Off The Record Ch. 23

So, Joel is the hero and they're in the clear now, right?.........right?!?

Our girls are getting a little bit risky, aren't they? I'm happy I finally found a spot to slip in the heavily foreshadowed Harper masturbation scene that I've had in my back pocket for a while.

Here's to another chapter you'll (probably) hate me for.

Hope you enjoy <3

All characters are over 18.

***

The doors to the elevator of Harper's apartment building had barely closed before she had Morgan backed up against the wall, pulling her down to meet her lips in a deep kiss.

Harper groaned at the contact, her lips parting to welcome the intrusion of Morgan's tongue as it curled against her own.

She could still taste herself on Morgan's mouth, could still taste the orgasm that she'd been driven to by the same tongue that was pressing dominantly against hers. The thought was enough to make her clit start throbbing again, every point of contact between their bodies acting as a new spark fueling the molten heat pooling between her legs.

She pulled back, trailing her lips along Morgan's jaw and down her neck, nipping at her pulse.

Harper couldn't remember the last time she'd been this turned on. Sex with Morgan was always amazing, but what they'd just done in her office was otherworldly.

There had been a two week dry spell while they'd sorted out all of the chaos that had come with admitting their feelings for each other, and, at the risk of sounding dramatic, it had been torturous.

Harper had a list a mile long of the things she wanted to do to Morgan, starting with returning the favor Morgan had so kindly paid her in her office by making her come so hard around her tongue that she screamed.

In fact, she had half a mind to pull the emergency stop and get on her knees right there in the elevator.

"I know what you're thinking, Cassidy," Morgan said, breathlessly. She bit at Harper's bottom lip and spun them in one smooth move. Harper's breath left her as her back collided with the wall. Playful blue eyes sparkled down at her, gleaming with mischief. "Don't you dare; I have a fear of getting stuck in an elevator."

Harper laughed, low in her throat, trailing her fingertip down Morgan's chest. "Lucky for you, I'd be more tempted if I didn't already have bigger plans for you tonight," she said.

"What kind of plans?" Morgan asked, moving closer to her.

Harper made a noncommittal sound followed by a sigh. "Ones that involve that new vibrator you've been wanting to try."

Her fingertips moved lower, toying with the waistband of Morgan's pants before she slipped a hand inside, cupping her over her ruined panties.

Morgan let out an intoxicating sound, a cross between a deep sigh and a moan, as Harper pressed her hand more firmly against her.

She stroked her slowly through her underwear. "Make that sound again," Harper murmured.

Just then, the elevator door opened, and Harper withdrew her hand, eager to get to the privacy of her apartment where she would devour this woman.

Stumbling out into the hall, Harper pulled Morgan toward her apartment, giggling.

Before they got there, though, Harper couldn't resist pressing her against the wall adjacent to her hallway.

What was the harm, really? It was almost midnight, and there was no one around. And Harper was in too good of a mood to care.

Her mouth found Morgan's exposed collarbone, her tongue tracing along the delicate skin there.

But then she felt Morgan go stiff against her. "Harper," she said, her voice low, all traces of arousal gone in an instant.

There was enough of a foreign strangeness in her tone to give Harper pause. She pulled back, searching her eyes for the cause of the sudden change in her demeanor. But her eyes weren't on Harper.

"There's a woman sitting outside your apartment door," she said. Her gaze flickered back to Harper's just for a moment before returning to a point somewhere behind them.

The confusion at Morgan's words struggled to work its way through Harper's lust-addled mind. "What...?"

Finally, her body responded, and Harper turned in time to see a middle-aged woman pushing herself up the wall next to her door.

"I...sorry," the woman said, her face a little red at the scene that she had witnessed. "I didn't mean to interrupt." She cleared her throat and took a step closer. "Harper?"

Everything stopped, the blood running cold in Harper's veins, her muscles going taut with tension. She could tell that Morgan felt the change in her body language, those sharp eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them.

This was her worst fucking nightmare.

"Mom?" Harper asked, her brain refusing to believe what her eyes were seeing.

The word sounded like a different language as it left Harper's lips. She didn't have a mom. Not really. Not in any way that mattered.

