Page 22

HARPER

The second the words leave her mouth, the air changes.

She moves-fluid and certain-like the shift was always meant to happen, like she was only ever waiting for permission.

And then suddenly, she's above me, straddling my hips, hands braced on either side of my head like I'm something precious and fragile but also something she's about to ruin.

My back hits the cushions with a soft thump, and then she kisses me.

No, devours me.

There's no other word for it.

Her mouth crashes into mine like it's starving, and the sound I make is embarrassingly desperate.

But I don't care. My hands fly to her waist, then up-clutching at her back, pulling her closer until there's not a breath of space between us.

Our chests press together and I feel her heart hammering hard and fast, a frantic, gorgeous beat that matches my own.

I feel it everywhere-her warmth, her weight, the way she completely surrounds me like she's trying to memorize my body from the outside in.

I kiss her back with everything I have, letting her consume me.

A sound slips out of me-a whimper, high and aching-and she catches it with a soft growl, kissing me deeper, hungrier.

Her hands are everywhere. She doesn't break away from my mouth, not even for a second, but her fingers slide beneath the hem of the shirt I'm wearing-her shirt, the one that smells like her, the one I wore without thinking and now can't imagine not wearing-and with one swift, practiced motion, she pulls it up and off.

It lands somewhere across the room, forgotten.

Her eyes trail down, but only for a second, because she's already moving.

Her lips leave mine in a trail of heat, dragging down to my jaw, then lower-brushing a kiss under my ear that makes me shiver.

She pauses at my collarbones, mouth wet and open, breathing hot against my skin before she presses her lips there, and then her teeth.

I gasp-sharp, breathless-and my fingers tangle in her hair without thinking, tugging just enough to make her groan into my skin.

She likes that. I can tell by the sound she makes, low and wrecked.

She kisses lower, slower now, taking her time as her hands slide over my ribcage, steady and sure, and I can't stop touching her-can't stop tracing the lines of her arms, the slope of her waist, the dip of her lower back.

Every part of her feels like fire and safety at once.

When I open my eyes, she's looking at me.

Not my body. Me. And it does something to me-flips something inside out.

I've been kissed before. I've been touched.

But no one has ever looked at me the way Millie does now, like I'm something holy.

Like she's both reverent and about to ruin me.

Her thumb brushes under my breast and I suck in a sharp breath, my hips arching up to meet hers without meaning to.

She leans in, kissing the corner of my mouth, soft and slow now-like a promise.

"Still good?" she asks, her voice thick and low, scratchy with want, like she's holding back everything she feels and it's barely working.

Her breath ghosts across my jaw, and the sound of her voice alone makes me shudder.

I can't speak. Not really. All I can manage is a nod and a broken, breathless: "Yes. God, yes. Please don't stop."

My body is alive-burning, aching, desperate in a way I've never felt before. It's like every nerve ending is tuned to her hands, her mouth, the weight of her body pressed against mine. My hips grind up into her without thought, seeking friction, chasing it like it'll save me.

She grins-cocky, hungry, wrecked-and the glint in her eyes makes me wetter, makes my stomach clench.

"I wasn't planning to, darling."

That word-darling-spills from her lips like a sin and a prayer all at once.

And then her mouth is on mine again, stealing the air from my lungs.

She kisses me like she owns me, like she's waited too long and she's not going to slow now that she has me under her.

Her hands drag over my body like she's trying to memorize the map of me, fingertips grazing my sides, my hips, the underside of my breast. I moan into her mouth, helpless and aching, and when I yank her shirt over her head and toss it somewhere behind us, I finally get to see her.

And I stare.

"Jesus, Amelia," I whisper, my voice raw. "Why are you so fucking precious?"

She's all hard muscle and flushed skin, glowing in the low light-her body a testament to hours on the ice, in the gym, to a life lived full-tilt.

Her sports bra is a deep violet, hugging her chest tight and leaving just enough to drive me wild.

My hands ache to pull it off, to see her fully, but before I can move, her lips find the space between my neck and shoulder again.

She kisses, licks, sucks, and I arch into her without shame.

"Today's about you, Harps," she says, voice low, firm, sweet. "And you... you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Something inside me cracks.

I asked her for this because I was starving for her touch-but now that I have it, it's not just hunger. It's reverence. It's need. And it's more than that too. I don't want to be the only one shaking, gasping, falling apart. I want her to feel just as wrecked.

I want her to want this. Want me.

"I touched myself thinking about you," I rasp. The words fall from my lips like a confession, raw and hoarse and truer than anything I've ever said.

