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You steal kisses under the thick quilt, pulled up over your heads to keep out the chill. Legs slotted together, hips pressed snug as your fingers wander - tracing across his white undershirt, to where his thick hair curls at the base of his neck.
Tonight wasn’t supposed to end up like this, but you think you might be grateful for the snow that has been falling down in thick, puffy flakes all afternoon.
Not seeing how it had picked up during dinner, too starry-eyed and tender-hearted to notice anything other than each other. The dishes neatly stacked and drying as you watched a movie together on your couch - your fingers laced with his.
Only seeing the way the snow piled against your door as he was getting ready to leave for the night - the icy chill of the air cutting through your cozy cabin of a home.
“You could stay.” You had offered, hopeful. “Will you? Stay?”
It would be a new step. The next big one - he hasn’t slept over before.
A lot of your dates have been in public, a lunch grabbed during a break at the clinic. Meeting at the Stardrop Saloon for dinner. Both of you busy - the farm in full bloom during the fall. His work picking up as he doled out flu shots as the season turned - taking care of sniffling colds.
“Yes. I’d like that.” Harvey had smiled, “Very much.”
With the public dates came another sort of slow dance - the ache of desire you had for him stamped down by the surrounding of your friends. The eyes that seemed to drift your way out of interest, excitement.
Stolen kisses, a moment where he had you backed against the door of your cabin as he breathlessly kissed you farewell. You had wanted him to come inside that night - it had been on the tip of your tongue - but he truly had an early morning the next day.
You weren’t sure if he’d even want to sleep in your bed, though you’d hoped he would.
Everything about him gentlemanly - from the way he asked you out, to the flowers he brought you. Polite and kind and taking his time with each step, making sure you were right there with him.
But right now - tonight - there’s a shift. You’re unsure whether it’s the fact that you’re alone, or the slow tease of denial over the past few weeks, or whether it’s the distinct lack of clothes - but there’s a tension, a need, that you can almost feel.
It’s there in the way your fingers tug at his hair, the way he pulls you just a little more flush against him. The soft hum when his tongue brushes against your lip, until you lets him in.
The needy little whine in your throat, when the slow, deep kisses are both not enough and too much, when you want more.
He makes his own sound at that - a deep groan, while you guide his hand beneath your shirt. The heat of his palm as he cups you, his other arm curling around you to tug you closer. The barest brush of a thumb across a taut nipple, your hips shifting against him in response, encouraging.
Feeling where he’s straining against his patterned boxers, your own fingers trailing over the cotton fabric as his sound turns sharp.
You pull back, lips kiss-swollen, fingers going still.
His eyes crack open as you apologize, “I’m sorry. Do you want to stop?”
A low laugh at that, barely a huff of breath. Eyes hazy and half-lidded, his nose brushing against yours, “Don’t stop, sweetheart. Please.”
His hips shifting into your hand, as your fingers unfurl so you can cup him - feel the heavy weight of his cock as you stroke him over the fabric.
A groan rattling in his throat at your hand, his own catching the tight bud of your nipple between thumb and forefinger, giving the lightest tug.
You own moan echos his, working at the front of the boxers - tugging them down to pull him free.
Harvey’s nose bumps into yours when your hand wraps around him fully, fingers lightly squeezing, his mouth open as he exhales. Half-lidded eyes needy under the fan of thick eyelashes, and your lips finds his again as your hand strokes over his swollen, flushed cock.
There’s the drag of skin on skin as you tug on him, one, twice, three times before you’re making a little sound - breaking the kiss to push yourself up.
Eyes bouncing back and forth between his as you ask, “Can I taste you? I want it to feel good, I-”
He makes a low sound, one you take to be his permission - a cold gust of air sneaking into the space as you sit up. Pulling your shirt off, leaving it tangled in the sheets as you move between the thighs that spread open for you.
Admiring him, for a moment. Because you can, because he’s yours. The trail of hair leading down from his bellybutton, neatly trimmed at the base of his cock. A drop shining at the tip, but not enough to prevent the chafe of your hand.
