Harper
Oh, my God! I can’t believe I just said that! I stare into the mirror in the bathroom, shocked by my own boldness.
Harper Ward would never have agreed to that proposition. And with such a dirty remark!
But then, maybe ArtIsMyLife33 would?
Somebody agreed to go home with Scott and suck his dick. Or I at least implied I was going to.
The chicken in me thinks of backing out. Scott would be polite about it, I know. The part of me who hasn’t been with a man in the six months since I broke up with that controlling asshole Jack? That part wants to ride that big cock I saw in the truck, right into the sunset.
I lock eyes with myself. “Who are you?” I murmur.
The door slams open, and two drunk, giggling guests come into the restroom. “Oh, my God, did you see Scott? He is still so dreamy.”
“Too bad he’s taken,” the other says.
Neither of them notice me, and I decide to keep it that way by slipping into a bathroom stall.
“Jessie says he is so good in bed. She says she’s never had anything like it before or since,” the first girl titters.
“Isn’t Jessie married?” the second girl asks.
“Yeah, she is now, but that doesn’t always mean it’s with your best lay.” The first girl is completely matter-of-fact about this. “She says his dick is huge, and he knows what to do with it.”
The second girl gasps. “Married women shouldn’t talk like that!”
“Pfft. Whatever. Women talk, Brianna. I mean, how else are we supposed to find the best dick?” the first woman scoffs.
“True. But Callie, if Jessie’s husband ever caught her talking like that…”
“It’d be a real shit day for Jessie. Oh! Maybe we should tell him what she said! That would be funny.”
I don’t think it will be funny at all. I shake my head in disapproval, not that they can see it. With friends like these, does Jessie really need enemies? I don’t even know the girl, and I feel sorry for her.
“Callie, that would be really bitchy, and you know it. You’re not that drunk,” Brianna says.
I can see Callie pouting as I peek through the door. She’s reapplying her lipstick. “Fine, fine. I’ll just see if I can’t get into Scott’s pants instead.”
“His girlfriend has been gone for, like, fifteen minutes. I don’t think that’s long enough for him to lose interest.” Brianna sighs at her friend.
“We’ll see. Where do you think she went anyway?” Callie asks.
I decide enough is enough. It’s one thing to talk about Scott’s prowess in bed, but no catty young brat is creeping up on my man, rented date or not. I push open the stall door and step out. “Hi,” I say cheerfully to the two women. “You must be Callie and Brianna? Nice to meet you.” I wash my hands since they probably assume I was peeing.
Callie gapes at me like a caught fish. Brianna bites her lip, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “Nice to meet you too… Harper, is it?” Brianna extends her hand to me.
“That’s right,” I confirm. “And I thought maybe I’d go tell Jessie what a great friend Callie is. It’s not every day you find someone with morals so low you can walk on them.”
“Wh-what?!” Callie screeches.
“Morals. M-O-R-A-L-S. It’s a set of rules a person lives by that make them a better person,” I say slowly to her as though she’s dumb. After what I’ve heard, she just might be slow on the uptake.
“You-y-you—!” Callie stutters.
Brianna puts an arm around her shoulders. Callie’s only reapplied half of her dark lipstick, and it shows. “I think you need to play with somebody more on your level,” Brianna says to Callie. “And give up on Scott.”
Callie raises her chin and flounces through the bathroom door with Brianna in her wake.
I wonder what Brianna is doing being friends with that cow, but it’s really not my business. I go back to looking at this new, bold me in the mirror.
“Yippee ki-yay, Farmer Scott.” I finally grin and go back out.
I find Scott standing near the punch bowl. He’s scolding two teenage boys and holding a flask above their heads.
“Wouldn’t be a wedding if someone didn’t try to spike the punch.” I smile at Scott.
“Yeah, well, these two little hellions aren’t getting away with it today,” he responds, frowning at his younger family members.
I step close to Scott and slide my hand over his chest and under the lapel of his jacket. “Have you made enough of an appearance? Because I want to see this organic farm of yours.”
The teenage boys smirk at each other.
Scott takes a swig, then hands them back the flask. “Have fun, boys. I’ll see you later.” He steers me over to Janet and Conner. “We’re heading out. Congratulations again!”
“Out? But we haven’t cut the cake yet!” Janet protests.
Conner clears his throat. “I think the romantic atmosphere might have convinced Harper she needs to go take a look at Scott’s… works of art.”
I blush. Scott grins.
“Works of art? What are you talking about. Scott doesn’t have any–oh!” Janet nods vigorously. “Yes, you should go.”
“Thanks for understanding.” Scott and I hug them both then head out to the truck.
The drive to his farm is blessedly short. I take off McKenzy’s shoes right as we get in the house. Scott shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over a chair. Then, we crash into each other’s arms, all hands and lips.
He pulls down the zipper at the back of my dress and peels it away. I fumble with the buttons on his shirt and finally get it open. The expanse of his muscular chest, sculpted by hard work, greets me, and I almost salivate.
