TWENTY-ONE: You Know What I Want

I wake up naked on his couch with the softest blanket I've ever felt wrapped snugly around my body and tucked up to my chin.

I've woken from my sleep suddenly, for a split-second, not remembering where I am. I shoot up and look around the room, blanket falling from my chest and leaving me bare and exposed against the cool air. I sigh.

Right.

But where is Harlan? I furrow my brow, looking around the room. No one.

What time is it?

Standing up, I lean down to pick up my jacket and shuffle through the pocket to pull out my phone.

3:30 a.m.

I sling the blanket across my shoulders and hold it shut against my chest. If it is the middle of the night and Harlan isn't sleeping, there is only one thing I'm absolutely positive he would be doing.

Working.

I head up to the third floor, where he'd converted one of six bedrooms into a study. Sure enough, I find the door open and the light on, and when I step in, I find Harlan. He is typing away at his laptop. His eyes look glassy and tired. But at the same time, he still looks laser focused, switching between reading closely and intently, and typing at an impressive pace.

I lean against the doorway and watch him for some time. He looks peaceful and in his element: intense and gruelling. And then I realize that as he’s so intently focused on what he is doing, there isn't a chance he is going to notice I'm standing there.

I take a few steps forward to cross behind the desk so I stand beside him. I place a hand on the back of his head, running my hand through his hair gently. As soon as he feels my touch, he turns his face to look at me, his expression not softening.

My chest tenses and for a moment, and I panic internally.

Have I overstayed my welcome? Did he leave me on his couch to tend to his work with the expectation that I would see myself out?

But no... he has broken his own Julia-Roberts-rule of kissing me on the lips. Doesn't that make me Richard Gere at the end of "Pretty Woman?"

But then again, Harlan is the king of mixed signals. There is absolutely no fucking way of being able to tell what he wants me to do.

"Sorry," he murmurs, taking off his glasses and placing them beside his laptop before shutting it. I immediately calm, leaning closer against him. "I couldn't sleep knowing I had to finish all of this..." He gestures frustratedly towards his computer and leans back in his chair.

"You look tired," I whisper.

"Do I?" he asks in a low voice, one strong arm wrapping around my waist and gently tugging me until I gently fall into his lap. "Someone must have worn me out."

Slinging my arms around his neck, I grin and nuzzle myface into the warmth of his neck. He isn't angry with me for staying. He actually seems glad I'm still here.

I kiss the skin just below his ear and raise my head to look at him. My smile is unmistakable and radiant. Placing a hand on my cheek, he draws me in.

My eyes flutter shut just as I feel his lips press against mine. I relax in his arms and pull him tighter, pressing my body against him as I feel his hands roam to my shoulder and push the blanket off of me, shivering against the cool air. I hear it hit the floor in a soft heap and my eyes open. My fingers trail the line of his jaw and I pull away to look at him.

I brush a strand of hair from his forehead, gaze down at his tired expression, and sigh. "When's the last time you've slept?" I ask.

"Going on over 24 hours," he mutters, feeling a strand of hair in between his fingers. I feel his hand press against my cheek, thumb pulling down my chin ever so slightly. "You think just because you're growing on me, I'm gonna go easy on you?" he purrs, catching my lower lip in between his teeth and running his tongue over the soft skin.

I feel his hands catch my waist and his thumbs roll tender but deliberate circles against my hipbones before digging into the skin of my waist.

I breathe hotly against his mouth as the kiss intensifies and my brain goes foggy. I've come up here to find him and try to convince him to get some rest. The man is a complete workaholic. If I do anything other than drag him to bed, does that make me an enabler?

But with each slide of his tongue into my mouth and each dive of his lower lip, it becomes clearer and clearer that I'm not going anywhere. I'm not moving from his lap until he shoves me up against his desk or the wall or wherever the hell he wants me because the truth is: I'm putty underneath his hands. With Harlan, my sense of self-control is out the window and I'm his.

At least that truth is the same for him, too.

He growls against my lips; I can practically feel his blood boiling under his skin. He is all heat and intensity and darkness, and it draws me in and wraps me under his touch.

I shiver against him and in response, he runs his warm hands up and down my arms. I whimper softly and he gathers my hair in his hands, pulling back my head to kiss my neck. He bites into my skin and a small cry tumbles from my lips.

And then suddenly, he is standing, and I'm standing with him.

The second my ass hits the desk, he spins me around and pushes me forward. My hands land on either side of the laptop, palms pressing into the desk. He has one hand wrapped in my hair, pulling it towards him so my back is arched, my ass pressing firmly against the hardness in his pants.

"You know what I want," he hums against my ear. "And you know that I can take it."

I hold my breath, feel him against me, and for a few brief moments, everything is silent.