The Warning Bells are Ringing | NC17 | It's Complicated
Title: The Warning Bells are Ringing
Prompt: Harley drives Jane home after the party instead of Adam
Fandom: Jane/Harley, It’s Complicated
Requested by: colourmebarbra & kendall777
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 2914
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I’ve had this half-written for months and decided to finally finish it. I am a little nervous about it but I hope I managed to do the characters justice (in their altered states). All mistakes are my own. Let me know what you think!
-
Jane nestles back into the leather seat of the SUV, closing her eyes and reveling in the feel of its coolness seeping through her blouse. She almost wishes her bare back were pressed against it just to feel the rush of cold leather on her skin. She’s perfectly content as she is and she hums in complacent pleasure.
For the first time in years, Jane feels completely at peace. Her mind is generally a whirlwind of thoughts and worries and ideas, whizzing in a thousand different directions at the same time; it comes with the territory of being a mother and an ex-wife and a cook and a business owner. Tonight, for the first time in ages, everything is just…still. Her mind feels weighed down with a hazy calm. It feels completely delicious.
The realization of how much she has enjoyed the joint shocks her. She’d questioned lighting it a hundred times before she finally did flick her thumb over the lighter, and now she can’t for the life of her understand her initial hesitation. She feels amazing. She feels as though everything has slowed down, as if the tense anxieties stored within the depths of her bones have simply evaporated away.
She feels the way she might feel if she were stripped of responsibility and fear and self-doubt. She’d never wish to give up her kids or her job, but even she can’t deny how badly she needed to experience a few hours of unadulterated bliss. She knows that sooner or later she’s going to lose her high and so she clings to the remainder of it with both hands.
“You hear that?” she asks, casting a lazy glance at her driver.
Harley smiles at her but tightens his grip on the steering wheel. He cocks his head as if to strain his hearing. “I don’t hear anything.”
She preens at him. “Exactly. Everything’s quiet. Nothing is chaotic and dramatic and crazy…it’s all just…”
“Quiet?”
“Yes!” She beams at him as if he’s said something profound and leans back against her seat, staring for several minutes at the little lights on the dashboard. They swell and shrink and grow brighter and more dull the longer she stares, and when her eyes are uncomfortably dry she forces herself to blink. “Poor Adam,” she says, remembering her date for the evening.
“Yeah…he’ll be fine.”
Jane looks into the back seat where Adam had been sitting only minutes before. She could almost conjure the image of him slumped pathetically against the door. “I had no idea anyone could throw up that much.”
“He probably smoked a little too much, a little too fast,” Harley replies. “He’ll be fine tomorrow.”
Jane smiles knowingly at him. “Where did you learn about such things, Harlz?”
“I, uh,” he gives a nervous laugh before clearing his throat. “I was in a fraternity. You know. Stuff happens.”
“I never would have thought my golden boy would be the rebellious type.” Several seconds after the words have left her mouth, she realizes that she’s referred to him in a possessive way. A warning bell sounds far away in the recesses of her mind but she ignores it.
“I’ve been known to be a little rebellious in my day,” Harley answers, giving her a wicked grin that causes Jane to shudder.
“Is that so?”
“I did just shotgun with your ex-husband in my guest bathroom, didn’t I?” He winks at her and then pauses, as if internally reprimanding himself for doing something inappropriate.
His confidence is lost again and his nervousness returns. Why does she make him so nervous? She opens her mouth to ask him and then notices how scruffy his hair looks, slightly unkempt after the party. It’s endearing and she leans into him, reaching her hand out to thread through his chestnut locks. His hair is smooth and fine between her fingers. She does not retract her hand; she enjoys the sensation of each silky strand coiling around her fingers and she gives a little sigh. Harley shudders.
She wonders if he likes her as much as he likes Lauren. The warning bell sounds louder in her ears but it’s not like she’s doing anything wrong by thinking about it. She scratches her nails against his scalp and admires the fine lines of his features. She realizes for the first time how devastatingly handsome he is. He’s so charming and handsome and…uncomplicated. Well, maybe he is, since he is her son-in-law-to-be, but he’s so much less complicated than the other two men in her life.