I’m not wearing a bra so when my dress drops, my nipples harden, and Scott groans, dropping my dress to the floor, leaving me in white, lace panties and nothing else.
As he leans down to take my nipple between his lips, I know we’re not going to make it to the bedroom, and I don’t care. I unzip his pants and shove them down, along with his boxers, desire pulsing through me from where Scott’s lips and teeth are teasing me.
He lets his shirt drop from his arms and steps out of his pants and boxers. Now all our clothes are lying in a mess on the floor.
“On the couch,” he demands against my skin.
More than happy to comply, I lie down on his leather couch. The fabric is cool and sticks to my heated skin.
Scott pulls my panties off in one swift movement, tossing them aside. “Not like that,” he says. “Like this.”
He sits me upright and pulls my hips to the edge of the cushion, spreading my knees before him as he drops to his knees. I realize what he’s going to do just before it happens, and my eyes go wide with shock.
“You’re actually going to—”
“I’ve gotta suck on it until it’s done,” he replies, his blue eyes molten with lust.
“Oh, Jesus,” I whisper as Scott’s head descends between my thighs. The first brush of his tongue is like a lightning strike to my body. He sucks on my clit, occasionally pushing his tongue inside me and swirling it in a way that makes me see stars.
With my fingers tangled in his hair, I come hard against his mouth. Scott licks up my seam, tasting my pleasure.
He sits back on his heels, and I can see his cock standing straight and proud. There’s a little pearl of cum at the tip.
“Want me to return the favor?” I pant, licking my lips and wondering what he’s going to taste like.
“Yeah. I do. But I want to be inside you more,” he replies. “Fuck. Condoms are in the bedroom…”
“If you’re clean, I have an IUD, so…” I say, my legs still splayed wide for his viewing pleasure.
Scott draws a sharp breath. “Oh, thank God.” He tugs on my hips so I slide off the couch and into his lap.
I flick my finger over the tip of his cock and taste for myself what I’m missing out on today. “Next time?” I ask coyly.
“You’d better fucking believe it,” he responds, his eyes wide as he watches me taste him.
I hang onto his shoulders while he lines himself up, then sink down on his big, thick dick. I throw my head back, crying out. I’ve never had a dick this big.
“You okay?” he asks, his hands firm on my hips.
I nod vigorously. “Better than okay,” I wheeze. He’s so big, I have to ease him in gently.
He pushes up into me while pulling down on my hips, and goes even deeper. I dig my nails into his shoulders and start to move, riding him hard and fast.
We both climax at the same time, Scott’s warm cum shooting up inside me while my inner muscles clamp around his cock, milking it for every drop he can give me. We collapse in a heap, much like our clothes. Sweat pours off us as we pant and lightly caress each other, coming down together.
“Scott…” I pout after a while. “I still haven’t seen your works of art.”
He bursts out laughing. “Oh, yes you have, baby. That was the closest thing I have to a Van Gough. Now, let me show you my Monet.”
And we go for a second round.
* * *
Scott
Harper’s phone blinks. We’re lying under a blanket on the carpet next to the couch. She’s asleep.
I see it’s McKenzy with a whole lot of worried emojis. I’m not even sure she put actual words in there.
The screen goes black. Then lights up again with more emojis.
I nudge Harper. “I think your friend McKenzy thinks I’m an ax murderer.”
“Hmm?” She looks around blearily then spots her phone half under the couch. “Oh, shit. McKenzy!” She snatches her phone from under the couch and unlocks it with a swipe of her finger.
As she texts frantically back to her friend, I twirl a lock of Harper’s hair around my fingertips. It’s even softer than it looks.
“McKenzy was about to call the cops,” Harper groans, sliding her phone aside.
“Should I take you home?” I ask.
She raises an eyebrow at me, and I quickly amend, “I mean, only if you want me to. You can stay the night if you want to, and I really want to see you again. I owe you dinner, remember? You knocked it out of the park.”
Harper smiles and sits up. “I suppose McKenzy would feel better if she actually saw me. I made sort of made a promise to help clean the apartment tomorrow.”
“That sounds like more fun than a person has a right to.” I chuckle and sit up too. “I want to watch you get dressed.”
She laughs. “All right. You tell me where you threw my panties, and I’ll get the show going.”
“Oh, no,” I reply. “I’m keeping those.”
Her jaw drops. “You’re keeping my panties?”
“Just like any good Mississippi River Slasher would,” I tell her.
“Taking trophies already?”
I laugh and find her panties, handing them over to her. She takes them on and shakes her head.
I watch as she shimmies slowly into the lacy fabric. “Yep,” I observe. “I can definitely die happy now.”
Harper just as sexily slips back into her dress. She turns and bats her lashes at me. “Zip me up?”
I stand and put on my boxers before I zip up Harper’s dress. Her smile when she turns to look at me makes my heart skip a beat.
Shit. I’m in so much trouble.
