Inherent
Chapter Forty-Three
“Okay. Let me have it.”
His eyes squint in confusion. Normally this would be adorable, but there’s too much left unsaid right now and neither of us are laughing. He tilts his head to the side slightly, both us of still motionless.
“What’s that?” He asks, as though clueless.
I bite my lip, realizing that he has been lost in his own mind and he doesn’t understand where this is suddenly coming from, not when I asked for the total opposite not moments ago. To him, all of this is coming out of nowhere.
“I know you’re mad at me,” I say, much less sure of myself now. “So let me have it.”
His wrath, his shouting, his fist pounding on tables, his slamming doors. Something. Something to let me know that he really is angry—anything, as long as he doesn’t keep it all building up inside himself. Having done the very same thing to myself many times over, the effects can be scarring. Both for himself and those around him. Because he is not like me; Harry needs, likes to tell others the truth, how he feels. He will snap eventually, and if he lets it all out now it hopefully won’t be as explosive as it will be later down the road when he is bursting at the seams with infuriation.
In the end, doing this to himself is worse than letting it all out. Possessing no backbone whatsoever is part of my problem, but that obviously isn’t the case for Harry.
No, I know what he is trying to do. He is trying to do something valiant, perhaps gentlemanly: spare my feelings. Today, though, my feelings don’t deserve to be spared. Not by any stretch. They deserve to be skewered.
Especially by Harry, who has had to put up with entirely too much from me since the moment we met. From giving him a fake number to lying to him, to keeping a huge secret, a massive part of my life from him, he has more than enough reason to be angry with me. Much angrier than he appears right now.
His lips twitch into an amused smile, however, the darkness clouding his eyes along with it creating an obscure, almost sensual image. “Oh yeah? Let you have what?”
I pick up on his suggestive tone straight away, and now I am more confused—and flustered—than ever. When he takes an easy confident stride forward, I scoot back two. It feels like a game of cat and mouse. His smirk only grows at this and while feeling myself blush furiously, I stumble over my next words pathetically in an obvious way. “I don’t know… tell me how you feel. I can’t handle this anymore.”
Part of me suspects Harry is doing this on purpose so that I forget what I was trying to get to the bottom of. It’s clever, cunning, and exactly something I could see him doing.
What’s worse… what’s worse is that we both know it would work, and that he could and would use it to his advantage. Mercilessly.
“Can’t handle what?”
“Harry,” I huff. If he continues to repeat everything I saw in a seemingly clueless yet suggestive manner, I might just snap myself.
“I’m just trying to understand, baby,” he purrs quietly, the throaty undertone sending a set of shivers prickling down my spine.
“I know you’re pissed at me,” I say, slowly, enunciating each word patronizingly, and his lips thin when he hears my tone, no longer finding it quiet so funny. Yet still he keeps up this act of his and I curse him for being so effortlessly sexy.
It’s a blessing and a curse.
He draws closer and I stay frozen, wide eyed and unable to move as his aggressive stance nearly melts into my as he stands so close, unbearably close, that unmistakable heat still present in his eyes.
“I am not pissed at you. I am upset, yes,” he begins slowly. My heart drops as I hear this, but while I waver I don’t back down, not with the hope that maybe I have finally gotten through to him. Because I can’t take the distance that is created between us when he holds back. It nearly kills me.
I asked for this, this confrontation. The truth.
Before I can apologize, however, he continues pointedly, slowly, inching even closer until his torso brushes firmly against mine. Through all this in an impressive exercise of control he doesn’t touch me. Yet. “But I realize that what’s done is done, and you made me a promise. You remember what it is, right?”
I falter, blinking sheepishly. “Um. Which one?”
My inarticulate response doesn’t please him. He reaches to take hold of my waist in a steady, possessive hold—one which makes me come undone even more under his intense passion.
“You promised,” he starts the reminder mimicking my previous condescending tone, except from his mouth it sounds downright sexy… and so, so tempting. “You promised that you will remember to take care of yourself from now on. That means taking your medication, and having those tests done.”
Somewhere through this I can physically feel myself react, an intense heat crashing over me as my mouth parts slightly, caught up in the feelings Harry gives me at practically the press of a button. My buttons, which he knows how to manipulate perfectly. Effortlessly.
“If you don’t…” He leans closer, pushing my hair to the side so his lips brush against my ear, coaxing another deep shiver to run down the entire length of my body, goose bumps erupting down my neck and arms as my nerve endings go haywire. “If you don’t keep that promise, then I’ll be pissed.”
I release a soft, shaky breath, feeling as if I am strung up like a puppet all of the sudden, and Harry controls every one of my intense reactions to the smallest things he does, like how his thumb travels enticingly along the waistband of my jeans and I am utterly caught in the moment, in this new tension. The kind of tension that has my mind swimming and causes a needing heat to settle between my hips.
Knowing he has me right where he wants me, I feel him smirk against the shell of my ear.
“But I don’t have to worry about that, do I? You’ll keep your promise, won’t you?” There’s a whole other vow in itself made through his words, a promise that he will not be pleased if I fail to keep my word. Out of all the things I’ve sworn to do or to stop this now seems more important than all the others, like he might throw me clear out of his house if I refuse.
But he won’t. I know he won’t, but I still feel the need to tell him anyway, to give him the reassurance he deserves more than anything. He deserves so much more from me, and from here on out I’m going to give him it. Every last piece of me.
I find myself unable to answer, however, not a single verbal thought running through my mind as Harry’s mouth makes full contact with the sensitive skin just below my ear. A sharp intake of air is my only external reaction—that, and I clutch onto his arm, closing my eyes at the sudden pleasure these tiny, simple actions so easily provoke. It’s been so long since we have had this, since we’ve been able to touch each other, be this close. It all feels like my fault on top of that, for putting what seems now to be needless distance between us. It was so unbearably hard; senseless. I missed him so much.
Now it’s as if we are both going through withdrawal, the slightest of advances feeling astronomical. Harry’s mouth moves in an agonizingly slow trail down my neck, kneading expertly against my skin, leaving it feeling like I am on fire in his wake. It stirs radical sensations within me and I can’t help but to gasp, turning my head to the side to give him more access, but otherwise keeping still as he administers his ‘argument.’
I’d been wrong. So very wonderfully wrong. If he was telling me all of this, exactly why he is angry, down to the last thought that riled him up so much, kept him totally incensed for the last hour—then he can’t be using this, making me feel this way, as a distraction. He isn’t doing this to evade my questions; I don’t know what he is doing. Yet I know that I don’t want him to stop.
Only one thing registers in my desire clouded mind: he is a complete, total whirlwind.
Still I feel there could be more, more to this, to where this all is coming from. He went from not touching me to completely engulfing me within seconds. But he doesn’t give me a single moment to think, keeping me thoroughly preoccupied with all the feelings he is effortlessly stirring, bringing to life.
“Jules.” He rears back to call my name in a husky, demanding murmur, controlled yet somehow untamed at the same time. His hold on my waist tightens to further get his point across—he wants an answer out of me, now. “Tell me you’ll keep your promise.”
This whole time, Harry has maintained perfect control. Though his eyes are heated, coated in the same desire I feel so intensely as he peers down at me, he knows exactly what he is doing, how far to take it, when to stop so as to drive me insane. And totally speechless. It’s a roundabout, contradicting means of getting this out of me, but somehow it works. It works beautifully.
This fact only makes my need for him to grow higher, hotter, headier, and I shock myself when I end up pushing closer to him. He has to fight his own smirk, torso tensing at this new friction, and I don’t even have the time to feel embarrassed.
“I’ll keep your promise,” I all but gasp out, evidence of just how little control I currently possess, these feelings and their intensity so overwhelming, are all still so new in such an enticing way that it seems senseless to not give into him, to his searching mouth and adventurous hands.
I don’t want him to stop, not even to talk for these few moments. My hand tries to pull him closer, to attach my own mouth to any part of him that is within reach, but his strength easily works against my own and he remains steady, not doing anything at all, which only drives me crazy.
“Because I have this feeling,” he draws it out, emphasizing the word ‘feeling’ with a short breath of his own, and does some good in helping me feel not so alone in this onslaught of desire. Leaning closer, finally, until his mouth is millimeters away from mine—I can feel him, so close, and I wait with bated breath for him to do something. To finish what he started, both with what he is saying and this. To kiss me already. “That you might not have forgotten so much as you decided not to.”
It takes me several brain fogged seconds to comprehend exactly what he says, what he means, and the terrible implication. To realize the truth to his words, and how exactly terrifyingly right he is.
And once I do I freeze, slowly opening my eyes to find him already peering at me, watching my expression, waiting expectantly. “I…”
His eyes narrow in warning, daring me to contradict him. This is because it’s clear, he knows he is right—this is what he has been so angry about all along. More than that, he is scared. I scared him, by not taking my medication, by not having those damned tests done. I hate myself for it, for perhaps unknowingly but still needlessly putting him through that, such fear.
Fear which must be similar, though not as intense, as what I used to feel for Caleb. When I wondered if the very pills and drugs he took would kill him, and I would wonder if, whenever he would sporadically come around for a visit, it would be the last time I would see him. Because his own choices would take his life, would take him away from me.
That fear is debilitating, consuming, and I never want Harry to feel anything even close to it. Ever.
“It’s—it’s not that I did it on purpose…” I’m evading, I know it, Harry knows it, and a desire filled anger reignites in his eyes, building as he pulls me closer, arm constricting around my waist.
“Well what was it, then?” He questions, disbelieving, and rightfully so.
