Thoroughly Whipped

As we parted I smiled, saying, “With a dick this size…” I took it in my hand and gave it one gentle stroke. “They wouldn’t need a big lens.” Harry huffed but thrust into my hand. I felt it hardening again. “I’m pretty sure the astronauts on the space station see this from way up there. It’s their wanking material.” I cleared my throat, donning the voice of an astronaut. “Get ready, boys. Harry Sinclair’s at his window again.”

“They can keep looking,” Harry said, pulling me in closer. He was rock hard against my thigh. “You’re the only one my ‘massive cock’ wants.” My eyes rolled in pleasure at Harry speaking so dirty.

“Say cock again,” I said, smiling as Harry lowered his forehead to mine and whispered, “Cock.” I groaned and allowed him to push me against the wall beside the window.

“Was that good for you?” he asked, a hint of playfulness in his voice I had never heard before.

“More,” I demanded, dropping the sheet and hooking my thigh around his hip. I pressed against his erection. “Give me more. All the dirty words.”

Amusement rumbled in Harry’s chest. Between kisses he said, “Pussy, arse, clit, tits…” He smiled against my mouth and whispered, “Lady garden.”

Throwing my head back, I laughed. “No! Not the fucking creepy-ass lady garden!” As I fought to catch my breath, I felt Harry’s hand still on my cheek. When I cleared the tears from my eyes, I saw he was watching me, his eyes soft and…happy. They looked happy. My heart thudded so fast I thought I might pass out.

Taking his hand in mine, I pulled him from the wall. “Come. Show me your apartment.” As we moved by the closet, Harry stopped me and opened the door. He took out two robes. He released my hand and pulled one around my shoulders.

“My naked body too tempting?” I said as he tied the sash around my waist.

“Always,” he replied with a kiss on my lips. He slipped on his robe and I felt like crying when his Adonis body disappeared under white terrycloth. “But you’re right, we can’t have the perverts of Manhattan watching your sinful naked body though the windows with their lenses.”

Taking my hand, Harry opened the door and my mouth fell open. His apartment was epic. There was no other word for it. A small hallway led us away from the bedroom to a living room filled with plush, overstuffed furniture that looked out over all of Manhattan, the floor-to-ceiling windows like frames around the most perfect art.

As I walked through the living room, I stopped dead as I caught sight of the kitchen. “Holy shit, Harry,” I said and entered the white marbled room. I ran my hands over the granite worktops and all the top-of-the-range appliances. “You cook?”

Harry leaned over the countertop as I ran my hand over the mass of wooden cabinets. “Never.”

“What a travesty,” I said and, leaving the kitchen, walked down a hallway. “What’s this way?”

“My office. Two other bedrooms.” Harry opened the door to his office and I gasped. A traditional mahogany desk sat in the center, but all around him were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. And the ceilings in this penthouse were high.

“Oh. My. God,” I whispered as I ran my hands over the many volumes that stared back at me.

“You like to read?” he asked, perching on the corner of his desk. I walked past the library ladder and read the titles: Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, The Chronicles of Narnia. All my favorites. “Dickens?” I asked, seeing a whole shelf dedicated to his works.

“When I’m in a dour mood,” he teased.

I stopped dead and looked at Harry. “Jane Austen?” All her works were present and accounted for.

“Her work has merit,” he said, like he was the judge and jury of all literature. I mean, HCS Media did have a publishing house, but still. A playful glint remained in his eyes. I couldn’t get enough of it.

“Merit?” I laughed and walked to Harry, pulling on the collar of his robe. His arm wrapped around my waist and I melted. “I think her works have more than ‘merit’.” I pretended to mull over this. “In fact, I’d say you and certain characters of hers share some attributes.”

“Is that so?” he said with a single raised eyebrow.

“Arrogant.”

“I’m offended.” There was no malice in his voice.

“Posh.”

“I suppose that could be argued.”

“Do you live in a stately home in England? That could be a similarity.” Harry froze, and when I looked at him he grimaced. I’d been joking. He, apparently, was not.

“A teensy-tiny one.” He held up his index finger and thumb and pressed them together to exaggerate his point.

“Is it really teensy-tiny?”

“Erm…no.”

“Like, how many bedrooms?”

Harry sighed. “Seriously, Faith, can we not—”

“How many, Harry?”

“Bedrooms? Twenty-three.” I stopped breathing. “That’s just in the main house. Then there’s the outbuildings.”