And yet, standing outside her apartment door, looking timid and nervous, was her mother.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Morgan's eyes widen, but she stayed quiet.

Her mother looked the same as the last time Harper had seen her about fifteen years prior, but also different. Clara had aged, obviously, but she had the same small frame, the same dark, curly hair, and the same hazel eyes that she had passed on to her daughter. Her skin looked tan despite it being right on the cusp of spring.

Other than their eye color, Harper really didn't look anything like her mother. While she'd never met her biological father, she had always assumed she favored him and his fairer features with her lighter hair and pale, freckled skin.

Harper tensed when she felt Morgan's hand fall to her lower back, but then relaxed into the protective touch.

The three of them were still just standing there in the hallway, staring at each other in silence.

"Clara Cassidy," her mother finally said, extending a hand toward Morgan with a smile that was too bright for this time of night.

Morgan stared at her offer of a handshake for several seconds before she reached out and took it, giving her hand one curt shake without offering her name in return. Harper could feel her reluctance in the gesture, and she couldn't blame her.

Based on what Harper had told Morgan about Clara, she would imagine that Morgan would rather eat broken glass than shake her hand.

Clara carded a hand through her hair and cleared her throat. "Uh...I was hoping we could talk?" She tried to fix a smile to her face, but it was forced and ended up being more of a grimace.

Harper blinked at her. She wanted to talk? For the first time in fifteen years? She'd officially entered the twilight zone.

"You want to talk?" She asked, disbelief dripping from her words.

Something that looked like regret crossed Clara's face. "Please, Harper."

Robotically, Harper moved past her and unlocked her apartment door with shaking hands, leaving the door open behind her as she entered wordlessly.

It felt like she was having an out of body experience, like someone else was watching her mother walk back into her life, uninvited and unannounced, after almost two decades.

Harper was brought back down to earth when she felt a warm, steady hand on her elbow, turning her slowly, carefully. Harper looked up into gorgeous blue eyes filled with worry.

"What do you need?" Morgan asked, quietly enough that her mom wouldn't hear from where she was poking around Harper's living room, taking in her space.

Great fucking question. Harper had no idea what she needed because she never thought she'd be in this situation. She was entirely unprepared for this.

"I'm not sure," she mumbled.

Glancing over at the essential stranger in her living room, she placed a hand on Morgan's upper chest. "Do you mind waiting in my room? I just--I just need to see what she wants and then she'll be gone."

Morgan gave Clara one more distrustful glance before she nodded slowly. She squeezed Harper's hand once and said, "I'll be just down the hall."

Harper's throat tightened as she watched Morgan walk away, not wanting to be alone with Clara. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, mentally preparing herself for whatever the hell this was. Harper turned to face her.

"Fifteen years apart and you don't offer your mother a drink?" Clara teased in a way that was far too familiar considering their history.

Irritation flared up in Harper at her audacity.

Clara must have mistaken the blank look on Harper's face for something else, because a brief flash of panic crossed her expression.

"Just water, of course," she said with a shaky, awkward laugh. She dug around in her pocket for a moment, pulling out a round purple coin and presenting it to Harper with a proud flourish.

Harper just stared at her, not feeling anything. It was an AA milestone coin, and somewhere in the dark reaches of her memory, Harper thought she remembered that purple was nine months sober? Maybe ten?

Now, Harper wasn't a monster; she encouraged anyone with a problem to get help and get sober. She could even be happy for the woman standing in front of her if she had truly begun to take care of herself and turn her life around. But historically and realistically, her mother was a liar, and you could buy AA coins on Amazon.

And besides, they'd done this song and dance before. After Clara had gotten out of prison when Harper was sixteen, she had tried to regain custody of her from her adoptive family, citing her newfound sobriety as proof that she'd changed.

After her--thankfully--overprotective family had hired a private investigator to watch her, they'd found evidence that she hadn't quit drinking, and was more than likely just trying to get custody of Harper for the check she'd receive from the state for the two years until Harper turned eighteen.

And then there was the time a few years ago when Harper had just landed the job at The New York Times, and her mother had somehow tracked down her work email and reached out, asking for money. After some intense professional therapy as well as sister therapy from Cam, Harper had managed to put it behind her, but it had set her back mentally in her healing from her trauma.

