Harden My Hart

by Clare Connelly

  ‘Great.’ I push at the blazer she wears, angry with it for no reason I can think of, needing it off her body, needing everything off her body except for me. There is a compulsion driving me, a literal need, as though without her I will expire. She is my breath and my all in that moment, just for this moment, for the next hour or so.

  I drop the blazer at our feet and push her forward at the same time, my fingers fumbling for the buttons of her shirt. When I can’t open them quickly I growl and push at the fabric so it’s fisted in my hands and a couple of buttons pop off.

  ‘Jesus...’ She laughs, a husky sound that draws across my throat. I don’t even notice. She’s wearing a cotton shirt over her bra but I can see the fabric, I can see the indented valley of her breasts and I rage with a need to feel her in the palms of my hands, just as I have since almost the first moment I saw her—really saw her.

  I push at her shirt, my hands expressing my desperate need, so she laughs and shakes her head at the same time. ‘What’s your rush?’ But she lifts her hands over her head, her lips parted, so I feel her own hunger is as powerful as mine.

  I discard the shirt and then unhook her bra, making an audible groan of relief when it’s dispensed with and her beautiful, full breasts are before me, so round and pale, the dusky aureoles calling to me.

  ‘Fuck me,’ I mutter, my eyes almost accusing as they flick to hers before I give the full force of my attention back to her breasts. I lift my hands, savouring this moment, warm and full in my hands, my fingers finding her nipples, running over those sensitive points until her breath catches and her hips sway forward, my fingers moving a little harder, tracing circles at first and then squeezing her nipples until she pants my name, pushing her hips forward, seeking more, needing more relief than this. So I drop my head, pulling one of her nipples between my teeth, stretching it then rolling it with my tongue before sucking on it until she’s crying out and I can barely take another moment.

  I’ve always been good at this. Sex. Fucking. I’ve had a lot of practice—since the first time I lost myself in a woman. I was fifteen, she was eighteen, and I was less than spectacular. Fortunately, she let me practice that whole summer and by the end I knew I was good. And I like it. But not just because coming is the closest thing to whole I’ve ever felt. I like making women come. I like watching their faces. I love pleasuring them and hearing a goddamned woman like Cora screaming my name is pretty much what I live for.

  Sometimes I rush it. Sometimes fast, and once, is more than enough. I can do the job in ten minutes. But I don’t like to. And with Cora what I’d really like to do is draw this out. I don’t know why but she spurs something in my gut that makes me want to tease her and torment her. She made me wait before, when I was horny as fuck, and now I want to make her wait.

  I reach for her pants, pulling them down her legs, holding them as she steps out of them, but leaving her underpants in place. It’s a simple black thong, hardly the last word in sophisticated seduction, but it gets my heart galloping inside of me anyway, or maybe that’s what the thong’s concealing, what it’s doing to her thighs, her butt. I need to hold that too. I reach around, curving my hands over her rear, feeling her roundness, drawing her towards me and burying my head in the curve of her neck, breathing in her soft hair, letting my tongue shift forwards to lick her flesh, to taste her, to savour her.

  ‘Enough preamble.’ Her words are throaty. ‘I came in here to sleep with you.’

  I feel a burst of something like amusement because her directness is somehow surprising, and yet it’s not. Maybe that’s what I like about her? In our first conversation together she showed she wasn’t intimidated by me, nor was she particularly impressed by me.

  ‘Really? I came in here to talk about global warming.’ I curve my hands into the elastic of the thong.

  She pushes at my shirt now, her own curiosity overtaking her, or perhaps she wants to speed this along, with no idea she’s fighting a losing battle there because I don’t want to be rushed. Cora is an experience best served long and slow.

  ‘I’m going to fuck you,’ I promise as she strips my shirt then turns her attention to my jeans. ‘I’m going to fuck you so slowly you can’t bear it. I’m going to let my cock ride you bit by bit until you’re begging me for more and I’ll give it to you, but only when I’m good and ready. I’m going to make you whimper for the release I can give you, baby.’

