Chapter 1: Chapter 1
The door shook in its frame with every thrust. A sharp, rhythmic bang of wood against jamb that sounded, to Harper’s ears, as loud as a gunshot. She bit down on the meat of Leo’s shoulder, her teeth sinking into the damp cotton of his t-shirt to trap the moan clawing its way up her throat.
“Fuck,” Leo breathed, the word a hot gust against her temple. His hands were vise-tight on her hips, fingers digging into the bare skin between her jeans and her crop top, lifting her, driving her down onto him with a force that stole her breath. Her back scraped against the painted wood of her bedroom door, her head thumping lightly with each impact.
“Slower,” she gasped, but her body arched into his, betraying her. Her legs were locked around his waist, her heels hooked against the small of his back, pulling him deeper. “He’ll hear.”
“He thinks I’m taking a piss,” Leo grunted, not slowing. His movements were relentless, a hard, punishing rhythm that had the cheap IKEA dresser across the room rattling in sympathy. “Quiet then. Be quiet.”
She turned her face into his neck, breathing in the scent of stale beer and his particular sweat, trying to muffle the sounds. It was a raw, greedy fuck. Not the languid, stoned rolling around of an hour ago when Ethan was still out getting more cigarettes. This was adrenaline and deception, sharpened by the risk just a thin door away. Her brother was in the living room, probably spaced out on the couch, waiting.
Leo hit a spot that made her vision blur. A sharp, electric pleasure shot through her core, coiling tight. She clenched around him, a sudden, involuntary spasm, and felt him shudder.
“Shit, Harper. Right there. Keep doing that.”
His voice was frayed, rough. He drove into her again, harder, angling up. The friction was perfect, a building heat that pushed her higher. She could feel the slick sweat between them, hear the wet, obscene sound of their bodies joining. Her own breathing was a ragged series of gasps she couldn’t control.
One of his hands slid from her hip, snaked between them, his thumb finding her clit. The pressure was immediate, brutal, and exactly what she needed. She cried out, a truncated, choked sound she swallowed half of.
“Leo—I’m gonna—”
“Do it. Come. Now.”
His command, growled into her ear, was the final trigger. The coil snapped. Pleasure ripped through her, wave after wave, silent but for the frantic hammering of her heart against his and the rush of blood in her ears. She spasmed around him, milking him, her thighs trembling violently where they clung to him.
It pulled him over the edge. With a stifled, guttural roar that was mostly air, he buried himself deep and came, his whole body locking, pulsating inside her. She felt the hot spill, the final, frantic jerks of his hips subsiding into shallow tremors.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing in the dark room, the faint bass line from the living room TV seeping under the door. The weight of him against her was immense, anchoring her to the spot. Slowly, sensation returned: the ache in her shoulders from being braced, the cool wood against her scorching back, the sticky, cooling mess between her thighs.
He slid out of her, and she winced, her legs finally unlocking and dropping leaden to the floor. She wobbled, and his hands steadied her, then dropped away just as quickly. He turned, zipping his jeans with a crisp, definitive sound.
“Towel’s in the ensuite,” she mumbled, not looking at him, pressing her forehead against the door. The wood was cool. She listened. No footsteps. No curious voice. Just the low murmur of a late-night commercial.
He padded away. She heard the faint click of the bathroom door, the rush of water in the sink. She pushed away from the door, her legs unsteady, and grabbed her panties from the floor, stepping into them. The damp cotton was an unpleasant shock. She pulled her jeans back on, the denim rough against her sensitive skin.
Leo emerged from the bathroom, his face washed, hair smoothed back. He looked like he’d just taken a leak, nothing more. He avoided her eyes, grabbed his worn leather jacket from her desk chair.
“I should head,” he said, his voice back to its normal, casual register. A stranger’s voice.
“Yeah.” She crossed her arms, suddenly cold. “Tell Ethan you’re heading out.”
“Right.” He paused at her bedroom door, his hand on the knob. He didn’t turn. “See you around, Harper.”
He opened the door and slipped out, closing it softly behind him. Not a goodbye, just an exit. She stood frozen, listening to the exchange in the living room.
“Bailing, man. I’m wiped.”
“Yeah? Alright. Later.”
The front door opened and shut.
Silence. Then the sound of the TV channel changing.
Harper let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. It felt like the first one since he’d pushed her against the door. She looked at the rumpled bed, then at the door where, five minutes ago, he’d been inside her. Her skin still hummed, but a hollow chill was spreading through her chest, familiar and bitter.
From the living room, she heard the flick of a lighter, the slow exhale of her brother’s smoke. Everything was exactly as it was before. As far as Ethan knew, Leo had just used the bathroom.