Your tongue peeks out to drag over his cock as it bobs against his stomach. His voice coming after, a rasp to it that you haven’t heard before, “Just get me wet, and come back up here. I want to touch you.”
His words are unexpected - making you clench, breath hot against his skin as you take him into your mouth. Sucking, slicking him up like he asked, tasting the salt of his skin, reveling in the way he makes your lips stretch around him.
Taking as much as you can into your throat, if only to hear his moan, the way his thighs flex under your hands. His hands, fingers gentle as they touch at your face, your eyes watching the way he pants when you hollow your cheeks, your fist following as your head bobs.
“Up here.” He repeats, the slightest edge that has you listening, smiling as you swallow the spit that pools in your mouth. Settling next to him on your side again, your fist still stroking as his lips crush against yours.
Fingers toying at the hem of your shorts, his mouth dropping to your chin, your neck, as you arch against him. Then, sliding beneath, reaching until his fingers part you, finding where you’re slick and aching for him.
“Fuck, sweetheart.” He grits out, his hips jerking into your fist as he pets at you again.
He’s ruining you already, the words spilling from his lips ones you wouldn’t have expected. You don’t think he’s even trying to do it, not intentionally. They seem to flow from him when he sees how his voice affects you. It makes you want to hear more - already thinking about how he’ll sound when he’s buried in you. When he’s close.
His palm cups you, the heel pressing against your clit, before his middle finger just nudges against your entrance. A low gasp as he sinks inside, as if your pleasure was his - a slow pump of his finger, and then another.
Your teeth catch on his lip, the softest scrape, the tightening of your fist. His nose nuzzling against yours, the suck of air through his clenched teeth.
“So warm and wet,” Harvey breathes - watching you, your head tilting back as a second finger slips in, pressing them deep before carefully crooking and stroking.
The gasp you make is sharp, a pleased hum as his mouth moves to your neck. Doing it again, finding a rhythm as his thumb moves to rub against the swollen bud.
“Harvey.” You croak, breathless - the slick pump of his fingers followed by the scratch of his mustache as he presses an open-mouth kiss against your throat.
You didn’t know it could be like this - everything winding tight, a building pressure that has you gasping, hips flexing as you ride his fingers. His name on your lips again, a plea this time.
“What do you need, baby?” He asks against your skin, moving down to where your fingers had teased at your chest. Blinking up at you, a lazy smile beneath the flush of his cheeks, when you find you can’t answer.
Not even stroking him anymore - too distracted, too close - to do anything more than hold him.
“You want to come?” He croons, rubbing the tip of his finger against a spongey spot that steals your breath.
You nod, managing a gasping, croaking “please”, before you see the peek of his tongue, the hot swipe of it against your breast.
The groan that bursts from you then - wanton and needy as he flicks his tongue over your again, his thumb circling your clit with each of your gasping breaths.
Your hips bucking into his hand as his lips close around and suck, the softest brush of his teeth. The muscles in your thighs strung tight, a short, harsh breath punctuating each of your words.
“Fuck, Harvey. Right there, oh, I’m so close-”
His answer, the low, coaxing smoothness of his voice, “That’s it honey. Come for me, let me feel you.”
Gasping then, as he hums against your skin, the bursting pulse of pleasure between your thighs as you clench around his fingers. They slow, pressing deep - his head tilting up so he can watch the blissed-out droop of your eyes, the way your lips part.
Blushing and pleased, his teeth flashing white as his chin presses into your sternum.
Leaving you limp on the bed, moving back up until his lips press into your jaw, your cheek. Fingers drifting over your shoulder, stroking as soothing as you come back down.
Until your head is tilting to meet him, soft kisses that turn hungry - as you shift a knee over his stomach. Carefully easing until you’re straddling him, thighs spread wide over his hips. Arched over him, fingers splayed and balancing yourself on his chest - pressing into his warm skin, the dust of hair.
Your hips shift, until you can feel the hard press of him against your center - his hands flexing where they rest against your bent knees.
One coming up to brush a curl of hair back from his forehead. His own hips canting upward, his cock trapped between your pussy and where it curves up towards his stomach.
The words, heavy on your tongue, “Yoba, I want you.”
