Harlow

---

He was everywhere, he was everything. Lean and hard, wolfish and hungry and wild with desire, kissing me as I’ve never been kissed; passion bled through his pores, and need blazed in his eyes.

Love gnashed in his kisses.

“I need you,” he whispered, his voice rough, ragged with desperation. “Low, I fucking need you. I need to make love to you.”

I felt him, his cock throbbing hard against my belly. How long had it been since he’d come? Minutes? God, this man. So potent, so hard. The taste of his cum still lingered in my mouth, and I tasted my own essence on his lips.

My core ached. I wept with my own need.

“Then make love to me,” I whispered back.

He hesitated. “Do we need a condom? I don’t have one. I wasn’t expecting this. Hoping, and wanting, but not expecting.”

“No,” I said, gazing up at him. “But I’m on the shot, and I’m clean.”

He knelt between my thighs, his hard muscular body shifting as he stared down at me. “Low, are you—”

“I’m sure.” I grasped his cock, nudging the thick, fat crown between the lips of my pussy, notching him just inside me. “I want you—I need you. I need you like this, with nothing between us. And you’re—you’re the only one I’ll have ever been bare like this with. Ever. I swear on my soul.”

He wasn’t breathing—he was simply staring down at me, his eyes wild with need.

“I love you,” Xavier said, and thrust into me.

It was a slow, careful thrust, gentle and exquisite. Filling me, ever so slowly, until he was buried inside me, our hips meeting.

“Oh god…” he whispered, shaking all over. “Oh fuck, Low. Harlow, god, you feel…”

“Tell me,” I breathed.

“Like heaven.” He planted his face between my breasts; pulling out and then plunging back in, harder. “Like…home.”

I wept. I couldn’t not. He was exactly right—this was heaven, this was home.

Utter perfection.

He filled me until I ached, stretched me until I burned, but it felt just right. Just enough. When he next thrust fully into me, I was split apart until I couldn’t breathe or think or feel anything except him, his cock inside me and his body above me and his breath on mine and his lips on my tits and his thighs against the inside of mine.

I wrapped my legs around his back and clung to him, wrapped my arms around his neck and clung to him.

I breathed on his cheek, panting, whimpering shrill gasps against his ear. I writhed against him, aching and tingling and pulsing all over. Desperate and wild, crazed with him, enveloped by him. Weeping unashamedly with the manic crushing onslaught of love coursing between us.

He kissed my tears and didn’t have to ask why I was crying—the desperation and the love in my eyes when he pulled away to stare down at me told him all he needed to know.

“I love you,” I whispered, taking each of his thrusts and meeting them with my own.

His body was so hard, so strong, and his thrusts sped up, grew in need, grew in potency, and he filled me and left me empty, filled me and left me empty—his voice growled in my ear, primal and wild and unleashed, and my heart swelled at this Xavier, this side of him, the need and the desperation and the love and the power.

“Say that again,” he grunted, pausing with his cock buried deep, one fist in the pillow by my face, the other caressing my breasts lovingly, possessively. “Tell me again.”

I locked my heels tighter around his back, thrusting against him, grinding and rolling my hips against his, fucking him from underneath him. Locks of dark hair clung in damp curls against his forehead and draped over his eyes, and I brushed them away with my fingers, clutched the back of his neck and kissed his cheekbones and his jaw and the corner of his mouth as I undulated against him.

“I love you, Xavier.”

“Harlow—” he grated, teeth clenched, pushing into me. “Fuck!”

“Yes!” I breathed, his cock sliding against my clit and sending shivers of climax-inducing ecstasy through me. “All of you, Xavier—show me—show me, god…oh god! You feel so good, Xavier! Give me more, give it to me harder, give it to me faster!”

He snarled wordlessly, crushing his lips against mine in a brief slashing kiss.