When Jane hears the crunch of her gravelly drive beneath the tires of Harley’s SUV, she pouts. “That was quick.”
“Well…you know…driving tends to get you quickly from one place to another,” he responds. He pulls up in front of her walkway and turns off the car. “So there you are, boss.”
Jane blinks at him, watching his eyes glimmer under the glow of the moon that reflects off the windshield. She feels so good right now and wants more than anything to feel better. She thinks of the comfort she felt being with Adam. She thinks of the little thrill she felt smoking with Jake in the bathroom. And she thinks of the man young enough to be her son, looking at her like she might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
Then she stops thinking altogether.
Her hand, which is still tangled in his hair, slips down along his face and cups his cheek. “You’re a good boy, Harley.”
She can feel his blush beneath her fingertips. “I try.”
“Something tells me you don’t have to try very hard.” Jane leans into him, pausing to inhale his cologne. He’s so much more than a boy. “Thank you for the ride,” she says. She loses her breath to see the barest hint of an inappropriate smile on his lips. The sound of choked laughter dies in his throat and she is assaulted with images of him beneath her, all naked muscle and flesh.
She means to thank him with a kiss, a simple filial peck on the lips, and cannot explain why her lips linger on his. She can feel the way he hitches his breath upon the contact of her mouth before he purses his lips and kisses her back.
This is wrong wrong wrong! she thinks and she pulls herself away, despite every nerve ending in her body screaming against it. “Um…” She clears her throat. “Thank you.”
His stunned expression is not enough to squelch the goofy grin that spreads over his mouth. “Anytime.”
She doesn’t know why, but she leans in again, brushing her lips gently across his. It feels so good to let go, to give in, that she almost allows her lack of inhibitions to get the better of her. “I should, um, go.” She gives him another quick peck before ambling out the passenger door.
As soon as she has her feet on the ground she sways, overcome by a swell of dizziness. She blinks out at the world as it spins around her and braces her hand against the hood of the car. She hears the loud echo of a car door and blinks, trying to regain her composure and slow her rapid heartbeat.
And then Harley’s hands are on her waist and she can do nothing but quiver like a hormonal teenager. “Woah there, boss. Looks like you need an escort.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” she lies. She attempts to walk away from him but tilts back against him. “Okay…maybe I’m a little bit dizzy.”
“How much did you smoke, Jane?” he asks impishly, guiding her along the path to her front door.
“Enough.” She wants to admit that perhaps she smoked too much, but that would be to admit that she did something wrong. Which she didn’t. It doesn’t really matter that pot is illegal, or that she and Harley kissed, or that she wants to do it again. It doesn’t feel wrong and Jane can’t remember the last time she did anything without suffocating under the weight of consequences.
“If I look in your bathroom, I’m not gonna find a secret stash, am I?” Harley deftly unlocks the front door with his spare key. “Or a cannabis plant growing in your closet?”
Jane laughs, patting his chest with her hand as she sways into him for balance. “You-“ She snorts. “You go right ahead and look.”
“Nah,” he says. “But when I find out you’ve started making pot brownies at the bakery, we’re gonna need to have a talk.”
She laughs even harder, gripping his sweater in her fist. “Am I going to need an intervention?”
“You tell me, boss.”
She smiles serenely at him. “I’ll behave.”
He swallows and then clears his throat. “Right. That’s good. You know, to be good.”
She nods. “You’re a good boy,” she repeats, brushing her fingertips along the line of his jaw.
“That’s the word on the street.”
She leans in and brushes her lips against his cheek. “Thank you for taking me home.”
“Mmhmm,” he croaks, his arm still around her waist.
She kisses his cheek again, unable to resist the sensation of her lips against the smoothness of his skin.
Harley turns his head toward her and, rather than pull away like the voice in her head tells her to, Jane kisses him once more. This one is different. There are no pretenses, no innocent explanations. He crushes her to him, opening his mouth to slant over hers while her tongue seeks his. He groans.