And how he smiles at that, sweet and slow as his chin tips up, so he can see you better.
“You want to ride me, sweetheart? Like you rode my fingers?”
Your exhale is sharp as you nod, and he makes a slow, pleased sound. A thudding heartbeat between your thighs, your mind a hazy, needy swirl as your grind down. Each pass making his cock a little more slick, the flushed head bumping against your clit.
“I don’t want to make a mess in your bed.” He groans, though he’s moving with you, meeting the rut of your hips, “Do you have condoms?”
And oh, you want him to make a mess of you - but you understand what he’s asking. Appreciating his care even when he’s aching for you, and you’re nodding, gesturing towards the bedside table.
His arm stretched as he reaches for it, a finger hooking around the wooden knob, giving it a tug. Fishing around for the small cardboard box, dropping in on the bed next to him as grabs his glasses where they are resting next to the lamp.
Brows furrowing as he slides them on, the tip of a fingernail slipping under the edge of the box. Ripping the edge of the foil after, fishing it out before his other hand grips the base of his cock - carefully rolling the condom on.
Holding himself steady for you, afterwards - as you gaze down at him. A flutter of excitement in your chest as you lift up, a palm pressed against his chest for balance.
Lining yourself up, feeling the tip drag against you until he’s nudging against your entrance, and then you’re sinking down onto him for the first time.
A rough moan is pushed from your lungs as you take him, slow and steady, feeling him stretch and fill you. Something you’d imagined frequently - but never dreaming he’d feel as good as he does right now.
His own low curse, your name strung out as he’s buried in you - until your hips are snug against his, and you’re wrapped warm and tight around him.
Your head dipping, fingers curling against his chest as you take a long moment, peeking up to where he’s watching, lips parted. Hands that move to rest on your thighs, where his fingers bite into your own flesh.
Bracing yourself, as you lift up - feeling the drag of him within you as your eyes slide shut. Another, and then another, your heels pressing into his thighs as you find your rhythm.
The pant of your breath matching his, his hips jerking up to meet each bounce, nudging him just that much deeper with each thrust.
“Just look at you,” He’s groaning, broad hands sliding from your thighs to your hips. Grabbing on, arms flexing as he helps you ride him, “Yoba, you’re beautiful.”
It makes you whine, makes you want to kiss him. So you do, leaning down over him, your breasts pressing against his chest as his chin lifts. Meeting you, moaning into your mouth as the sharp slap of your hips turns into a grind.
Changing the way he feels in you, the thrusts shallower. A nudging against your clit that leaves you breathless, your nose bumping eagerly against his as you sigh against him.
Fingers cupping the back of his neck, the other hand bracing against his shoulder. Drawing back to look at him, where he’s watching you as you take what you need.
“Is this okay?” You ask, suddenly a little self-conscious under his gaze. Still disbelieving that he’s beneath you, inside you - feeling better than you’ve ever imagined.
His smile soft and stretching across his face, “So perfect, sweetheart. You’re doing so well for me, aren’t you?”
It makes you clench, where he can feel it. A hand leaving your hip, sliding between his lips and sucking, as your lips press into the stubble on his jaw. Slipping them between you, to rub the wet tips against the bud of your clit.
You jolt - leaning back to give him more room. Touching you like he did before, the slight furrow in his brow as he concentrates - his eyes lifting to yours again.
“Aren’t you?” He coaxes again, the slightest edge to his voice. Not a command, it’s far too soft - but it’s firm, drawing your attention.
“Yes.” You moan, ignoring the dull ache in your muscles in favor of the slick swirl of his fingers. Chasing something you can almost taste - a pressure building and building where he’s buried in you.
He watches you, shoulders curling against the generous pile of your pillows, eyes traveling from your face, down to the bounce of your breasts. Lingering, before dropping - focusing on his fingers. Where he can see you, the way you wrap around him, the flex of your muscles as you arch into his touch.
A low, rough hum when your fingers tighten where they rest on your thighs. Your gasping breath, the small, “Yoba, Harvey. Just like that.”
