Page 63 of True North

“Everywhere, Harry.”

“Sweet Jesus, woman. You’re expectin’ a lot of a man.” I shake my head, feigning seriousness.

She slaps my chest and chuckles, but it dies out when my gaze holds hers.

“How about I show you all the places I found in my dreams when you weren’t here...” I lower my head and run kisses over the tops of her breasts. She arches into my touch. Her hands grip the opening of my work shirt, pushing those perfect fuckin’ tits into my face. A growl rumbles through my throat. I pluck a hard, pert nipple up with my teeth.

“Har—” The little cry following her halfhearted attempt at my name sends lava coiling through my veins. My cock throbs with the need for her. One arm around her hip, I let the other trail for the button of her jeans.

“Harry, please, out of the water. I want to see you. Touch you. I can’t here.”

“Hold on.” I stalk toward the shoreline, droplets cascading from her perfect naked form as I rise from the water. She studies my face as we cross the pebbled threshold out of the water.

I lay her on the thick, swaying grasses. Kneeling between her legs, it hits me how much I’ve needed her. And how much I have to make up for.

ChapterSixteen

LOUISA

I’m all fumbling fingers and nervous chatter as I pry the wet shirt from Harry’s shoulders. God, this is not my first time. Why the hell am I so nervous? It’s like I’m a love-sex virgin. With the only sex I’ve ever had being for fun, or a casual arrangement, the overwhelming emotions that have me on tenterhooks doing this with Harry are insane.

Like it’s weighted so much heavier than anything else. It’s too much. And nowhere enough. I can’t get close enough to him. The mountains stand over us, hiding us away from the world. The sounds of the running stream do absolutely nothing to take the edge off this burn I get from the slightest look from him.

I run my hand over his chest. The toned dips and valleys steal my breath. His dark hair, wet and shaggy around his face, he pushes back with a hand. The biceps in his arm flex, the forearm following suit as he runs a finger behind the opening of my jeans. My body aches for his touch.

“Everywhere, cowboy, remember?”

“We waited this long, there’s no way in hell I’m rushing this.”

He wants to savor this.

Of course he does.

The man of few words takes things slow. He’s an enigma. A man out of his time. Something stoic. Nothing like the fast-fling fakers of the Cali scene. Hands sweep me up as he lays his shirt underneath me. Apparently, I weigh nothing. Not to Harry Rawlins.

“Everywhere starts here,” he rasps, dotting a kiss to my forehead. He tracks his way down, crawling over the top of me. Water drips from his skin, dotting over my bare stomach, each drop sending the lightning in my veins skittering faster. Strong arms hold him above me as he reaches my neck, my collarbones, and then to my right breast. When his mouth finds my hard nipple, I arch into him.

So desperate for him.

I ache everywhere. The pounding blood in my veins sinks to my clit. I wriggle my hips. I need him. I want to feel him.

My nipple slips from his lips with a pop as he travels to the left breast. It’s all I can do to sink my hands in his hair as my heart rattles around my rib cage like a runaway freight train. I’m so nervous. So worked up over him. It’s like nothing else before.

“And here,” he rasps, his warm mouth brushing over my ribs before his breath tickles my belly button. The moment it travels further south, heat floods my core, sending an agonizing throb into my center.

Wet jeans.

No good.

“These are comin’ off,” he rumbles.

Yes, they are.I lift up, and he makes short work of my tight jeans with rough hands. The movement jostles my breasts. A small, raw noise climbs up his throat. Hearing him, seeing his hands on my body, I couldn’t care less if I never took another breath ever again. Tears burn the back of my eyes. I scrunch up my face, desperate to stifle the overwhelming emotions that come with losing myself to Harry.

Eyes shuttering closed, I draw in a ragged breath, hands gripping the soft grass beside my now bare hips. Warmth descends over me, cold, wet denim touches my hip bones, and a hand slides behind my neck, another scooting under my shoulders.

My back leaves the grass. I open my eyes as I’m lifted up, coming face-to-face with deep blues, deep, heavy brows, all angles and dark hair.

The air that’s been precariously inflating my lungs disappears.

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