I don’t have the chance to answer, though, because he instantly returns to my neck. This time in open mouthed kisses, and my body nearly folds against his as I feel his hot, wet tongue make a tantalizing path down my neck to the sensitive skin where my neck meets my shoulder.
“I expect an answer,” he says sharply, stunning me out of the stupor he once again induced. Only slightly, however. Only for a moment, and only to do as he asked.
“I forgot, but then I remembered, and by then I figured it was too late.” I am referring to both my medication and the missed doctor appointment, but it all comes out as jumbled and frazzled as I feel. What I managed to tell him hardly makes any sense at all, not even to me, and despite how serious he is I feel him smirk again against my neck.
“That’s not enough,” he rejects easily, planting another kiss to that particular soft place which very nearly coaxes a moan from my own mouth.
Yes, Harry definitely knows what he is doing. I’m not used to trying to keep all of this in, to feeling such intense desire that I have to express it verbally, and it is consuming. Instead I sigh almost just as tellingly, tugging on his sleeve.
In a confident, scorching path, his hands snake down to my bottom for a moment, squeezing and kneading slowly, bold yet so so pleasurable in his advances. His hands feel red hot through the fabric of my jeans, and I can’t help but to jolt at the sudden intimacy, hips unintentionally but satisfyingly brushing against his. Then he pauses, stops totally, and while his hands stay where they are his mouth halts in its continuous, mounting attention.
“Give me a little more, baby. Tell me the truth.” This is what he is doing—it’s obvious now. He’s working me up more than he has in a long, long time, and he won’t give me more until I answer. It’s clever, cunning… and a total turn on.
“Okay,” I breath in relent, bending under his will, his hands, his mouth, and simultaneously yearning for me. This is so, so much better than the quiet tense night I thought I was going to spend trying to ‘rest’. “I… I’m afraid of the hospital. So I put off the tests… and,” my voice dies off into a soft whimper as his focus returns to my neck, except now when his mouth connects to my already tender, sensitive skin, he sucks.
I arch into him fully now, saying his name in a desperate pleasure filled groan, unable to help it any longer.
God, how did we end up here? I want more. So much more, but I suspect he may not be willing to give it. Not until I manage to tell him the truth. “And the pills—ah… I, it really did slip my mind. At first. And then… then I just decided not to.”
Well—if it were any other time, if there was a little warning to be had, that certainly could have come out better. A little more sugar coated, maybe, but Harry doesn’t want that. He wants the truth, and more than ever now I feel obligated to tell him. It all sounds much worse than how it felt at the time, when all these things happened. None of it felt as important, as scary as it does now. I make it sound reckless. Like I chose not to remember, I chose to possibly put my own life in danger, no better than a junkie with his fix.
But it’s impossible to think and I don’t have the chance to find better words to say, not while he has his hands on my ass and his mouth is ravishing my neck. What more could he expect, when he has me like this?
In fact, I don’t even pause after this leaves my mouth, eyes still closed as tendrils of pleasure course through my veins, attacking me from all sides.
As soon as Harry hears this, though, I swear I hear a growl come from deep in his throat, rough and angry, outraged. Suddenly he rears back again, and these two things alone are more than enough to give me pause, to open my eyes and see past the haze of wanton need that he so easily created.
“You’re never going to do that again,” he snaps, further breaking me from my trance.
Breathing heavily, I blink and stare at him through clouded vision—except this time, it almost certainly isn’t the result of my concussion. Hell, the bump on the back of my head might as well not even exist at this point. “Do you hear me, Jules? I don’t even want to catch wind of it—which I will. Never again.”
“Yes, I mean no. I won’t,” I say in a garble, trying hard to make sense now, only to end up failing miserably. Again. After taking a deep, fluttery breath, I try again. “I won’t.”
“I swear—if I even suspect you are up to that again, I’ll be more than just pissed. I’ll be fucking livid, Julia.”
His brutal honesty does some good in shocking me back to reality, and I continue to breathe hard and slow, attempting to regather my wits. “I won’t, Harry,” I say quickly, still holding onto him for support, positive that if not for him being so close I would have fallen over long ago.
Lust blends alarmingly with fear, fear or whatever promise lies in Harry being more than pissed and it mixes me into a jumble of confusion and excitement.
“Swear to me,” he demands passionately, easily holding his ground, as if he didn’t just assault my neck and his hands hadn’t roamed all over my body, searchingly, hungrily.
While swallowing hard I attempt to clear my mind yet again. It’s nearly impossible, caught up in what just transpired, in the intensity of the craving for him that still flows through me all while feeling absolutely torn, like a terrible person for what I have put him through. It might have been unknowingly, but I still should have thought about the consequences of what those who love me might go through if something happens to me, by my own hand no less. Through my own selfish, unthinking actions.
“I swear, I won’t do it ever again.” I’m shocked to not even recognize my own voice, lower and huskier than usual, evidence of my desire. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip as he watches me closely, noting the change as much as I have, except it only causes his eyes to darken with hunger even more.
“I swear,” I repeat, meaning it. “Never again.”
Now I manage to look past what I feel in this moment, to mean everything I say with every last drop of my soul. It is said with a clear mind, like Harry wants, enough though he accomplished the total opposite by doing this to me, by totally scrambling my mind with each of his touches and kisses, leaving me wanting more. More than he’s ever given me.
We both know, however, that it would have taken much more to get this admission out of me if he hadn’t employed such tactics which totally broke down my barriers and left me willing to expose more of myself than I ever have.
“I’m serious, Julia,” he insists to be sure, still rough. “I can’t stand the thought of someone else harming you, let alone…” he trails off, like he can’t bring himself to say it aloud, to make his fears a reality.
But I know what he was about to say, what he can’t say. Knowing how protective he is on his best day, knowing how much he cares for me, for my safety… if he can’t stand the thought of some another person hurting me, then the possibility of me hurting myself might very well drive him to the brink of insanity.
“I won’t, I won’t,” I say, surely sounding like a broken record, frantic while tears cloud my vision at such thoughts. Thoughts of putting Harry through these terrible things, of needlessly supplying him with fears. Fears that I know can tear a person down until they are a shadow of their former selves. It’s the kind of haunting fear that keeps a person up at night, prevents them from finding any peace.
I won’t, not again. Not ever again. “I promise.”
There’s more to this than meets the eye, more than what lies in the surface of the simple words. I promise not to ever leave him again, to not ever walk away, to never leave him hurting, to never hurt myself in a way that would hurt him, too.
While I don’t try to misplace my fault in the slightest I do feel the need to try and explain more, better, a little more concisely. “It’s not that I did it intentionally. I didn’t mean to hurt myself—at least I… I don’t think so. Not at the time. But I guess now, that’s kind of what it looks like.”
My hands shake again as I loosen my hold on his shirt, having fisted it with all my fear and guilt. I tremblingly smooth it out with a sheepish touch after I lose my nerve, looking down after having rambled on for far too long.
“I’m sorry,” I ultimately finish, eyes now level with his chest. “I never did any of it to hurt you. I just… I didn’t think.”
“It’s alright, baby,” he soothes, knowing I’m pretty well spent when it comes to sharing all this, admitting how very wrong I was to do any of it. Thankfully, he appears to be satisfied now that he has gotten through to me.
He caresses my cheek in a gentle, feather light touch, much more subdued now, speaking softly. “Just never do it again.”
I nod, unable to form any words now, and that is enough for him. None of this feels like stress, however, none of it feels mentally taxing, and my heart doesn’t lurch fitfully under the intense whirlwind of events. From one moment we go from arguing, to making out, to this. To placated, tender, almost at peace. It feels right, and even better to have gotten the bottom of what was keeping Harry distant and so angry.
He leans down, tilts my head up with a gentle thumb under my chin and stares into my eyes for a long moment, us both now as close to relaxed as we’re going to get. And then he finally kisses me, his mouth now soft but that same heat lingers, just barely under control… and I don’t know if I want it to be. I want Harry, I realize, totally free, totally untamed.
“Because I think it’s fairly obvious, now,” he smiles wryly after pulling away slightly, only enough to speak. “That I can’t live without you.”
As I feel all of the tension melt away in mere seconds, just like that… I sigh in relief. I do know exactly what he means, having felt the same way for him for so, so long now.
“It’s been so hard,” I admit softly, wavering. “Being away from you. I don’t think I slept more than a couple hours at a time.”
Having him in my bed, close and with his arms around me, holding me as we slept… it felt as close to heaven as one could achieve on earth. And this is my own way of saying that I can’t live without him, either.
Disapprovingly, his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth, and he sighs then too. Instead of letting more slip I breathe deeply and lean into him, resting my head against his chest. His hands have long since migrated back up to my waist, where he holds me securely, and I turn so I can press my lips against his chest, to one of his exposed swallow tattoos.
“That’s not good, Jules,” he softly chastises, arms tightening around me even more. I merely close my eyes, hold him closer, reveling in this moment, and deliver another tender kiss to his chest. It surprises me when I see goosebumps rise around the area, and I have to smile.
I’m happy here, with Harry. I don’t know if I have the medicine or him to thank for being totally pain-free right now, but his mouth—soft, alluring, and mind blowing, have made me feel better than I have in weeks. With him so close I can’t help but to recall the night at The Castle, instantly reheating at the memory. The terrible anger fuelled events at the end of the night are not what have my attention, but rather what took place before. In his private room off from The Solar, the one we were supposed to turn into his office. In between offering me a job and explaining his ideas of renovate the place he had me totally seduced with his hungry touch, on that antique velvet couch where we’d gone farther than we ever had before. It’s as if my blood heats and pulses in my veins when I remember the feelings he stirred within me, when he hitched up my dress and subsequently made a cheeky comment on my choice of underwear.
