Into You Series: The Complete Collection

21. Saria

CHAPTER 21

SARIA

F rankie is ready for the road.

I receive a text from Harry at work that sends my heart flying, and it isn’t a dick pic. Although, I’m not saying I’d be opposed to one…but that’s beside the point.

Harry instead sends me a beautiful picture of Frankie, neatly washed, the white doors practically sparkling. The sliding door is opened, and the twinkle lights are hung and lit. He even folded a tasseled blanket on the bed. It looks perfect for social media.

Harry will one day make a very good social media boyfriend—the kind who takes pictures for you and doesn’t mess them up with his thumb in the way or blurred shots. He has an eye for this sort of thing. The second I think that, my stomach feels queasy and unnatural. I set my phone down on the desk and roll my neck side to side.

This keeps happening whenever I think of Harry dating someone else. Because, of course he will. He’s not mine. He never was. And he won’t be because I’m leaving in only a few weeks. But the idea that I won’t see Harry anymore aches. It aches my soul bad .

I look back at my phone.

Harry: Moonlit drive tonight to test the wheels?

He sends a picture of the van’s wheels and, holy shit, the rims are gold. It seems entirely unnecessary, but also…it’s very share-worthy. It’ll help me stand out in the crowd of other van life girls with their decked-out rides. Mine sure isn’t fancy, but it does have character.

Damn, Harry is better at this marketing game than I am! And I want more of it. I want his advice, his eye for things, his dedication…I want him.

No. I can’t.

I shift in my chair, looking out the office’s front window, eyeing the parking lot. There are so many cars, and they all belong to people who love their jobs. I know some people don’t, but these people do. Treasuries Inc. attracts talent that is passionate. Everyone except me.

I’m not passionate about being a receptionist. This wasn’t my dream.

I have to leave. And I can’t have another person holding me back like Noah did.

When I arrive at the auto shop after work, Frankie is already parked outside. She looks even more beautiful in person than in photos. Large, stark white, and oh my goodness those RIMS!

I’m not a big admirer of cars, but Harry really did a number on my girl.

Even standing there in the gravel lot, staring at it from a distance, I can feel this lost sense of awe and a fumbling in my chest that mirrors something more akin to regret than happiness.

No. Not regret. It’s just nerves for the unknown. Where will my first destination be? Where am I headed to? It’s excitement. The thrill of finally achieving a dream.

But am I convincing myself, or is it true?

“Hey, princess.”

My stomach drops.

Harry’s voice is everything. I long to hear his deep rumbling tones, but right now it’s the last thing I need to hear. I don’t need to know how much that voice trips my heart. I don’t need to know how much his grin bends me to his will.

“Are you excited?” he asks, tossing me the keys. He even threw on a little keychain, a cartoony version of the silver-haired princess Cara always compares me to.

“Where’s little pumpkin?” I ask, peeking around the shop’s corner for her.

“Grant took her for the night,” he says. “We have the van all to ourselves.”

Why does that make my knees weak? We’ve been alone before. We’re alone all the time. But now, walking up to the van, climbing into the driver’s seat, and settling on the velour fabric…I just know this feels different.

I look behind me but am only met with a curtain. Harry installed a divider between the front seat and the main home area. I had mentioned it as a potential project weeks ago, but it was only in passing. I shouldn’t be surprised he remembered. I slide the curtain over and finally see the back in all its glory.

Dimly lit and intimate, Frankie has never been prettier. She’s exactly how I imagined, but even better. There are touches of Harry and Cara everywhere: the rug we purchased at the local park festival on the floor, the salt and pepper shakers in the shapes of robots and dinosaurs—Cara’s two favorite things—in the kitchenette, and beside the bed is a picture tacked to the wall: our selfie from the last volunteer animal shelter event.

It feels more like a scrapbook of wonderful memories than my new adventure home.

Harry closes the bay doors to the shop, locking up the side door before getting in the passenger seat. When I meet his eyes, his brow instantly pulls in.

“Oh no, did I mess it up?” he asks, peering back through the curtain.

“No,” I say. “No, you did good.”

“Well, then, let’s get this baby on the road and see how it rides. Gotta make sure you’re safe out there in the great unknown.”

I smile more to myself than as a response to his statement before revving up the engine, putting it in drive, and rumbling out of the gravel lot and onto the road.

She drives well. Very rumbly, but still much smoother than she did when I first left the junkyard lot. There’s a low hum, but Harry says that’s to be expected.

He directs us through backroads. I go wherever he tells me, just trying my best to enjoy the thrill of the ride, the ever-approaching thoughts of freedom. The release. Now that my van is ready, should I put in my two weeks’ notice? Should I even make that leap? I’ve started to get sponsored posts, but is my social following going to provide enough money? If I decided to come back, what would be waiting for me? But why would I come back? To see Harry and Cara? Would they want me to?

I get so lost in my thoughts that I don’t realize I’m parking until my hand is pushing hard on the steering wheel’s gear shift.

“Oh, wait, wait, back into the space,” Harry says quickly as I push it back into gear, back out, and then reverse into the spot.

“Where are we?” I ask.

He grins, so mischievous I want to kiss the mystery right off of him.

“You’ll see,” he says. “Come on.”

He gets up from the passenger seat and disappears behind the curtain. I follow him, finally able to fully take in the living room of my future home.

