Eternal [HS]

Chapter Twenty*

HER BACK HITS THE MATTRESS HARDER than she anticipated, yet she's already recovering and looking up at him for guidance by the time he crawls onto the bed over her. Her dreams about him never could've prepared her for this.

Everything feels so different, more real, and he was right, her heart is racing faster than it ever has. With the added element of him turning up the dominant act far more than it naturally is for her, it's enough to make her weak in the knees.

He runs his hands down the length of her body, fingertips brushing over her nipples on their way down. The feeling of his cold touch going by makes her stomach flinch inward, and she has to turn her head away when his fingers dip into her heat, swiping through her wetness and spreading it up to her clit without a smidge of hesitation—as if he has done it to her a million times before.

His free hand reaches up and grabs her by the jaw to force her to look up at him.

"Look at me," he commands, and she can't help but obey anything that leaves his mouth when he's looking at her like that.

Jo looks up at him, bumping her nose against his with the movement, and finds her hips jutting toward him without her instruction at the gentle stroke of his fingertips at the apex of her thighs.

His touch is somehow possessive and desperate, yet fleeting and teasing enough to build anticipation without going too fast too soon. Because, as impatient as she is to finally have him inside of her, the pleasure that can be found in waiting isn't lost on her. It makes it all the more satisfying when the moment finally arrives, and she has a feeling Harry is the type of man that thrives off of his sexual partners' satisfaction.

Their lips brush messily once, twice, three times before he noses at her neck, indulging in the sweet scent that always lingers at the pulse point, and sucks a fresh, red bruise there without puncturing the skin with his teeth.

Her head tilts back against the sheets, and he keeps following the path his hands took down with his lips. Saliva glistens on her skin under the lamplight, it displays the path he takes until he dips his head down to take one of her nipples into his mouth and graze the surface of the sensitive skin with his teeth.

He doesn't stay in one place for long, always teasing and leaving, drifting further down her body painstakingly slow. The dull ache that was sparked when they kissed on the living room couch has shifted into something downright unbearable in the best way, in the excited, beg for it kind of way that she feels in this moment.

The insides of her thighs are soon decorated with marks he takes the time to place closer and closer to where she needs him, but never giving in to the irresistible sighs and moans she makes.

Green eyes look up at her from between her legs, and she shudders beneath the strength of the hands pinning her hips to the bed. Those rings dig into her flesh, the cold feel of them a shock to her sweating body, as he trails open-mouthed kisses over her stomach, hips, and thighs.

"Harry," she whines, "please..."

It doesn't incline him to oblige her, even though hearing her beg does more to him than she'll ever realize. What she doesn't get to see while he torments her is how painfully his cock strains against the confines of his pants and underwear, twitching in interest any time she makes a noise or when he catches a glimpse of how dripping wet she is—which, with how close he is to her, is all the time.

"Y'need to be more specific, baby."

The pet name makes her heart skip a beat.

Her body arches and twists toward him needily, and he realizes, as she's midway through a roll of her hips at him, that she's trying to grind against his face.