To keep myself calm is near impossible, especially when I feel like I’m about to burn up from need. I want Harry, like that night.
“How are you feeling?” He inquires, sounding much more in control than I am. Up and down my back, his fingers make sensual patterns which only leave me more mesmerized than ever. Briefly, I really do wonder if he can feel how hot he has me, the body heat I feel pulsing throughout my system, pooling at my core, pressed against him. Now, I feel like a furnace.
Instead of giving into any of the desires that feel so obvious to me, I smile and tilt my head to look up at him. He meets my gaze with lowered eyes, now with a smile himself, and I wonder likewise if he detects any of the sudden, intense, lustful feelings interweaving in my own eyes. It must be clear, the desire, how much I enjoyed all of what just happened, how much I want more.
God knows he can, and it’s hard to even feel too embarrassed. The green in his irises darken to that telling shade of moss, of lust.
“Better, now,” comes my soft response, a little less breathy but still somewhat uncontrolled. We might have calmed slightly but the electric chemistry burning between us is more potent than ever. It just cannot be ignored any longer. I can’t help but to let my fingers trail down from his shoulder, sneaking over his back, feeling the taut muscle contract under my touch as it has before when I dared to be so bold.
His breathing shallows, a direct result of both my coy answer and adventurous touch.
“Good,” he says huskily, hold around my waist tightening to pull me closer against him until our torsos are flush against each other. The contact is dizzying.
“I didn’t stress you out too much just now, have I? I haven’t forgotten…” he trails off to gently stroke my hair, avoiding the contusion at the back of my head carefully. I begin to tense for just a moment, jumping to conclusions with what he is implying. My paranoid, insecure mind assumes he means my heart and not the injury to my head, which is trivial in comparison. But he isn’t. He is merely trying to follow the doctor’s orders.
“No, no,” I reassure him easily, relieved that he is keeping to his promise, the one he begrudgingly made in the hospital room not to treat me differently. Also, there is comfort to be found in that I didn’t stupidly ask what he meant. For once my mind works somewhat rationally after only a small, brief relapse. Harry has always treated me as an equal, and it isn’t something I have to worry about now.
“If we didn’t talk about this, I would have been ten times as stressed,” I explain, mouth and mind escaping me. I’d talk all night if he wanted me to. “I really do feel better now.”
Relaxing, he produces a soft yet alluring smile, and I melt that much more. He definitely knows what he is doing to me, but I wonder to what extent. I still feel much too hot for just standing here in his foyer.
“Tell me,” he begins his order quietly, still serious. “If you start to feel worse. If you become upset, if you need something, anything.”
“I will,” I agree instantly. Because if I do, if my head begins to throb or I become lightheaded again or god forbid, my heart starts acting up again, I will need him. If I do become upset, too, I will need him here with me to get through it. “I feel fine, though. I bet I can even walk on my—”
The instant I try to pull away and show off the fact that I think my limbs can help me walk in a straight line without any help, he pulls me back into him with a possessive grin. “Stay close, baby,” he murmurs. “I need you close.”
“So do I,” my admission comes easily. I had no intentions of leaving his side for more than a moment, but I know exactly how much he really did mean not taking his eyes off me—and, by extension, his hands. I have absolutely no problem with that either. All I want is Harry, nothing else. Worries of police, stolen family jewelry, terrifying gangs, and my heart are totally banished from my thoughts.
We have tonight to ourselves, to heal, to recuperate, to become totally wrapped up in each other, and it is all I could ask for.
“Can I take a shower?” My question is posed hesitantly, shyly. It would only take but a few minutes. While the hospital might be clean and sanitary, I feel dirty after visiting it, as if the grief and sadness felt whenever I am forced to go there can miraculously be washed off. It can’t, but that doesn’t mean I won’t feel better after a hot, peaceful shower. I long to remove the grime today has left on me, for some hot water to soothe my aching, tense muscles, and maybe to also calm down from this unexpected intimate encounter with Harry.
He pulls back, eyebrows knitted; his answer leaves me squirming uncomfortably and feeling as though I have overstepped.
“No.”
Instinctually, I try to pull away—again—out of shock and the beginnings of hurt. But yet again he doesn’t let me get far, pulling me back into him instantly with a blooming smirk, now amused, which does some good in helping me calm. I look up at him, perplexed, which only causes him to speak through a soft chuckle. “Because I want you to rest while I draw you a bath.”
Surprised, I continue to peer up at him wonderingly. Having been so busy all the time I rarely ever have the luxury of time to relax, to take a bath instead of quick shower. To soak, and let myself unwind like I so obviously need to.
After today the premise is heavenly. Harry takes my silence for hesitation, however, and does that thing again where he tries to sell the idea to me, even though I am sure I don’t have much say in the matter.
“I’ve got bubbles. I’ve got salts… and some sort of oils. Lou says they’re good.”
I want to laugh. Of course Lou was probably the one to give Harry these things in the first place. For some reason, it’s hard to picture him sitting down with candles and ambient music playing while he soaks in bubble bath and oils. Then again, he has surprised me on too many occasions to count; his sensuality, past either his businessman hardened exterior or his cheeky personality underneath that, knows no bounds.
“Tempting,” I murmur back, smiling softly while trying to keep a small giggle from spilling.
“Let me pamper you,” he implores, serious though playful. I can’t focus on anything other than how his mouth moves as he speaks. His lips are soft, plump, and a deep red—utterly kissable, and impossible to resist. In doing something as simple as speaking, he has me totally enthralled.
“Okay,” I agree easily. It’s not as if I ever really needed any convincing in the first place. He catches me in this act, of being totally caught up in just this one small part of him, and his smirk grows knowingly until his lips separate into a toothy smile. Yet still I don’t look away out of embarrassment like I surely would have before. Instead, I slowly trail my eyes up to meet his, my own smile turning a little mischievous.
“I’m okay with a bath.” I try to act as though I don’t feel nearly as flirtatious and desire-filled as I really am.
He shakes his head slightly, disbelieving, but obviously enjoying what he has just now brought out in me. With a new heated twinkle in his eye, he loosens his hold on my waist and moves back down, past the curve of my hips to grip firmly onto the very tops of my thighs. He does this agonizingly slow, all while his hot gaze burns into mine, and ends up leaning down so his mouth very nearly brushes against mine teasingly. My breath catches tellingly and my eyes become lidded, waiting for him to act. Again. Harry is famous for taking the little I give and pushing it, pushing it in the most welcomed and sensuous of ways.
He breaks off into a soft, boyish laugh that is so tempting my eyes close totally in anticipation, near begging for him to act already, my hands stalled at his sides as they clutch onto his shirt again.
Now I’m tense once more, but in a totally different way. It feels as though my muscles will continue to constrict, to tighten until they are ready to burst, and the only thing that can help it is Harry’s mouth on mine.
Right when his lips finally take mine in a crashing, intelligence skewing kiss that would leave me as nothing more than pliable mess for him to mold as he pleases, he lifts me easily by the thighs. Somewhere in my enraptured mind I expected this from where his hold was, but as soon as he kissed me any and all rational and sane thoughts flew out the window—as usual. So I gasp against his mouth, the level of intimacy we find when I am forced to wrap my legs around his waist overwhelming.
Hard, demanding and yet still somehow totally reassuring, Harry again takes both control of the kiss and the advantage my gasp presents, slipping his tongue into my mouth as my arms lock around his neck. His tongue works expertly against mine, dominating as he explores my mouth. All while this happens he moves forward, as if I am totally weightless, and starts making his way through the apartment.
One hand remains pressed to my thigh while the other, in a simmering path, moves to hold me securely around the waist. He pushes me even closer into him, my chest moving against his as I take shallow breaths.
He glides through the house, so skilled and graceful that he doesn’t falter even once. The heat his body exudes in combination with my legs locked around his waist—so utterly close—has me feeling like I am on the verge of catching fire, crumbling totally underneath his spell. When his mouth pauses briefly as we turn a corner and down a hallway with multiple doors, I pull away. But not for long, only to catch my breath and stare at him momentarily though lust-clouded vision. His own eyes have fluttered open, darkened more than I have ever seen them. As if someone else has taken control of my body, my actions, my lust—someone with much more confidence than I could ever possess, I bend my head and attach my mouth to his neck.
At first he sighs at the initial contact, but his pace slows and his hold on me tightens when I apply pressure, delicately taking the flesh at the base of his throat into my mouth and sucking.
“Jesus, Christ,” he swears harshly, pausing to quickly open a large, black wooden door, kicking it open the rest of the way with one of his booted feet. There is a new urgency in this moment, in Harry and his actions, and in myself. I want to show him again and again that I am more than capable. That I am just much of a woman as anyone else, and that I am more than my heart.
We don’t make it very far into the room at all; Harry halts just as we enter and turns sharply to press me against the door as he slams it shut. Through all of this I haven’t paused even once, having released the now slightly tender skin to kiss it softly, open mouthed to allow my tongue to glide across it.
Harry has taught me quite a bit about the art of creating these love bites, and tonight I want to practice every bit.
Panting, he groans throatily, clearly having not expected this from me. Especially now of all times—but I refuse to think about how I have created a mark on his neck like he has with me on numerous occasions, all while he has me pressed up against the door of what I just know is his bedroom… with my legs wrapped around him, hips creating a delicious friction between us.