*Harper*The studio is packed, with dozens of people filtering in and out, drinking champagne, admiring the work, and talking in hushed tones. McKenzy stands beside me, her eyes wide as she watches a well-dressed couple argue over who gets to buy one of her handmade pieces. Across the room, a small cluster of critics and collectors linger in front of one of my paintings, nodding thoughtfully. I feel like I might burst into a thousand bright, brilliant colors all over one of my canvases. After weeks of planning and stressing, we’re watching our dreams come true in real time.Damien, true to his word, has invited half the city… the important half, at that, the art world elite, the socialites, the people with bottomless bank accounts and a thirst for status are walking around our space, bidding for our work. I exhale, trying to ground myself, but McKenzy grabs my arm, squeezing hard.“Harper,” she whispers, “Michael Fucking Vernon is here.”I blink at her, confused for half a second bef
*Harper*I tell myself I’m being dramatic, but even as I try to talk myself down, my hands tremble where they rest on my lap. The air in the private box feels too still, like the whole stadium is holding its breath right along with me.I hate that my brain goes right to Jeff McNaught. I know he’s not supposed to be here. He’s suspended, kicked off the premises, and if he so much as buys a hot dog from a vendor outside the stadium, someone will recognize him.But logic doesn’t help. Maybe it’s just PTSD, but I’d clocked Jeff as a sleaze the second I met him, and he’s done nothing to help that. Our last encounter really left me shaken, and I’m genuinely terrified of facing him again.As long as the door stays closed, I tell myself I’m safe, even though the game has just ended. Thankfully, the 49ers won. I should go down to greet Rafe, but I decide to stay here and wait for Damien so I’m not navigating the stadium on my own.More than anything, I’m pissed at Damien for leaving me when he
*Damien*Harper sits across from me on the jet, barefoot, her legs tucked up under her like we’re on her beat-up couch instead of a leather seat that probably cost more than her apartment. She fits in my world about as well as a paint-splattered easel in a corporate boardroom, yet I still find her absolutely irresistible. I love the way she cracks me open, lets in sunlight where there used to be nothing but polished surface and empty space.She catches me staring and grins, her hair a messy halo around her face. “What? Did I spill soy sauce on my shirt again?”“No.” I sip my scotch, savoring the burn, the way it sharpens my focus. “I’m just admiring the view.”She rolls her eyes, but there’s a blush rising to her cheeks, and it kills me how easily I can get under her skin. No one else blushes for me. Not the models, not the debutantes, not the socialites who’d sell their souls to spend a night in my bed. Only her.San Francisco glows under a soft sunset by the time we land, and inste
*Scott*Harper’s been acting different all afternoon. It’s subtle enough that most people would miss it, but I know her too well. She’s smiling too tightly, laughing with a little too much energy, fidgeting in the way she only does when she’s trying to hide something. I could probably write a field guide to Harper Ward’s anxious ticks, and they’re all fully on display today.We’re hanging the last of her paintings in the studio, lining up each piece she’s created for her gallery showing. Harper’s perched on the step stool, holding a canvas while I measure and mark the wall. She’s so focused now, she’s barely breathing.“All right,” I say, stepping back. “That’s level.”“Great,” she says, but the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.I hand her the hammer, and she drives the nail into place with more force than necessary, her knuckles tight around the handle.“Okay, what’s going on?” I ask, leaning my shoulder against the wall. “Because if you hit that nail any harder, we’re gonna end up
*Harper*I stare at the dining table, wondering if I’ve overdone it. I’ve definitely overdone it. McKenzy, Melody, and I are the only three having dinner, but I’ve cooked enough for a small army. Roast chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, a side salad, and fresh bread with this fancy herb butter that McKenzy made sit on the table ready to be consumed. I even baked a peach cobbler because I remember Melody liking peaches when we were kids.I know it’s ridiculous since this is just a dinner to discuss baby shower plans, but my anxiety has forced me to create something that feels warm and welcoming, even if this entire situation is about as awkward as it gets. McKenzy peeks over my shoulder as I straighten a fork for the fourth time.“You want to tell me why you’re acting like you’re hosting the damn royal family?” she asks sarcastically.I snort. “Because I have no idea how this is going to go, and if it’s a disaster, at least I can feed her into a food coma,” I tell her honestly, laying
*Tomas*I know Harper well enough by now to see when stress is eating her alive, even when she tries to hide it behind that bright, brave smile. Her art show has been consuming every spare second of her time, and on top of that, she still acts like Carmen is going to jump out at her every time we’re out together.That’s why today is all about her.She has no idea what I have planned, and the look of surprise when I show up at her door with a coffee in one hand and a bag of pastries in the other makes me feel like I already won the day.“Buenos días, preciosa.” I kiss her cheek as she opens the door, stepping inside before she can protest. “I’m stealing you for the day.”She blinks at me, still in her robe, hair a messy knot on top of her head. “Stealing me? What do you mean?”“I made an itinerary.” I wave a folded piece of paper in front of her face, then set it on the counter. “You deserve a ‘you day,’ Harper. No painting, no stress. Just you being pampered like the queen you are.”H