Into You Series: The Complete Collection

3. Saria

CHAPTER 3

SARIA

I dare Harry to move, and he does.

Boy, does he.

His fingers curl into my hair, tugging slightly as I’m pulled toward him and our lips touch.

It happens both fast and slow, calculated and not. Something driven by passion and revenge, and another thing that makes my whole body curl in on itself and succumb to him.

Nerves flare in my chest, like a slew of butterflies with wings flapping against every piece of me, brushing past my heart, my stomach, and out to my fingertips. Where his hand grips my head feels both sensitive and not touched enough all at once. I want more of him. I want it harder.

His mouth is hot on mine, gentle but heady. Wanting, lustful…everything I wanted from Noah for years and yet nothing he would ever let me have. Maybe I got kisses similar to this in our early teens, but once sex got involved, the kissing went away, and it was only sex between us.

When I told Harry I could dream up an ideal fake relationship, this is what I had in mind. I wanted this type of passion—an out-in-the-open passion that Noah never gave me. Noah said he liked to sneak around, said it made what we had hotter. He told me he loved seeing me on my knees in closets at house parties. Admittedly, I loved showing him how much I wanted him, but I always wanted more of this . Passion. Desire.

Harry doesn’t seem like the kind of man to hide a woman in a closet for blowjobs. He’s a man with a mechanic’s rough touch, curving under my neck and pulling me closer, plundering me like he’s been starved for a kiss for much too long. My hands dive into his hair. His tongue dances over my lips and into my mouth. We’re bound, tight and hopeless, like individuals with something to prove.

One minute we’re kissing and the next we’re pulling away, both of us breathing heavy. Or, at least I am. Is he? I think I see his chest rising and falling, but maybe my heart is just beating so hard that my eyeballs are pounding and making it seem like he’s out of breath too.

The corner of his mouth slowly pulls into an endearing—and almost daring—smile.

A dare that says many things, but most of it all, it asks a question I think I already know the answer to.

Holy shit, I think I might be going home with my fake boyfriend tonight.

I feel lightheaded. Maybe sick? I haven’t even had a drink yet, though.

“Saria, bathroom?” a familiar voice says, but it’s distant—or maybe it’s right next to me.

I’m floating, twirling like a ballerina through the bar, noticing as Harry flies away from me, farther and farther. It isn’t until I’m halfway across the room, the smell of hoppy beer and tangy liquor finally coming back to me and the scent of Harry’s bonfire cologne leaving my atmosphere that I realize Jessi is the one dragging me by the arm and into the small hallway where we cross through tall saloon doors and into the women’s bathroom.

“That was a good show. Explain yourself,” Jessi says, her tone monotone and borderline demanding. When I don’t answer, she smacks my arm and I pull back.

“Ouch, what the hell.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re actually dating that guy,” she says.

“Girl, me too,” I say, listlessly.

It’s like pink flows over my vision once more, the rose-colored glasses…I can still feel his lips, perfectly suited to mine, the way he breathed into me, and it’s like I was ready to consume it.

We pause and stare at each other. No words exchanged, but this sense of knowing between us. It’s a best friend thing because she knows what I’m thinking, and even though I haven’t said it, I don’t need to. My face says it all.

Jessi shakes her head slowly. “You’re gonna go home with him, aren’t you?”

I grimace. “Would it really be so bad?”

“Don’t fuck away the pain of Noah being in town.”

“I’m not…just… I’m not .” My tone doesn’t even convince me because I know, right as Harry’s cologne was replaced by booze and the bleachy scent of an early-in-the-night bar bathroom, Noah was the first thing back in my mind…Noah and how he would feel if he knew I was about to go home with a random person.

But Noah hasn’t been here for years. He wouldn’t even recognize me, I’m sure. I’m not the chubby high school kid with braces anymore. I’ve lost that weight. I got a retainer that straightened my teeth. I wear clothes that don’t have band names on them, fashionable items—expensive items. And this wouldn’t be the first person I’ve gone home with from a bar. Some women like relationships, but Noah taught me those are a dime a dozen. Me, I like orgasms, and Harry seems like he’d be great at giving them.

“Jessi, I’m just having fun,” I say. “What makes Harry different from any other bar dude?”

“The fact that Noah is back, that’s what,” she says. “You’re revenge fucking.”

“I’m not into revenge. Just having fun is all.”