She stills, her head lifting.

Millie looks at me then, really looks, and her eyes are no longer their usual bright blue. They're dark-deep forest green, hooded with arousal and intensity.

I don't know why or how they change, but I know I've discovered something no one else has and I can't look away.

"You did?" she asks, and it comes out like a growl.

I nod, cheeks flushed, not looking away. "Yeah."

Her hand slips up and cups my breast through my bra, slow and certain, while the other slides to the side of my throat. Her palm is warm, her touch gentle-but firm. Possessive.

"What did you think about?" she murmurs, dipping her head to kiss the skin above my heart.

"Your hands," I gasp, as her thumb brushes over my nipple and sends a bolt of pleasure down my spine. "Your mouth. Your tongue in my pussy."

She moans low in her throat, vibrating against my skin, and squeezes the side of my neck just slightly.

And fuck, I moan.

It's not just hot. It's not just lust. It's need and trust and something wild I've never let anyone touch before. But I let her. I want her to.

"You're into this kind of thing, Lane?" she whispers, voice thick and teasing as she bites gently at the top of my breast. "Didn't know that."

Neither did I.

"You," I pant, my hands fisting the edge of the couch. "You. On top of me. Your mouth everywhere. That's what I thought about."

She kisses her way down my torso, her breath hot and shaky.

"Did you come?" she asks, her voice reverent now, like this answer means something.

I nod, eyes fluttering shut. "As hard as I ever have."

Millie lets out a sound-half groan, half dark laugh-as she pulls back just enough to look at me.

She takes me in. My wrecked hair. My flushed chest. The way my ribcage rises and falls in shallow, desperate breaths.

And then, slowly-so slowly-she drags my panties down my thighs, kissing every inch of skin she reveals.

Her mouth is hot and reverent, and the way her lips linger on the inside of my thigh makes my stomach twist and flutter.

"Fuck," she whispers, her voice ragged. Her eyes burn into mine like she's starving. "Is this all for me, Harps?"

"Yes," I gasp, closing my eyes. "Just for you."

But her voice comes sharper now, commanding-dominant in the most delicious way. "Eyes on me, Harper."

I force them open, dazed, and she meets them like a promise. She kisses higher, lips brushing so close to where I need her that my hand fumbles into her hair, anchoring myself to something real.

"Ah," she murmurs, teasing, "my needy girl."

And then-God.

She kisses the center of my pussy like it's a reward, a gift she's earned, and she lingers there, her nose brushing my clit, her tongue just barely parting me. A groan rumbles low in her throat and she inhales me-like she's trying to memorize how I smell, how I taste, how I fall apart for her.

My hips jerk forward without permission, seeking her, begging her, and I toss my legs around her back, careful not to touch her injured shoulder.

She fucking smiles.

Smiles. While her face is buried between my legs, lips shining with my arousal like it's the only thing she ever wants to wear.

And then she surrounds my clit with her mouth, sucks it in-and I jerk, damn near off the couch.

"Oh fuck," I cry out, head thrown back into the pillows. My thighs tremble. My whole body jolts.

I look down-because I have to see her-and I catch that smirk on her mouth, the one she wears when she's cocky and in control and knows exactly what she's doing to me. Her tongue slides out again, slow and unhurried, tasting me like she's savoring something expensive.

She's smiling. Smiling while she ruins me.

Isaiah never smiled like that. He never wanted me like that.

A sob of a moan tears from my throat-and I slap a hand over my mouth on instinct.

Millie stops instantly.

"No." Her voice is stern, sharp. Her hands press into my thighs, holding me open. "Don't cover your mouth, Harper. Let me hear you. I want to hear you. Scream my name."

My body trembles. I reach for her, both hands cradling her face as I guide her back between my legs. I need her there, my whole body screaming for it, for her, and she just laughs-a soft, teasing sound-and lets me.

I've never begged like this. Never wanted like this.

Her mouth finds me again, slower this time-deeper. Controlled strokes of her tongue, tasting every inch, every fold. She groans into me, sucking and flicking, her fingers digging into my thighs to keep me steady while I writhe beneath her.

Her tongue focuses on my clit-light, teasing pressure-then firm, rhythmic flicks. Her mouth seals around it again, sucking, claiming.

I cry out.

Moan after moan slips out of me and I can't stop them.

"Fuck, Amelia-"

"Say it again."

I barely register the words. "What?"

"My name," she growls. "Say it again. I want to hear it while my tongue is buried in your perfect little pussy. I want you to remember who made you feel like this. Say it again."