  I feel her shiver against me and grin and as she pushes at my jeans, freeing them from my body, I let my hands push aside the fabric of her underwear, my palm pushing over her sex, just like I did before. ‘You’re so wet.’ I run a finger over her seam, her heat pulling a drop of cum from my tip, so when her hands find my boxers and push them down she must feel it.

  ‘I’m not the only one.’

  ‘Damn straight.’ And I step forward, tumbling her onto the bed, but I don’t follow with her. I stand above her, looking down, my eyes devouring the feast that is Cora Andersson naked. Her body is creamy pale with the exception of her rosebud nipples and the ash hair at the apex of her thighs, her skin soft like a rose petal. Her breasts, when she’s lying down, are soft—definitely real. Her hair, dark like the night, contrasts with her skin and the sheets and all I can think is that I have a real life X-rated Snow White in my bed.

  The plane bumps a little, but I barely feel it. Finally I get rid of her underpants, then grip her thighs, pulling on them just hard enough to draw her to the edge of the bed. I kneel between her legs, my intention clear. She makes a little sound of surprise but I don’t let go. I haven’t shaved in days, not by choice so much as I’ve been pretty much drunk since Wednesday of last week.

  I run my stubbled face over her inner thigh but when she jerks her legs in response I hold her completely still, her beautiful pussy in front of my face, and I stare at her perfection because I’m a connoisseur and she is something else, but a second later her hands are in my hair, pulling me towards her clit so I grin, and even though I’m desperate to taste her, to make her come with just my mouth, I still want to tease her, to make her pay for making me wait, so I resist her guidance and turn my face, nuzzling her thigh some more, holding her legs wide for me even as her ticklish response has her jerking her legs away. I position my face between her legs and expel a long, slow breath so she stills, waiting for me to give her more of that. I do, another breath, but no touching.

  ‘You are so beautiful.’ I grin, kissing the soft flesh of her inner thigh, letting my tongue trace circles there. She’s not pulling away from me now. Her breathing is so loud I can hear it over the jet engines.

  ‘Put your money where your mouth is.’ There’s a hint of complaint in the words.

  ‘My mouth is here.’ I bite her inner thigh, just lightly, but she squawks. ‘And here.’ I transfer to the other thigh. She moans this time, arching her back. She’s desperate for me, her sex so pink, gleaming, begging for my touch. But tormenting her is way too fucking fun.

  ‘Do you want me to touch you?’ I ask, my hands on her thighs moving in circles, my fingers massaging her flesh so she mumbles something incoherently.

  ‘Do you want me to taste you?’

  ‘God, yes, please!’

  The desperation in her voice almost breaks me.

  ‘Tell me what you like,’ I suggest almost casually, like I’m not desperate to get my mouth on her.

  ‘I like—I like—’

  ‘Mmm?’ I lick the fold of skin at the very top of her thigh, so close to her vagina that she twists, trying to push herself into my mouth.

  ‘Do you want me to lick you? Suck you?’

  ‘I don’t... I don’t know.’

  I move to the other leg, tracing the fold of flesh there, letting my tongue drift low, towards the curve of her buttock, and her hands push over my scalp, her nails scratching my shoulders, her desperation so fucking hot.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she says
again, shaking her head, trying to move thighs I have resolutely clamped in place. ‘I don’t remember the last time a guy was down there.’

  That pulls me out of what we’re doing. I lift my head so I can meet her eyes, but she’s staring up at the ceiling. ‘Why not?’

  No answer. I flick my gaze back to her pussy, my cock jerking painfully. This is a vagina that deserves to be worshipped.

  ‘Just...because.’

  ‘You don’t like it?’

  ‘I think I will,’ she groans then pushes up on her elbows and fixes me with a stare that I barely notice because I’m so busy with the flush of her cheeks and the fullness of her lower lip, like she’s been tormenting it with her teeth. ‘Show me what you’re made of and I’ll let you know.’

  ‘So I’ve got the pressure of all mankind on me now?’

