In Pursuit (25 page)

O
nce again, a persistent beeping draws me out of slumber. This time, I’m still in the safety of Harris’ embrace, so I burrow deeper. “Don’t get up. This is too comfortable.”

He shifts momentarily, slapping a hand down on the alarm to silence it. Then he settles against me, pressing his morning arousal into my ass.

“I don’t want to go.” His breath is hot and tantalizing against my ear. I forget about the fog of sleep, my senses stirring for sexual satisfaction.

“Go where?” I attempt to flip in his embrace but he holds me firmly in place, his pointer finger tracing circles around my navel.

“I have to go meet with a client in New York for the next couple of days. I’ll be back on Friday.”

“What?” I can’t help but it comes out like a whine.

“You could always come with me,” he whispers into my ear.

“I have a meeting at the Mart tomorrow,” I grumble unhappily.

In one fluid movement, he jumps off the bed and then plucks me into his arms. With long strides, he takes us into the bathroom. He sets me on the quartz countertop as he walks into the oversized shower stall and turns on multiple shower heads.

“We need to make up for lost time before it’s lost,” he murmurs seductively and tugs me in for a kiss.

I reach up to twine my arms around his neck, slanting my head to allow room for his roaming tongue. With another quick move, he’s carrying me into the shower. Harris sets me on my feet, underneath the warm spray of the water. I tilt my head backward, allowing the water to sluice across my body. A deep rumble causes a slow grin to slide across my face.

The tip of his hard cock presses into my stomach as he leans down to kiss me again. “You are irresistible,” he mumbles in the space between our lips. A second later he spins me around so that I’m facing the wall.

“Bend over,” he commands. When I don’t comply fast enough, he puts his hand flat on my back, urging me forward. My sex quivers in delight at his dominance.

One hand grips me lightly on my bent hip. His other hand drifts around to the v between my legs, his middle finger probing at my lips.

“You like that, Edith?”

“Yes,” I whimper. “More... please.”

“Like this?” He slips his middle finger inside of me, sliding it in and out at a torturous rhythm. I buck against his hand.

 “Please, please,” I gasp.

“What do you want?”

“You.”

            Another finger increases the growing ache between my thighs.

“Only you, Harris, I want you.” My beg nearly comes out as a sob as I twitch beneath his touch.

“That’s my girl,” he encourages, as he retracts his finger at an achingly slow pace. A moment later, both hands take their place on my hips and he thrusts inside of me in one fluid motion.

“Harris!” I cry out.

With a grunt, he begins to furiously pump inside of me, his balls slapping against my ass. One hand coils around my wet hair, and he yanks it backward. It shoots sprinkles of painful pleasure down my neck.

I can feel my pussy tightening with each thrust. Kernels of energy build inside of me as my teeth clamp down on my lower lip to keep from crying out.

“Hold it,” he barks again, dropping my hair abruptly and squeezing my hips tightly in his palms.

“Ohh,” I groan as my climax nears closer.

Harris moves a hand to my clit, teasing my tender spot. It’s more than I can withstand, and my orgasm explodes, nearly causing my knees to buckle. Luckily, I don’t have to stand on my own too much longer as Harris shouts out of his release.

Even though he’s come, he continues to pump inside me slowly, unwinding from the climax. He rubs a hand over my ass, breathing heavily.

“Oh, Edith."

When he’s caught his breath, Harris slides out of me quickly and turns me around, cupping my face in his hands.

“Fuck, fuck – did I hurt you?”

I shake my head shyly, gripping at his biceps to keep me upright. “I liked it. Couldn’t you tell?”

He shakes his head ruefully pressing a kiss onto my forehead. “Edith, I don’t know what came over me, but we didn’t use a condom.”

“I know,” I admit.  “I’m on the pill, and I’ve been tested.” 

“You consume me, and I didn’t think.” He sighs and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’ve been tested, too, but more than that,” his eyes search mine, “it’s been awhile since I’ve been with anyone.”

I press my finger to his lips. “I trust you.”

E
ven though I’m swimming in them, Harris bundles me in a pair of his sweatpants and a t-shirt to travel home.

“You look good in my clothes,” he says with satisfaction. 

My clothes from the night before find a home in a leather Gucci travel bag (just an extra he had lying around). Once we’re ready to go, a driver picks us up from his home. Harris is going directly to the airport.

Now we’re in the backseat of the car on the short journey back to my place. Even though it’s definitely wrinkling his suit, I’m molded to his side. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He’s clutching me to him tightly, dropping kiss after kiss in my hair and murmuring sweet words of how much he’ll miss me.

I shouldn’t be, but I'm surprised when tears well up in my eyes when we reach the first stop.

The driver starts to get out of the car to let me out, but Harris stops him.

“Wait.” With one word the driver resumes his stoic stance in the front seat of the car.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” he asks again as I unwrap myself from his embrace. This is the third time in the past hour he's suggested that I travel with him.