She sighs. “Well, hey, chaos demon, remember you’re picking up your van tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

“ You don’t be late,” I mock.

“Bet.”

We leave the bathroom, and Harry is no longer sitting on the stool but standing, leaning his elbows on the bar top, facing toward the bartender, who takes his card. God, he’s got a nice ass.

Jessi sighs from beside me. Either she’s noticing his backside as well, or I’m about to get a lecture.

“You always do this, you know,” she says.

Here we go.

“Run away from one issue and into another?” I recite.

“Yep.”

I know this lecture by heart. I’ve gotten it from her my entire life. I got it in middle school when One Direction broke up and I decided to burn their CDs. I got it in college after I failed the MCAT and drove down to Daytona for a month on a credit card and a prayer. I got it after Noah left for the Peace Corps and I decided to buy a parrot for companionship.

“Do you trust me?” I ask.

Jessi snorts. “Barely.”

“Well, trust me on this.”

She rolls her eyes, giving me a slight push in Harry’s direction. “Just be safe.”

“I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow for the van,” I say definitively, giving her a hug. “Promise. Tell the others my super-hot older boyfriend and I couldn’t help ourselves.”

“I’m sure they’ll believe that,” she deadpans.

I shrug and walk backward toward the bar as she throws me the finger. That’s my Jessi.

Harry looks so relaxed when I arrive, so natural in this bar setting. I would think he was a regular had he not told me being a barfly is such a rarity for him. He’s gorgeous, like a flannel-wearing James Dean. Chicks love that stuff. Why is he not at bars often, picking up women? Or is he, and I’m just the gullible one? Either way, this isn’t my first rodeo either, and I’m not one for sentimentality.

I lean on my forearms next to him, rolling my head to the side so that it lolls over when I look up at him. He looks focused on the rows of drinks lining the back of the bar, but when he turns and sees me peering into his hazel eyes, his lips tug up. I try not to feel my heart exploding in my chest at the sight of him.

His smile forms those lines again, the ones that say maybe he’s the kind of guy who laughs a lot, who really enjoys this whole life thing. I want that. Not just him, but the happiness he must feel. The laughter.

“What?” he asks through a chuckle. I must have been staring for too long. It’s hard not to.

“Do you want to…I don’t know…” I scuff my heel on the floor before glancing up at him. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Harry’s eyes widen and he looks from the bar, to me, and over his shoulder back to my friends. He bites the inside of his mouth, mulling over an answer.

“Are you serious?”

“Are you?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

Our eyes scan each other’s. I bite my lower lip, attempting to stop myself from getting a word in before he can answer.

I bet Harry could touch me in dangerous ways. And not in a cocky “I totally know what I’m doing” way where he flirts relentlessly only to admit he has no idea that females have three holes. No—I bet he would touch me in the “I’ll show you I know what I’m doing” kind of way. Not boasting, but leading. Fingers, tongues, toys—you name it.

I bet Harry is that kind of guy.

“I mean, I can be if you are,” I say.

“I might be if you want to be,” he says.

He laughs again, letting out an exhalation before nodding.

I smile. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Five minutes later, after I’ve said goodbyes, my friends’ jaws dropped in disbelief—eat that , Heather—I’m in Harry’s car.

I know nothing about cars. Like, nothing at all, but I can tell this car is nice. Really nice. It’s got that sleek look you’d expect from a billionaire type of man—not the kind of car I expect from someone wearing flannel. I figured Harry would have a truck, something to mirror his quiet nature—not something that would rev like a plane engine. He flips a switch in the center console, and I feel my butt begin to warm.

Seat warmers. Fancy.

He drives with one hand on the wheel and the rest of him leaning back against the seat. His other hand clutches the center shift. A manual kind of guy, I see. There’s something oddly attractive about a man driving. Is it the control? Is it the confidence with how he handles a stick shift? I can feel my mouth go dry and a much lower part of me getting wetter.

“Do you have condoms?” I blurt out.

He glances to me. “No. I didn’t exactly expect to bring someone home.”

“I didn’t either,” I admit.

“Right. Well, yeah, let’s…yeah.” His sentence fades away as he grips the wheel with both hands and turns it so that one mile later, we’re pulling into a convenience store.

When I found out Noah was in town last night, I could have never guessed how the next twenty-four hours would pan out.

A van, a bar, a hot older man…is this the setup to a distasteful joke?