  ‘Yeah, you’re officially an ambassador for oral sex so show me what you can do, Holden Hart.’

  She is weirdly unique and fascinating. I push my face further forward so my lips are just touching her flesh. I can feel the frantic rushing of her blood; my thumb, on her inner thigh, is so close to her pulse point. I run my hands down her legs, finding her ankles and lifting them to the bed, pushing her legs wider so I have full access to her, and then I let my tongue—finally—part her seam slowly, lightly, tormenting her even now with the insufficiency of this. My tip follows her curves, her dips, mapping her terrain, finding what excites her, my fingers working at her thighs, and then I press my tongue to her clit, running it in circles, slowly at first and then more urgently so she’s crying out, my name filling the cabin, her desperation everything I needed.

  I close my mouth over her clit and begin to suck, pulling it into my mouth then releasing it, moving my tongue lower, letting it sink inside of her so she bucks sharply then drives her hands through my hair, her legs lifting of their own accord and pressing to my face, holding me where I am—not that I’d go anywhere, anyway. My hands have let go; they’re seeking their own exploration. My fingers follow my tongue’s path, separating her seam, pushing inside of her while my mouth returns to her clit. She tastes like heaven. I move my fingers in and out, gently, slowly. Her sex is so tight I’ve got no idea how I’m going to fit inside her, but I will.

  ‘Shit, Holden, don’t stop. Whatever you do, please, don’t stop.’

  ‘Come, baby.’ I move my fingers faster and right as she’s on the brink I drop them, taking over with my tongue, moving furiously, fast, so she explodes against my mouth and I feel every single damned reverberation of her body as she rides the orgasm, pleasure making her shake, her body heaving with the intensity of what she’s just felt.

  I stay where I am, my mouth wringing every last drop of pleasure from her before I kiss my way up her stomach to nuzzle between her breasts. Her hands are softer on my head now, patting me like I’m a dog and I’ve done a good job for her. I grin, shifting to one of her nipples and pulling it into my mouth.

  She makes a little noise but her eyes are closed, her cheeks pink. I pull myself up so I’m level with her face, and only then does she turn to face me. Her face is pink, her eyes fevered, her breasts moving with each puff of air she draws into her lungs. ‘That was...unexpected.’

  I move my finger to her hip, idly tracing circles there, my eyes following my finger’s path.

  ‘Are you...’ Her voice carries a frown, so I lift my eyes to her face to find her watching me with an obvious expression of confusion.

  ‘Am I?’

  My hand wanders higher, to the gentle curve above her hip, then higher, to the side of her breast.

  ‘Done?’

  A laugh is trapped, deep in my throat. ‘Done? I haven’t even started, Cora.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  One hour out of Sydney.

  Thirty minutes before descent is commenced.

  IF IT’S AT ALL possible for a human being to leave the mortal coil whilst remaining alive, to explode from any constraint of body and bone, to break free from the cells of their existence and morph into something else, then I am doing that. I am no longer Cora Andersson. I am a part of a star or a piece of flotsam in the orbit of earth, filled with colours and sensations and feelings but no earthly inhibitions. I feel my body in a way I never have before. I feel each breath, not as a breath that serves purely to inflate and oxygenate, but as a weight travelling through my windpipe and into my diaphragm. My blood is solid, tangible, pulsing inside of me so I’m aware of it passing through each of my cells and veins. Every organ is brighter and more intense, my heart, my stomach, my lungs, my eyes. There is a vividness to my surroundings that I cannot explain but which sustains me.

  And yet I’m drowning too, dying and desperate, needing Holden to take full possession of my body in a way his body has been promising he will for so long that I cannot put a time on it. There is no time in this abyss I’ve moved to.

  I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve said his name, of how many times I’ve cried ‘Please...’ without any real idea what I’m asking for, knowing only that I need something he’s uniquely placed to give.

  I’m barely conscious. A combination of exhaustion and now the kind of sexual satisfaction and tension I could never have conceptualised have made me heavy with the weight of feelings. And I’m more alive and alert than I’ve ever been, my awareness of every pump of blood through my body makes me feel poised for action.

