by Vivian Wood
Harper just moaned again. He felt her muscles clench his finger.
“Tell me why,” he said.
“You,” she whispered.
“Louder,” he commanded.
“You make me wet,” she said. He trailed a finger along her G-spot and felt the rush of wetness slip out of her. With his other hand, he gripped her hair and pulled, fast and hard.
As Harper’s head lifted and her back arched, he started to fuck her with his hand. She gasped writhed beneath him. God, she was exquisite. Her slender shoulders and the swell of her back below him was a vision.
Sean stopped when he knew she was close, and leaned down. “This time was just to see if you could do what you’re told,” he said into her ear. “And you passed with flying colors. Here,” he said, and removed his finger from her. “Taste yourself.”
Harper parted her lips, hungry and sucked as he slipped his dripping finger into her mouth.
“Stay like this,” he said, and lowered himself onto the bed. On his back, between her legs, he gripped her hips and lowered her onto his face.
Her engorged clit told him she wouldn’t last long. Even as her thighs squeezed his face tight, he could hear her cries. “I’m coming,” she panted. He felt her try to lift up, but he clenched her tighter.
She flooded his face and he lapped up her wetness greedily. He teased her clit with light licks, delighted in the tremors that overtook her. Easily, he pulled her down towards him and wrapped the black silk covers over them. He kissed her deep, wanted her to taste her come on his lips.
“Is it your turn now?” she asked, still dazed from the orgasm.
Sean shook his head. “Another time,” he said.
She didn’t argue—but he knew she wouldn’t. There was something special about her, a connection he’d never had with anyone. He’d had glimpses of it before, with girls who were self-declared subs. But those so-called relationships were purely sexual. There was something deeper with Harper.
In comfortable silence, they stayed below the covers. He listened to her breath start to go steady. Harper shifted. “I’m going to fall asleep if we stay much longer,” she said.
“Okay.” He pulled her up. “Stay,” he instructed.
Sean gathered up her clothes, and bent down to let her step into the thong. Carefully, he slipped her bra on and rolled the dress up her lithe body. He tucked her wild hair behind her ears and kissed her softly on the cheek.
As they walked back down the foyer, he barely registered the group sex, the girls with the strap-ons, or the full glory holes. He was wrapped in the fog of being with Harper.
The valets rushed for the car, but he shooed them away to open the car door for her himself.
Both were silent on the drive back, but when he looked at her, he noticed her knees were slightly parted. Her palms faced up in her lap and her lips had a sliver of space between them. She was open, ready and willing at any moment for him—and her body expressed that.
Sean jumped out of the car when he pulled up to her house to walk her to the door. The front porch light was out, but the moon lit up the idyllic curves of her face. He cupped her jaw gently and raised her mouth to his.
“Goodnight,” he whispered. He could still taste her sweetness that lingered on her lips.
15
Harper
Google autofilled her search. “Sean Cavanaugh.” It’s not like she expected to find anything new, but she couldn’t help it. Thoughts of Sean filled every moment, and even the slightest clue about who he was made her feel a little more whole.
Not that Google offered much in terms of clues. She thought there might be some kind of connection to a wealthy family back east, but couldn’t be certain. Cavanaugh wasn’t like Jones or Smith, but it wasn’t wholly unusual, either.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Sean had texted the morning after their outing. “Everything okay?”
Her heart flipped when she saw the text. “Morning! Yes, all good. You?”
He didn’t reply. Her phone was insufferably silent all morning. Finally, she texted P and told him everything—well, almost everything.
“What did you think it meant??? And why didn’t he reply?” she asked.
“You’re obsessing,” P told her. “Can we please talk about anything besides your badass tattoo boyfriend? Like how about the show?”
She’d ignored that text from P. If he wasn’t going to indulge her, she’d have to find another way to distract herself. Fortunately, a long-term client popped up just in time to keep her mind on something besides Sean’s body. His commands. The way he could control her.
“Can you come in for a fitting?” the client’s new assistant asked over the phone. “Today would be great.”
“Uh, sure,” Harper said. “But it’s the same as last time.”
“We’d just like to be certain.”
We? Who the hell did this assistant think she was?
Harper thought it would be a quick, informal measuring but when she showed up she was directed to the back of a line of willowy models. She looked around for a familiar face, but everyone was different. Younger. Taller and hotter. When she did glimpse the designer, he barely acknowledged her. “Harper!” he said as he rushed past. “I … almost didn’t recognize you.”
What the fuck did that mean?
When she finally made it to the front of the line, the bitchy assistant wrapped the tape around her waist, close to her navel. “My natural waist is higher—”
“I know what I’m doing,” the assistant said. She scratched some notes on her pad. “I thought you said your measurements were the same as before.”
“They—”
“Next!” the assistant screamed, and brushed Harper away like she was an annoying insect.
Harper waited until she was outside to check her reflection in the phone. Maybe the assistant was right. Her face did look kind of puffy. How much weight had she put on?
She’d avoided the scale after Molly had caught her weighing herself for the fifth time in one day. “That thing’s taking over your life,” Molly said.
