Harry's carrying me from the living room to his bedroom. Each step he takes brings my throbbing clit in contact with his cock's insistent pressure. I'm so ready for him, I start moving up and win, trying to ride him.

"God, you're killing me." His words tumble into my mouth as he lays me down on his bed. I hear the rustle of my hair as it settles on the bed's comforter, creating a huge halo of curls around my head and onto my shoulders.

His eyes shine bright under his hooded lids as they feast on me. His beautiful, kiss stung lips form the words, "You're so goddamn beautiful" as his hands work the button and fly of his jeans, and in seconds they and his boxers are gone.

He whips his shirt over his head and his body, so tall and strong and beautiful, is on glorious display. He fists his thick, hard cock and gives it a slow, strong stroke, and his head falls back in ecstasy as he strokes himself leisurely. I salivate at the sight of him, his beautiful neck begging for my kisses. My pussy is flooding with all of the desire the motion of his hand is building.

"I need you." My impatience is undisguised, my finger diving between my legs, and I groan at the sensation that rips through me as my fingers touch my sensitive, slick pussy.

He slowly lowers his head, his eyes trained between my legs as mine go back to watching him stroke himself.

"Come to me," I implore, my body aching at the promise of him inside of me. I reach for him with my free hand outstretched arm, and he stalks toward me. His beautiful body rippling with each step, the shadow of the moon turning his muscle’s movements into a symphony of tenses and flexes.

He leans over me and with a final stroke that ends on a grunt uses his now free hand to brush the hair off my shoulder. He places an open-mouthed kiss there before his lips start to travel downward. The ecstasy of his mouth on my body is almost too much to bare, and I writhe underneath him. I'm one throbbing mass of need. And heat. And mindless lust. My fingers claw at him, and when his mouth clamps over my nipple, my back bows and my moan cracks on a sob. The heat of his mouth, the power of the suction, the reverence of the cradle his hand makes for my breast as he suckles me threaten to send me over the edge.

"Harry?" I pant out his name, and my hand goes between us. I grab his cock and stroke him, reveling in the weight of his cock in my hand. His hips move, and his lips tear from my breast. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, and his hair falls in dark waves over his forehead as he looks down at me. His eyes are smoldering and desperate as he thrusts up into my fist.

"Wait..." he growls as he reaches down and grapples around for his pants.

"For what?" I ask, impatient and so needy.

"I need to get a condom, and I want to eat you," he says as he licks my breast one more time. My nipple is swollen and pulsating from his attention. My breast throbs from the scrape of his day-old beard, and I hope it never abates. I want to remember this pleasure forever.

His mouth burns a trail down my torso. He licks, sucks and bites me, and when he gets to my pussy, he uses one hand to push my thighs apart, and with no ceremony, no teasing, he's sucking my clit into his mouth.

My cry is so loud, I'm sure it splits the sky open that the pleasure washing over me is actually showers of hot stars. Every single pore on my skin revels in the purest pleasure I have ever felt in my life.

I look down at Harry and want to weep at the sight of his head moving between my legs. My fingers grip his silky, curling hair and admire the way the moon's rays - fat, bright and low tonight - dance through his hair giving him a crown of jet and silver.

When he puts both his hands under my hips and holds my body to his mouth, I start to come. It's hard, fast and so such an unexpected violence that my body bucks off the bed, the tsunami of release propelling me skyward. Before I can recover, he's back on top of me. . His weight rests on his elbows, but he’s nestled comfortably between my thighs. Our hips flush. His eyes, melted, sweet chocolate scan my face. My fingers come up brush the away the curls that have spilled onto his forehead.

My mind registers the movement, and I realize that my hand is moving up. That he’s on top of me.

My heart rate accelerates, but only because I’m not afraid. He looks down at me, his expression telling me that he’s reading my thoughts, and his smile is so soft.

He leans down and presses a kiss to my mouth, then thrusts his hips so that the large, rigid head slides decadently over my clit.

My head sinks even deeper into the pillow, exposing my throat.

“I like this view,” he says.

“I do, too,” I whisper, and something changes. Right then. I feel it.

His expression had been full of want and determination, and now it’s full of need and tenderness. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down, loving how the hairs on his chest tickle my breasts and stimulate my nipples to standing.

I feel the pressure of his cock against my entrance, stretching me, the delicious burn of his ingress easing into an ache and then sending streaks of lightning sharp pleasure through me.

