Page 101 of Strange Familiars
He gives a low hum of appreciation at the already dampening silk, skimming his nose along my waistband before impatiently tugging that down, too. Palming my hips and digging his fingers into my backside, he shoots me a lascivious look before clamping his mouth between my legs.
I cry out, my knees buckling, but Harrisford is there to hold me up. I twine my fingers through his hair, rocking my hips against his mouth. His touch, his lips, his tongue are urgent, uncompromising; he approaches giving me pleasure with the same enthusiasm as he did that night in Manchester. He teases sounds out of me that I never even knew I could make. And when my pleasure breaks, I cry out his name, and he keeps going, which makes me explode again, and again.
I’m still shaking with the echoes of my many orgasms when he pulls me up and lifts me into his arms, kissing me again. Automatically, my legs wrap around his waist, feeling the considerable length of his hardness slide against the slick evidence of my pleasure. “I’m wrecking your jeans,” I whisper against his lips.
“Fuck it,” he manages to grind out. “I like it.”
He walks me to the bed, dropping us both down, the hard planes of his torso jutting up against the soft curves of mine. With frantic hands, I help him remove his own jeans, pushing them down his long legs until they’re off completely, and then I do the same to hisunderwear until he, like me, is completely naked. He sits back to grab a condom out of the pocket of his discarded jeans, and grins when I raise an eyebrow and say, “You were a bit overconfident about fucking me tonight, weren’t you?”
He smirks and rips the packet open. “I believe you’ve got me exactly where you wanted.”
He rolls the condom on. And I stare at him. My gaze rakes the full length of his body, tracing the dips and bulges of his muscles—he’s built, but not too built; lean, but not too lean. My eyes linger on his cock, which is looking imposingly big. And then I reach out, my fingers grazing his six-pack, trailing down his abdomen, then skirting sideways until they skim the sharp V of his hips…
“Gwendolynne,” he groans, and everything inside me tightens. I am so, so ready for him.
He leans over me, easing me back onto the pillows. I’m nestled in down and linen and the lighting is soft and Harrisford’s body is warm and hard, and he’s braced himself on his arms above me, supporting his weight so he doesn’t crush me, and I put a hand on his chest and realize that he’s shaking. Realize that his heart is beating about as fast as mine.
“Are you…nervous?” My tone is disbelieving.
“I’m not nervous,” he says, too quickly. Then he concedes. “Okay, maybe I’m a little nervous.”
I scrunch my brows in confusion, even as my legs curl around his thighs, tugging him even closer, until the evidence of his arousal slides—both hard and soft and oh so warm—against my abdomen. “But…why? I mean, you’ve done this before…”
“Yes, of course.” A look of alarm flashes across his face. “Why, haven’t you?”
“Of course I have!” But then I add, “Not very much, though. I was always too focused on study.” I don’t add that while Ihavehad sex,it’s never been good. It’s never approached even a fraction of the intensity that I feel when Harrisford and I merely kiss.
Harrisford leans down and kisses me, tenderly this time. “I’ve done this before, Gwendolynne…” His eyes lock on mine; his hold on me tightens. “But never with someone I care so much about. So yes, I’m nervous.”
I almost snort, but I don’t. “You care about me. Right.” It’s still impossible for me to reconcile the Harrisford Briggs I’ve known for seven years with the words coming from his mouth.
“I do.” He lowers his head, brushing his lips along my jawbone, making me inhale sharply. “Do you want me to prove it to you?”
“How?” My voice comes out unusually high; I squirm.
“How many ways can I prove it, Gwen?” He cradles my face, presses a soft kiss at one corner of my lips. “Shall I tell you about how I only bought that car to drive to Manchester, because I couldn’t stand another twenty-four hours of not seeing you?” His fingers tighten as his nose skims along my cheek; he plants another light kiss at my temple. “Or how about the fact that I lied about the qílín foal? I always knew you could do it. I wanted you to. I wanted you to have the win.”
My breath catches; I can barely comprehend what he’s saying because everything—his words, his touch—is all so overwhelming.
He feathers kisses down my face. One of his hands runs along my collarbone before twisting possessively into my hair. “Or perhaps I should tell you how I don’t even care about the Ministry job anymore.” At this, he takes control, angling my head and kissing me on the neck, until I let out a little whimper. “If selling my soul to Magecorp is what it takes for me to be with you, so be it.”
He stills, his last words whispered against my skin. So raw. So vulnerable. “The truth is, Gwendolynne, I’ve wanted you for so long. Years, in fact. I was just too much of a coward to admit it.”
There’s a prickling at my inner eyelids that means tears arecoming, so I blink hard, then say, “But…that makes no sense. Why me? I mean, there’s absolutely nothing special about me…”
“Chan.” He raises his head, completely exasperated by now. “You’re the smartest witch at Seamere—”
“You know what I mean. I mean…physically. Personality-wise. I’m dead average in every way.” And there it is: me laid bare. The insecurities I’ve had since forever, on full display for him to see.
“Average!” Harrisford repeats. He shakes his head at me. He’s silhouetted by the light, and his eyes are dark, smoldering with an intensity that curls my toes. “You know, Chan, for an intelligent woman, you really do have a poor grasp of the word ‘average.’ ”
My lips part, and I’m going to say something snarky in return, but the words never leave my lips because he’s positioning himself, his eyes fixed on mine.
He pauses for a moment, staring down at me, his breaths coming ragged. He brushes away a strand of hair from my face. And for the second time ever, his expression is one of complete vulnerability. It’s as though I’ve died and exited my body because I never, never envisioned him looking at me…likethis.
Our lips find each other again, raw and tender and sweet and unhurried. And then he’s pushing himself into me, so slowly, so gently, and I’m stretching and stretching and he’s murmuring my name against my lips and I’m full, so full of Harrisford, both in my body and in my heart.
We both stay still for a moment, our shuddering breaths mingling together, fracturing the hotel room’s somber silence; he rests his forehead on mine for a second, his eyes closed. “Gwendolynne,” he says, teasing my name out on his tongue, and involuntarily I clench around him, making us both gasp.
