Page 82 of Country Contract

Harlow rides me, my hands gripping her hips. I want to buck up, flip her over, and fuck her with complete abandon. But I fight all those urges and let her use me. She’s beautiful like this, and she doesn’t even know it. She’s not trying to be hot; she’s just bringing pleasure to us both.

“Oh, fuck,” she hisses, and I feel the tightening of her cunt around me.

“Shi—” I start, but Harlow drops down and takes my mouth in hers. With a desperation I’ve only ever experienced with her, we kiss messily.

I can’t help my next movements; my body is on autopilot as I pump up into her, meeting her thrusts. Harlow pushes herself back up, places her hands on my chest, and rides me harder than anyone has before. The rhythmic pulsing and a loud moan that leaves her pushes me over the edge. I come inside her, making a mess of us. The minute she lifts herself off me, there is going to be evidence of our passion all over the place.

A sick impatience takes over and I lift her hips. She gasps in surprise, and I press my fingers insideher, feeling the mess we made. My cum slides over my fingers as I massage her sensitive walls.

“Yes!” she screams, and I feel her come once again, but this time it pushes a large gush of fluid, likely my own, down my hand and forearm.

Harlow falls forward, catching herself with her hands, and looks me directly in the eyes. She looks exhausted, sated, and beautiful.

“Damn, that was good shit,” she states before giving me a quick, chaste kiss.

“It was great.” I kiss her back.

My mind might not know what the fuck is going on, but my body does.

“This is really good,” I tell Harlow after reading a poem she wrote. We’re sitting on the couch,Kill Billplaying in the background, her feet in my lap. She’s wearing that crew neck sweater with just her underwear.

It wasn’t her intention to share this with me, but it was laying out with other “scribbles” as she calls them on the coffee table. When I asked her if I could read it, she said yes right away.

“You’re my muse, after all.”

As I read the pages on the top, I realized how talented she is. Her writings are deep, emotional, and a little tortured. I see a larger stack of papers and move to grab them, as well.

“That’s a book I’m kind of working on.”

“A book?”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll do anything with it, it’s just been really therapeutic to write it. I haven’t read anything like itmyself, so I can’t say I’m doing the genre any justice.” A light blush crosses the apples of her cheeks, but she turns and looks at the screen where Uma Thurman continues to kick ass.

“What genre?”

“Umm.” She rolls her lips together and squints a little before taking a deep breath. If it’s anything like her poetry, it would likely be psychological romance. I know she edits thrillers, suspense, and horror. So it can’t be that. That’s her favorite genre and she said she’s never read anything like it.

“Erotica,” she whispers.

“No one else can hear us, Harlow, and I’m certainly not going to judge you. Do you mean like open-door romance?” I question. I adore a good romance, and I haven’t been afraid to admit it. That’s probably why I’m so excited for my own happily ever after. I want to make fiction a reality.

“No, it’s truly just erotica. I don’t even think there is much substance to it, and I think it’s too agonizing for anyone else to read.”

I hold the papers in my hands, and I can tell this is hard for her to share. It’s not like the poetry. It’s dark, but not malevolent.

“Well, I’d like to know more, so instead of my reading it, why don’t you tell me about it? You said I inspired you, should I be worried?”

She lets out a small laugh, still looking at the screen. She glances over at me, and then she shakes her head.

“You know how we kind of do a few power plays when we are fooling around?”

I nod.

“I don’t know what it is about you, but it’s like you’ve awakened this curiosity into the BDSM world. I’m not sayingI want to do all that stuff, but I do know that when I watch some submission videos, it really turns me on. I know that whenever we kiss, touch, or fool around, I get these thoughts of ways people could pleasure each other. To find release in ways only they can understand with the right partner.”

I’m floored by her admission. Does she want to find a partner to better understand her sexual desires? She just told me that she doesn’t want to actively do it, but she wants to help people understand and maybe get comfortable with it. I don’t speak as I wait for her to continue.

“So, I started writing about this girl who escaped from being sex trafficked. She seeks therapy and falls in love with her counselor. Every single word I wrote seems taboo, but her counselor heals her in more ways than one . . . you get it?”

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