My eyes snap open. She's looking up at me. Watching me unravel. Waiting.

"Millie," I breathe, slow and sinful. "I'm yours to do with as you please."

And I mean it.

I reach behind me, unhook my bra, and slide it down my arms, letting it fall to the floor. Slowly. Deliberately.

"Use me however you please."

Her eyes go molten.

I stroke her hair, fingers sliding through the strands before I scrape my nails against her scalp. Her mouth twitches against me, and her hand comes up to cup my breast, squeezing hard, thumb dragging over my nipple until I arch into her hand.

Then-God-two fingers brush my bottom lip. Teasing. Asking.

"Open up," she says. "Suck."

I do. I wrap my lips around her fingers and suck them like it's her, like I'm desperate to taste every piece of her in return.

"Fuck, Harper," she moans, her voice raw. "You have no idea what you do to me."

She pulls her fingers from my mouth and trails them down, sliding through my slick folds before she sinks them inside me-slow, then deep, curling just right. My mouth falls open in a gasp, hips rolling against her face, her fingers.

"Holy shit," I cry out, thighs shaking.

She moves her fingers with practiced rhythm, curling them perfectly to stroke my G-spot. Her mouth stays at my clit, licking, sucking, owning every part of me. I'm clenching around her, panting, crying out every few seconds because the pressure is building and I can't stop it.

"You're so tight, baby," she groans, watching her fingers disappear inside me. "So fucking perfect."

Millie moves her fingers with devastating precision-each stroke deliberate, practiced, like she knows exactly where to touch and how hard to press to make me fall apart.

Her fingers curl forward inside me, stroking that spot deep within over and over, and my whole body seizes around the pleasure.

At the same time, her mouth stays locked on my clit.

Not gentle. Not teasing. Relentless. Her tongue flicks and circles and sucks with this greedy rhythm that matches the pace of her hand, like she's syncing my body to her own pulse. Like she's devouring me.

I gasp, then moan, then cry out-and I can't tell where one sound ends and the next begins.

I'm panting so hard my chest aches, and every muscle in my core clenches tighter with each pass of her fingers.

I feel like I'm crawling out of my skin, like she's dragging something out of me I didn't even know I was holding.

Millie groans into me, her breath hot and wet as she pulls back just enough to speak, her voice rough with arousal and pride. "You're so fucking tight, baby," she breathes, her eyes locked on the place where her fingers disappear into me. "So perfect. I can feel you shaking for me."

And she's right. I'm shaking. My thighs tremble against her shoulders. My back bows. I can't keep still-can't stop moving, grinding against her face, chasing the unbearable pressure building in my belly.

It's there-on the edge-tight and sharp and impossible. And then she does it-just the right angle, just the right rhythm, her fingers curling as her tongue presses down and sucks-

I break. Every muscle in my body seizes. My breath stops.

A tidal wave crashes through me. "Ah. Fuck. Millie-!"

Her name rips from my throat like a cry I've been holding my whole life.

My orgasm slams into me with brutal force, wave after wave rolling through my body.

I'm clenching around her fingers, coming so hard I see flashes of white behind my eyes.

Everything pulses-my core, my thighs, my chest-like I've been rewired to only feel this.

I can't breathe. Can't think. My mouth is open but no sound comes out now, just gasps and shattered moans. I'm arching off the couch, trembling uncontrollably, thighs quivering around her, one hand still tangled in her hair like I need something to hold on to before I dissolve.

She doesn't stop. She keeps her mouth on me, fingers moving slower now, coaxing every last ripple out of my body.

Kissing me through it. Worshiping me through the aftershocks.

And when I finally collapse-spent, slick, boneless-I fall back into the cushions like I've been dropped from a great height.

My skin is damp with sweat. My chest heaves as I try to breathe again. My legs are still shaking.

She leaves soft wet kisses on my thigh, kissing her way up to my stomach, my chest, my breast, until she's right in front of me. "You ruined me, Harper."

Yeah- I think you ruined me too, Amelia.

I'm still trying to catch my breath when I feel her agai pressing the softest kiss to the inside of my thigh, then another, slower, higher, trailing a path that feels reverent, almost grateful. My body flinches at the contact, oversensitive and raw in the most delicious way.

She lifts her head, eyes meeting mine as she rises from between my legs, and my heart stutters.

She's wrecked. Her lips are pink and swollen, cheeks flushed, hair a mess from my fists.

And her eyes-God, her eyes are soft. Too soft.