And then I knew he’d gone beyond all control, and I cried out as he slammed into me. He was all over me, inside me, around me, above me—he was everywhere, he was everything. His body was hard against mine, his face against the side of my throat, his arms wrapped around my body, lifting me up and crushing me against him, clutching me in a furious death grip I wanted to live in and die in and never leave, and then he let go.

He fucked me with perfect love.

Each thrust was slow and hard, grinding with shuddering power into me. I gasped his name as he reached orgasm:

“Xavier! Yes, god yes, yes, more—Xavier! Oh god, Xavier…”

And I was there, so close, riding the edge, and I felt him explode inside me, filling me with his hot wet seed and thrusting against me desperately and whispering my name in my ear as he moved, and I needed to come, needed to—

I clung to him with arms and legs and rolled, and he went with me onto his back, and I rose above him, hair wild and breasts heaving, feeling like a goddess in that moment, a creature of raw wild primal sex, and his eyes blazed love and worship. He was throbbing and thick inside me, his cum wet and hot and slick and intoxicating, and he was so deep…

I planted one hand on his stomach and leaned back and rolled my pussy against him, riding his cock, grinding him where I needed him…but it still wasn’t enough.

He knew, though. He knew what I needed.

He wrapped his hands around my flexing thighs and pressed a thumb to my clit, pressing in circles, and I cried out as the orgasm rose up inside me at his touch, and I abandoned myself to taking this moment in all its glory, taking what I wanted and what I needed.

I clutched my breasts in both hands, leaning way back, spine arched, hair flying, hips rolling, and his touch sent me there, took me there, and his cock thrust into me and—

I came.

I didn’t just come, though.

Or explode, or shatter.

No, this was something else.

Our eyes met and the climax smashed through me and shook me and wrenched me and tore screams of his name out of me—and this was love. Sex as it had never been, fucking as it never been—love in its rawest and most primal and perfect form.

Love shared.

Love created.

I fell forward onto him, sobbing through an orgasm that never ended or else became two and three in succession, so fast it was all one, each more powerful than the last.

Xavier knew the precise moment I started coming.

His eyes locked onto mine, and there cannot be any moment so raw and intimate and vulnerable as when you lock eyes in the midst of an orgasm and know you love him and he loves you, and you can’t look away even though he’s seeing into you, and you feel exposed, beyond naked, soul bared, heart open and tender and there for the taking.

He took it, then—he took my heart.

And I took his.

That intimacy was in his eyes, and I knew he was mine for all time, and I his.

“Low…” he whispered, sounding as broken as I felt.

I finally stopped coming and clung to him, shuddering, sobbing. “I know, Xavier. I know. Me too.”

“Everything, Low. That was…”

“It was everything,” I finished. “I know. Me too.”

---

Xavier lay beside me, asleep.

What time was it? I decided I didn’t care.

I texted Emily: make sure absolutely NO ONE bothers me at home until I text you again. No one. For any reason, including death or the end of the world.

You got it, boss, she texted back; a brief pause, and then another text popped up from her: He’s there?

I snapped a photo of his face, sleeping, peaceful, heart-stoppingly beautiful, and sent it to her: Between rounds.

He’s even more gorgeous than I thought. Jesus, Low. You’re SURE he doesn’t have any single cousins? ;-)

LOL I’ll ask.

A pause, the dots jumping, and then she hit back. You love him?

And then some, Emily. I smiled to myself as I tapped at the keyboard. Thank you.

What else are assistants for? Another brief pause. Bring him as your date to the premiere.

I hesitated over the idea, but deep down I knew if he wouldn’t go, neither would I, consequences be damned. I’ll ask. I’ll need a tux fitted last minute, if he’ll go.

Easy enough. I’ll get someone on call right now. The message popped up, and the dots appeared again right away. Make sure you eat something…Besides him, I mean.

I’ll try, but no promises.

“Who are you texting?” I heard Xavier ask from beside me, his voice sleepy.

“Emily, my assistant.”

“About what? Or is that personal?”

