Pretend You're Mine(77)

“Luke, I want to see you.” It was a whisper but it carried across the miles.

He paused for just a moment and then Harper heard the rip of Velcro. A second later, Luke pulled off his shirt and angled the screen down and she could see what she had been missing for weeks.

Even gripped in Luke’s big fist, his cock looked huge. Harper felt the ache deep inside her core start to pulse with need. She wanted to feel his erection drive into her, stretching her walls as it invaded her.

“I’d give anything to be inside you right now, Harper.” He stroked his hand down his hard-on. “I want you to touch yourself.”

She hesitated.

“Go ahead, baby. Pretend it’s my hands on you.”

She took a shaky breath and brought her palm to her breast where it hung. The growl from her phone told her Luke liked what he saw. She took her nipple between her thumb and finger and tugged it down in a leisurely pace that matched Luke’s strokes.

“Baby —” The audio crackled and went silent, but the video feed remained.

Harper pointed to her ear. “I can’t hear you. Can you hear me?”

Luke pointed at his ear and shook his head. But his other hand stayed gripping his erection. Understanding, Harper slid her hand back down to her breast. She rolled and tugged the nipple, pretending it was Luke’s mouth teasing her.

She saw him increase the pace ever so slightly, wondering if there was a drop of moisture that so often appeared from the slit in the broad head of his penis. She licked her lips and slid her hand lower into her underwear.

She should have been feeling embarrassed. She wasn’t an exhibitionist. But right then, all she wanted to do was see Luke stroke himself to climax across his chiseled abs and chest.

Her lips parted as her fingers found the slick wetness between her folds. Her bud was already straining for contact. Harper shifted her weight back and brought her free hand to her other breast. She squeezed and saw Luke’s eyes narrow. His fist slammed down the length of his cock as he pumped himself in his own hand. Harper’s fingers circled her clitoris in a frantic pace, a race to the finish.

She felt the need for release blossom inside her. It bloomed as she drove her fingers into her wet channel. She opened her mouth to say his name and saw he was with her. The first rope of cum unleashed across his stomach. It was her name on his lips as a second and a third exploded from him.

She felt herself close around her fingers as they came together.





CHAPTER THIRTY


Aldo Moretta was coming home.

After four long weeks in hospitals and clinics, he — and his fancy new prosthetic leg — were coming home to Benevolence.

Per his physical therapy team, he was going to stay with his mother for a few weeks before they released him into the wild.

Harper waited an entire day and a half before she went knocking on Mrs. Moretta’s front door on her lunch hour. Seeing Aldo in the flesh would put to rest nightmares that had plagued her for the last month. She shifted the bag of goodies into her other hand and knocked on the screen door.

It was drowned out by shouting.

“For the love of God, Ma. I’ve spent the last two weeks with you. You’re driving me fucking nuts.”

“That’s a fine way to talk to the woman who dropped everything to nurse you back to health because you couldn’t swerve around a bomb,” Ina Moretta shouted back.

“You played Candy Crush and yelled at me if I didn’t turn on ‘The Price is Right’ everyday,” Aldo roared.

“You aren’t driving yourself to PT. I don’t care how big and tough you think you are. So you’re welcome to walk. Go ahead and hitchhike. See if I care. I didn’t raise you to be a grown man who shouts at his own mother.”

“That is exactly who you raised me to be!”

Harper gave up on knocking and stepped inside. She dumped the bag on the floor and cupped her hands over her mouth. “Hey!”

Aldo crutched into the foyer from the living room, and Mrs. Moretta poked her head out of the kitchen.

“Come right on in, bursting into my house like that. Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?” Mrs. Moretta yelled.

“They must have died too soon, I guess,” Harper said in a decibel or two above her usual conversational tone. The shouting was contagious.

Aldo blindsided her with a bear hug, dropping his crutches to the floor. Harper grabbed him and held on for dear life. He was home safe and yelling at his mother. It was another step in the direction of normal.

“Pick up your goddamn crutches! You know the doctors don’t want you walking unassisted yet!” Mrs. Moretta continued on in some colorful Italian.

“I’m glad you’re home. And alive,” Harper said, her face smashed in Aldo’s barrel of a chest.