“Duty calls,” I respond glumly.

“Then we better make this goodbye count.” Both of his arms pull me into his welcome embrace, and our lips fuse together. The driver in the front of the car is ignored, and all I can focus on are the emotions swirling inside me. Lust. Warmth. Pleasure. Love.

What?
 

 “Harris,” I gasp when we break apart. “I’m really going to miss you.”

He lifts a hand to curl a few fingers around the shell of my ear. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Used to what?”

“Missing me. I plan on keeping you by my side as often as possible.”

“That would be good,” I say shyly.

His fingers fall from my face, and he turns to gracefully climb out of the car. His hand reaches inside, offering to help me out. I clasp his hand, letting him tug me out into the morning air. 

Before I depart, we grab on to one another for a tight hug.

“I’ll be in touch.” He taps a finger to my nose.

“I’ll be waiting.”

As I’m walking toward my building, I pause, glancing over my shoulder for one last glimpse of him. He’s leaning against the side of the car, arms crossed over his chest, and a naughty smile playing at his lips.

I can’t help the goofy grin, and I lift my hand to blow him a playful kiss. He reaches up and catches it, putting it against his heart. A giggle escapes me and I turn back to enter the building.

A chirp from my phone alerts me of a message when I’m in the elevator.

Harris: Masculinity be damned, I miss you already

Eddie: The feeling is mutual. Hurry back to me.

Harris: I’m with you always, maybe not physically…

Other than my family and Sarah, I haven’t told anyone that I love them. Not because I think love is so unattainable, but I truly don’t think I’ve felt it for anyone. Definitely not Jared, or the other boyfriend I had before him. I’ve known him for a little less than a month, it’s unreal that I feel this way, but I want to dial Harris and tell him I love him.

Is this how I'm supposed to feel?

As quietly as possible, I unlock the front door and creep into our apartment. Silence greets me in the foyer, but I continue to use light feet to walk toward my bedroom. It’s barely seven yet, so Claire is most likely in her room. When I’m closer to our bedrooms, I strain my ears to the sound of the shower running. In my room, I soundlessly close the door, deposit my things on my dresser and climb into my bed.

If anyone ever asks me, I’ll deny this, but the truth is that it happened. Harris’ soft shirt smells just like him; I may have taken the one he wore last night to wear today (telling him I don’t want to mess up another shirt) just so I could snuggle up to his scent. I tug up the collar, taking a deep inhalation.

If Claire knows that I came into the apartment, she doesn’t let on when she leaves later. I am still snuggling into Harris’ shirt when the door clicks closed, for once not an obscene slam.

Across the room, my phone buzzes. At the thought that it might be Harris, I jump out of my cozy sheets and grab at my phone. It’s just Amanda, letting me know she is back in town and wondering if I can come over today with some fabric samples. She wants to meet around three, so I’ve got the morning to work on a new business proposal for the couple I recently met, and draft some blog posts.

A few hours later, I’m sitting in the posh McDaniel living room with a well-coiffed Amanda. Eyes clear of tears and mascara perfectly in place, she gives me a slight smile. “Can we forget that incident last week?”

I open my mouth to respond. Then close it. Then open it again.

If Amanda and I were closer friends, and she wasn’t a client, I might speak my mind but from her tone and the perfect housewife mask firmly in place, I decide it better to keep my opinions silent.

“What incident?”

She nods sharply and then a genuine smile crosses her face. “Now, let’s talk design.”

For two hours we discuss her home and avoid all unpleasant topics like adultery. 

I enjoy my time with Amanda, but it’s shallow. Underneath our conversation lies my desire to ask her about Peter, but she already told me that it’s in the past. I don’t know her well enough to stress my concern, but maybe in time. Holding on to the information makes me uneasy, but I will do what I need to maintain my business relationship with Amanda.

            A few hours later, when I return to the condo, I’m anxious. Claire probably guessed I was with Harris when I didn’t come home last night. The last time I stayed with him, she tried to sabotage our burgeoning relationship. Harris said they’ve talked it through, but I doubt Claire will retreat so easily.

            I sigh as I stand outside our apartment.

            Just go in.

When I unlock the front door at home, the apartment is eerily soundless. I quietly close the door behind me. As soon as it clicks shut and I’m halfway into our home, I hear it. First a smacking sound, like an open hand on skin and then a very female, lusty moan.

Should I stay or should I go?

There’s no one in the living area, but the telltale sounds of sex stream from Claire’s bedroom. On instinct, my eyes fly to her door. It’s partway open, and as I walk closer and closer I can make out Claire and her partner.

There, spread out with her bare breasts and stomach pressed to the mattress lies Claire. And then behind her, with his pants pooled around his ankles, stands Peter McDaniel, fucking his wife's best friend doggie style. For a few thrusts, the only sounds are his balls flapping against her ass.