He lets out a short groan before his lips seize mine again, kissing me with a yearning that sends tears spilling out of the corner of my eyes. I tilt my hips to take him deeper, grasping his cock with my pussy until he's almost halfway inside of me.

He looks down between us. His eyes are intent on the spot where our bodies are joined. He watches as my body takes him in, and he grits his teeth at the friction our connection sparks.

His moan and my whimper mingle and then meld as he fills me completely. He wraps both of his arms around me and pulls me to him. I bury my face in his neck and twine my legs around his thighs as he rocks into me, deep and slow.

"Yes, yes, more." I can hear myself begging him, and he obliges me by grinding so forcefully against me that I know our hips are bruising each other. The top of his pelvis puts pressure on my clit at the same time his cock sends potent slivers of pleasure threading through my veins. I am burning from the inside out.

"Damn...” he groans, “Do you love this as much as I do?" he breathes out.

I nod. I couldn’t speak now if my life depended on it. I grip the hair at the nape of his neck, and just try to press myself even closer. His skin against mine is like being covered in a blanket of tingles and caresses.

“Will you look at me?" he asks, a little out of breath. He lifts off me, pulls out and slides the head of his cock up between the lips of my pussy. He teases me but withholds his cock from the place I need him most.

“Harry, why’d you stop?” I complain in a dry throated whisper.

“I asked you to look, at me.” He says, his voice gruff. I obey and find beautiful brown eyes fixed on my face and full of mischief. His chest heaves and the muscles in his arms bulge from supporting his weight while he hovers above me. The lopsided grin on his face says, “I don’t have a care in the world.” My heart flutters and I smile back.

“Now,” he gives my nose a tiny kiss. “I want you to answer my question.” He teases me by easing the head of his cock into me and then stopping. His grin faltering as I squeeze him, and try to draw him in.

“What question?” I ask, scooting forward to close the gap between.

“Do you love this as much as I do?” He rocks forward giving me a little bit, and his smile is so wicked, triumphant and happy.

“Yes, more.” I say knowing what he needs to hear.

“Finally.” He punctuates his relief with a sharp thrust of his hips. In one stroke he’s filled me to the hilt. I gasp at the pinch of pain and the moan as it blossoms into lovely pulsing waves of ecstasy.

My back arches off the bed, and my head flies back into the pillow.

“Oh, my fucking God, Harry.” I sob. His thumb skims my lashes, coaxing my eyes open. This time, when our eyes meet, his gaze is more tenacious than tender. I see my own feelings reflected there.

Surrender.

Pleasure.

The prayer that this never ends. And that if it does, it’s just so that we can gather the energy to do it again.

"Your eyes, they slay me. Every damn time," he whispers these sweet words to me while he fucks me deeps and slow.

“Oh God, yours, too. I’m drowning in them,” I pant up at him.

He leans down and I lift my head. Our kiss is a collision of lips and tongues that leaves me breathless.

He wraps an arm around my shoulder and then rolls us so we’re face to face.

“I want to see your face when we come.” He leans forward to kiss me softly and drapes my thigh over his hip. My heart is in my throat, but I manage to whisper, “yes.”

His strokes are deeper but less forceful, now. With every upward stroke of his beautiful, fits like it was made for me cock, he brings me closer to my release.

His eyes never leave mine. Mine don’t leave his. We take each other to the very edge of restraint. We both want to make it last. And we reach that edge, we teeter. Just like a glass on the edge of a counter before it’s inevitable fall.

And then we shatter. Splintering and then floating back together. We slowly settle back into our familiar forms, but with a new awareness of who we are to each other.

I let my fingers sink into his lush, silky curls, memorizing the way it slips between my fingers and twirls around my knuckles. I kiss his jaw, committing the feel of his stubble to the place deep inside me where I keep all of my precious things.

"You make me feel...perfect," I say to him on a sigh of pure bliss.

"To me, you are," he whispers in my ear.

I tighten my hold on him, press my face into his throat and just bathe in his presence.

We lie there for a few minutes, both lost in contemplation. When he pulls out of me, he presses a kiss to the side of my face before he goes to the bathroom to drop his condom in the trash.

I lie there, my body a mass of spent and useless muscle.

I glance out of the window.

It's dark, and I know I have to leave soon; spending the night out isn’t an option. And tonight, is our last one. He's leaving tomorrow, and I want to soak up every moment.