Seeing her in the flesh was so much worse.

"Congratulations," Harper said flatly, moving around the kitchen island to the sink. She filled a glass with water from the tap and set it in front of her mother, who had taken it upon herself to sit in one of her chairs.

Another awkward silence.

"Was that your girlfriend?" Clara asked, staring in the direction Morgan had gone. "She's pretty."

"What are you doing here?" Harper bit out, struggling to control her tone. Because Morgan was none of her business. Nothing about Harper's life was any of her fucking business.

It was like Clara hadn't even heard her.

"This is a nice apartment you've got here," she said, her head swiveling every which way, taking in Harper's living room and kitchen.

It felt invasive, her seeing Harper's private, personal space that she usually reserved for the people closest to her. She felt like she was going to crawl out of her skin.

"So," Clara said, "you're a big time writer now, huh?" She turned and grinned at Harper, the smile far too wide to look natural. "Working at the New York Times, covering the Sterling case. That's a big deal."

Something softened inside of Harper, her human need for even just a shred of approval from the woman who had created her overpowering her common sense for a fraction of a second.

"Have you...have you read my articles?"

Clara smiled at her, and this one actually looked real. "I have," she said. "I read a lot of your work."

Harper hated the feeling that began to bloom in her chest, a hopeful sort of pride that her mom had followed her career, if only from a distance. She hated that a small part of her wanted her mom to care about her work. About her.

"A job like that has probably made you famous, right? Your name is all over the newspapers." Her eyes were shifty, her fingers fidgeting in her lap as she looked anywhere except Harper's face. "Probably getting paid more money than you used to."

And there it was.

Harper's heart dropped as her mother's reason for seeking her out after all this time hit her in the face like a bucket of ice water. She should have known. Really, she had no one to blame other than herself.

What was that saying again? Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice...

God, she was so fucking stupid.

Of course she wanted money.

Harper held up her hand and counted to ten in her head so that she didn't fucking explode. "You came here to ask me for money?" She asked, her voice deadly quiet.

Clara's face fell momentarily before she plastered on another fake smile. "Harper, honey, it's not like that--"

"So, what is it like, then?" Harper asked, fully aware of how her voice was rising in volume. Her temper flared at the term of endearment that this woman had no right using. "You just tracked me down after fifteen years to what? Catch up? Make amends? Is that the step you're on in AA? Or is that all bullshit too?"

"I..." Clara hesitated. "Okay, yes, part of why I came here is to ask if you could help me out of a little bit of a jam." She came around the counter to stand in front of Harper, reaching out and placing a cold hand on hers where it was resting on the countertop. "I'm seeing this guy right now, and he's amazing, he really is, but he's just having some trouble getting on his feet. I'm sure he'd love to meet you--"

"Oh fuck off," Harper said harshly, wrenching herself away from her touch.

Harper didn't even want to see her mom, let alone one of her boyfriends. This new fling was probably no better than all of the other men Clara had paraded through their home when Harper was younger, leering at her with their lecherous eyes. Luckily, Harper had learned early on to always sleep with her door locked and barricaded, especially when her mom had a man over.

Looking back at her mother, Harper could see that the mask, the false facade of innocence that she'd worn since they'd found her in the hallway, had slipped, barely-contained rage and annoyance flickering in her eyes.

Harper couldn't help herself--she laughed.

She moved toward her again, meeting her gaze. "There she is," Harper said, her voice cold and emotionless.

Clara just looked at her, the vein bulging out of her head a sign that her ire was growing by the second with every word that left Harper's mouth.

"You haven't changed. You are exactly the same person you've always been." Harper leaned in close, looking into hazel eyes that matched her own. "Sober or not, you're still a cruel, opportunistic leech who doesn't care about anyone except herself."

Something familiar flashed in Clara's eyes a split second before Harper registered movement in her peripheral vision.

Her mother had always been fast, but now, Harper was faster.

Harper caught her mother by the wrist right before her open palm could make contact with her cheek. This sorry excuse of a human being was the reason she trained so hard, the reason she'd picked up boxing. She was the reason Harper had taken steps to ensure that no one would ever be able to hurt her again.