On another rough lustful groan he thrusts his hips against mine just as my teeth gingerly drag across the mark, and a shudder ripples through his shoulders. I gasp, pulling back and closing my eyes as that unmistakable heat begins to pool at my center more than ever. Harry takes advantage of the miniscule space I inadvertently created, mouth crashing against mine in an intense, hungry, lust-filled kiss. His hands hold firmly to my sides, keeping me in place even though I would not rather be anywhere else. Still he pulls me closer, relentless in trying to get as little distance between us. The only thing left now separating us is our clothing, and I have shocking, devious thoughts of watching Harry as he sheds his shirt, jeans, and then his underwear…
And the thought of looking away with a blush, as I always have, doesn’t even cross my mind.
Not even lustful thoughts such as these snap me from my desire-spiked daze—in fact, thinking about his hard, toned abdomen pressed against mine… bare, only makes my legs tighten around him as a small, whimpered moan escapes my throat. He pulls away to pant hotly into my ear, hips grinding against mine, and it’s now that I feel his hardness through his jeans, pressed so close to such an intimate area, and it very nearly takes my breath away.
Harry ultimately enthralls me; he is all I think of, all I feel, all I want. He surrounds me totally, consumes me down to the very last atom of my being. And I long for even more of him still.
After having spent so much time apart, and since we have gone this far before, I do want more. I want him and I have nothing else to hide, nothing left to hold me back. I want all of him.
“Baby, he breathes, near purring, just barely restrained. “We have to stop—” he cuts himself off when my thighs clench around him again, unable to help my body’s reaction. I don’t want to stop, and I know he doesn’t really want to, either. His eyes have shut, bottom lip taken between his teeth to bite harshly as he tries to fight his own feral desires, the ones I know for a fact that he has kept restrained for months now.
I don’t want to hold back anymore, and for once I want to push him farther. It’s sudden and it’s shocking, but I realize fully that I want him—all of him, and in turn I want to give him my all too. Every last piece I have held back. I feel totally ready.
With his hips already thrust into mine, he increases the pressure and the crease between his brows fades, still panting as one side of him wins over.
For a moment I’m not sure which one that is until he opens his eyes again, slowly, reconnecting with mine. I find more heat emanating from them than I have ever witnessed before.
“Naughty little thing, aren’t you,” he growls out hoarsely, smirking, and the sound of his voice with such words only causes my immense lust to grow. A small gasp strangles from my mouth as he circles his hips into mine, making sure I feel every bit of his arousal. And his hands are snaking underneath my shirt, hot and searching, and his calloused fingertips glide over the curve of my waist as my locked legs around him are the only things that keep me pinned to the wall.
Longing to feel more of him, my own hands daringly reach for the hem of his shirt, but as soon as I make any form of movement he catches both my wrist in just one of his hands and pins them above my head, effectively leaving me helpless to whichever pleasurable onslaught he feels I deserve.
“Doctor’s orders to relax, baby,” he explains, quietly against my ear, effective in causing shivers to run down my arms. But he doesn’t sound relaxed at all himself, an animalistic edge to his tone which only increases my need for him, my arousal.
“I fully intend on helping you with that,” he continues, mouth traveling from my jawline to my lips. The pure conviction in his tone leaves me totally stilled, bending to his will totally.
Teasing, and perhaps a little testing too, his free hand which previously paused at my hip dances along the waistband of my jeans again, slipping past them this time until he reaches the start of my panties, and lightly fondles the light material. In such anticipation I am rendered entirely frozen, eyes closed as our mouths brush against each other and we take panting breaths. I have a feeling he knows just how aroused his actions have caused me to be, and that I am right where he wants me.
But then he stops. With that same devious smile, he withdraws his hand from within my pants and slowly lowers my hands back between us. Warm and gentle, how, he encases my waist with his strong, taut arms to bring me forward so my weight rests against his torso, all while my breathing comes in short choppy flutters, leaving soft kisses along the side of my neck as I am left reeling, still aching for more and more confused than ever.
Why did he stop? Is it because of my concussion—the doctor had said to rest, but by no means do I find any of these last few minutes ‘stressful’. I end up leaning forward the rest of the way, closing my eyes to hide my embarrassment while I rest the side of my head against his. Did he just reject me?
That’s how I feel. Like that night, at the Castle. Before everything went to hell, and we were in his private room off from The Solar. He stopped because he knew I would regret going any farther in such a place.
But tonight, tonight I would not regret.
And now I feel like an inexperienced idiot who got carried away.
“Come on,” he hums amusedly, turning away from the wall as he supports all of my weight once again. Still I don’t take in my surroundings, the darkened room with only dim lights to cast a faint, sensual glow over its contents. All I am capable of comprehending is Harry as his still smouldering touch caresses my back and his spice filled, musky cologne while I breathe into the crook of his neck.
After several long languid strides he pauses, his biceps flexing against my sides as he begins to lower me. Instinctively I tighten my hold at the back of his neck, tummy flipping as I become disorientated.
Chuckling, Harry has no choice but to let me keep my panicked hold on him and he follows me onto the bed. My back ends up being carefully placed onto a plush, dark blanket, almost my entire body sinking into the mattress as he hovers over me, legs still settled between mine.
Hesitantly and out of sheer embarrassment, I release the hold my legs have around his waist and let my lower body fall back into the bed. His eyes twinkle in amusement while he scans my surely flushed expression, but there is still a distinct heat that lurks just past that which leaves his green eyes even darker than they would be in such little light.
His jaw seems even sharper, now, features both illuminated and shadowed, and it all makes him appear devious—especially when he smirks like that. Yet there is tenderness through all of this, to his gentle touch as he brushes a strand of hair back from my face, smirk melting into an affectionate smile.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning down so his nose brushes against mine, elbows on either side of me supporting his weight. The heaviness of his rejection isn’t quite so high now, but I find I can’t dwell on it or else I wouldn’t be able to so much as look in his general direction. Because here he is, telling me I am beautiful, yet he refused to go any further with me intimately than we have already. I can’t help but to smile at him, though, at him calling me such a thing. A flutter is felt, growing in my belly and blooming in my chest. And thankfully, I start to cool a little from how worked up he has me, so effortlessly.
“Are you cold?” He asks. His gaze travels down my form—but it isn’t a casual once-over—no, I can practically feel the passion between us reignite as he lingers hungrily.
When he focusses back on me for a response, though, he remains in total control. Something in the dark of his irises shifts, like maybe he is still at war with himself, trying to restrain from giving in to my silent offer for more just moments ago. Like he might want to just as much as I do. “You’re not shivering anymore.”
As he says this he teasingly runs his fingers along my side, tickling my ribs with the light touch which only produces a goofy, abashed smile from me and a pleasurable chill runs down my arms. He smirks again.
“I’m okay,” I reassure him, meaning every bit of it this time. I have to hold back another shiver just from the look he gives me.
Then, with an even gentler expression, Harry’s smile fades and he leans down farther to rest his head against my chest, ear to my heart.
Listening.
At this sudden contact I still, breath caught from the surprise, from the meaning behind this. All I see as I nervously glance down is his head of lengthy dark curls and I can’t help the instinctual urge to touch his hair, run my fingers through the silky strands from the top of his head to the back of his neck. He sighs at the feeling, the rigid muscles in his neck relax and I breathe in his woodsy, individual scent that I became totally enamoured with the moment he was in reach of me for the very first time. This is that same man, the man I fell in love with—the man who draws me from my attacks and makes me see the irrationality to all my fears so easily. From the moment we met it was as though he knew me on a deeper level, deeper than I have ever even allowed anyone to see me.
And while I never thought it could be possible, Harry has kept more of his life a secret than I have. I see the vulnerability past that stoic businessman exterior, or the constant cheek the motorcycle driving bad boy doles out. I see all of him, and I am confident that I can handle whatever else may be unearthed about him. Totally confident.
Now I finally relax some, too, allow my shoulders to sink into the bed as my fingers take up a constant pattern in his hair. After all that’s happened today we need this. We need this moment, with each other, to just see. To feel that we’re here, that we aren’t going anywhere.
Before leaning up again some minutes later, he turns to press his mouth to my heart, once twice, three times. Then he peers up at me, the action holding so much meaning that I can hardly comprehend it, tears springing to my vision. Now I’m the one reaching, clamoring to connect my mouth with his in an equally tender kiss. I savor this, this feeling of total acceptance that I have never experienced before. The acceptance from Harry is something so foreign, so freeing, and I never realized how utterly trapped I was by my own disorder and constantly growing fear of rejection until now.
What I have with him is something I could have ever only dreamed of, and now he is here. He’s here, and he hasn’t left.
“Wait here,” he says quietly, unwilling to break the tranquil silence that so easily came over us. His fingers make a slow drag from my pendant, past the v-neck of my shirt, the dip between my breasts, and then skimming past the curve of my waist. Reluctantly I loosed my hold from around his neck with a soft, for once contented sigh. “I want you to rest here for a few minutes, while I get your bath ready.”
I nod, but he isn’t finished. I blink when he pointedly shakes his head and reaches into the front pocket of my pants, like he has done before, but now his hand remains there longer as he maintains the still simmering contact. He takes my phone in his large hand and all but makes it disappear.
“Oh—I should probably text Vivian,” I say suddenly at the remembrance of my friend and how we left her at her apartment. The last time I messaged her was while we were at the hospital. She needs to be filled in, if only so she knows I am okay.
“No,” he stresses firmly and I let it go almost instantly with a small, incredulous smile. “She can wait. And no TV. Nothing.”
Only now do I notice the large television hung on the wall in front of the bed. “No getting lost in that head of yours, either. Just close your eyes and rest.”
Still smiling I do as he instructs, eyes fluttering shut, and I fight an even bigger and cheesier smile when he leaves a light kiss to my forehead. “Just rest.”
