This is unedited. But- I really miss writing, and them. I think I might have got a little of the magic here. If you read, please let me know!
Takes place after they've been found out, but before he leaves.
Oh- fully smut
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Jo is sweaty and exhausted. Rung out.
She's twisted as well, her body bent into a position she would t have been able to achieve not long ago. Not before, before she had reason to.
Before she had all the encouragement in the world to get into unnatural, sometimes slightly uncomfortable arrangements. Reasons to go beyond her limit.
Sometimes they felt illegal.
The things he did to her, that she let him, still, after they were caught red handed, in the act, the way she could and did ignore the sentence her son had passed, no words, no seeing him. She didn't just live with that deprivation. It wasn't just the ache in her heart for Ethan. It was a bodily ache.
The creak of her bones the next day, the ache between her legs, the deep circles beneath her eyes when he kept them up all night.
But, when they were like this, the sweat, creaks, and consequences paled in comparison to being his.
To be his and to call him Hers.
It went beyond that, like in the current moment between them. There is no space between them. She knows what they mean, about being one, in the Bible.
One flesh.
Her flesh is open to him, and he's bound it to himself. Throw the book at her, she will take any punishment. She loves his so bad. Loves his criminally delicious voodoo, the magic he makes of her moans and membranes.
Rights now, he's behind her, she supposes, she's not sure that's exactly right, she's mostly on her side, him too, but he's mostly on her, has her between his arms, between his hips, between his lips. He is kissing her again, so the pounds have slowed. They've been going in an out of tempo, occasionally slow and sweet, lots of kissing. Like now, she's panting, catching her breath because just a moment ago, she thinks it was a moment, her grasp of time falls away when he gets ahold of her, he'd not been slow. They'd been in the throes of a flurry of fucking, his hand on her shoulder, on her hip to piston into her so fast that she almost couldn't breath.
They'll work back up to that, she thinks, they always do, when he's in this attitude, where he wants it to last, Harry gets as carried away as she does, so he takes them both to the brink, then pulls them back. She'd been about to plunge into the abyss just that false moment ago, then he'd slowed, pulled her back, pulled her in, moved his hand from hip to tit and just moved his hips back slow, his dick losing only an inch or so of its possession of her body, before sliding back in.
Jo's just got her breath when he pulls back again, is about to confess, say the love words she's stopped saying. The words she'd caged up in her heart, detained so she had some evidence of trying, trying ro do the right thing. The problem is, Harry is both her jailer and her redeemer. Her the lock, Him the key. Luckily, It gets caught in her throat over his thrust.
"Harry!" She cries, for only an inch, she can't believe how no much power he just gave her. All the potential energy in his powerful thighs, his surprisingly muscular glúted, becoming kinetic between her thighs.
He does it again and she sure she'd be sliding off, off the edge of the mattress with the force of it, had he not had the grip on her he had. He's also squeezing her tit just the way she loves, a little rough, a little over zealous.
But she's sweaty and he looses his grip. So then he's got her shoulder, and the hand that had been on her head gently gets the new tone and clasps her neck. Wraps around the tiny apple in her throat. He pounds in again. Her breath pushed out and his grip preventing her from breathing in. She's out of breath, she's not able to catch it, doesn't want to run to get ahold of it. She'd have to get away from him to do that, and she doesn't want to. He can be Eve and take a bite of that Apple and she will be Adam and follow him out of the garden. Ruin their lives and the world for how it feels to be together. All the pain nothing compared to not being one.
Some
Part of her, deep, maybe even deeper than where Harry is, inside, thinks this would be a cool way to die. Some sexual suicide, like the relational one she's committing by being here in the first place.
Harry might take her out, but she's a willing accomplice.
Her voice sounds weak after the next thrust and she remembers who her lover is, how he loves her, and though she maybe willing to die for love, kill her whole life, he's not.
He pulls back, pulls out. And she's scrabbling at his hand , sucking his thumb in to entice him to danger again, pressing his big palm to her small neck again.
"More."
"Yea, more!" He pushes her fully into her front. "But nothing like that, your face went a little blue, baby. It's not a color I like your skin." He's whispering this into her ear before he slithers down her back.
"Liar,." She moans thinking about the bruises from
His fingers on her hips, and the love bites that litter her collarbone, make her wear collared shirts all buttoned up.
