Challenge (Harris Brothers Book 1)

TONIGHT IS THE FIRST TIME I’ve ever seen Indie with makeup on. Even behind yet another new pair of glasses, she’s striking. The ones she’s wearing tonight are vintage with a black browline and an invisible bottom frame. Combined with the dress and the hair, it all works really well.

And I’m not sure I like it.

Women are a different kind of beautiful when they have makeup on. It puts them on display for all to see, and they want to be seen because they put in the extra effort. So their confidence is higher and their shoulders are straighter. They’re different.

But when Indie’s face is bare, she’s a secret kind of beautiful only noticeable to those who care enough to look.

I liked that I was the only one looking then.

Now, with her lips fire engine red and pouty, every bloke in this club had to be checking her out, gauging their odds and how much work it would take to shag her.

So I had to kiss her. I couldn’t stop myself. It was erratic and messy and wet, but my dick cheered when I pulled back and her lips were swollen and her eyes were filled with lust. It was either kissing her or peeing on her so every guy knew to back the fuck off. Indie Porter belongs to Camden Harris.

For the next five days that is.

Indie goes to talk to Belle while I go to find Gareth, who’s none too surprised when I tell him I’m getting a cab home.

“That didn’t take long.”

I smile. “I’m a Harris.”

He laughs and sets his beer down. “Can I go now?”

“Yes, my brother, you can. Thanks for the support.”

“Not that you needed it,” he states as he pulls his hat down and makes his way out of the club.

A few minutes later, Indie finds me at the bar and I usher her outside to the bank of cabs. “Your friend doesn’t need a ride?” I ask as a black cab pulls up in front of us.

“No, she’s going home with a guy she met.” Indie shrugs like this is perfectly normal behaviour.

She slips inside first. As soon as I fold myself in behind her, I stare hard at her. “How are you feeling?”

She bites her lip. “Fine.”

My gaze narrows as I put my arm on the back of the seat and eye her carefully. “How much did you have to drink?”

She looks away and I sigh. She’s not falling over drunk, but there’s no way I’m having sex with her if there’s even a chance of her not being sober.

She scoffs and turns to face me. “Well, I had this really cheeky footballer, who thinks he’s God’s gift to women, manhandle my lips right before I went out tonight. I had to cool off somehow.”

I’m across the bench in a blink, pressing my lips firmly to hers again. God, she tastes good.

“Where are we going?” the driver barks, interrupting our kiss.

I give him my address and pause when I realise what I’ve just done. Tanner and I have an unspoken rule to never bring women home. I suppose we never did it when we lived at our dad’s so it’s just something we continued when we moved out.

As athletes, our home is our sanctuary away from the pitch. It’s where we prepare and recover ourselves from the grueling parts of our jobs. It gets pretty nasty after we get back from matches. We’re athletes. We stink. But it’s who we are, and we don’t need a woman coming in and judging our system.

Plus, if we don’t bring women home, there’s never the whole awkward “do I have to offer her coffee” sort of vibe. Making coffee for a girl is basically like getting down on one knee—something I can’t even fathom doing.

I actually want to bring Indie back to my flat, though, which is a notion that strikes me as odd. Maybe it’s the virginity thing that makes her different because I’ve never wanted it with any other girl.

I can’t explain it and I’m not going to obsess over it. Or make her coffee. Tanner is gone and, right now, I want to see how Indie Porter looks on my bed.

We arrive at my building and take the lift up to my fourth floor flat. As I’m unlocking the front door, she asks, “Are you a good dancer, Camden?”

This question is odd, even for her. “Why do you ask?”

She sighs and leans against the wall just as I open the door. “I envisioned you were tonight when I was dancing with some bloke.”

My jaw clenches. “I don’t need to hear about you dancing with other guys.”

She smirks. “But I was thinking about you so it shouldn’t count.”

“It counts.”

“I think I like this jealous side of you. I might have to use it to my—”

Her snarky comment is cut off by a satisfying yelp as I wrap my arms around her waist and throw her over my shoulder.

“What are you doing?” she squeals as I savour the feel of her bare legs in my hands.

I turn and walk her inside, kicking the door closed with my foot. “Do you think you’re smart, talking to me like that?” I ask, completely unable to hide the smile on my face.

Her hair tickles my back as she giggles. “I am quite smart, actually. I skipped three whole grades in primary school. Did you know that?”

“I didn’t know that. Tell me then, what did they do to punish clever girls with smart mouths in boarding school?”

“Oh, naughty, naughty things.” She giggles again and I have a momentary desire to put her down just so I can see her face when she does it.

“I might need a demonstration.” I walk down the hallway and straight to my room, forgoing the polite flat tour, the offering of drinks, and the inane small talk. Our arrangement is for sex and sex alone.

“I might be inclined to oblige.” Her voice is breathy when we reach the quiet darkness of my room.

I don’t turn the light on. The streetlights streaming in through the white, wooden blinds are plenty bright enough for me to see all I need to see. I want her to feel confident. I want her to feel safe. Her breath is heavy and I can feel her body tense with anticipation.

Instead of tossing her onto my bed like she probably deserves, I slowly slide her down off of my shoulder to the floor beside my bed. I savour every soft curve, peak, and warmth of her body against mine. In her heels, she’s eye-level with my chest, which is where her shaky hands and gaze are both glued to.

I tilt her chin to look up at me. “Don’t be nervous. We’re not going to do this now. Not with you being pissed.”

Her thick, mascara-lashed lids bat up at me. I note that her hair looks more wild now, long and loose down her back. “I’m hardly pissed,” she defends quietly.