All of the dull, hazy sensations that have been moving in a slow crawl throughout her body suddenly burst to life, searing within her in a frenzied, manic pace. The parts of her mind that had simply been rejoicing in the calming effect of the drug suddenly want more more MORE and as she twines her arms around his neck, she is determined to take what she wants.
She presses the length of her body against his, feeling the hard length of his erection against her stomach. She squirms against it as the muscles between her legs firmly clench in anticipation.
“I should go home now,” he says, his fingers buried in her hair. He guides her head aside so that he has access to her throat. He kisses frantically at the long expanse of flesh at her neck, biting and licking and sucking.
She whimpers when he sucks at the curve of her shoulder. Her hands roam over his back and arms, mapping the hard definition of his muscles beneath his shirt. Everything about Harley is firm and hard and more than ready. She wants him desperately. She wants to absorb his desire, his youthful vibrancy, his eager devotion. She wants it all.
Jane never indulges. She never gives in to the part of her brain that is constantly yearning for what she can’t have. The warning bell is screeching for her to stop and send him home, but she can’t. Not now. Not after more than half of a lifetime of saying no. “You can stay if you want,” she says breathlessly, and then it’s done. The shrill siren of warning gives up its struggle with her conscience.
“I really shouldn’t,” he admits, but he doesn’t pull away. He pushes the silky gold cardigan from Jane’s shoulders and cups her breasts through her white blouse. She arches into his touch and guides him back until he is pressed against the front door. Here, without worrying about losing her balance, Jane lets her hands roam over his chest and abdomen.
As one hand pushes up his sweater and undershirt, her other hand slips down and cups him through his slacks. His hips buck into her grasp and she giggles at his needy urgency. She loves that she’s done this to him; she feels a sense of power and sexiness that she never has before. It’s a heady, intoxicating feeling and she revels in it.
“Last chance,” she whispers against his mouth, her fingers tugging at his belt. “I may not let you leave if you don’t go now.” She kisses him hard, her tongue stroking against his. He tastes like weed and beer and salsa.
And then her hand is inside his underwear and her fingers are wrapping around the length of him and he moans. “If it’s all right with you, boss, I think I’ll stay.”
They do a clumsy little dance to allow him to turn them around. Somehow his pants have already dropped to his ankles and all she can focus on while he unfastens her own slacks is how hard he is. She makes an attempt at kicking off her heels and tossing aside her pants, but she only frees one leg before she’s hooking it over his hip and pulling him in closer.
There are fragments of thoughts that seem to make a fleeting attempt at holding her attention, such as his lack of condom and her thankfulness for menopause and how fucking her daughter’s fiancé is the worst thing she could possibly do, but they all disappear in a flash of euphoric whiteness when he thrust inside of her.
She’s surprised by how wet she already is and how she already feels like coming even though he isn’t even all the way inside. She clamps around him and they groan together, both pausing to catch their breaths. She feels lightheaded and dizzy again, but not enough to stop what she’s doing. When she feels his strong hands at the backs of her thighs, she supplicates completely and allows herself to be lifted while he drives deeper.
She tries to imagine how they must look: Harley with his pants around his feet, both still with their shirts on (though pushed up or aside), her with her pants and underwear hanging from one leg. The image doesn’t really matter; what matters is that he is slamming up against her and her head is hitting back against the door and she loves every second of it.
She rolls her hips down to meet each of his thrusts. They grind together, undulating their bodies in a frenzied pace until, before she realizes it, he is beginning to climax. He moans into her shoulder as he empties himself inside of her. Not wanting to lose her opportunity to orgasm with him inside of her, she sneaks a hand between their bodies and furiously rubs herself until she tumbles into an overwhelming chasm of ecstasy.
They stay like this for a few minutes. She’s not sure who makes the first move; he pulls out while he lowers her legs to the ground. She’s still dizzy-perhaps more now than she was before-and she grips his shoulders for support. He steadies her for a moment and, once she can stand on her own, he takes a step back and busies himself with pulling up his pants. He turns his back to her while she fumbles with her own pants. She humors the thought of just fetching her bathrobe from her bedroom, but she can’t bear the shameful thought of strolling half-naked through her house. She’s glad that he can’t see the embarrassed flush of her cheeks.