This whole thing feels like a weird fever dream, one where I’m both turned on, wanting so bad to touch Harry as he parks the car with a heavy hand and tight jaw, and also so very confused.

We both exit the car. A casual flick of Harry’s wrist causes the doors to lock behind us.

How was that so freaking hot?!

The fluorescents are too bright in the convenience store. I’m almost squinting. I wonder if my makeup has smeared at all. I wonder if, in the bright lights, Harry is regretting his decision.

In my case, I can only see his gorgeous self that much better. He’s bulky, but in a fantastic way. He’s all muscle in his arms and shoulders. When we stand next to each other, glancing over the row of condom options, it’s even more apparent that his sheer mass dwarfs me. Then again, I’m so short that it’s hard not to.

He grabs a box that bears the tagline ‘For her pleasure.’

Well, hello.

“Trying to impress me?” I ask. It’s almost too loud. I hadn’t realized how little we’d talked in the past few minutes.

“I’m a giver,” he says with a wink.

God help us all.

A teenager sits on a stool at the register, gum popping, magazines displaying the latest celebrity gossip strewn in front of her. The cover of one says brANGELINA? BACK TOGETHER?

“If only, am I right?” I say to her, pointing at the magazine.

Harry laughs.

The teenager’s eyes roll toward me without even the slightest budge of her head. She gifts me a grimace through her braces and then grabs our box of condoms to scan it.

Well, at least the dude I’m about to have sex with laughs at my jokes.

God…I’m about to screw this guy, aren’t I? And for what? To make Noah, my engaged ex, jealous?

No. I can’t think about him. This is for me. For my pleasure. The condoms know what’s up more than I do.

Harry pays then out the door we go, on the move again.

Once we’re back in the car, I try conversation again.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” I say as we zoom down the street, his car a bullet in the night.

Harry chuckles. “That could literally be anything.”

“You own an auto shop,” I lead. “That’s it?”

“I take classes,” he says. “To keep up with the trends in the industry.”

“Often?”

“Well, they’re at night, and…” Harry pauses. I get a feeling of unease, as if he’s not telling me something.

“And?” I press.

“I just don’t really have the time to do it often,” he says. The sentence fades into a mutter. The answer is apprehensive, though not entirely sad. Just contemplative.

The man has secrets.

We pull into a gravel lot. At the end is a square building with other cars parked around the property. It looks like a garage, and through the dark, I can barely make out a big sign above it that reads, ‘Smith Mechanics’.

“Are we getting your car tuned up?” I joke.

He shakes his head. “No, I live here. Smith Mechanics is my shop.”

I turn my head to him. “Get real. You live here?”

Harry chuckles. “I am absolutely real.”

Hard to imagine so with a grin like that and teeth that remarkably white and wonderful.

Harry parks and walks around to open my door before I can finish gathering my purse and the convenience store bag that holds our ticket to heaven.

I get out and follow him to a door on the side of the garage, where he keys in. It’s dark, but I can see two cars parked in there along with a couch or two lining the sides. The floor is linoleum, not at all what I expected from a mechanic shop. I figured it would be gritty, maybe some remnants of gravel from the lot strewn around, but it’s borderline pristine. Echoey.

I glance back to Harry, who nods his head over to a staircase next to where we entered. When we ascend that, he unlocks another door and flips a switch on the wall.

It’s an apartment, and a fairly nice one at that. We’re in an open main room with a couch in the center of it facing a large television—large enough to qualify as a home theater. Across the room is a small breakfast nook next to an open kitchen with marble counters and dark stained wood for cabinet doors. There are barely any decorations aside from a few framed paintings that look abstract and almost juvenile, as if they could be kids’ drawings.

Picasso or something, probably. Harry is full of surprises.

And there we stand, facing each other.

I bite my lip in anticipation. He lowers his head to look at me, trying to make eye contact, but something in me doesn’t want to meet his gaze.

I instead admire everything else about this moment—the way his knees bend forward and how they stretch his jeans. How large his legs look. How powerful. How his hands seem bulky and rough, just ready to take me if I asked. How, when I finally do make eye contact with him, his eyebrows are curved inward, as if he’s more concerned than anything else.

I was so sure of this, so certain that all I wanted was to be here with someone different. Someone not Noah. But now, I wonder if Jessi was right. This isn’t just a one-night stand. Those, I can do. This is specifically fucking someone who isn’t Noah. This is revenge sex.