Loss and I are old bedfellows, comfortable and used to each other. Yet, our pending separation feels wrong. Like snapping a rose bud off its stem just as it’s about to bloom.

I watch Harry through half-open eyes. He stops and picks up his discarded jeans and starts rifling through the pockets.

I raise up to rest my chin on my elbow so I can see him. In the dark of the room, I can only see the shadowy outline of his body. “Come back to bed, Harry. I’m cold.”

“Just a sec,” he says as he walks over to his closet. I can hear the soft swish of fabric and hear the scrape of the coat hanger’s hooks as he rifles through his clothes.

"What are you looking for?" I ask, my curiosity peaked.

He turns his head and looks at me with a heated smile that makes my toes curl.

"I've got something for you," he says and walks back over to me, his hand behind his back. He lays down behind me and pulls my back flush against his back.

"How long have you had that tattoo?" he asks.

"Why?" I ask, my voice even, my posture still relaxed. Hopeful that he'll move on. This is the last thing I want to think about much less discuss. Talking about the tattoo means talking about why I got it and what it means. I don’t ever want him to know. I don’t want to see the expression in his eyes go from admiration to doubt or even worse, disgust.

"It's so dark, like it's new. But you said you had a pendant in the same shape when you were a girl. So, I thought maybe it was older,” he persists.

"No, it's new." My response is brief, devoid of any emotion.

An awkward silence fills the room, and I feel guilty for causing it, but I won’t talk about this.

"Okay," he says slowly. "Well, I got this for you," he says, and his arm reaches over to dangle the bronze carving of the Fawhodie I saw in the Art Center in front of my face. My heart stops for just a second before it jumps into a sprint.

"I told you I didn't want it." I say dully.

"I didn't believe you," he says quietly, and my heart sinks. This isn't how I hoped to spend our last night together. I close my eyes and count to ten. I remind myself who I am, what my life is and swallow down the bitterness that make me want to tell him everything so he’ll stop this. But I can’t. I want him to leave here knowing only the things he’s seen this week. The dancing, our all-night talks, the laughter, the food, the sex.

So, I sit up and face him as I trace the carving with my fingers.

I smile at him and say, "Thank you, it's beautiful," I say quietly, my heart aching.

"Really? Then, why do you sound like I just handed you an urn and told you your mother's inside?" he quips softly.

I put a little more effort into my smile, but move to the edge of the bed "I'm just tired. It's been a long day, and the malaria leaves me feeling tired sometimes."

I swing my legs over the side and look around the room. I see my underwear. But I can't seem to make myself move, and I just sit there staring at it.

"What’s wrong?” his voice is serious, all of the lighthearted ease gone from it. He sits down beside me.

I can’t look at him.

"I have to get back to East Legon. Bambi's mom will have a fit if I'm not there when she wakes up, and I don't want that." I stand up and cross the room to get my panties off the floor. I turn my back to him and step into them.

He sighs in frustration. I hear the pad of his bare feet on the floor as he comes to stand behind me.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing." I shake my head, a fast, jerky motion that feels more like a tremor. "You're leaving tomorrow. Let’s end this on a happy note,” I whisper.

"So, that’s it? You’re going to leave now we’ll never see each other again?" He sounds irritated, but I can also hear the hurt there.

He puts his hands on my shoulders and gently turns me to face him. He tilts his head. His mouth is set in a firm line and his eyes wary, as he waits for me to respond.

"That's what we agreed, Harry," I blink up at him in surprise.

"You can't change the rules now," I whisper, not bothering to hide my alarm.

He stalks over to the lamp in the corner of the room and switches it on. The room floods with light, and I snatch my shirt from the floor and pull it over my head.

"Rules?" he says incredulously. I cross my arms over my chest at the anger in his voice. "Are you fucking serious? After the last three weeks, you're still talking to me about rules?"

"Yes," I whisper, my jaw clenched in anger. "Why are you making this harder than it has to be?" I ask, every word deliberate. My voice trembles, but my resolve doesn't waver.

He looks at the ground, rubbing his forehead with his hands before he looks up at me. "Why does that carving upset you?"

I can’t talk about this now, so I don’t acknowledge his question.

“Tomorrow, you'll get on your plane and go home. You won't see me again, you won't talk to me again.”

“Answer my question,” he demands.

“Why do you want to ruin what we’ve had with ugly things?" I feel like pulling my hair out.

"There's nothing ugly about you," he says softly, but his frustration is still there, too.

"Just because you've been sleeping with me, doesn't mean you know me," I snap.

