Harper's Rules 1 & 2

Chapter 59: Jake

A/N: 🤏 mature content.

For the record, I hadn't meant to throw Harper's dildos in the trash. I'd meant the move as a joke but she hit my arm and the box fell out of my hand. Initially, the same sense of horror that flashed in Harper's eyes ran through me. In the split second that followed, I was partially relieved. Walking outside, I felt like I carried a box of twenty-eight, yes I counted, sexual crutches that Harper no longer needed.

Obviously, the joke backfired.

I also was painfully aware that Harper didn't give two shits about what technically happened, that her hands slapped mine. During that moment, she lost twenty dildos and my ass was responsible.

Past their obvious use, I wasn't going to pretend that I understood why Harper had so many dildos. I had planned that she picked her favorite back at my place, where I used it on her then kept the box there.

Before I shot my own plan in the ass kidding around with the trash dumpster.

In particular, the two-pronged fucker in her box caught my eyes because I wasn't aware Harper was into anal play. Since she was more than comfortable with sexual conversations, I'd planned that I asked her on the drive over, then proved while dildos were good for foreplay, they had their limitations.

Last, I wanted that box in my possession so she was forced to contact me if she needed me, per our agreement. The idea she still got herself off and I was some fucking sidepiece burned inside me like I'd swallowed acid.

None of what I intended or planned mattered the second all those fuckers rained down into the trash dumpster, followed by Harper. Shocked was an understatement as I stood, slack-jawed and frozen, as she flung herself after like an overboard rescue mission.

From her side, I saw how she would've been upset. Even as her fist pounded against the metal wall between us, I was totally distracted by the inferno that blazed in her eyes, the determination as she rummaged through actual trash, fuck even when she hit me with the meatiest, veiny, flesh-colored fucker...

Yeah, I was turned on.

For my own ass' sake, thankfully I remembered how much Harper enjoyed being pampered. I'd assumed by her recording of Brit that she'd already found a local spa for whatever treatments she enjoyed. I was probably terrible at massages because I never gave them but was desperate to remove the raw hatred that hung in her eyes before I left.

For the record, I followed through on my blue balls treatment.

My right hand adjusted the massive erection that tented my sheets like a cruel reminder. Because of Harper, lately I willed them away, this one stubbornly pointed right up at my navel. I groaned from the pressure under my stretched tight skin, which increased when my hand wrapped around my base and freed myself from within my boxers.

"Ugh," I grunted quietly and settled back on my bed. The head of my cock rubbed uncomfortably near my navel as I positioned myself in a half sitting up, half reclined.

With hard strokes, I pumped my hand in an arch down my shaft then tugged in reverse. After a few warmups, my hips bucked upwards as I hit a synchronized shift. Warmth built up under my skin and broke out in perspiration at my hairline, chest, and underarms. My breath turned from even and smooth into hot, staccato pants that intermixed with low-effort grunts.

Not that I needed any more mental stimulation, but I tipped my head back against my headboard and closed my eyes. Like every time, Harper resurfaced from my spank bank but this image wasn't dirty. Her beautiful face appeared in my mind's eye, framed in the yellow glow from the dinner table's candlelight and overhead. Her hands cupped her chin, her fingers pressed into her cheeks.