"Yeah," Harper said with a scoff at the shocked look on her mother's face. She was staring at her hand, still caught in Harper's grip, like she couldn't believe Harper had had the nerve to stop her from slapping her.

"I'm not the same defenseless kid I used to be," Harper snarled. "It's a lot harder to beat the shit out of an adult than it is a child, right?" She squeezed Clara's wrist hard once before releasing her, shoving her away. "Get out of my apartment. I never want to see you again. And if for some reason I do, and you ever raise a hand to me again, I will defend myself."

Harper turned away, done with this interaction.

But Clara didn't back down, getting back in Harper's face. "You always were such an insolent, disrespectful, little--"

"I think it's time for you to go."

Clara and Harper turned toward the hallway that led to the bedroom where Morgan was leaning against the wall, her eyes burning into Clara with a dangerous blue fire.

Clara's spine straightened, turning her attention to Morgan. "I'm not sure who you think you are, but this doesn't concern you," she said dismissively. "I'm her mother."

"I know exactly who you are," Morgan said, her words laced with venom. "And I know that Harper just told you to leave." She stalked into the room until she stood directly in front of Clara, towering over her. "I suggest you do so before I bring the entirety of the New York City justice system down on your head for attempted assault." Morgan's eyes flashed. "With a record like yours, I imagine that wouldn't go too well for you."

Clara glared up at her, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. Harper breathed a sigh of relief that it seemed her mother drew the line at striking a complete stranger. At least, she hoped she did. If she so much as laid a finger on Morgan, Harper would lay her out right here in the middle of her kitchen floor.

"You're that lawyer from TV," Clara sneered at Morgan, somehow making the simple observation sound like an insult. Harper dug her fingernails into the countertop to stop herself from clawing her mother's eyes out for speaking to Morgan with that vicious tone in her voice.

How dare she look at Morgan like that? How dare she come here at all, acting like they hadn't been estranged for the better part of two decades--that she hadn't made Harper's childhood a living hell? That Harper could just ignore the physical and metaphorical scars she'd left her to deal with?

Clara turned those spiteful eyes on Harper. "Is this how you find work these days? Landing the big stories by whoring yourself out to whoever will have you?"

Harper saw the muscle in Morgan's jaw tick, the hatred clear in her expression. She'd never seen that look on her face before. Morgan wasn't just angry--she was seething. And Harper knew that the only reason she was staying quiet was for Harper's sake.

"You've always been such a disappointment," Clara spat out.

"Get the fuck out," Morgan snapped.

Clara opened her mouth again, probably to spout of some other insulting bullshit, but Morgan threw her a shriveling look.

Harper had never seen Morgan use her height to intimidate anyone before, but it was incredibly effective as she looked down at her mother's five-foot-three frame.

"Get. The fuck. Out."

Harper swallowed hard. Morgan was sort of terrifying when she was mad. And right now, Harper was grateful for it, because Clara seemed to share that opinion.

"This isn't over," she said in a shaky voice as she moved toward the door. She glared at Harper one more time before she slipped out.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Clara, Morgan was in front of Harper, her hands coming up to cradle her jaw.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harper replied immediately. And she was. A little shaken, maybe, but the situation had been handled. All she wanted was to go lay down.

Morgan bit her lip, concern etched into her expression. She placed gentle hands on her shoulders. "Harper, sweetheart, you're crying," she said quietly.

Stunned, Harper lifted shaking fingertips to her cheek, her hand coming away wet. She must have been in a state of shock, because she hadn't even realized.

"I'm sorry," Harper said, dazed and blinking away more tears. "We were having such a good night, and I ruined it."

Morgan shook her head, eyebrows coming together, forming a concerned crease in the center of her forehead. "You didn't ruin anything."

Morgan gripped her shoulders more tightly. "Harper, please look at me." Her voice was strained, the touch of panic that she could hear catching Harper's attention.

Harper had been avoiding looking at Morgan, afraid she would finally see that look on her face--the look that so many people had given her in the past when they got too much of a glimpse into her background. And this was the worst glimpse anyone had ever gotten.

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