“Hey, Saria,” Harry asks. “You in there?”

“Yes,” I say.

Harry takes a tentative step forward, placing a hand on my waist. It feels just as I remember it from the bar. Did I think that was a dream? It sends shivers over my side and up toward my chest, hardening my nipples under my shirt.

I do want him. I want his hands scouring every surface of my body. I want him discovering me. I want him exploring my stomach, my breasts, and my very hard nipples that ache to have his thumbs running over them.

But I also want Noah. I want to feel his hands on me again. And damn it if that isn’t fair to Harry.

“I still like my ex,” I blurt out.

“I figured,” Harry says through a laugh. Even amused, his hand still slides around the curve of my slender hips. Clearly, he isn’t deterred by my truth. The warmth of his touch soars through me, and I lean into it.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” I say, like a warning. Harry bends down, touching his lips to my neck, lightly grazing them over my skin, sending prickles of goose bumps over me for the thousandth time tonight. It’s so gentle, but there’s something in the linger. He wants more.

“I’m okay with no strings,” he murmurs against me, trailing another kiss down my collarbone.

I can feel every exhalation of breath on my skin. I lower my jacket down my arms bit by bit, and he kisses every newly exposed inch like it’s a gift being presented to him. A gift for a man who never gets gifts.

Every kiss, every gentle motion of his hands sliding under my jacket and up my back is another admission of excitement.

When I shuck off my shirt, he holds me at arm’s length, peering under hooded lids at the exposed cleavage between my breasts and then back up to my eyes. He smiles.

“Tell me when,” he says.

I lift an eyebrow. I’ve given him two warnings. He knows what this is. I know what this is. I’m fine with it if he is, and Harry seems like he’s beyond fine.

“Do your worst.”

With a low growl, the man I once knew as hot and quiet now comes at me with fervor.

His hand wraps around my waist, his other darting to my hair, and my mouth is captured by him. His tongue plunders me, reaching in to devour. I thought he was hot at the bar, but this is an entirely different man. This man is longing for something , but I’m unsure what. As he curls a fist into my hair, tugging it, an electric jolt zaps down between my thighs. This is unadulterated lust .

In an instant, I’m pushed against a wall. Which wall? Hell if I know. I don’t know this apartment. I don’t know this man. But damn do I desperately need more of him.

My hands fumble under his shirt, spreading out over his abs, which have ridges for days, waiting for me to explore. He pulls on my hair, tugging my neck back more so my mouth is angled up toward him. That’s when I realize he’s using me just as much as I’m using him, and that gets me wetter than I ever thought I’d be.

I push against him, but he pushes back, cementing me against the wall. His knee positions itself between my legs and spreads them apart, holding to press against me. The pressure rubs against my jeans and a moan escapes my lips before I can even stop it, or at least try to make it sound hotter than the quick “Oh, fuck” that actually comes out.

Harry chuckles, the low rumble of his laugh echoing into my mouth. I was so distracted by dry-humping his knee that I didn’t notice his hand skating around my ribs and to the edge of my bra line. His thumb is tracing it, teasing entry before sliding underneath, pushing it roughly to the side and cupping the whole of my breast in his palm.

I thought it might hurt when I first saw his hands at the bar, the roughness of them, but they drive me wild. His strokes are small but pack a lot of punch to my sensitive nipples. Harry’s thumb is running over my nipples with such need I wonder if it could even count as teasing. The only thing convincing me that it still falls under that category is how quickly he swipes across only to gently roll back over and do it again.

Every flick weakens my knees. The other fist curled in my hair relaxes for a moment as I slouch under his touch. He doesn’t let me fall; I’m too properly balanced on his knee to collapse anyway.

I flutter my eyes open, trying to see the man who’s already destroyed me, turned me into a rag doll, and his devilish smirk only makes it that much worse. A shaky exhalation leaves my mouth, and he instantly takes it in his.

My hands were using his abs as a stabilizer, but once his tongue enters my mouth again, I’m spurred to find more of him. I go to his belt instinctually, tugging the leather through the loops, giddy at the sound of the metal clinking. I know I’ve watched way too much porn when I’m overly excited by that sound, but hey, what’s a girl to do?