Jane pats down her hair and realizes she’s missing an earring. A quick scan of the floor reveals nothing and she remembers that she had a shawl with her earlier in the evening. “I think I left my wrap in your car. And maybe an earring.”
“I’ll go take a look.” He makes a hasty exit.
When Harley is gone, Jane feels a sudden queasiness settle over her. The lightness of carefree existence is replaced by a heavy judgmental surge of dread.
What has she done?
Harley comes back, standing in the doorway with her white wrap in his hands. “No go on the earring. It might have fallen off at the house or something. I’ll look when I get home.”
“Thanks.” She takes the shawl, careful not to touch him in the process. “I’m sorry, Harley.”
He nods. “Me too.”
“This shouldn’t have happened.”
He nods again, his handsome features drawn and guilty. “Yeah. I’ve wanted-“ He closes his mouth and rubs his hands over his face. “Never mind. I should go. Unless you want me to stay?” He shuffles uncomfortably in the doorway. “We can talk about what just-“
“No,” Jane replies firmly. “You should go.”
“You got it, boss.” He stares at her mouth as if debating whether or not to claim a final kiss, but he steps back into the yard. “Goodnight, Jane.”
She doesn’t watch him leave. She closes the door behind him and shuts her eyes, her head swimming with dizzy confusion. The lingering remnants of her high try to convince her that she did the right thing by allowing herself a forbidden indulgence, but she can’t let it go this easily-not now that her neatly packaged self-imposed roles are falling back into place. She hates the satisfied afterglow of her body and hates her easy willingness to justify behaving in such a reckless manner. She hates how rigidly confined her life has been after all these years, but she reconciles herself with the fact that she created them for her own good. Letting go like this, like she did with the marijuana and Adam and Jake and Harley, is not for her.
Not now, and definitely not in the future.
---
Prompt: Harley drives Jane home after the party instead of Adam
Fandom: Jane/Harley, It’s Complicated
Requested by: colourmebarbra & kendall777
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 2914
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I’ve had this half-written for months and decided to finally finish it. I am a little nervous about it but I hope I managed to do the characters justice (in their altered states). All mistakes are my own. Let me know what you think!
-
Jane nestles back into the leather seat of the SUV, closing her eyes and reveling in the feel of its coolness seeping through her blouse. She almost wishes her bare back were pressed against it just to feel the rush of cold leather on her skin. She’s perfectly content as she is and she hums in complacent pleasure.
For the first time in years, Jane feels completely at peace. Her mind is generally a whirlwind of thoughts and worries and ideas, whizzing in a thousand different directions at the same time; it comes with the territory of being a mother and an ex-wife and a cook and a business owner. Tonight, for the first time in ages, everything is just…still. Her mind feels weighed down with a hazy calm. It feels completely delicious.
The realization of how much she has enjoyed the joint shocks her. She’d questioned lighting it a hundred times before she finally did flick her thumb over the lighter, and now she can’t for the life of her understand her initial hesitation. She feels amazing. She feels as though everything has slowed down, as if the tense anxieties stored within the depths of her bones have simply evaporated away.
She feels the way she might feel if she were stripped of responsibility and fear and self-doubt. She’d never wish to give up her kids or her job, but even she can’t deny how badly she needed to experience a few hours of unadulterated bliss. She knows that sooner or later she’s going to lose her high and so she clings to the remainder of it with both hands.
“You hear that?” she asks, casting a lazy glance at her driver.
Harley smiles at her but tightens his grip on the steering wheel. He cocks his head as if to strain his hearing. “I don’t hear anything.”
She preens at him. “Exactly. Everything’s quiet. Nothing is chaotic and dramatic and crazy…it’s all just…”
“Quiet?”
