Until now.
"Sh—"
Before the words "show me" had fallen entirely from her lips, Dash was on her.
The kiss was nothing like the kisses earlier that day.
This moment had in it only raw, wide-open passion.
She felt everything that Dash had been feeling, everything he'd been bottling up for so long, there in his kiss. He gripped her face so tight she had no choice but to let him control the kiss. And she didn't want any other option.
Harper and Dash were beyond tasting and teasing now. The need felt almost bloodthirsty.
She once again fisted his tee-shirt.
He pulled away from the kiss. "Dig your nails in when you do that."
He grunted in pleasure when she did exactly as he said. "Good, but harder."
He returned to kissing her, but she said, "I don't have a lot of nails to speak of."
"Maybe this will help," he said, reaching back and pulling his tee-shirt off over his head and tossing it aside.
Eyes roaming his chest, she could now see how rapidly he breathed. She had known this person her entire life. They had run with different friends as kids, but they had always ended up in each other's vicinity. The two of them had swum near each other at the city pools, at the beach at Newcastle Pier. She'd seen the guy shirtless countless times. But this was different. Now she saw…him. She saw hard edges and slopes she wanted to touch and caress, skin she wanted to feel against hers.
Once again, his lips owned her, claimed her.
Harper's hands grazed over his bare shoulders and down over his arms. She noticed the muscle better with her eyes closed. He was tall and rangy but so strong. His sculpted muscles stood out in relief as if an artist had carved him in stone. His ropey arms trapped her like a bird.
He pulled away again, and Harper yipped out in pain. She hadn't wanted the kiss to end. Dash cupped her face and gazed at her tenderly, a gaze that she had never thought was possible for Dash.
"I don't want to stop kissing you, but take off your undies."
She suddenly felt strange and vulnerable. "You want me to take off my top too?"
His face darkened, and he rumbled, "Don't need your shirt off, what I'm about to do to you. But you do you, sweetheart."
She smiled and said, "I'm not wearing anything under this nightgown."
Dash groaned as if that information was the worst torture. "Fuck…me."
She watched as he dug the condom out of his wallet but politely turned away as soon as he dropped his jeans and underwear to roll it on, pretending to take an extra-long time to retrieve a small bottle of lube from the side table. When Dash saw what she was doing, he held out his hand. "Here, let me."
"Dash, I am competent—"
He grunted, "Give. Me. The bottle."
Harper grudgingly did as he said, then watched in wonder as he opened up the bottle and squirted some on his hands, then rubbed it with his fingers. He was warming it up for her…and her brain shorted out at this simple courtesy. How low have my standards been that this act of warming up lube makes me want to cry?
Harper felt bowled over at how this man she thought she knew alternated between intense passion and frustration to consideration and care. She liked both sides. She needed both sides.
She craved all of him. Whether that craving went beyond the physical, she didn't know. She might not find out today or tomorrow, but for now, the sheer physicality of him was more than she could handle.
She watched as he applied the lube on himself, then turned to her, spreading her legs, watching as her nightgown fell away.
She braced herself for his touch against her bare, damp skin. Such incredibly intimate contact was so unexpected, it should have freaked her out. Dash kept his eyes trained on her the whole time, reading her reactions to how he took control of pleasing her, reassuring her while also readying her body.
What a complete mystery he was.
Her throat felt as dry as the desert as he massaged her sex. Dragging his fingers through her wetness, he found her clit. The contact pulled a raspy moan from Harper's lips. Dash strummed it once, twice, and then brought his hand to his lips, popping his pinky into his mouth. When he sucked, she could see in the light from the streetlamp outside that his eyes had rolled back in his head.
"Oh my god. Fuck me," she whispered.
"Oh, I'm gonna. Lie back, sweetheart."
Nestling between her legs, she felt the hard rod getting squeezed between their bodies.
"Pull my hair?" he asked.
Eyes wide, Harper wove her fingers into his long, dirty-blond locks. Cupping the back of his head firmly, she tugged.
Dash's eyes went dark. "You're holding back, Harper."
"No, I'm not," she said.
"That's not the firecracker I know."
"Make me."
He raised one eyebrow and said, "I guess the firecracker is all outta spark tonight."
"Fuck you, give me that hair." Harper tugged harder. Dash blurted out a curse, and then a wicked smile spread across his face.
The girth of him when he slipped inside her made her understand his prowess with the lube. He went slowly, stretching her out. He leaned down and spoke softly into her ear. "I'm gonna fuck you so good, you won't remember how much you hate my guts."
His hair tickled against her neck when he spoke, and she gathered up all of that hair in her fists. When he backed out of her, she pulled.
She used his hair to pull him closer each time he backed out slowly.
"Stop teasing me and fuck me," she rasped.
"Pull harder."
"I can't. I'm going to hurt you, Dash."
"You can't hurt me any worse than years of making me watch you walk away."
What was he trying to do, make her cry?
One thing was sure; he was building her need, making her want more; every time he went in, he stopped just a smidge before reaching the
