Page 65 of True North

I tumble back down to earth, sobbing uncontrollably.

Harry is on his knees, wrapped around me before my next battered heartbeat thumps. I let ugly sobs assault his chest.

“I’m sorry,” I finally choke out. His skin is wet with my tears, his body still wrapped around me. He holds me at arm’s length, gaze searching my face, and I force a wobbly smile. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

I chug another sob and suck back the tears.

A soft smile blooms on his face. “Better late than never.”

I chuckle, wiping my face dry.

“Come on, we should get back.” He pushes to his feet, his jeans bulging, still damp from the stream.

“No.” I grab his hands, holding him to the spot.

He looks down at me as I push to my knees. He’s not getting out of this that easily. I meant it when I said I wanted him everywhere. I pluck the button of his jeans open and lower the zipper.

“Lou...”

I press a finger to my lips.

I need to taste him. I want to see if I have the same extraordinary effect on him that he has on me. I tug the wet material down. The pants hardly budge. I look up with begging eyes. A rough hand slides into my hair before it cups my cheek, his thumb pushing into my mouth. His lips twitch, breaths coming quicker, rougher than before.

“A little help,” I say, pulling at the denim.

He leans back a little, his stare never leaving my face. Like he’s afraid if he pulls it away, me on my knees before him will simply disappear. Maybe he’s dreamed of something like this, only to have woken up alone.

For so long.

With the achingly sad thought, I tug harder, and the jeans move down. I send the boxers down to where the denim rests on his thighs, revealing his hard length. I can’t take my eyes off it. I’d wondered, from time to time. When I couldn’t sleep, sometimes late at night, I would fantasize about what it would have been with Harry.

Now, it’s right in front of me.

My mouth waters at the sight.

I grip the bulging length and swipe my thumb over the tip. A shudder rolls over his body, his hands snapping to my face. I look up.

“Louisa.” My name is gravel, barely audible.

His deep blues drill into my green as I slide the tip into my mouth. His head tilts, jaw clenching. His eyes are hooded, desperate, the shade now deeper, grounding and darkening by the second. His legs tense as I pull up, sucking the tip. I take him as deep as I can.

Loving the way that every inch my mouth travels makes his face move that tiny bit.

His tongue darts out, licking his lips. My face is taut with dried tears. I don’t care. All I want to see, to feel, is this man. This stoic, incredible man who waited ten years for me.

I swirl my tongue over his tip before letting my teeth grace the now leaking opening. It’s salty and delicious. I run a hand up the inside of his muscular thigh, wandering my fingertips over his balls, one then the other.

The groan rattling his chest is intoxicating.

I trace circles around one, taking him to the back of my throat. With as much pull as I can manage, I slide back up. His body trembles, hands gripping tight in my hair. I do the same motion again until he quakes where he stands.

“Stop, Lou, ’less you want it all,” he pants.

“I want it all, Harry,” I say, not letting up on my assault of lips, mouth, and hand. Rough hands pull my face away, holding me back as I kneel. His eyes slam shut, jaw twitching as a growl rumbles up his throat.

“Goddammit, woman,” he utters.

I pump him hard with my hand, desperate to see him fall apart.

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