“Yes!” She beams at him as if he’s said something profound and leans back against her seat, staring for several minutes at the little lights on the dashboard. They swell and shrink and grow brighter and more dull the longer she stares, and when her eyes are uncomfortably dry she forces herself to blink. “Poor Adam,” she says, remembering her date for the evening.
“Yeah…he’ll be fine.”
Jane looks into the back seat where Adam had been sitting only minutes before. She could almost conjure the image of him slumped pathetically against the door. “I had no idea anyone could throw up that much.”
“He probably smoked a little too much, a little too fast,” Harley replies. “He’ll be fine tomorrow.”
Jane smiles knowingly at him. “Where did you learn about such things, Harlz?”
“I, uh,” he gives a nervous laugh before clearing his throat. “I was in a fraternity. You know. Stuff happens.”
“I never would have thought my golden boy would be the rebellious type.” Several seconds after the words have left her mouth, she realizes that she’s referred to him in a possessive way. A warning bell sounds far away in the recesses of her mind but she ignores it.
“I’ve been known to be a little rebellious in my day,” Harley answers, giving her a wicked grin that causes Jane to shudder.
“Is that so?”
“I did just shotgun with your ex-husband in my guest bathroom, didn’t I?” He winks at her and then pauses, as if internally reprimanding himself for doing something inappropriate.
His confidence is lost again and his nervousness returns. Why does she make him so nervous? She opens her mouth to ask him and then notices how scruffy his hair looks, slightly unkempt after the party. It’s endearing and she leans into him, reaching her hand out to thread through his chestnut locks. His hair is smooth and fine between her fingers. She does not retract her hand; she enjoys the sensation of each silky strand coiling around her fingers and she gives a little sigh. Harley shudders.
She wonders if he likes her as much as he likes Lauren. The warning bell sounds louder in her ears but it’s not like she’s doing anything wrong by thinking about it. She scratches her nails against his scalp and admires the fine lines of his features. She realizes for the first time how devastatingly handsome he is. He’s so charming and handsome and…uncomplicated. Well, maybe he is, since he is her son-in-law-to-be, but he’s so much less complicated than the other two men in her life.
When Jane hears the crunch of her gravelly drive beneath the tires of Harley’s SUV, she pouts. “That was quick.”
“Well…you know…driving tends to get you quickly from one place to another,” he responds. He pulls up in front of her walkway and turns off the car. “So there you are, boss.”
Jane blinks at him, watching his eyes glimmer under the glow of the moon that reflects off the windshield. She feels so good right now and wants more than anything to feel better. She thinks of the comfort she felt being with Adam. She thinks of the little thrill she felt smoking with Jake in the bathroom. And she thinks of the man young enough to be her son, looking at her like she might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
Then she stops thinking altogether.
Her hand, which is still tangled in his hair, slips down along his face and cups his cheek. “You’re a good boy, Harley.”
She can feel his blush beneath her fingertips. “I try.”
“Something tells me you don’t have to try very hard.” Jane leans into him, pausing to inhale his cologne. He’s so much more than a boy. “Thank you for the ride,” she says. She loses her breath to see the barest hint of an inappropriate smile on his lips. The sound of choked laughter dies in his throat and she is assaulted with images of him beneath her, all naked muscle and flesh.
She means to thank him with a kiss, a simple filial peck on the lips, and cannot explain why her lips linger on his. She can feel the way he hitches his breath upon the contact of her mouth before he purses his lips and kisses her back.
This is wrong wrong wrong! she thinks and she pulls herself away, despite every nerve ending in her body screaming against it. “Um…” She clears her throat. “Thank you.”
His stunned expression is not enough to squelch the goofy grin that spreads over his mouth. “Anytime.”
She doesn’t know why, but she leans in again, brushing her lips gently across his. It feels so good to let go, to give in, that she almost allows her lack of inhibitions to get the better of her. “I should, um, go.” She gives him another quick peck before ambling out the passenger door.
As soon as she has her feet on the ground she sways, overcome by a swell of dizziness. She blinks out at the world as it spins around her and braces her hand against the hood of the car. She hears the loud echo of a car door and blinks, trying to regain her composure and slow her rapid heartbeat.