"Maybe," he whispers to her sacrum. "But not like that. I like to make you breathless, but I like you breathing love." He says this as he commits another crime, steals away with her breath. He's pushed her hips up, used a palm to arch her so he has access, then a mouth full. When she became obsessed with his mmm licking around her opening and how he'd zeroed in on it is a mystery to her. So many things are a mystery between them, how he feels her moods from 20 miles away, farther, how they bend time, how she loves the taste of his cock, and let's him eat her ass. She distinctly remembers giving a whole lecture on how unhygienic that was when it first got popular.
She gets the appeal, at this moment literally. Her cheeks spread around Harry's tongue. He'd finished lathering and loving her opening, sucking and teasing her clit until she's twitching. His big hand can hold her open with mouth assistance, so his other, long fingered limb, can pet from the back the front of her channel. It makes her writhe, it makes her come. She's right there, before he makes her breathless with broad licks before pointed tongue on her puckered hole.
"Oh god Harry." Lewd acts. Another crime she's guilty of with him. And she loves it, crushes his fingers when she pulses over the filthy love they make while she is still twitching.
He smoothes yo her back, that snake in the garden move, slides inside before she's done contracting. "Fuck, Jo!" He just stops and she would feel proud that she's made him still so soon when he wasn't being stimulated. She loves taht getting her off does so much for him. Jo wonders if he could come from eating her out. He loves her flavor so much she thinks he could. To be wanted and craved is powerful, makes her feel expansive.
Her arms are wide, clutching at then mattress edge on one side, the sheets on the other. He's still got her arched, ass up, groaning I to the pillow, his thighs bracketing hers, framing her hips, one hand on her back the other the headboard. Those short powerful strokes exchanged for pulling all the way out and pressing all the way on. He likes it like tjhis, told her her thighs provided continual friction. She gets to feel the thick eidhe of his cock go in every Time. She can't move much, immobilized by his big body and at his considerable mercy. And she wet, pliant and soaking, so it's no danger, to pull all reheat out, use her thighs and fuck back in so she get her favorite pop on every stroke.
Jo realizes she's crying not long after, sobbing over pleasure and what's right between them and everything that's wrong. So wrong.
Harry knows, feels her going to deep inside herself, the hand on her back caresses to her jaw and tilts her head to the side so she can't hide, smother herself. A cool way to die.
"Too much?" He Asks, about where he is in her stomach right now, and probably about the rest of it.
She nods, it's what she can manage, good thing they don't need words to communicate.
He levers Himself down and does nothing to stop her tears when he places a tender kiss on her cheek, her crying eye.
He pulls out, flips her over, frames her face, frames his body with her hips and just glides i to her, the way he made himself a part of her life even when they both knew, he knew more, that he shouldn't. He's back with her, making their halves whole, but still, just smearing kisses over her face. When he meets her mouth, it's more a sharing of air than anything. Him breathing life into her, as much as she would die for him, she knows he'd do anything to keep her alive, keep her really living, loving.
Except leave her.
End their union, leave her halved.
He can't do that.
And that's what he is guilty of. And extreme compassion for her taht makes him selfish.
In this position, neither of them get the short stick, she gets every inch he can give, and his body ñressd over her whole self, into her, his nipples brushing Hera, his face notched into her neck, or his tongue speaking love i to her mouth with words for kisses.
"Can I finish?" He asks, like she's been demanding he hold off, like she can take any more. Their both the crime boss requiring lewd acts of each other, maybe.
"Just a minute." Jo pants. Her ends on the horizon, the sunlight coming over the hill, golden. "I wanna, together."
"Jo!" He holds her throat again, her jaw, her life, in his big hand. "I love you!" He pushed into her, like she doesn't say it anymore because she doubts it.
Her tears come out again and he kisses them away and grits his teeth for them, to stave off his finish. Jo presses her heels into the back sof his thighs, then his calves, tilts her pelvis to feel him against all her spots, pubic hair friction ok her clit, lip of his dick inside. "Harry! Oh God!"
"Now? Now." He couldn't miss it, her time, he could set his watch, place the gears even, since he engineers her pleasure, orders it. Jo thinks she cries out, knows she is crying, feels wet on her neck, she thinks from him.
Their bond is more than she ever wanted, is everything she shouldn't have.
Her favorite crime.