She let her head drop onto the back of the couch and worked to keep her breathing under control. As Harper walked herself through a mental cold shower （even in the coldest shower, Dan’s body was there to distract her）， she saw his hand twitch. She wanted to cry out in relief. It was the first sign of life in what felt like hours. Harper held her breath.
His fingers twitched again.
Facing straight ahead, pretending to be engrossed with whatever was happening on the screen, every cell in her body pivoted its attention to the spot where his hand lay between them.
In the subtlest of movements, one that Harper couldn’t even trust to be real it was so small, his hand seemed to move closer to hers.
Her body reacted as though he’d raked his teeth over her inner thighs. Liquid heat flooded through her, pooling low in her belly, pangs of anticipation unfurling across her body. She felt fevered and overwhelmed; the drumbeat of her pulse threatened to crack open her chest.
His hand continued to slide closer, moving at a glacial pace. Harper wanted to claw at his hand. Place it on her body. She wanted to destroy any space that still sat between them.
But she couldn’t do anything but sit.
And watch.
And wait.
Every minuscule extension of his arm promising to soothe the fire licking at her skin, calm the pleasure-pain that was radiating through her.
His hand was so close, she could feel the heat of it rolling off his skin and crashing against hers, causing her nerves to riot violently for more. Her body hummed with frantic anticipation.
If he’d do it—if he’d touch her—maybe she would be okay. Maybe she wouldn’t lose her mind and crack her body from the need that held every muscle locked in place.
Her face wasn’t directed at the TV anymore. All her attention, every ounce of focus, was locked on that hand. Her heart was squeezing so tightly she worried what would happen if he withheld his touch any longer.
Slowly, so slowly she thought she might scream, she watched as Dan extended one long, beautiful finger. No movement had ever seemed so important as watching the tip of it hover right above her outstretched palm, greedy and waiting. He pressed the pad of it to her and dragged it across her palm.
Harper.
Lost.
Control.
His touch hadn’t healed her aches like she’d desperately needed it to; it had only made them worse.
She flung her body at him, any gentleness lost in the all-consuming need for more. She was drowning in it, and she needed the feel of him to keep her afloat. Her legs wrapped around him and she pressed herself into his lap, grinding every inch of her body against his. She needed pressure.
And contact.
And more.
More.
She knotted her fingers in his hair, the soft locks like flames licking her hands. She wanted to burn.
Dan’s chest was heaving against hers in violent, racking breaths.
“What are you doing?” he whispered hoarsely, before dragging his teeth down the column of her throat. She groaned.
“I don’t want to be your friend. I don’t want to be your friend.” The words came out strangled and broken as she repeated them over and over. Every admission brought her exquisite pleasure, releasing her body from a cage of her own making. They were a blur of torn clothes and gripped flesh, the feel of skin on skin making them both sigh in relief. Through it all, she repeated the words until they were nothing but unintelligible gasps.
Finally receiving the connection she was rabid for, her eyes locked on Dan’s. For one breathless moment, there was no hurt or angst or worry.
Only them.
He opened his mouth to speak. “Harper, I—”
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Harper’s eyes snapped open and she jolted up in bed.
She was panting, sweaty, and confused as her bedroom came into focus. Her carefully organized desk in one corner, Judy perched on the windowsill in another. Her bed and the mocking light of dawn surrounded her as the dream went fuzzy at the edges.
As her pulse settled back to sustainable, reality dropped coldly around her. Not only did Dan fill her every waking thought, he also infiltrated her dreams on a regular basis and set her off like a horny prisoner at a conjugal visit.
She hurled her body back against the bed and turned to her pillow, letting out a raspy groan of frustration. Her alarm still blared on her nightstand, and she fumbled blindly to turn it off, groggy from her too-few hours of sleep.
She’d stayed up way too late—again—texting Dan into the dark hours of the night, where the things said didn’t feel real or permanent, little messages in a bottle sent out to sea. Every buzz of her phone sent an echoing ping of excitement through her body, making her fingers fly over the screen until she was giddy and shaky with enjoyment at the silly exchange.