And then Harley’s hands are on her waist and she can do nothing but quiver like a hormonal teenager. “Woah there, boss. Looks like you need an escort.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” she lies. She attempts to walk away from him but tilts back against him. “Okay…maybe I’m a little bit dizzy.”
“How much did you smoke, Jane?” he asks impishly, guiding her along the path to her front door.
“Enough.” She wants to admit that perhaps she smoked too much, but that would be to admit that she did something wrong. Which she didn’t. It doesn’t really matter that pot is illegal, or that she and Harley kissed, or that she wants to do it again. It doesn’t feel wrong and Jane can’t remember the last time she did anything without suffocating under the weight of consequences.
“If I look in your bathroom, I’m not gonna find a secret stash, am I?” Harley deftly unlocks the front door with his spare key. “Or a cannabis plant growing in your closet?”
Jane laughs, patting his chest with her hand as she sways into him for balance. “You-“ She snorts. “You go right ahead and look.”
“Nah,” he says. “But when I find out you’ve started making pot brownies at the bakery, we’re gonna need to have a talk.”
She laughs even harder, gripping his sweater in her fist. “Am I going to need an intervention?”
“You tell me, boss.”
She smiles serenely at him. “I’ll behave.”
He swallows and then clears his throat. “Right. That’s good. You know, to be good.”
She nods. “You’re a good boy,” she repeats, brushing her fingertips along the line of his jaw.
“That’s the word on the street.”
She leans in and brushes her lips against his cheek. “Thank you for taking me home.”
“Mmhmm,” he croaks, his arm still around her waist.
She kisses his cheek again, unable to resist the sensation of her lips against the smoothness of his skin.
Harley turns his head toward her and, rather than pull away like the voice in her head tells her to, Jane kisses him once more. This one is different. There are no pretenses, no innocent explanations. He crushes her to him, opening his mouth to slant over hers while her tongue seeks his. He groans.
All of the dull, hazy sensations that have been moving in a slow crawl throughout her body suddenly burst to life, searing within her in a frenzied, manic pace. The parts of her mind that had simply been rejoicing in the calming effect of the drug suddenly want more more MORE and as she twines her arms around his neck, she is determined to take what she wants.
She presses the length of her body against his, feeling the hard length of his erection against her stomach. She squirms against it as the muscles between her legs firmly clench in anticipation.
“I should go home now,” he says, his fingers buried in her hair. He guides her head aside so that he has access to her throat. He kisses frantically at the long expanse of flesh at her neck, biting and licking and sucking.
She whimpers when he sucks at the curve of her shoulder. Her hands roam over his back and arms, mapping the hard definition of his muscles beneath his shirt. Everything about Harley is firm and hard and more than ready. She wants him desperately. She wants to absorb his desire, his youthful vibrancy, his eager devotion. She wants it all.
Jane never indulges. She never gives in to the part of her brain that is constantly yearning for what she can’t have. The warning bell is screeching for her to stop and send him home, but she can’t. Not now. Not after more than half of a lifetime of saying no. “You can stay if you want,” she says breathlessly, and then it’s done. The shrill siren of warning gives up its struggle with her conscience.
“I really shouldn’t,” he admits, but he doesn’t pull away. He pushes the silky gold cardigan from Jane’s shoulders and cups her breasts through her white blouse. She arches into his touch and guides him back until he is pressed against the front door. Here, without worrying about losing her balance, Jane lets her hands roam over his chest and abdomen.
As one hand pushes up his sweater and undershirt, her other hand slips down and cups him through his slacks. His hips buck into her grasp and she giggles at his needy urgency. She loves that she’s done this to him; she feels a sense of power and sexiness that she never has before. It’s a heady, intoxicating feeling and she revels in it.
“Last chance,” she whispers against his mouth, her fingers tugging at his belt. “I may not let you leave if you don’t go now.” She kisses him hard, her tongue stroking against his. He tastes like weed and beer and salsa.
