Page 72 of Campus Fake

She looked up at me, and the vulnerability in her blue eyes was the kind she only let me see. “Thank you for looking out for him.”

“He’s your brother. That makes him mine too.”

She went up on her toes and kissed me, and just like always, the rest of the world disappeared when her lips were on mine.

THIRTY-THREE

Harry had barely closed the front door behind us before his mouth was on mine.

We’d just gotten back from Summit Hills, where he’d pulled out every stop for Valentine’s Day—a reservation that had probably required calling weeks in advance, a bottle of wine I knew cost more than he’d ever admit, and a candlelit corner table where he’d spent two hours looking at me in that dark gray button-down that brought out his eyes like he was counting the minutes until he could get me alone. I’d worn a red dress that stopped mid-thigh and dipped low enough at the neckline that his gaze had dropped there more than once over dinner. Each time, his jaw tightened just slightly and his eyes went a shade darker, and each time, a thrill ran through me because I knew exactly what that look meant.

Now we were home and he was done being patient.

His hands gripped my hips and walked me backward until my lower back hit the kitchen counter. His kiss was deep and demanding, and tasted like the wine we’d shared with a hint of something darker. When his tongue swept against mine, I stopped caring about anything except getting closer to him. My fingers curled into the front of his shirt, pulling him against me, and I could feel how hard he was already, pressing against my lower belly through his pants.

“Someone’s eager,” I murmured against his mouth.

“I’ve been thinking about getting you out of this dress since you walked down the stairs in it.” His voice was low and rough, making heat pool between my thighs.

“That was three hours ago.”

“I’m aware.” He bit the spot where my neck met my shoulder, and my hips rocked forward on instinct. I made an embarrassingly needy sound, but Harry had this effect on me. One look, one touch was all it took for my brain to shut off and my body to respond by instinct.

“What if someone walks in?” I asked, even though I had no intention of stopping either way. The idea of someone walking in—of Liam or Drew strolling through the door with their cocky grins—should have made me want to take this upstairs.

It didn’t.

It made my pulse race faster.

“They won’t.” He sounded so certain, I chose to believe him.

His hands found the zipper at the back of my dress and dragged it down in one slow pull. The fabric loosened and he peeled the straps off my shoulders, letting the dress slide down my body and pool at my feet. I’d worn a matching set of barely there red lace underneath. I’d bought it specifically for tonight, and his sharp inhale told me it had been worth every penny.

His hands traced down my sides, over the string of lace at my hips, and then back up to cup my breasts through the thin fabric. His thumbs brushed over my nipples and they hardened instantly, straining against the lace. I leaned back into the counter, grinding my hips forward against his, and the low groan that vibrated through his chest made my skin prickle.

“You wore this for me.” His voice was rough against my ear.

“Who else would I wear it for?”

His teeth grazed my earlobe and I shivered. Then his mouth moved lower—along my jaw, down my neck, across my collarbone—until his lips closed around my nipple through the lace. The texture of the fabric combined with the heat of his mouth made my back arch and my fingers grip his hair. He sucked harder, his tongue working through the lace, and I gasped as heat shot straight between my thighs.

He switched sides, giving the same thorough attention to my other breast that he gave to everything where I was concerned. No one had ever made me feel like the center of their universe the way Harry did.

His free hand slid down my stomach and beneath the waistband of my underwear without preamble, his fingers finding me already wet.

“Fuck,” he breathed against my skin. His fingers slid through my center and I gasped, my grip tightening in his hair. He stroked me slow, his middle finger circling my clit with the firm, steady pressure he knew I liked, and my head fell back.

“Harry—” I was already shaking. He’d barely touched me and I was ready to combust, which was either a testament to how good he was or how gone I was for him.

Probably both.

He pulled his hand out of my underwear and I actually whimpered at the loss, which earned me a look that was pure male satisfaction. My bra was next, tossed aside before his fingers slid into the waistband of my underwear and pulled them down my legs. I stepped out of them and stood in front of him completely naked while he was still fully dressed. The imbalance of it did something to me that I wasn’t prepared for. I felt exposed in the best way—like he had all the power and I wanted him to take it.

God, I fucking loved when he went all dominant on me. He was always so quiet and composed, but in bed, when he took control, his eyes burned with so much hunger it bordered on possession.

If only he understood that he owned me completely whether we were in the bedroom or not.

His gray eyes dragged over my body with the same intensity he used to track a puck from the point. Then his gaze flicked to the kitchen table.