I unbutton his jeans and tug his pants down, taking extra care to grip the additional layer of his boxer briefs. I struggle to get them over his bulge, but the moment his erection is freed, I know I’m an absolute goner.

I’ve seen big dick. But Harry is…well, if he were the boy who lived, J.K. Rowling would be blushing furiously. I mean, holy hell, I would need three hands to grip that snake, but I’ve always been one for a challenge.

I push against his abs to move him back a bit. I’m already on my knees, praying to the statuesque man before me and opening my mouth to sing my praises properly.

I lick every inch of him—I’ve lost track of how many inches that is, exactly—and I let the taste settle on my lips. Whoever said blowjobs are degrading clearly has never given one. There’s something about holding the power of a man in the palm of your hand, taking him between your lips, passing along trust to handle his best friend with care…why, it’s the most power I’ve ever felt, that’s for sure.

Harry’s hand grips my hair again. Every time I bob forward and suck my way out, his hand curls tighter and his moans grow gravellier. It’s only after a few minutes of licking him that he eventually pushes me away, the length of him leaving my mouth. I almost protest, but he’s already easing me backward on the floor. My back touches the carpet, splaying on the ground for him to observe me wiggling out of my pants. He blows out a heavy breath of air and shakes his head slowly.

“You’re a minx,” he says with a strained laugh. He’s already reaching for the box on the entryway table, his gaze never leaving mine. It’s eye-fucking that could end wars. Or start them.

My heart is racing as he rips off his shirt one-handed and crawls down to the floor with me, the box clutched in his large hands. I wind my way up his forearm, trailing a line with my middle finger. I can see shivers break out over him and I take the box away, licking my lips as I open it myself and take out a condom.

Harry is hovering over me, hands placed on either side of my body, eyes sliding down from my exposed neck to my bare chest and down to my underwear. He shifts his weight to one hand using his now free one to trace along the outside of my lace.

“Now this will not do,” he says as I take the condom wrapper between my teeth and tear the packaging open.

His voice is a low growl as he grips the side of my underwear in a fist and tugs it down past my knees. He pushes one finger then two into me. I’m already so wet that they slide in easily, as if they were meant to fit that way. My back arches in response with the thrill of him curling in just the right spot, the way he asks “Is that good?” over and over, and how I moan in agreement.

“Put the condom on me,” he demands, so I do. I roll it all the way down his length, splaying my palm over him on my way back up. “You’re so wet,” he insists, and I can’t argue. I don’t know the last time I had a man so confident, so self-assured in how he touches a woman.

“I picked a damn good fake boyfriend,” I say.

“That will be the only fake thing about tonight,” he says.

His fingers leave me, and the next thing I know, the tip of him is rubbing against my entrance. I can feel how slick I am. I’m seconds from begging.

“If that’s what you want…” he mutters, and I realize I was not close to begging; I was absolutely begging out loud. My whines were bouncing off the walls, and my reward is how slowly, wonderfully, and painfully he presses into me.

Every bit of him is like a jolt to the nerves. A sting and then pressure that evolves into pleasure. Warmth. And just when it feels right, he removes himself an inch and the release is even better.

Harry starts slow then increases speed. My hands find his hair, running through it and giving the same tug he gave me earlier. The harder I clutch him in my grasp, the faster he goes, the closer I get to swimming in ecstasy.

Each thrust pushes me closer to the edge. Every moan from his mouth is like a blessing. And then when he starts the low hum of calling my name, pounding harder and harder, digging his hands into my hips and finally moaning an expletive, that does it for me completely.

I crest that wave of pleasure, riding it high and feeling my chest deflate with air. My fingertips tingle, and my head clears for the first time in months.

Harry follows quickly, grunting as he thrusts into me a couple more times and releases himself. The few extra pushes send another zip of pleasure through me and I orgasm a second time, relaxing myself into the carpet and trying to gather my wandering thoughts—or the absence of them.

Harry rolls beside me, taking in heavy breaths. When I look over at him, he’s staring up at the ceiling.

“That was…” he starts, then just laughs.

“Yeah,” I muse, an unrestrained smile spreading over my face.

His hand reaches out to my thigh, running along the inside of it, stroking absentmindedly. Nerves zip up between my legs once more.

“Do fake boyfriends fuck their fake girlfriends more than once?” I ask.

His head snaps over to me and his lips curl into a devilish smile.

“Fake girlfriends don’t even have to ask.”