And then her hand is inside his underwear and her fingers are wrapping around the length of him and he moans. “If it’s all right with you, boss, I think I’ll stay.”
They do a clumsy little dance to allow him to turn them around. Somehow his pants have already dropped to his ankles and all she can focus on while he unfastens her own slacks is how hard he is. She makes an attempt at kicking off her heels and tossing aside her pants, but she only frees one leg before she’s hooking it over his hip and pulling him in closer.
There are fragments of thoughts that seem to make a fleeting attempt at holding her attention, such as his lack of condom and her thankfulness for menopause and how fucking her daughter’s fiancé is the worst thing she could possibly do, but they all disappear in a flash of euphoric whiteness when he thrust inside of her.
She’s surprised by how wet she already is and how she already feels like coming even though he isn’t even all the way inside. She clamps around him and they groan together, both pausing to catch their breaths. She feels lightheaded and dizzy again, but not enough to stop what she’s doing. When she feels his strong hands at the backs of her thighs, she supplicates completely and allows herself to be lifted while he drives deeper.
She tries to imagine how they must look: Harley with his pants around his feet, both still with their shirts on (though pushed up or aside), her with her pants and underwear hanging from one leg. The image doesn’t really matter; what matters is that he is slamming up against her and her head is hitting back against the door and she loves every second of it.
She rolls her hips down to meet each of his thrusts. They grind together, undulating their bodies in a frenzied pace until, before she realizes it, he is beginning to climax. He moans into her shoulder as he empties himself inside of her. Not wanting to lose her opportunity to orgasm with him inside of her, she sneaks a hand between their bodies and furiously rubs herself until she tumbles into an overwhelming chasm of ecstasy.
They stay like this for a few minutes. She’s not sure who makes the first move; he pulls out while he lowers her legs to the ground. She’s still dizzy-perhaps more now than she was before-and she grips his shoulders for support. He steadies her for a moment and, once she can stand on her own, he takes a step back and busies himself with pulling up his pants. He turns his back to her while she fumbles with her own pants. She humors the thought of just fetching her bathrobe from her bedroom, but she can’t bear the shameful thought of strolling half-naked through her house. She’s glad that he can’t see the embarrassed flush of her cheeks.
Jane pats down her hair and realizes she’s missing an earring. A quick scan of the floor reveals nothing and she remembers that she had a shawl with her earlier in the evening. “I think I left my wrap in your car. And maybe an earring.”
“I’ll go take a look.” He makes a hasty exit.
When Harley is gone, Jane feels a sudden queasiness settle over her. The lightness of carefree existence is replaced by a heavy judgmental surge of dread.
What has she done?
Harley comes back, standing in the doorway with her white wrap in his hands. “No go on the earring. It might have fallen off at the house or something. I’ll look when I get home.”
“Thanks.” She takes the shawl, careful not to touch him in the process. “I’m sorry, Harley.”
He nods. “Me too.”
“This shouldn’t have happened.”
He nods again, his handsome features drawn and guilty. “Yeah. I’ve wanted-“ He closes his mouth and rubs his hands over his face. “Never mind. I should go. Unless you want me to stay?” He shuffles uncomfortably in the doorway. “We can talk about what just-“
“No,” Jane replies firmly. “You should go.”
“You got it, boss.” He stares at her mouth as if debating whether or not to claim a final kiss, but he steps back into the yard. “Goodnight, Jane.”
She doesn’t watch him leave. She closes the door behind him and shuts her eyes, her head swimming with dizzy confusion. The lingering remnants of her high try to convince her that she did the right thing by allowing herself a forbidden indulgence, but she can’t let it go this easily-not now that her neatly packaged self-imposed roles are falling back into place. She hates the satisfied afterglow of her body and hates her easy willingness to justify behaving in such a reckless manner. She hates how rigidly confined her life has been after all these years, but she reconciles herself with the fact that she created them for her own good. Letting go like this, like she did with the marijuana and Adam and Jake and Harley, is not for her.
Not now, and definitely not in the future.
---