He stays steady, giving you just the tiniest bit more pressure. It’s bliss, and you can feel that pressure again, the tight swirl in your belly.
“Oh, you felt so good around my fingers, sweetheart.”
The praise makes you whine, his voice soft and coaxing, “Want to make you come again. On my cock this time, so I can stop imagining it at work, and start remembering, instead.”
Your eyes flicker to his, his own gaze-heavy lidded, wanting. His hip flexing up to meet you, a hand braced on your waist and helping keep the pace.
And he sees it, the question in your eyes, the flash of teeth beneath his mustache as he smiles, “I’ve wanted this for ages. Wanted you. Just didn’t want to rush.”
It’s his wanting that tips you over the edge. His voice, the press of his fingers, as your thighs flex, tighten. Pushing him deep into you as you come, the tight clench of your cunt around his cock - your hands brace on his chest as you arch over him.
His name, pretty on your lips and drawn out over long syllables that sounds like a hymn with the way you sing it.
The soft swoop of his hands over your hips, thighs - soothing and comforting. Until your heart slows from where it was pounding in your chest, making itself known.
Now that you’re no longer moving, the chill settles in, and you shiver. Harvey feels the tremble of your fingers against his chest, and he’s catching them, before pushing himself up on his elbows.
“Come here.” He pats the space next to him, gently coaxing you off him.
You miss him as soon as he leaves you, an emptiness and an ache in your thighs from the exertion. But the bed is warm where he’s been laying, and as soon as you’re settled, he’s swapping places, rolling on top. Fitting between your spread thighs.
He’s kissing you this time when he fits himself inside you. The hiss of his breath as he sinks in, a soft, drawn out “fuck” that you hope you never get used to hearing. Something just for you.
Your fingers grasping his shoulders when he pushes deep, a pleasurable force to his thrust that has you gasping.
The clumsy brush of his cheek to yours, his glasses against your face as you smile. Reaching to remove them for them - tuck them away safely.
A low, grateful sound in his throat as he find his rhythm. The flex of his hips as he rocks into you, his weight warm and welcome.
Your lips against his throat, memorizing the sounds of his gasps, a low moan when you clench around him. A thigh, hooking around his hip, keeping him pressed deep as his breaths grow shorter.
“Want to make you feel good, too.” You tell him, the tilt of his chin he watches from where he hold himself just above you.
The smile when you see how he cheeks flush, how his hips stutter at your words.
“Oh, you do.” He groans, eyes half-lidded as he sinks into your heat, “You feel so fucking good, honey.”
His mouth warm against your when he leans down, swallowing his sounds as you start to move with him. The snap of his hips against yours, the muffled slap of skin on skin.
Coaxing him to shift, until his arms are wrapping around you, embracing you. Your hands on his jaw, his neck as you kiss him again, drawing back to tell him just how much you want him. How you’ve thought about him, about this.
His thrusts have gone shallow, and then - he’s there.
You watch with glassy eyes as he comes, the pretty pinch between his eyebrows, his parted lips, his long, broken moan. The way he’s gazing at you as he thrusts deep one more time, holding himself there as the last pulsing flexes of his cock wane.
The bristly brush of his mustache as his lips press to your cheek, the low, content sigh in his chest. Easing carefully from you a few moments later, removing and tying off the condom.
His legs swing off the side of the bed, as he gets ready to throw it away in the bathroom - to clean up. Leaving you with a, “I’ll be right back. Okay?”
The gentle confirmation is sweet. You think he’d stay, even without the storm. It’s a nice thought, and you’re content to stay in your cozy bed beneath the blankets, basking in the afterglow.
It’s only better when he rejoins you, curling himself against your back, lips pressing against your neck. How easily the two of you seem to fit together, the tickle against your skin as he sighs, and finally - relaxes.
Your fingers find his, wrapping around them. Bringing them up to your lips, cradling them carefully as you kiss them. Actions laced with unspoken words of affection, as you revel in the moment. In just being with him, right now.
The warmth in your bed seeps into your heart, as his arms tighten around you. Secretly happy for the storm, even if it means you’ll have more work in the morning.
Because at the moment… there’s no place in the world that you’d rather be.