When I continue to comply he presses another kiss to my cheek and then finally one to my mouth, and then cool air fills the space he occupied. My instinctual reaction to reach out for him should be shocking, my fingers searching blindly and frantically to land on his retreating forearm. He pauses as soon as I do this and it’s obscene, the panic I ridiculously feel at the thought of him being away from me. Even if it is only in the next room and only temporarily. He hushes me as I start to call his name quietly, but laced with fear. Fear of not having his protective, calming presence near. Fear of that gang tag still painted on the wall at my house, fear of the person who put it there. What they might do to me if they found me. And most of all, fear of Harry leaving.
Suddenly, I’m much more than grateful for my ordered stay here until the house is fixed, or, if Harry has his way, until the crime is solved. I don’t know if I could handle being alone, especially not at home. While he eases these worries with the reassurance of his sheer strength and inherent protectiveness, it really is just him. His gentle caresses, his whispered words, his goal of ‘taking care of me’ tonight. It’s him being here right next to me when I need him most.
My eyes opened as soon as he pulled away, even leaving up on one elbow in an effort to decrease the painful distance created between us. All I can think, right now, is that I need him close.
“I’m right here, baby,” he comforts quietly, low and rumbling. He reaches to skim his fingers over my cheek lovingly.
We stay like this for several moments and I calm as best I can, ever aware of how odd I’m acting. This isn’t like me. Usually I hide my emotions and vulnerability under lock and key. With Harry, though, I find that it no longer makes sense to be that way with him. He’s already seen me at my breaking point, he accepts me for who I am. I’m not going to hide from him now.
Gently, after another few seconds pass and I calm some, he presses his palm into my shoulder until I rest against the bed again. I sigh, sufficiently reassured.
“Just for a few minutes,” he murmurs, sounding as though he doesn’t want to leave as much as I want him to stay. This should all be totally ridiculous, but it isn’t. He glances over the side of the bed to one of two doors. “I’ll be right through there. Not far at all, Jules. Then I’ll be back. Alright?”
“Alright,” I agree, gazing up at him with nothing but affection. If he can accommodate my sudden attachment issue, he is capable of anything. And I love him more for it.
He smiles, then throws in a soft order. “Rest.”
Nodding, I allow myself to finally relax back into the smooth covers again, willing the tension in my shoulders away. After he gets up—this time with no grabbing or protests from me—he pauses at the bathroom door and glances back, seemingly innocent, but the words that come out of his mouth totally contradict the light tone he uses.
“Oh, and Jules? Don’t think we won’t finish what you’ve started.”
His eyes squint in confusion. Normally this would be adorable, but there’s too much left unsaid right now and neither of us are laughing. He tilts his head to the side slightly, both us of still motionless.
“What’s that?” He asks, as though clueless.
I bite my lip, realizing that he has been lost in his own mind and he doesn’t understand where this is suddenly coming from, not when I asked for the total opposite not moments ago. To him, all of this is coming out of nowhere.
“I know you’re mad at me,” I say, much less sure of myself now. “So let me have it.”
His wrath, his shouting, his fist pounding on tables, his slamming doors. Something. Something to let me know that he really is angry—anything, as long as he doesn’t keep it all building up inside himself. Having done the very same thing to myself many times over, the effects can be scarring. Both for himself and those around him. Because he is not like me; Harry needs, likes to tell others the truth, how he feels. He will snap eventually, and if he lets it all out now it hopefully won’t be as explosive as it will be later down the road when he is bursting at the seams with infuriation.
In the end, doing this to himself is worse than letting it all out. Possessing no backbone whatsoever is part of my problem, but that obviously isn’t the case for Harry.
No, I know what he is trying to do. He is trying to do something valiant, perhaps gentlemanly: spare my feelings. Today, though, my feelings don’t deserve to be spared. Not by any stretch. They deserve to be skewered.
Especially by Harry, who has had to put up with entirely too much from me since the moment we met. From giving him a fake number to lying to him, to keeping a huge secret, a massive part of my life from him, he has more than enough reason to be angry with me. Much angrier than he appears right now.
His lips twitch into an amused smile, however, the darkness clouding his eyes along with it creating an obscure, almost sensual image. “Oh yeah? Let you have what?”
I pick up on his suggestive tone straight away, and now I am more confused—and flustered—than ever. When he takes an easy confident stride forward, I scoot back two. It feels like a game of cat and mouse. His smirk only grows at this and while feeling myself blush furiously, I stumble over my next words pathetically in an obvious way. “I don’t know… tell me how you feel. I can’t handle this anymore.”
Part of me suspects Harry is doing this on purpose so that I forget what I was trying to get to the bottom of. It’s clever, cunning, and exactly something I could see him doing.
What’s worse… what’s worse is that we both know it would work, and that he could and would use it to his advantage. Mercilessly.
“Can’t handle what?”
“Harry,” I huff. If he continues to repeat everything I saw in a seemingly clueless yet suggestive manner, I might just snap myself.
“I’m just trying to understand, baby,” he purrs quietly, the throaty undertone sending a set of shivers prickling down my spine.
“I know you’re pissed at me,” I say, slowly, enunciating each word patronizingly, and his lips thin when he hears my tone, no longer finding it quiet so funny. Yet still he keeps up this act of his and I curse him for being so effortlessly sexy.
It’s a blessing and a curse.
He draws closer and I stay frozen, wide eyed and unable to move as his aggressive stance nearly melts into my as he stands so close, unbearably close, that unmistakable heat still present in his eyes.
“I am not pissed at you. I am upset, yes,” he begins slowly. My heart drops as I hear this, but while I waver I don’t back down, not with the hope that maybe I have finally gotten through to him. Because I can’t take the distance that is created between us when he holds back. It nearly kills me.
I asked for this, this confrontation. The truth.
Before I can apologize, however, he continues pointedly, slowly, inching even closer until his torso brushes firmly against mine. Through all this in an impressive exercise of control he doesn’t touch me. Yet. “But I realize that what’s done is done, and you made me a promise. You remember what it is, right?”
I falter, blinking sheepishly. “Um. Which one?”
My inarticulate response doesn’t please him. He reaches to take hold of my waist in a steady, possessive hold—one which makes me come undone even more under his intense passion.
“You promised,” he starts the reminder mimicking my previous condescending tone, except from his mouth it sounds downright sexy… and so, so tempting. “You promised that you will remember to take care of yourself from now on. That means taking your medication, and having those tests done.”
Somewhere through this I can physically feel myself react, an intense heat crashing over me as my mouth parts slightly, caught up in the feelings Harry gives me at practically the press of a button. My buttons, which he knows how to manipulate perfectly. Effortlessly.
“If you don’t…” He leans closer, pushing my hair to the side so his lips brush against my ear, coaxing another deep shiver to run down the entire length of my body, goose bumps erupting down my neck and arms as my nerve endings go haywire. “If you don’t keep that promise, then I’ll be pissed.”
I release a soft, shaky breath, feeling as if I am strung up like a puppet all of the sudden, and Harry controls every one of my intense reactions to the smallest things he does, like how his thumb travels enticingly along the waistband of my jeans and I am utterly caught in the moment, in this new tension. The kind of tension that has my mind swimming and causes a needing heat to settle between my hips.
Knowing he has me right where he wants me, I feel him smirk against the shell of my ear.
“But I don’t have to worry about that, do I? You’ll keep your promise, won’t you?” There’s a whole other vow in itself made through his words, a promise that he will not be pleased if I fail to keep my word. Out of all the things I’ve sworn to do or to stop this now seems more important than all the others, like he might throw me clear out of his house if I refuse.
But he won’t. I know he won’t, but I still feel the need to tell him anyway, to give him the reassurance he deserves more than anything. He deserves so much more from me, and from here on out I’m going to give him it. Every last piece of me.
I find myself unable to answer, however, not a single verbal thought running through my mind as Harry’s mouth makes full contact with the sensitive skin just below my ear. A sharp intake of air is my only external reaction—that, and I clutch onto his arm, closing my eyes at the sudden pleasure these tiny, simple actions so easily provoke. It’s been so long since we have had this, since we’ve been able to touch each other, be this close. It all feels like my fault on top of that, for putting what seems now to be needless distance between us. It was so unbearably hard; senseless. I missed him so much.
Now it’s as if we are both going through withdrawal, the slightest of advances feeling astronomical. Harry’s mouth moves in an agonizingly slow trail down my neck, kneading expertly against my skin, leaving it feeling like I am on fire in his wake. It stirs radical sensations within me and I can’t help but to gasp, turning my head to the side to give him more access, but otherwise keeping still as he administers his ‘argument.’
I’d been wrong. So very wonderfully wrong. If he was telling me all of this, exactly why he is angry, down to the last thought that riled him up so much, kept him totally incensed for the last hour—then he can’t be using this, making me feel this way, as a distraction. He isn’t doing this to evade my questions; I don’t know what he is doing. Yet I know that I don’t want him to stop.
Only one thing registers in my desire clouded mind: he is a complete, total whirlwind.
Still I feel there could be more, more to this, to where this all is coming from. He went from not touching me to completely engulfing me within seconds. But he doesn’t give me a single moment to think, keeping me thoroughly preoccupied with all the feelings he is effortlessly stirring, bringing to life.
“Jules.” He rears back to call my name in a husky, demanding murmur, controlled yet somehow untamed at the same time. His hold on my waist tightens to further get his point across—he wants an answer out of me, now. “Tell me you’ll keep your promise.”
This whole time, Harry has maintained perfect control. Though his eyes are heated, coated in the same desire I feel so intensely as he peers down at me, he knows exactly what he is doing, how far to take it, when to stop so as to drive me insane. And totally speechless. It’s a roundabout, contradicting means of getting this out of me, but somehow it works. It works beautifully.
