Unlikely (H.S.)

twenty-three*

~Harper~

We spent the rest of the day keeping ourselves occupied, avoiding the topic of Tripp. For that, I was so grateful. Harry, ever perceptive, noticed how much the encounter with Tripp had cast a shadow over my mood, and he did everything he could to lift it. When we finally made it back to my place, the tension between us shifted, not because of words, but through something simpler — something unspoken. We decided to shower together, and it turned out to be one of the most sensual experiences of my life.

I had never showered with anyone before, and the way Harry moved the suds across my skin, taking his time with each stroke, left me gagging for more than just intimacy. But as his hands glided over my body, something else struck me — the restraint. He didn't push for anything sexual, didn't turn it into something more, which, for a split second, felt like rejection. A part of me wondered if he wasn't interested, but then I realized it wasn't disinterest. It was respect.

Still, I couldn't help but giggle when I noticed the unmistakable hard-on he was fighting as he ran the loofah over me, his touch soft but deliberate. The soap slid down my chest, and the way he bit his lower lip in concentration drove me wild. He had me wet in all the places he wasn't touching, and the teasing, the slow burn of it, was maddening.

When he finally decided I was clean enough — a playful smirk tugging at his lips — I didn't waste a second. The moment he let his guard down, I flipped the script.

I reached for the loofah, slipping it from his hand, the water still cascading around us. I could see the surprise in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by anticipation. I moved closer, pressing my body against his, letting the heat of my skin meet the tension of his. My hands found their way to his chest, trailing the loofah down over his muscles, tracing every line, every curve, just like he had done to me — slow and deliberate.

"Your turn," I whispered, my voice soft but teasing.

I ran the loofah over his shoulders, down his tattooed arms, and across his torso, relishing in the feel of his body tensing under my touch. He stood there, quiet but clearly holding his breath, his eyes never leaving mine. I dragged the loofah lower, over the ridges of his abs, drawing circles on his tattooed skin, getting lower and lower, deliberately avoiding where I knew he wanted me most. His hands gripped at the wall above my head, as if to steady himself, his jaw clenched as he fought for control.

I leaned in, my lips brushing against his ear. "Do you want me to stop?" I teased, my voice barely above a whisper.

Please don't say now, I can't take rejection from you.

He exhaled, a low groan escaping his throat, shaking his head, his breath warm against my neck. "God, no," he confessed.

Thank God.

That was all the permission I needed.

I let the loofah drop, my hands replacing it as I ran my palms over the wet surface of his skin, tracing his fern tattoos that decorated his v-line. I leaned into him and kissed his neck, trailing my lips down to his collarbone as my fingers slid lower, brushing against his solid, swollen length. His breath hitched, his body pressing into mine, every inch of him responding to my touch. I took my time, relishing in the way he reacted, the way he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, the way his body was tightening as I stroked him slowly, deliberately.

The water continued to pour over us, creating a steamy haze that wrapped around us like a cocoon. His hands found their way to my back, tracing up and down my spine as I kept my rhythm steady, drawing out every sigh, every groan. I kissed my way back up to his lips, capturing his mouth in a kiss that was deep and hungry, my body pressed against his as I continued to work him in my hands.