  The plane dips. I feel it in my stomach, as always. I’m programmed to feel every shift, noticing is instinctive to me, even before this insane hyper-awareness kicked in.

  ‘I want...’ The words trip from my mouth. I push up onto my elbows to find him watching me, his grey eyes like steel, so something shifts in my gut. This man is...what? I can’t find a word to describe him. I am losing all my words; maybe even my mind.

  ‘You want me to fuck you,’ he prompts, his voice gravelled, his cheeks stained a dark purple, his cock as hard as it was when I pulled his pants from his body a very long time ago. Since then he has dragged his mouth over every inch of my body, making me come again and again, with his fingers, his mouth, with the promise of his cock.

  I nod, my hand curling around his arousal so his head whips to face me quickly.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’

  Fascinating.

  ‘Why not?’

  He pushes up on his elbow so we’re side to side, matching bookmarks, and his eyes bore into mine with a look of sheer determination.

  ‘Because I won’t be able to fuck you if you make me come.’ He leans forward and presses a harsh kiss to my mouth, driving me back against the bed. A moment later he pulls away, but only for a second; he’s back with a condom, which he tears open and slides over his length, his eyes holding mine. There’s a challenge and a question in them, as though even now, after the way he’s driven me to the edge of sanity, I might not actually want him, want this.

  ‘Don’t even think about changing your mind,’ I say firmly, reaching my hands up as he leans forward, bringing his body over mine.

  ‘Do you think that’s likely?’

  I shake my head and hold my breath, because his tip is between my legs, his possession so close I’m incapable of anything but waiting, of needing. Longing has overtaken me. My body is marked by his touch. Red on my breasts from his beard, between my thighs, purple bruises from where he’s kissed me and sucked my flesh until blood has discoloured the surface.

  He presses forward but only by degrees—it’s in no way enough. I am hungry to feel all of him. Every single part of him. I lift my hips, taking him deeper, but he pulls back, his eyes clashing with mine, strength and warning in every line of his face.

  I get the message. He wants to do this. It’s his game. And while he’s been playing it in such a way that I’m the winner, it goes against the grain to surrender completely. I like to run the game too. So I lift my hands to his chest, pushi
ng him. Surprise is the only advantage, the only reason I’m able to topple him onto his back. I grin, my eyes meeting his with a matching challenge, and before he can question what I’m doing I straddle him and move down his length.

  But, Christ.

  I have to go slowly too because he’s huge and it’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone, and the feeling is somewhat foreign at first. I take my time, aware that he’s watching me, his breath hissing out from between his teeth, and I get comfortable bit by bit, then move lower until finally I’m sitting on his hips, his cock buried inside of me. I stay like that, giving my body every opportunity to adjust to this, then he flicks his hips so I laugh, but the noise quickly transforms to a moan. I lean forward, my breasts crushed to his chest, fingers digging into his shoulders—I have marked his body in all the ways he’s marked mine. Scratches abound. There’s a bite mark on his hip.

  I find his lips, kissing them slowly as I move up and down, not quickly, just gently—this is an exploration more than anything else—but it’s not enough for him and I have to remind myself that I’ve come several times while he has been all that is attentive and patient. His hands grip my hips and he’s moving me easily, guiding me up and down his length so my already sensitive body, my overstretched feelings ring like wind chimes in a storm. I drop my head to his shoulder, kissing him, biting him, tasting his salty flesh and then he rolls us so I’m beneath him, the weight of his body atop mine instantly delightful.

  Like this, he’s so much deeper and his thrusts are harder so I’m crying out in seconds, digging my heels into the mattress to get purchase, pushing my hips up as he drives into me. My nails run down his back and then his mouth is crushing mine, his kiss dominating every single one of my senses.

  Heat fills my veins; my eyes are laced with stars. His name fills my mouth, pushes to his mouth and he kisses it right back into my soul. ‘I’m coming,’ I whimper, because the fiercest orgasm of them all is gripping me, and this time I’m not alone.