Getaway Car [HS]

Chapter Eleven*

Harry is dropping to his knees immediately.

If she weren't so aroused, it'd be comical how quickly he sinks to the floor and reaches for the waistband of her jeans. What she said was the equivalent of lighting the fuse to an explosive for him. He was already prepared to set himself loose on her, and she knew precisely which buttons of his to push to get him eager.

There's something arousing to her about the way his gloves feel on bare skin. His fingertips dip beneath her jeans after ripping the button undone and shimmy the skin-tight denim down her narrow hips. But it's the feeling of leather-wrapped hands taking hold of her after the garment is discarded that sends a shiver up her spine. It worsens the pulsating ache between her thighs, the thighs he now squeezes at to prod them apart and slot himself between.

One of her legs is lifted and propped over his shoulder, and she lets him maneuver her however he pleases to allow him to do whatever he wants.

Wet, open-mouthed kisses trail up and down the length of her inner thigh. The way he teases her, mouthing at the edge of her panties just out of reach from where she needs him most, could bring tears of frustration to her eyes. She has never needed someone so badly before. She doesn't even care that she hasn't shaved in over two weeks, and, evidently, neither does he. Somehow, even though he makes her feel ridiculed in every other context, when he's with her in this way, he makes her feel good about herself.

Soon, those kisses turn into him sucking more love bites into her skin. He doesn't stop until there's a smattering of deep red and purple staining her, a reminder of him wherever she looks on herself.

He's ventured his way back up the length of her trembling thigh once more by the time she finally breaks.

"Please," Harley says and juts herself forward so his mouth brushes the soaked patch on her underwear, watching his eyes flutter shut in restraint for a short second.

The pleading request has him opening his eyes to look up at her.

It's a sight that hits her harder than she expected it to. To see Harry on his knees for anyone would be a rare instance of vulnerability, but to see him on his knees for her is another thing entirely.

It's a position of weakness. If she pleased, she could reach for a knife from the drawer next to his head and end it. He may have dominance over her right now by having the power to withhold what she wants, but he knows this isn't a position he'd find himself in with many others. To a limited extent, he trusts her not to kill him. Partly because he knows, based on their previous conversations, that she doesn't have the stomach for it, and partly because she's had plenty of chances to sabotage their hits and didn't.

A knowing smirk crosses his face.

"Hmm. I thought y'didn't beg?"

She has to bite her lip to stop herself from calling him an asshole. If she does, he'll only draw out her torment and make it ten times worse. She wouldn't put it past him to get up, dust off his pants, and leave her here until the next time they see one another for the sake of toying with her.

"Are you gonna do it or will I have to take care of it myself?"

The smirk on his face vanishes at her attitude, eyes darkening when he pauses as if giving her a chance to rectify it, then he scoffs.

Harry tugs her panties off of her legs with a low murmuring of, "Fucking brat," under his breath as he prepares to give her what she wants. And though she may be tempted to throttle him for taking his time in spite of her desperation, he can't help himself when faced with her pussy this way—bare, soaked, and positioned perfectly in front of his face for him to admire.