This fact only makes my need for him to grow higher, hotter, headier, and I shock myself when I end up pushing closer to him. He has to fight his own smirk, torso tensing at this new friction, and I don’t even have the time to feel embarrassed.
“I’ll keep your promise,” I all but gasp out, evidence of just how little control I currently possess, these feelings and their intensity so overwhelming, are all still so new in such an enticing way that it seems senseless to not give into him, to his searching mouth and adventurous hands.
I don’t want him to stop, not even to talk for these few moments. My hand tries to pull him closer, to attach my own mouth to any part of him that is within reach, but his strength easily works against my own and he remains steady, not doing anything at all, which only drives me crazy.
“Because I have this feeling,” he draws it out, emphasizing the word ‘feeling’ with a short breath of his own, and does some good in helping me feel not so alone in this onslaught of desire. Leaning closer, finally, until his mouth is millimeters away from mine—I can feel him, so close, and I wait with bated breath for him to do something. To finish what he started, both with what he is saying and this. To kiss me already. “That you might not have forgotten so much as you decided not to.”
It takes me several brain fogged seconds to comprehend exactly what he says, what he means, and the terrible implication. To realize the truth to his words, and how exactly terrifyingly right he is.
And once I do I freeze, slowly opening my eyes to find him already peering at me, watching my expression, waiting expectantly. “I…”
His eyes narrow in warning, daring me to contradict him. This is because it’s clear, he knows he is right—this is what he has been so angry about all along. More than that, he is scared. I scared him, by not taking my medication, by not having those damned tests done. I hate myself for it, for perhaps unknowingly but still needlessly putting him through that, such fear.
Fear which must be similar, though not as intense, as what I used to feel for Caleb. When I wondered if the very pills and drugs he took would kill him, and I would wonder if, whenever he would sporadically come around for a visit, it would be the last time I would see him. Because his own choices would take his life, would take him away from me.
That fear is debilitating, consuming, and I never want Harry to feel anything even close to it. Ever.
“It’s—it’s not that I did it on purpose…” I’m evading, I know it, Harry knows it, and a desire filled anger reignites in his eyes, building as he pulls me closer, arm constricting around my waist.
“Well what was it, then?” He questions, disbelieving, and rightfully so.
I don’t have the chance to answer, though, because he instantly returns to my neck. This time in open mouthed kisses, and my body nearly folds against his as I feel his hot, wet tongue make a tantalizing path down my neck to the sensitive skin where my neck meets my shoulder.
“I expect an answer,” he says sharply, stunning me out of the stupor he once again induced. Only slightly, however. Only for a moment, and only to do as he asked.
“I forgot, but then I remembered, and by then I figured it was too late.” I am referring to both my medication and the missed doctor appointment, but it all comes out as jumbled and frazzled as I feel. What I managed to tell him hardly makes any sense at all, not even to me, and despite how serious he is I feel him smirk again against my neck.
“That’s not enough,” he rejects easily, planting another kiss to that particular soft place which very nearly coaxes a moan from my own mouth.
Yes, Harry definitely knows what he is doing. I’m not used to trying to keep all of this in, to feeling such intense desire that I have to express it verbally, and it is consuming. Instead I sigh almost just as tellingly, tugging on his sleeve.
In a confident, scorching path, his hands snake down to my bottom for a moment, squeezing and kneading slowly, bold yet so so pleasurable in his advances. His hands feel red hot through the fabric of my jeans, and I can’t help but to jolt at the sudden intimacy, hips unintentionally but satisfyingly brushing against his. Then he pauses, stops totally, and while his hands stay where they are his mouth halts in its continuous, mounting attention.
“Give me a little more, baby. Tell me the truth.” This is what he is doing—it’s obvious now. He’s working me up more than he has in a long, long time, and he won’t give me more until I answer. It’s clever, cunning… and a total turn on.
“Okay,” I breath in relent, bending under his will, his hands, his mouth, and simultaneously yearning for me. This is so, so much better than the quiet tense night I thought I was going to spend trying to ‘rest’. “I… I’m afraid of the hospital. So I put off the tests… and,” my voice dies off into a soft whimper as his focus returns to my neck, except now when his mouth connects to my already tender, sensitive skin, he sucks.
I arch into him fully now, saying his name in a desperate pleasure filled groan, unable to help it any longer.
God, how did we end up here? I want more. So much more, but I suspect he may not be willing to give it. Not until I manage to tell him the truth. “And the pills—ah… I, it really did slip my mind. At first. And then… then I just decided not to.”
Well—if it were any other time, if there was a little warning to be had, that certainly could have come out better. A little more sugar coated, maybe, but Harry doesn’t want that. He wants the truth, and more than ever now I feel obligated to tell him. It all sounds much worse than how it felt at the time, when all these things happened. None of it felt as important, as scary as it does now. I make it sound reckless. Like I chose not to remember, I chose to possibly put my own life in danger, no better than a junkie with his fix.
But it’s impossible to think and I don’t have the chance to find better words to say, not while he has his hands on my ass and his mouth is ravishing my neck. What more could he expect, when he has me like this?
In fact, I don’t even pause after this leaves my mouth, eyes still closed as tendrils of pleasure course through my veins, attacking me from all sides.
As soon as Harry hears this, though, I swear I hear a growl come from deep in his throat, rough and angry, outraged. Suddenly he rears back again, and these two things alone are more than enough to give me pause, to open my eyes and see past the haze of wanton need that he so easily created.
“You’re never going to do that again,” he snaps, further breaking me from my trance.
Breathing heavily, I blink and stare at him through clouded vision—except this time, it almost certainly isn’t the result of my concussion. Hell, the bump on the back of my head might as well not even exist at this point. “Do you hear me, Jules? I don’t even want to catch wind of it—which I will. Never again.”
“Yes, I mean no. I won’t,” I say in a garble, trying hard to make sense now, only to end up failing miserably. Again. After taking a deep, fluttery breath, I try again. “I won’t.”
“I swear—if I even suspect you are up to that again, I’ll be more than just pissed. I’ll be fucking livid, Julia.”
His brutal honesty does some good in shocking me back to reality, and I continue to breathe hard and slow, attempting to regather my wits. “I won’t, Harry,” I say quickly, still holding onto him for support, positive that if not for him being so close I would have fallen over long ago.
Lust blends alarmingly with fear, fear or whatever promise lies in Harry being more than pissed and it mixes me into a jumble of confusion and excitement.
“Swear to me,” he demands passionately, easily holding his ground, as if he didn’t just assault my neck and his hands hadn’t roamed all over my body, searchingly, hungrily.
While swallowing hard I attempt to clear my mind yet again. It’s nearly impossible, caught up in what just transpired, in the intensity of the craving for him that still flows through me all while feeling absolutely torn, like a terrible person for what I have put him through. It might have been unknowingly, but I still should have thought about the consequences of what those who love me might go through if something happens to me, by my own hand no less. Through my own selfish, unthinking actions.
“I swear, I won’t do it ever again.” I’m shocked to not even recognize my own voice, lower and huskier than usual, evidence of my desire. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip as he watches me closely, noting the change as much as I have, except it only causes his eyes to darken with hunger even more.
“I swear,” I repeat, meaning it. “Never again.”
Now I manage to look past what I feel in this moment, to mean everything I say with every last drop of my soul. It is said with a clear mind, like Harry wants, enough though he accomplished the total opposite by doing this to me, by totally scrambling my mind with each of his touches and kisses, leaving me wanting more. More than he’s ever given me.
We both know, however, that it would have taken much more to get this admission out of me if he hadn’t employed such tactics which totally broke down my barriers and left me willing to expose more of myself than I ever have.
“I’m serious, Julia,” he insists to be sure, still rough. “I can’t stand the thought of someone else harming you, let alone…” he trails off, like he can’t bring himself to say it aloud, to make his fears a reality.
But I know what he was about to say, what he can’t say. Knowing how protective he is on his best day, knowing how much he cares for me, for my safety… if he can’t stand the thought of some another person hurting me, then the possibility of me hurting myself might very well drive him to the brink of insanity.
“I won’t, I won’t,” I say, surely sounding like a broken record, frantic while tears cloud my vision at such thoughts. Thoughts of putting Harry through these terrible things, of needlessly supplying him with fears. Fears that I know can tear a person down until they are a shadow of their former selves. It’s the kind of haunting fear that keeps a person up at night, prevents them from finding any peace.
I won’t, not again. Not ever again. “I promise.”
There’s more to this than meets the eye, more than what lies in the surface of the simple words. I promise not to ever leave him again, to not ever walk away, to never leave him hurting, to never hurt myself in a way that would hurt him, too.
While I don’t try to misplace my fault in the slightest I do feel the need to try and explain more, better, a little more concisely. “It’s not that I did it intentionally. I didn’t mean to hurt myself—at least I… I don’t think so. Not at the time. But I guess now, that’s kind of what it looks like.”
My hands shake again as I loosen my hold on his shirt, having fisted it with all my fear and guilt. I tremblingly smooth it out with a sheepish touch after I lose my nerve, looking down after having rambled on for far too long.
“I’m sorry,” I ultimately finish, eyes now level with his chest. “I never did any of it to hurt you. I just… I didn’t think.”
“It’s alright, baby,” he soothes, knowing I’m pretty well spent when it comes to sharing all this, admitting how very wrong I was to do any of it. Thankfully, he appears to be satisfied now that he has gotten through to me.
He caresses my cheek in a gentle, feather light touch, much more subdued now, speaking softly. “Just never do it again.”
