behind the camera - fake dating sports romance (wlw)

Chapter Thirty-Two

HARPER

Our kiss isn't sweet. It's not slow or careful or testing the waters. It's heat and hunger and the desperate pull of something that's been building between us for weeks—months, maybe.
The moment my mouth opens against hers, she groans like she's been waiting for this as long as I have.

My hands find the buttons of her shirt blindly, not wanting to stop kissing her, not wanting to pull away even for breath. Millie's fingers are everywhere—skimming the bare skin, curling into my hip like she's afraid I might disappear if she lets go.

She steps back only for a second, yanking her shirt over her head. Her chest rises and falls fast, her blue-green eyes nearly black now, pupils wide and wild and locked on me like I'm the only thing tethering her to this moment.

"You're so fucking precious," she says, voice low and wrecked, and then her mouth is on my neck, open and hot. The sound I make isn't controlled—it's a moan, loud and real and needy.

I tangle my fingers in her red hair, messing it up, tugging just enough to keep her there. My hips shift on instinct, rolling forward, grinding down against the front of her pants because I need friction—I need something.

She laughs and kisses me again, deeper this time, dirtier. Her thigh slides between mine and the second there's pressure, the second I feel her solid and warm right there, I let out a sound I've never heard from myself before. Like relief. Like hunger. Like finally.

My nails press into her back like I'm holding on for dear life. Her hands cradle my jaw with this devastating kind of gentleness, like she's scared I'll shatter if she holds me too tight—except her mouth is anything but gentle. Her tongue slides against mine like she's trying to ruin me from the inside out, like she wants to rewrite every memory my body has ever held.

And maybe she is. Maybe that's exactly what she's doing.

My hips move without permission, grinding into the solid warmth of her thigh, aching for something more, something deeper. The kiss breaks with a gasp as my head falls back. "Please—" I whisper, not even sure what I'm begging for. Just more. Just her.
That word snaps something in her. Her thigh presses up harder against me, delicious friction that steals my breath. "Millie," I gasp, voice trembling. "Please."

She hums against my neck, smug and reverent all at once. "So polite, baby."

Her lips trail down, wet and open-mouthed against my throat, my collarbone, and lower. Her breath is warm and slow as she takes her time at my chest, her tongue swirling around my nipple like it's her favorite thing in the world. I reach for her, shaky and overwhelmed, but she's already sliding her hand lower, between us, fingers dancing down my stomach until she finds the soaked fabric of my underwear.

Millie groans, low and rough. "Jesus, Harps. Is this all for me?"

All I can do is nod, dizzy with need. Her eyes flick up to mine, dark and focused. "What do you need?"

"You," I rasp, not even pretending to be composed.

Her fingers trace lightly over my underwear, just barely teasing my clit and I let out something between a moan and a sob. It's too much and not enough. "Need you to be more specific, love," she whispers, like she's got all the time in the world while I'm unraveling in her hands.

She kisses lower, her mouth brushing over the soft skin of my stomach, and I'm already gone. I can't think. I can't breathe. I just— "Millie."

"I'm listening." Her voice is soft now, almost tender.

I clutch at the back of her head. "Just... touch me."

She pauses, lips smiling against my skin. "I think you meant please?"