“I just need to see,” she’d argued.
Molly shook her head vehemently. “You want to watch your weight, take measurements. I’m throwing this thing out.”
As she stormed back to the house, she pulled out her phone again. A text was waiting from P. “Bitch, why are you ghosting me? You know you have your read receipts on.”
She smiled. “Sorry,” she said. “I just had a shit measurement with a client. Indulge me in my obsession just a little bit more.”
“Audible sigh and eye roll,” P replied. “You have five minutes.”
Harper switched to speech-to-text. “Okay,” she said. “You know how I told you he was going to take me to a party last night? It was a sex club, but like a private party.”
“What? Good girl gone bad. I like it,” P replied. “So what are you doing at a go-see? I figured you’d be fucked good and out all day.”
“I probably should have been.”
“Did he make you cum?”
Harper blushed. “Yeah,” she admitted. “But I couldn’t even get his pants off.”
“Well that’s weird.”
She worried her lip. Harper couldn’t stop thinking about how hard he’d made her orgasm, and how much she wanted him. As the text box filled with ellipses from P, she passed a storefront on De Longpre Avenue that doubled as a mirror. Oh, my God. Is that what I look like? Her stomach was definitely bigger than it had ever been, and her thighs looked the size of a horse’s. I am fat. The assistant was right.
“Girl, you need to text him,” P said.
“I did! This morning, he didn’t reply. Remember?”
“Who cares? Text him again. Men like knowing they’re wanted too, you know.”
Maybe P was right. “What should I say?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
As she rounded the corner towards her house, she scrolled to Sean’s name. �
�Wyd?” she texted.
Immediately, he replied. “Just off work. You hungry? Dinner?”
The last thing she wanted to do was eat, but she couldn’t resist the chance to see him. “Sure.”
“Mel’s?” he asked. “Want me to pick you up?”
“No, it’s okay. Will meet you there.”
By the time she arrived, he was already there and had claimed a table outside the little glass drive-in. Sean stood as she approached and let her slide in.
“What can I get you two?” the waitress asked. Her white shirt and bow tie reminded Harper of the other night.
“We’ll have the wet fries and short rib sliders,” Sean said. He snapped the menu shut and handed it to the waitress.
Harper raced to figure out the calorie count in her head. She had no idea. A lot. What he’d ordered was so off the charts for her she’d never bothered to try and calculate it. And how the hell am I supposed to find the foundation with beige-colored food?
As she tried to figure out some kid of astronomical number to attach to the order, she was shaken out of the stupor by his hand on her thigh. She mewled as he pinched and squeezed her flesh. The loose skirt she’d worn to the fitting made for easy under the table play.
“Quiet,” he whispered.
She looked around at the cars packed with people and the little trays balanced on the windows. Every other table that flanked the restaurant was full, but nobody seemed to pay them any mind.
Slowly, Sean made his way up her thigh to her slip of a thong. With a single twist around his finger, the material tightened against her center. She let out a small gasp.
He leaned towards her. “You’re getting wet already,” he told her. Sean pressed his thumb hard against her clit and she squirmed in the seat. “I’d love to eat that pussy right now.”
He kissed her neck as he dipped a finger into her folds.
“That’s a good girl,” he said as she opened her thighs wider. He slipped another finger into her and she moaned. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked.
She was embarrassed, but grabbed his wrist to try and keep him inside her. “No,” she said quietly. “Keep going.”
“Please,” he corrected.
“Please,” she repeated.
Suddenly, their waitress appeared. As she approached their table, Sean released his hand. He tucked into the fries as if nothing had happened.
He’s teasing me, she realized. Harper reached over and rested her hand on his crotch. He stopped and stiffened immediately. She cupped his balls and worked her way up the length of his cock. Even through the denim, she could gauge the impressive size. It made the wetness between her thighs flow onto the bench.
Sean reached into his pocket, threw some cash onto the table and stood up. “Come,” he said.
She jumped up and followed him obediently to the park across the street. Behind the small brick shed that stored gardening tools, Sean unzipped his jeans with ease. Harper looked around to see if anyone was there, but Sean snapped his fingers at her. “Keep your eyes on me,” he said.
He released his cock from his jeans and Harper fell to her knees. It was perfect, he was perfect. Sean raked her hair back from her face as she grasped his shaft and licked the pre-cum. “That’s good,” he told her.
She ran her tongue along his length before she took his tip into her mouth. He let out a soft moan. “Take it,” he told her. “You can do better than that.”
Harper worked his cock to the back of her throat. “That’s it,” he said. “You want that cock? Show me,” he said.
With every word, he turned her on more. The nothing of a thong, her usual for go-sees and measurements, was soaked.
“You want my come?” he asked her. She made hungry, desperate sounds. More than anything, she thought. She craved him more than she had anything before.
“Not yet,” he said, and gently pushed her away. She was forced to release him from her mouth. “Stand up,” he said.