I nod, unable to form any words now, and that is enough for him. None of this feels like stress, however, none of it feels mentally taxing, and my heart doesn’t lurch fitfully under the intense whirlwind of events. From one moment we go from arguing, to making out, to this. To placated, tender, almost at peace. It feels right, and even better to have gotten the bottom of what was keeping Harry distant and so angry.
He leans down, tilts my head up with a gentle thumb under my chin and stares into my eyes for a long moment, us both now as close to relaxed as we’re going to get. And then he finally kisses me, his mouth now soft but that same heat lingers, just barely under control… and I don’t know if I want it to be. I want Harry, I realize, totally free, totally untamed.
“Because I think it’s fairly obvious, now,” he smiles wryly after pulling away slightly, only enough to speak. “That I can’t live without you.”
As I feel all of the tension melt away in mere seconds, just like that… I sigh in relief. I do know exactly what he means, having felt the same way for him for so, so long now.
“It’s been so hard,” I admit softly, wavering. “Being away from you. I don’t think I slept more than a couple hours at a time.”
Having him in my bed, close and with his arms around me, holding me as we slept… it felt as close to heaven as one could achieve on earth. And this is my own way of saying that I can’t live without him, either.
Disapprovingly, his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth, and he sighs then too. Instead of letting more slip I breathe deeply and lean into him, resting my head against his chest. His hands have long since migrated back up to my waist, where he holds me securely, and I turn so I can press my lips against his chest, to one of his exposed swallow tattoos.
“That’s not good, Jules,” he softly chastises, arms tightening around me even more. I merely close my eyes, hold him closer, reveling in this moment, and deliver another tender kiss to his chest. It surprises me when I see goosebumps rise around the area, and I have to smile.
I’m happy here, with Harry. I don’t know if I have the medicine or him to thank for being totally pain-free right now, but his mouth—soft, alluring, and mind blowing, have made me feel better than I have in weeks. With him so close I can’t help but to recall the night at The Castle, instantly reheating at the memory. The terrible anger fuelled events at the end of the night are not what have my attention, but rather what took place before. In his private room off from The Solar, the one we were supposed to turn into his office. In between offering me a job and explaining his ideas of renovate the place he had me totally seduced with his hungry touch, on that antique velvet couch where we’d gone farther than we ever had before. It’s as if my blood heats and pulses in my veins when I remember the feelings he stirred within me, when he hitched up my dress and subsequently made a cheeky comment on my choice of underwear.
To keep myself calm is near impossible, especially when I feel like I’m about to burn up from need. I want Harry, like that night.
“How are you feeling?” He inquires, sounding much more in control than I am. Up and down my back, his fingers make sensual patterns which only leave me more mesmerized than ever. Briefly, I really do wonder if he can feel how hot he has me, the body heat I feel pulsing throughout my system, pooling at my core, pressed against him. Now, I feel like a furnace.
Instead of giving into any of the desires that feel so obvious to me, I smile and tilt my head to look up at him. He meets my gaze with lowered eyes, now with a smile himself, and I wonder likewise if he detects any of the sudden, intense, lustful feelings interweaving in my own eyes. It must be clear, the desire, how much I enjoyed all of what just happened, how much I want more.
God knows he can, and it’s hard to even feel too embarrassed. The green in his irises darken to that telling shade of moss, of lust.
“Better, now,” comes my soft response, a little less breathy but still somewhat uncontrolled. We might have calmed slightly but the electric chemistry burning between us is more potent than ever. It just cannot be ignored any longer. I can’t help but to let my fingers trail down from his shoulder, sneaking over his back, feeling the taut muscle contract under my touch as it has before when I dared to be so bold.
His breathing shallows, a direct result of both my coy answer and adventurous touch.
“Good,” he says huskily, hold around my waist tightening to pull me closer against him until our torsos are flush against each other. The contact is dizzying.
“I didn’t stress you out too much just now, have I? I haven’t forgotten…” he trails off to gently stroke my hair, avoiding the contusion at the back of my head carefully. I begin to tense for just a moment, jumping to conclusions with what he is implying. My paranoid, insecure mind assumes he means my heart and not the injury to my head, which is trivial in comparison. But he isn’t. He is merely trying to follow the doctor’s orders.
“No, no,” I reassure him easily, relieved that he is keeping to his promise, the one he begrudgingly made in the hospital room not to treat me differently. Also, there is comfort to be found in that I didn’t stupidly ask what he meant. For once my mind works somewhat rationally after only a small, brief relapse. Harry has always treated me as an equal, and it isn’t something I have to worry about now.
“If we didn’t talk about this, I would have been ten times as stressed,” I explain, mouth and mind escaping me. I’d talk all night if he wanted me to. “I really do feel better now.”
Relaxing, he produces a soft yet alluring smile, and I melt that much more. He definitely knows what he is doing to me, but I wonder to what extent. I still feel much too hot for just standing here in his foyer.
“Tell me,” he begins his order quietly, still serious. “If you start to feel worse. If you become upset, if you need something, anything.”
“I will,” I agree instantly. Because if I do, if my head begins to throb or I become lightheaded again or god forbid, my heart starts acting up again, I will need him. If I do become upset, too, I will need him here with me to get through it. “I feel fine, though. I bet I can even walk on my—”
The instant I try to pull away and show off the fact that I think my limbs can help me walk in a straight line without any help, he pulls me back into him with a possessive grin. “Stay close, baby,” he murmurs. “I need you close.”
“So do I,” my admission comes easily. I had no intentions of leaving his side for more than a moment, but I know exactly how much he really did mean not taking his eyes off me—and, by extension, his hands. I have absolutely no problem with that either. All I want is Harry, nothing else. Worries of police, stolen family jewelry, terrifying gangs, and my heart are totally banished from my thoughts.
We have tonight to ourselves, to heal, to recuperate, to become totally wrapped up in each other, and it is all I could ask for.
“Can I take a shower?” My question is posed hesitantly, shyly. It would only take but a few minutes. While the hospital might be clean and sanitary, I feel dirty after visiting it, as if the grief and sadness felt whenever I am forced to go there can miraculously be washed off. It can’t, but that doesn’t mean I won’t feel better after a hot, peaceful shower. I long to remove the grime today has left on me, for some hot water to soothe my aching, tense muscles, and maybe to also calm down from this unexpected intimate encounter with Harry.
He pulls back, eyebrows knitted; his answer leaves me squirming uncomfortably and feeling as though I have overstepped.
“No.”
Instinctually, I try to pull away—again—out of shock and the beginnings of hurt. But yet again he doesn’t let me get far, pulling me back into him instantly with a blooming smirk, now amused, which does some good in helping me calm. I look up at him, perplexed, which only causes him to speak through a soft chuckle. “Because I want you to rest while I draw you a bath.”
Surprised, I continue to peer up at him wonderingly. Having been so busy all the time I rarely ever have the luxury of time to relax, to take a bath instead of quick shower. To soak, and let myself unwind like I so obviously need to.
After today the premise is heavenly. Harry takes my silence for hesitation, however, and does that thing again where he tries to sell the idea to me, even though I am sure I don’t have much say in the matter.
“I’ve got bubbles. I’ve got salts… and some sort of oils. Lou says they’re good.”
I want to laugh. Of course Lou was probably the one to give Harry these things in the first place. For some reason, it’s hard to picture him sitting down with candles and ambient music playing while he soaks in bubble bath and oils. Then again, he has surprised me on too many occasions to count; his sensuality, past either his businessman hardened exterior or his cheeky personality underneath that, knows no bounds.
“Tempting,” I murmur back, smiling softly while trying to keep a small giggle from spilling.
“Let me pamper you,” he implores, serious though playful. I can’t focus on anything other than how his mouth moves as he speaks. His lips are soft, plump, and a deep red—utterly kissable, and impossible to resist. In doing something as simple as speaking, he has me totally enthralled.
“Okay,” I agree easily. It’s not as if I ever really needed any convincing in the first place. He catches me in this act, of being totally caught up in just this one small part of him, and his smirk grows knowingly until his lips separate into a toothy smile. Yet still I don’t look away out of embarrassment like I surely would have before. Instead, I slowly trail my eyes up to meet his, my own smile turning a little mischievous.
“I’m okay with a bath.” I try to act as though I don’t feel nearly as flirtatious and desire-filled as I really am.
He shakes his head slightly, disbelieving, but obviously enjoying what he has just now brought out in me. With a new heated twinkle in his eye, he loosens his hold on my waist and moves back down, past the curve of my hips to grip firmly onto the very tops of my thighs. He does this agonizingly slow, all while his hot gaze burns into mine, and ends up leaning down so his mouth very nearly brushes against mine teasingly. My breath catches tellingly and my eyes become lidded, waiting for him to act. Again. Harry is famous for taking the little I give and pushing it, pushing it in the most welcomed and sensuous of ways.
He breaks off into a soft, boyish laugh that is so tempting my eyes close totally in anticipation, near begging for him to act already, my hands stalled at his sides as they clutch onto his shirt again.
Now I’m tense once more, but in a totally different way. It feels as though my muscles will continue to constrict, to tighten until they are ready to burst, and the only thing that can help it is Harry’s mouth on mine.
Right when his lips finally take mine in a crashing, intelligence skewing kiss that would leave me as nothing more than pliable mess for him to mold as he pleases, he lifts me easily by the thighs. Somewhere in my enraptured mind I expected this from where his hold was, but as soon as he kissed me any and all rational and sane thoughts flew out the window—as usual. So I gasp against his mouth, the level of intimacy we find when I am forced to wrap my legs around his waist overwhelming.