His entire body tenses and his brows draw are downward by his frown. but all I can see in his eyes is hurt.

Hurt that I put there.

My stomach clenches. “Harry, please…”

"Is sleeping together all you remember us doing for the last three weeks? Do you have amnesia?" His sarcasm stings.

“Harry, please. Let’s not do this,” I plead and I wrap an arm around his waist. I want to rewind the last ten minutes.

I’d lie. I’d say whatever he wanted me to if we could just be back in bed, enjoying each other instead of having an argument that neither of us can win.

He pulls my arms off his waist and steps away from me. “You can insult yourself all you want, but you won't fucking insult me.”

I stand there, and watch helplessly as the fire I’ve been playing starts to burn out of control. The flames of ruin lick at me. This bridge is burning.

"I have feelings for you." He says this quietly, regretfully.

I should tell him that this won’t end well. That he shouldn’t have feelings for me because I don’t have more than my body to give him. But those are lies. I may not be able to give him more, but it’s not because I don’t want to.

So, I tell Harry the truth. I cup his hands in my face and whisper, “Me, too.” Right before I start to press lingering, clinging kisses to his mouth.

His fingers thread into my hair slowly. Without warning, he grips a handful of it and pulls my head back. He scatters kisses down my neck, across my collar bone and nips my shoulder. My head lolls, and I suck my lower lip into my mouth and whimper when his tongue swirls into the hollow at the base of my neck.

"I don’t want this to be goodbye," he whispers against my throat as my hands wind around his neck to hold him close.

Moments like this one are ones that most people only ever dream of.

The tacit connection, the way our paths crossed, our physical chemistry - all of it feels so rare, beautiful and completely impossible to predict or tame.

And right now, it refuses to be denied.

When he lays me back down on the bed, he asks me what I want.

“Everything,” I answer.

“Okay, baby, ” he says before he slips inside of me. As we make love, I wish that I could rearrange the universe as easily as his teeth and tongue could say those word. Because I want to live in a world where this amazing man could be mine.

I will never experience anything as magnificent as the way he has adored me. It’s like the sun shining on the darkest parts of my insides, disinfecting and cleansing.

But, there are some stains that nothing can remove. And the one on my soul is one of those.

I bury my face in his neck and fuck Harry like I’m never going to see him again.

* * *

"I'll be back in the morning," I whisper into Harry’s broad, hard chest. I press my nose into the fabric of his shirt, praying that I won't forget his clean mint and clover scent. We're standing outside his hotel. Ken's waiting in the car, and every few seconds he sticks his head out of the window and coughs anxiously. We have to stop for Porsha, and there isn’t much time to do that and get home before her mother wakes up to find us gone.

"Okay. My flight's not until the evening, so we'll have all day," he says, and my heart squeezes painfully. I tip my head up and raise a little to press a kiss to his mouth.

"Thank you for tonight. It was amazing," I whisper against his mouth when I make myself pull away.

"It was. I can't wait to do it again. We'll figure things out tomorrow. Okay?"

"Okay," I whisper, and we walk to the car. Ken is s parked under one of the fluorescent lights that dot the hotel's parking lot. Suddenly self-conscious, I run my hand over my hair and down my face. I must look a fright in the harsh, artificial light.

"You look beautiful," he says, as if reading my mind, and I look up at him.

"You do, too," I say. And I mean it. He's the most beautiful, tender man I've ever known.

For the third time in my life, I feel a desperate sense of loss. Resentment sinks its claws into me and I want to cry.

But crying is pointless.

No one can save me from myself.

We stand there in complete silence. I can feel his eyes on me. I just stare straight ahead and force out a yawn to fill the deafening silence.

"Madam. If we don’t get home in time, I’ll be sacked. This is the last time I will lie for you. We have to go," Ken screams out of the window. We both jump, but I’m relieved for the excuse to get in the car and leave. I give Harry an apologetic smile and start to get in. He grabs my hand, my fingers itch to hold on, but I don’t.

I pull out of his grasp and climb into the car.

I shut the door and roll the window down and look up at him, letting myself get one last glimpse, wincing against the harsh light, shading my eyes, and say, "Sleep well, Harry."

"See you tomorrow?" he says.

"Yup. Can't wait," I say and roll up the window and lean forward to say hello to Ken.

Just as the window closes, I swear I hear Harry whisper, "Liar."

My head whips around to look up at him, but he's already gone.