussy wrapping around me.
I let Harper do most of the work at first, twisting her hips as she rides me. Then after a few moments I can't even help myself anymore, I have to get involved. I thrust up into her, hard and fast, and we're just going at it without any kind of restraint at all, not even caring if we're about to get caught.
I try to hold back a little while longer, but it's impossible. Harper feels too good wrapped tight around me. I press Harper's body against mine as I feel the first jolting shocks of pleasure coursing through me. I kiss her hungrily as we both hit our climax together, riding through it until we're both exhausted.
I blank out for a moment, and when I come back, Harper's breathing is just beginning to slow. We're both drenched in sweat, but we'll cool off quickly, it's not the really hot time of year yet.
"We should probably get to the house before the parents start worrying," Harper says.
I bring her hand, with her engagement ring, up to my lips and kiss it. "We're going to keep this between us for a while, right? The baby, I mean. Obviously we're going forward with telling them about being engaged," I say.
Harper thinks about it and nods.
"I want to keep it between us until some of the excitement about us being engaged wears off," Harper tells me.
"It's kind of appropriate, when you think about it. Considering how much of our relationship we've kept a secret from them over the years."
Harper giggles and climbs off me, and we start getting dressed.
"Now that I think about it, it's kind of perfect," Harper says as we finally walk back to the car. We should get to our parents' houses just in time.
"You're still sure that you want to have our wedding on my parents' anniversary?"
Harper nods.
"Since we started out on their anniversary, it feels right," she says. I give her hand a squeeze and we get into the car to head the last few miles to our parents' houses right next to each other, and think about the fact that it actually does feel right that we'll be starting our new lives together as married people on the anniversary of my parents' wedding.
"Let's get there and let them know, then," I say, starting the car. I pull out of the parking lot at the lake, glancing at it in the rear-view mirror, and I think to myself that I can't think of anywhere else I would have rather learned about our future.
Thanks for reading our story!
Don't stop, we have more stories for you, including NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED novel Revenge F*ck by Lulu Pratt and steamy quickie Swallow Hard by Simone Sowood.
Revenge F*ck
(NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED!)
Revenge is a dish best served hot and sweaty
It started as revenge.
A simple way to punish my ex-husband.
Fucking his divorce lawyer, Eric.
It wasn't supposed be anything more.
But when he touches me, it sets me on fire.
I don't want to stop.
Yet how can we carry on when it risks my divorce settlement?
Maybe Eric is the one using me.
Screwing me and screwing me over at the same time.
What if I'm the one being played?
A steamy STANDALONE contemporary romance with a smoking hot hero. No cliffhanger, no cheating, and a guaranteed happily-ever-after.
CHAPTER ONE
KATE
I could really use a margarita right now. Big one, shoved to the top with limes that have been marinating in tequila for three days, pink salt. Extra tip for one of those tiny umbrellas in the glass and a bartender who replaces the empty glass with a full one before I notice. Once I get out of here, I am going to have at least three. Bare minimum.
"I don't think what we're asking for is beyond the realm of reason." This from the attorney in an expensive suit and tie. Although he is working for my ex, I can't help but think about what the attorney looks like without his shirt. I have a feeling, deep, deep down, that he is very fuckable.
"It's quite respectable," he says with a hint of a smirk.
"Bullshit." I mutter and innocently examine my nails. Vivian kicks me under the table but I don't acknowledge it. That would require me to look like I give a shit and shatter the illusion I'm concocting.
"We both know that isn't true." Vivian bares her teeth in an unfriendly grin. She looks like a shark in pinstripes, which is precisely why I hired her. "There is a long-documented relationship and partnership between my client and yours. What you are offering is laughable at best."
"Documented how, exactly?" the lawyer smirks again. "The internet? We both know a few tabloid photos aren't admissible in court."
"We're not in court, Mr. Stevens. We're in mediation. Surely you remember there is a difference?" Vivian turns to cock an eyebrow at our mediator, a staunch older woman with a severe librarian bun and laser beams for eyeballs.
The woman doesn't say anything and scratches a few notes in her notepad. If I was footing the bill for this nonsense, I'd be livid. It's my ex's money, David's bank account, the one under lock and key, that was responsible though, which means I don't mind wasting as many hours as margaritas I am waiting to drink.
"This all comes back down to your client's insistence," the sexy asshole lawyer says, "that there be no prenuptial agreement. My client recommended it for protection of all parties and your client declined it. By law, she isn't entitled to anything beyond what we are offering. You won't find better with a judge."
"Bullshit." Vivian and I say in tandem. She comes off less bitter than I do.
"A marriage isn't a business contract, Mr. Stevens."
"Quite the contrary, Mrs. West. That's exactly what it is."
Repeat. Ad nauseam. Every day until I fall over dead. The sexy asshole in the suit sits across an over-glossed table and rattles off reasons why I should be thankful they are offering pennies left in the corners of a cavernous bank account. My shark lawyer calls him an asshat and tells him to try again. Robolibrarian glares at everyone and sighs heavily because no one listens to her.
And then there's David, my ex. I don't look at him because I don't want to ruin my shoes. At this rate, who knows when I'd be able to afford a new pair. He's staring, though. Intently. Like a lion on the savanna who can't quite determine if he's hungry or horny.
Knowing David, it's both. He's a terrible lion, among other things.
We've been separated for over a year and unhappy for much, much longer. The divorce papers have been long drawn up. But David never signed. And now here he is, dragging me into mediation and demanding a rewrite before he'll sign. Because in a vulnerable, drunken low point of my life a few weeks ago, David showed up on my doorstep and I was dumb enough to sleep with him.
Now he's using that mistake to reopen the settlement. Claiming that we shouldn't be divorced at all, and that our marriage is active and loving and something to be cherished.
"Kate is instrumental to the McArthur brand and you've been unable to provide any reasonable proof she isn't." Vivian taps her pen cap against the yellow legal pad resting between her lap and the table's edge. Instead of notes about the mediation session, she scribbles pictures of David losing his head in a variety of ways.
David is abnormally silent. His eyes drag across my skin, leaving me prickling and uncomfortable. Once, it was exquisitely sexy. He was enraptured by my presence and I felt confident, strong, wild. Now I feel like a bug under a large magnifying glass.
Eric Stevens, bane of my existence, leans his elbows on the table so his well-tailored sleeves strain against his muscles. This, despite all the raging bullshit erupting at the table, where allegedly apathetic third parties argue over my livelihood like it was a toddler soccer match, is my favorite part of the whole thing.
"What do you want, Kate?" David interrupts my spiraling daydreams. "Why is nothing ever good enough?"
For the tiniest moment, I falter. We didn't talk anymore. Words dried up between us the day I found him cavorting through my office naked with the maid.
"David." His name sours my tongue but my features remain smooth as silk. "I want you to jump off a cliff and eat shit, you miserable motherfu-"
"Okay." Robolibrarian claps her hands. "This is going nowhere."
The suits go back to arguing and I go back to fantasizing. It's the only way I've been able to get through these sessions without being drunk or high. Eric Stevens, smarmy asshole, is an obnoxiously sexy smarmy asshole: high cheekbones, square jaw, eyes brown like chocolate, and a toothpaste smile half of our town paid handsomely for. If he wasn't so bloodthirsty, he would have made a great actor. Instead, he gets his jollies off by harassing me in this stuffy office twice a week.