She didn’t even have a chance to brush the dirt from her knees before he pressed her against the brick wall. With one cheek against the rough material, he stood behind her and slid two fingers into her. Harper called out, and didn’t give a damn if anyone heard her. “Come for me,” he whispered into her ear. “Right now, I’m telling you to come for me.”
Harper choked out his name as she came on his hand. He buried his fingers deep inside her as she rode out the orgasm.
“Please,” she said. “I want to finish you. Please let me.”
He released his fingers and she looked over her shoulder. He just shook his head. “I’ll walk you to your car,” he said. Sean sucked her juices from his fingers as he started back towards the parking lot.
“But why?” she asked as she ran to catch up to him.
“Why?” he asked harshly. “Why are you questioning me?”
She looked down, ashamed. When they got to her car, he kissed her lightly on the lips, turned and walked away.
16
Sean
“Gorgeous morning, sweetheart,” Sean texted Harper the day after their tryst in the park. As always, she replied immediately. Harper hinted about seeing him that day, but he sidestepped her suggestions.
“Tell me what you’re wearing,” he texted the following day. Her reply was unbelievable, complete with details of strappy black garters and a cup-less bra. “Show me,” he’d replied, and immediately a photo followed. Either she changed unbelievably fast, or she’d been honest. He hoped with everything he had that it was the latter.
Joon-Ki interrupted their text conversation. “Am I going to see you at noon?” he asked.
Shit. It had been awhile since he’d been to a meeting. “I’ll be there,” he said. Joon-Ki replied with a smiley face.
The meeting was insufferable. How many times can I listen to the same old stories? When it was his turn, he chose not to share—and tried to avoid the look of disappointment on Joon-Ki’s face.
“So, how’s it going with the girl?” Joon-Ki asked as they broke for coffee and doughnuts. “You still seeing her?”
“Something like that,” Sean said.
“Well. Just remember what I said.”
Take it slow. I should get a medal for how goddamned slow I’ve been taking it. After the meeting, he rushed away and brushed off Joon-Ki’s offer of dinner. “I’ve got, uh, some stuff to take care of.”
“The girl?” Joon-Ki asked, with a raised brow.
“No, no. Work,” he said.
“Oh, okay.”
Joon-Ki didn’t need to know it was his day off. Sean raced home and took the black plastic bag out of the closet. He knew he’d use it, but at the same time he couldn’t stop thinking about taking Harper on a proper date. What the fuck is wrong with me?
But he knew what it was. Breaking into the goodie bag would require genuine trust. A delve into the underbelly of who and what he was. Maybe if it was softened with a real date, he wouldn’t be so ashamed.
Sean opened his laptop and searched for the nicest hotels in Los Angeles. Something small, something with a pool. Something where he’d see her in a bikini. Like a normal fucking guy would want.
He booked the Gable and Lombard penthouse at the Hollywood Roosevelt. The “eat, stay, play” motto of the hotel drew him in. If the 3,200 square foot penthouse was good enough for Clark and Carole, surely it would make do for what he had in mind. Three levels with a rooftop patio, panoramic views of Hollywood and vintage charm was exactly what he needed.
You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, he thought as he entered the card information. That was true. But he did know he had to have Harper, and soon.
“Busy tonight?” he texted her.
“Nope, just finishing up a go-see now.”
“Meet me at the Hollywood Roosevelt. Penthouse suite at 6,” he said.
If she was impressed, her reply didn’t show it. “I’ll be there.”
“Bring something for the pool.”
He arrived early to ge
t the lay of the suite. Sean unpacked his bag and hid the toys in the bedside table, right beside the bible.
This penthouse has seen some shit, he thought as he took it in. It was stunning and classic, but there were small, tell-tale signs of raucous partying. But it hasn’t seen anything like what I’m going to do in it.
A knock came at the door right at six o’clock. Harper was dressed in an almost-transparent black swimsuit coverup with black beading at the neckline. Massive sunglasses rested on her nose and complicated black strappy heeled sandals criss-crossed up her ankles.
“Ready to get wet?” he asked her.
She smiled. “Always.”
Miraculously, they had the pool to themselves. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she pulled off the cover-up to reveal a skimpy black string bikini beneath. As she lowered herself into the water, he saw the bottoms were a European cut that her ass nearly swallowed.
He was already hard beneath his trunks by the time the water reached his chest. Sean splashed at her playfully. “Hey!” she said. “I just got this blown out.”
“You just blew what?”
“My hair,” she said with a laugh.
“That’s right. It’s your job to always look so goddamned hot.”
She blushed and looked away. “It’s kind of your job, too,” she said. “I’m sure there are more people lining up for a hot tattoo artist to ink them rather than the stereotypical fat biker dude.”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“What does your family think?” she asked. He faltered at the sudden shift in conversation.
“Of what?”
“Of you being a tattoo artist. Do they support it? Or …”
“I don’t know, and don’t really care,” he said.
“Oh.” She sounded hurt.
“My family … they’re back in D.C. My dad got rich back when it was relatively easy to do so. My older brother kind of followed suit, though I have to admit he made his own way. I guess I’m the black sheep, so to speak.”
“I know how that can be,” she said.