There's something open and exposed in them that makes my throat tighten. They're blue again.

I reach for her without thinking. I want her on me. In me. I want to kiss her until she moans into my mouth the way I just moaned for her. I want to give her that same kind of release, to see her fall apart the way she made me fall apart.

But she catches my wrists-gentle, not rough-and stops me.

"No," she whispers, shaking her head. Her voice is quiet, tender, but final. "Tonight was for you."

I blink. "What?"

She kisses my forehead before I can say anything else, her lips lingering for a beat longer than they need to. "You don't owe me anything, baby."

The words hit me like ice in warm water-melting, diffusing, dissolving into something I can't quite hold onto.

She pulls the blanket over my legs, careful, protective, like I'm something delicate.

Her fingers tuck a piece of hair behind my ear as she kneels there, still between my thighs, looking at me like she's not sure if she should be proud or heartbroken.

I sit up a little, reaching for her again. "Millie, wait-"

"Harps," she says softly, "I'm fine."

"But you shouldn't be," I say before I can stop myself. My voice cracks, and I hate how desperate it sounds. "I don't want this to be... one-sided."

She exhales a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, but it doesn't carry. It just falls flat between us.

"You asked me for sex, and I gave it to you," she says. Her tone isn't cold, exactly-but there's a wall in it now. Her eyes search mine, steady but guarded. "It's not your job to take care of me afterward. That's not how this works."

I flinch.

Not because she's wrong. Technically, she's not. But everything in me is screaming that she is. Because nothing about what just happened felt transactional or hollow. Nothing about her-her mouth, her hands, her voice-was impersonal. And nothing about the way I responded to her felt casual.

"I'm not using you, Amelia," I whisper, my throat tight.

She doesn't answer right away. Just looks at me. And for a second, I see it-this flicker of something in her eyes. Hope, maybe. Hurt. Love, even, though I can't trust myself to name it.

Then she looks down at her hands, her voice barely audible. "It's okay if you did."

"Millie..."

She cuts me off gently, shaking her head like she's already braced for the worst. "I get it.

You're heartbroken. You needed to feel something else.

To forget."

I shake my head, but she keeps going.

"You don't have to explain," she says, looking up again.

Her smile is faint, but it's all defense.

"I wanted this too. I wanted to make you feel good.

I asked you to ask me for it."

Her voice dips, and something fragile slips through.

"I just need to not pretend like it meant more. "

And there it is. The thing she's not saying-but I hear it anyway.

It did mean more. At least to her. Maybe to me too, in ways I'm only now starting to understand.

I watch her shift back, starting to rise to her feet, her body already pulling away.

I panic-just for a second-and reach up, cupping her face before she can leave me like this.

Her skin is warm, flushed, and she freezes at the touch, her eyes fluttering shut.

"I don't think anyone's ever touched me the way you just did," I say. The words come out low and shaky, but true. "And I've never felt the way I just did."

Her lashes flutter. She's trying not to cry. Or maybe not to hope. Either way, I see the war in her expression-the pain she won't speak, the softness she's too scared to let show.

"You're beautiful, Harper," she says finally, and her voice is hoarse. "So fucking beautiful. I don't understand how someone could look at you and not see you. Not want to give you everything."

Her words hit somewhere deep. Somewhere sore. I've spent so long trying to shrink around that part of myself-pretending I didn't need to be seen, pretending I didn't still want to be.

"You're not just a rebound," I whisper. "You're not a distraction or a warm body. You're... you. And I asked for this, but not just because I wanted sex. I wanted you."

She opens her eyes.

Green. Blue. They knock the wind out of me.

I lean in and kiss her, soft and slow. Not because I want to start something again-but because I need her to understand. I need her to feel it. Every unspoken word. Every tangled feeling I don't know how to name.

Millie kisses me back, but carefully. Like she's afraid if she presses too hard, she'll break.

And then she pulls away. I chase her mouth slightly, but she's already retreating, already reaching for the blanket and smoothing it over my hips. Already slipping that distance between us again.

She brushes a soft kiss to my cheek, her fingers lingering at my wrist. "G'night, Harps."

My throat tightens. I want to stop her. To make her stay. But if there's one thing I know about Amelia Bennett, it's that when she needs space, I have to let her take it.

I swallow hard, my voice barely a murmur. "Thank you, Millie."

She gives me one last look, one last sad smile that barely reaches her eyes.

And then she disappears down the hall, leaving me alone in the flickering quiet, aching for something I can't name-something we might've already ruined before it even had a chance to start.