“Still. If you want it to be memorable, you need to be sober, Specs.”

“So what are we going to do?” she asks, adjusting her glasses and slumping her shoulders.

My brows arch as I lean down and kiss her. Her lipstick is much lighter than it was when I saw her earlier this evening. She looks more like the Dr. Porter I remember from the hospital.

I pull back from her and murmur, “I want to explore your body.” I move over to the side of her neck. “I want to get to know your curves.” I crouch down and kiss the swell of her chest. “After all of that…there’s nothing holding us back.”

“Okay,” her voice wavers.

“Does that sound all right?” I ask, gazing down into her eyes and needing to make sure she’s up for this. Everything we’ve done up until now has been very tame. I want to make sure this is still what she wants.

She nods, biting her lip and giving me her glorious consent. My hands immediately reach around her sides and find the zipper on her dress. The noise of its descent is the perfect soundtrack to the raging desire simmering between us.

“So tell me, Indie. How far have you gone before? With…others?” I can’t even bring myself to say guys. What is it about this girl that makes me so territorial?

She swallows slowly as I slide the straps of her dress down to her shoulders. I pause my momentum, awaiting her answer.

“I’ve hit a couple of the highlights.”

This makes me smile. “Like what?” The dress drops to the floor.

“Oral?” She says it like a question. I glance down to appreciate her black bra and underwear, my jawbone ticking with desire.

“Giving or receiving?” I whisper against her mouth as my fingers rub along the hem of her panties.

“I’ve received. But I’ve never given.”

This disappointments me. I would’ve liked to have been the first to taste her, but my displeasure isn’t enough to deter me. “Well, I’m not convinced whoever it was knew what they were doing. And in the interest of research, I’d like to be thorough.”

“Okay.”

I reach behind me and pull my shirt off over my head, then drop it to the floor. She sucks in a sharp breath when I grab hold of her knickers and slide them down her legs. I continue watching her eyes, bright with arousal as my hands trail up her soft, smooth inner thigh. I can smell her scent already and it’s beckoning to me.

I turn to sit her down on the side of my bed and take the opportunity to stroke her hair before laying her backwards. I envisioned her hair splayed across my pillow the first time we met. Now I have her, right here in my room, seconds away from having my lips on her body. While I’m stroking her hair and relishing in the feel of it on my hands, something happens. I didn’t notice her eyeing my arousal. I didn’t notice her touching my hips. But I definitely notice when she undoes my jeans and pulls me out of my boxers.

She grips my shaft with her small hand and I croak out her name. “Indie?” I close my eyes, trying to remain on my feet, even though my legs want to give out. “What are you doing?”

I look down and she opens her mouth, but not to speak. Her large, thick lips wrap around me, drenching as much as she can fit of me in her mouth. Once she’s soaked every inch, she bobs her head along the tip. She’s applies the perfect amount of pressure with her lips while her free hand cups my balls, massaging the orgasm building from deep within. It’s perfection. There’s no way she hasn’t done this before. Or maybe I heard it wrong and she has. I don’t know. I can’t think straight.

“Indie.” I cry her name out more forcefully as she tightens her lips around me and quickens her pace. I reach out and wrap her hair around my hand. I follow her thrusts, allowing her to set the pace, and twitch when I hit the back of her throat. I’m a torn man. I want to live in this moment and enjoy what she’s doing to me, but I also want to toss her back and slam myself inside of her.

My voice is gravelly when I say, “You need to stop soon. I’m going to come.” I force myself to open my eyes and watch what she’s doing to me. It doesn’t help. It makes it worse. So much worse. “Indie!” I exclaim, cursing the world for how fucking hot she looks with me in her mouth.

Pulling her mouth off of me, she says, “It’s okay. I’ve always wanted to try this.”

Wait, what? No fucking way. “I’m going to come,” I warn one last time. Right before I tell her I’m going to let go, she drags her teeth along my dick and sucks hard right at the crown.

I erupt. And I think I die a little.

I’ve had tons of women suck me off before. I’ve had a handful of them swallow. But what Indie did…is the best blowjob I’ve ever had.

I’m barely through the aftershocks of my orgasm when I drop down onto my uninjured knee and shove her onto her back. I gaze up at her, spread out on my grey duvet in nothing but a black bra. I want to pay homage to her breasts, but the scent of her is needful to me.

Throwing her legs on top of my shoulders, I waste no time devouring her. Tasting her. Sucking her. Relishing in the hoarse cries she lets out every time I pay special attention to her clit. I find the rhythm she likes, but torment her by bringing her to the edge and backing away, over and over.

I want her to remember this the same way I’ll remember what she did to me.

I sink one long finger inside of her, closing my eyes to stop from blowing another load when I imagine how tight she’ll feel around me tomorrow. I pump into her a few times, watching her hands flit from her face to the sheets, to her breasts as she climbs higher and higher.

My dick is rock-hard again. She is such a vision. And she has no idea.

I slide a second finger inside of her and press my lips to her, flicking my tongue rapidly. That’s all it takes. She explodes, pulsing around my fingers as she comes. Her chest rises and falls in rapid succession as she blinks up at the ceiling a few times.

“Oh my God,” are the first understandable words she’s uttered since I put my mouth on her. “Are you for real?”

Her words make me smile. Camden Harris is always fucking real, Specs.

I slide up on top of her and kiss her ruthlessly, hoping that whatever experimenting she’s done with oral in the past is good and forgotten now.

“How was that for a highlight?”