I laughed and showed him the phone. “Nothing’s personal between us anymore, Xavier.”

He read, and then handed it back. “I think I remember my dad mentioning an estranged brother when I was a kid, but I know nothing about any cousins.”

I laughed, turning the phone off and putting it in the drawer. “She’s just jealous because I get you.”

He smiled vaguely, and then glanced at me. “She wants you to take me to a premiere?”

I lifted his arm up, settled into the warm strong cradle of his arm. “Of my latest film, December’s Last Light.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” he asked, his hand traveling up my back and down to my butt in slow, roaming caresses.

“Yes.” I looked up at him. “But it’s going to be a big event, Xavier. Press will be there in force. Lots of cameras, and lots of questions. If we go, we’ll be out there. You and me, as a couple. People will write about you, and us, and make things up about me cheating on you or fake breakups and shit like that.”

He was silent for a long, long time. “This is a big part of your life, and they’re important to your career, these premieres.”

“Yes, but you don’t have to—”

“I’ll go,” he cut in. “I want to go with you.”

“You will? You do?”

He smiled down at me. “Yes. I want to share your life.”

I gazed up at him, my heart melting. “I’ll be proud and honored to walk that red carpet on your arm, Xavier.”

He blinked hard. “You will? Proud and honored?”

“One hundred percent truth, Xavier. Yes. Proud and honored. There’s no one I’d walk the red carpet with but you.”

He rolled over on top of me; his arm still cradled under my neck, and kissed me. “Come on,” he said, abruptly rolling off me and hopping out of bed.

“Where are we going?” I asked, laughing as he hauled me out of the bed after him to the stairs, both of us still naked.

“I’m going to feed you,” he said, starting down the stairs with my hand in his, “and then I’m going to fuck you.”

“Why, Xavier! How crude of you!” I said, giggling.

He paused halfway down the stairs, turning to glance up at me in consternation. “I’m sorry. I thought it would be funny, and perhaps sexy.”

I laughed even harder, leaning down over him from two steps up and palming his hard, taut ass. “It was. I was just playing along.” I reached between us, fondling his burgeoning erection. “Where exactly were you planning to fuck me, Mr. Badd?”

“Ah…I was thinking the couch. Or the kitchen counter. Or the floor.” He found my slit with his fingers. “Or right here on the stairs.”

I gasped as he circled my clit with a light, delicate touch that sent me into a paroxysm of pleasure. “Why pick one?” I breathed. “There are a lot of surfaces in this house to christen.”

“Christen? As one christens a child in a church?”

“Yeah.” I frowned down at him. “You’ve never heard that expression?”

“No.”

“It means the first time a particular place is used for sex. We just christened my bed, because I’ve never had sex in that bed until today. We’re about to christen my stairs, because I’ve never been fucked on these stairs. After you feed me, we’ll christen my kitchen island, because I’ve never been fucked there, either. And then my couch, and everywhere else you can think of to fuck me, because you’re the only man I’ve had in my home.”

“Harlow, you do know when I say I’m going to fuck you, that I really mean—”

I lifted up and bit his lip. “Make sweet, passionate, beautiful, affectionate, attentive, gentle love to me. Yes, Xavier. I know.” I sat down on the stairs and lay back, pulling him down with me, and slid him inside. “Can I tell you a secret?

“Anything,” he whispered, and moaned as he filled me.

“I know you love me. And I love making love with you. But I’ll also love it if you just…fuck me.”

“Then fuck you I shall. And make love to you.” He paused. “At the same time,” he clarified.

“Perfect,” I said, giggling breathlessly.

And so he did.

On the stairs.

And the kitchen counter, after we’d eaten. And the couch. And outside, in the pool, half in the water, splashing as we came together.

I lost count of the number of times he told me loved me, and repaid him with a countless number of utterances of my own.

“I love you” became a chorus. A song. A poem.

It became an invocation, evoking our future.