The walls aren’t wooden like other vans I see online. Generally, that wooden look is to cover up the insulation, but I insisted we skip that step. I have blankets and sleeping bags and more money in my pocket, so I think it was worth it in the end. But even without the wooden interior, it’s still a beautiful sight.

I look across from the kitchenette to see a tall rod with a stumpy one sticking out from it three-quarters of the way to the top. Just below it is a catch-all bucket, painted gold.

“You even thought of Mercury!” I beam.

“Well, of course,” he says with a laugh, climbing onto the bed and crawling toward the back. “That bird isn’t staying with us.”

Even as he fiddles with the back doors, I can’t help but admire his ass in those jeans. Tight. Muscular. My hands have explored every part of him, and I know this sight in particular will forever be ingrained in my mind: Harry inside my van playing house with me.

He swings the back doors open—one right after the other—and the view… wow, the view.

“It’s wonderful,” I murmur, climbing onto the bed with him as we both lie on our stomachs to look out the back.

We parked right at the edge of a cliff with a perfect view of the city. While we don’t live directly in the perimeter, from here, the skyline is crystal clear. A true vision. It’s not the wild I imagined; I wanted to wake up next to lakes and waterfalls and beaches. But, as I look over to see Harry’s eyes illuminated in the twinkling lights, I know this is the wild I’ve grown to want. And that terrifies me.

He catches me staring at him like the creep that I am, and the corner of his mouth tilts up in a smile. I smile back and, like it’s an invitation, he leans in to kiss me.

It’s light. Graceful. Caring.

It’s Harry.

Our mouths move in unison, syncing up to the ever-increasing rate of our hearts. Sometimes he lets out an exhalation. Sometimes I do. It’s like each of us inhales the other’s breaths, entwining ourselves with each other’s presence, reveling in it.

Harry rolls on his back and I follow his lead, swinging a leg over his hip to straddle him. I grind against him as we kiss, and I can already feel his hardness between my legs pressing against the fabric of his jeans. I roll my hips against him with more fervor, finding my way along his length. He groans, gripping my hips on either side. He doesn’t direct me as he normally does. He doesn’t make me go faster or slower. Instead, he lets me continue the pace. I almost wonder if the grip is to balance himself more than me.

I slide my palm to him, lifting myself to hover over him as I stroke over his jeans. I can feel his moan against my mouth, hear his sharp inhalation and subsequent exhalation.

He moves his hands from my hips to my neck then my jaw, cupping my face and pulling me closer, as if it were even possible. But it doesn’t feel like we’re as close as we could be. It doesn’t feel like enough.

I unbuckle his pants, pulling them down his waist and over his thighs. We break our kiss and I feel lost for just a moment, unwilling to be away from him for the few seconds we need to remove our clothing. He plants a slow, heavy kiss on my lips. A promise.

I roll over to the side, shimmying my own denim down, sliding it along with my panties over my ankles and down to the floor below the bed. When I look over, he’s only in his boxer briefs. I didn’t see him remove his shirt, but I’m happy to be greeted by those rolling abs and the sharp corners along his hips, the Adonis V pointing down to the large bulge begging to be released.

I pull off my own shirt, and before it’s even over my head, Harry has crawled over, unhooking my bra and letting it fall down between us. The second they’re exposed, his mouth is on my breasts, rolling his tongue over my hardened nipples, sending chills down my spine from both his needy mouth and the night air flowing into the van.

Harry runs a palm over my other nipple, working it as his lips own the other. My head falls back of its own volition, the electricity of his touch bounding from my chest down to my fingertips and between my thighs.

He pulls away and I watch him as his eyes trail over my figure, from my stomach to my shoulders then my lips.

“I want you,” he says, his voice a hushed whisper. An admission.

Our eyes meet and, as if we both know what we’re thinking, he sits back right as I lean forward. His back is against the wall of the van, his legs straightened on the bed. I bend at the waist to tug down his underwear, releasing him as he kicks the clothing to the side, greeting my own on the floor. He buries his hand in his crumpled jeans pocket and pulls out a condom, ripping the packaging and rolling it over himself.

I crawl onto him on all fours, passing by his abs, sliding my tongue along them before climbing on him and straddling his hips once more. I lower myself down and Harry slides into me like it’s something he’s always been meant to do. Our bodies just fit , perfectly in tune as I start to rise and fall on top of him, riding him up and down. His rough, large hands make their way to my thighs. They provide support, pulling me closer to him, pushing me away, continuing our rhythm of motion. Even when he bends his knees to start pumping into me faster, it’s purposeful and in sync.

My chest aches every time he pulls out but is instantly relieved when our thighs touch again—a moment of oneness. Even as he gets deeper in me, thrusting harder, taking my breast in his mouth once more, giving it a small nip, it’s still not too rough. It’s passionate.

Harry’s head falls back and he lets out a heavy exhalation. I look down at him, and when his eyes open, I can’t look away. He doesn’t either. And that—that sends me over the edge.

There’s no buildup, no sensation spreading from my stomach down to my waist and between my thighs. No, it’s instantaneous—a firework of pleasure radiating out, sending me whimpering until the end when my hands are running through his hair, gripping it as he moans with me, releasing into an orgasm as well.

We sit there for a moment afterward, still entwined, somehow pulled closer, holding each other and panting.

It’s beautiful.

It’s terrifying.

I don’t know what that was, but it sure wasn’t sex.