Hard, demanding and yet still somehow totally reassuring, Harry again takes both control of the kiss and the advantage my gasp presents, slipping his tongue into my mouth as my arms lock around his neck. His tongue works expertly against mine, dominating as he explores my mouth. All while this happens he moves forward, as if I am totally weightless, and starts making his way through the apartment.
One hand remains pressed to my thigh while the other, in a simmering path, moves to hold me securely around the waist. He pushes me even closer into him, my chest moving against his as I take shallow breaths.
He glides through the house, so skilled and graceful that he doesn’t falter even once. The heat his body exudes in combination with my legs locked around his waist—so utterly close—has me feeling like I am on the verge of catching fire, crumbling totally underneath his spell. When his mouth pauses briefly as we turn a corner and down a hallway with multiple doors, I pull away. But not for long, only to catch my breath and stare at him momentarily though lust-clouded vision. His own eyes have fluttered open, darkened more than I have ever seen them. As if someone else has taken control of my body, my actions, my lust—someone with much more confidence than I could ever possess, I bend my head and attach my mouth to his neck.
At first he sighs at the initial contact, but his pace slows and his hold on me tightens when I apply pressure, delicately taking the flesh at the base of his throat into my mouth and sucking.
“Jesus, Christ,” he swears harshly, pausing to quickly open a large, black wooden door, kicking it open the rest of the way with one of his booted feet. There is a new urgency in this moment, in Harry and his actions, and in myself. I want to show him again and again that I am more than capable. That I am just much of a woman as anyone else, and that I am more than my heart.
We don’t make it very far into the room at all; Harry halts just as we enter and turns sharply to press me against the door as he slams it shut. Through all of this I haven’t paused even once, having released the now slightly tender skin to kiss it softly, open mouthed to allow my tongue to glide across it.
Harry has taught me quite a bit about the art of creating these love bites, and tonight I want to practice every bit.
Panting, he groans throatily, clearly having not expected this from me. Especially now of all times—but I refuse to think about how I have created a mark on his neck like he has with me on numerous occasions, all while he has me pressed up against the door of what I just know is his bedroom… with my legs wrapped around him, hips creating a delicious friction between us.
On another rough lustful groan he thrusts his hips against mine just as my teeth gingerly drag across the mark, and a shudder ripples through his shoulders. I gasp, pulling back and closing my eyes as that unmistakable heat begins to pool at my center more than ever. Harry takes advantage of the miniscule space I inadvertently created, mouth crashing against mine in an intense, hungry, lust-filled kiss. His hands hold firmly to my sides, keeping me in place even though I would not rather be anywhere else. Still he pulls me closer, relentless in trying to get as little distance between us. The only thing left now separating us is our clothing, and I have shocking, devious thoughts of watching Harry as he sheds his shirt, jeans, and then his underwear…
And the thought of looking away with a blush, as I always have, doesn’t even cross my mind.
Not even lustful thoughts such as these snap me from my desire-spiked daze—in fact, thinking about his hard, toned abdomen pressed against mine… bare, only makes my legs tighten around him as a small, whimpered moan escapes my throat. He pulls away to pant hotly into my ear, hips grinding against mine, and it’s now that I feel his hardness through his jeans, pressed so close to such an intimate area, and it very nearly takes my breath away.
Harry ultimately enthralls me; he is all I think of, all I feel, all I want. He surrounds me totally, consumes me down to the very last atom of my being. And I long for even more of him still.
After having spent so much time apart, and since we have gone this far before, I do want more. I want him and I have nothing else to hide, nothing left to hold me back. I want all of him.
“Baby, he breathes, near purring, just barely restrained. “We have to stop—” he cuts himself off when my thighs clench around him again, unable to help my body’s reaction. I don’t want to stop, and I know he doesn’t really want to, either. His eyes have shut, bottom lip taken between his teeth to bite harshly as he tries to fight his own feral desires, the ones I know for a fact that he has kept restrained for months now.
I don’t want to hold back anymore, and for once I want to push him farther. It’s sudden and it’s shocking, but I realize fully that I want him—all of him, and in turn I want to give him my all too. Every last piece I have held back. I feel totally ready.
With his hips already thrust into mine, he increases the pressure and the crease between his brows fades, still panting as one side of him wins over.
For a moment I’m not sure which one that is until he opens his eyes again, slowly, reconnecting with mine. I find more heat emanating from them than I have ever witnessed before.
“Naughty little thing, aren’t you,” he growls out hoarsely, smirking, and the sound of his voice with such words only causes my immense lust to grow. A small gasp strangles from my mouth as he circles his hips into mine, making sure I feel every bit of his arousal. And his hands are snaking underneath my shirt, hot and searching, and his calloused fingertips glide over the curve of my waist as my locked legs around him are the only things that keep me pinned to the wall.
Longing to feel more of him, my own hands daringly reach for the hem of his shirt, but as soon as I make any form of movement he catches both my wrist in just one of his hands and pins them above my head, effectively leaving me helpless to whichever pleasurable onslaught he feels I deserve.
“Doctor’s orders to relax, baby,” he explains, quietly against my ear, effective in causing shivers to run down my arms. But he doesn’t sound relaxed at all himself, an animalistic edge to his tone which only increases my need for him, my arousal.
“I fully intend on helping you with that,” he continues, mouth traveling from my jawline to my lips. The pure conviction in his tone leaves me totally stilled, bending to his will totally.
Teasing, and perhaps a little testing too, his free hand which previously paused at my hip dances along the waistband of my jeans again, slipping past them this time until he reaches the start of my panties, and lightly fondles the light material. In such anticipation I am rendered entirely frozen, eyes closed as our mouths brush against each other and we take panting breaths. I have a feeling he knows just how aroused his actions have caused me to be, and that I am right where he wants me.
But then he stops. With that same devious smile, he withdraws his hand from within my pants and slowly lowers my hands back between us. Warm and gentle, how, he encases my waist with his strong, taut arms to bring me forward so my weight rests against his torso, all while my breathing comes in short choppy flutters, leaving soft kisses along the side of my neck as I am left reeling, still aching for more and more confused than ever.
Why did he stop? Is it because of my concussion—the doctor had said to rest, but by no means do I find any of these last few minutes ‘stressful’. I end up leaning forward the rest of the way, closing my eyes to hide my embarrassment while I rest the side of my head against his. Did he just reject me?
That’s how I feel. Like that night, at the Castle. Before everything went to hell, and we were in his private room off from The Solar. He stopped because he knew I would regret going any farther in such a place.
But tonight, tonight I would not regret.
And now I feel like an inexperienced idiot who got carried away.
“Come on,” he hums amusedly, turning away from the wall as he supports all of my weight once again. Still I don’t take in my surroundings, the darkened room with only dim lights to cast a faint, sensual glow over its contents. All I am capable of comprehending is Harry as his still smouldering touch caresses my back and his spice filled, musky cologne while I breathe into the crook of his neck.
After several long languid strides he pauses, his biceps flexing against my sides as he begins to lower me. Instinctively I tighten my hold at the back of his neck, tummy flipping as I become disorientated.
Chuckling, Harry has no choice but to let me keep my panicked hold on him and he follows me onto the bed. My back ends up being carefully placed onto a plush, dark blanket, almost my entire body sinking into the mattress as he hovers over me, legs still settled between mine.
Hesitantly and out of sheer embarrassment, I release the hold my legs have around his waist and let my lower body fall back into the bed. His eyes twinkle in amusement while he scans my surely flushed expression, but there is still a distinct heat that lurks just past that which leaves his green eyes even darker than they would be in such little light.
His jaw seems even sharper, now, features both illuminated and shadowed, and it all makes him appear devious—especially when he smirks like that. Yet there is tenderness through all of this, to his gentle touch as he brushes a strand of hair back from my face, smirk melting into an affectionate smile.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning down so his nose brushes against mine, elbows on either side of me supporting his weight. The heaviness of his rejection isn’t quite so high now, but I find I can’t dwell on it or else I wouldn’t be able to so much as look in his general direction. Because here he is, telling me I am beautiful, yet he refused to go any further with me intimately than we have already. I can’t help but to smile at him, though, at him calling me such a thing. A flutter is felt, growing in my belly and blooming in my chest. And thankfully, I start to cool a little from how worked up he has me, so effortlessly.
“Are you cold?” He asks. His gaze travels down my form—but it isn’t a casual once-over—no, I can practically feel the passion between us reignite as he lingers hungrily.
When he focusses back on me for a response, though, he remains in total control. Something in the dark of his irises shifts, like maybe he is still at war with himself, trying to restrain from giving in to my silent offer for more just moments ago. Like he might want to just as much as I do. “You’re not shivering anymore.”
As he says this he teasingly runs his fingers along my side, tickling my ribs with the light touch which only produces a goofy, abashed smile from me and a pleasurable chill runs down my arms. He smirks again.
“I’m okay,” I reassure him, meaning every bit of it this time. I have to hold back another shiver just from the look he gives me.
Then, with an even gentler expression, Harry’s smile fades and he leans down farther to rest his head against my chest, ear to my heart.
Listening.
At this sudden contact I still, breath caught from the surprise, from the meaning behind this. All I see as I nervously glance down is his head of lengthy dark curls and I can’t help the instinctual urge to touch his hair, run my fingers through the silky strands from the top of his head to the back of his neck. He sighs at the feeling, the rigid muscles in his neck relax and I breathe in his woodsy, individual scent that I became totally enamoured with the moment he was in reach of me for the very first time. This is that same man, the man I fell in love with—the man who draws me from my attacks and makes me see the irrationality to all my fears so easily. From the moment we met it was as though he knew me on a deeper level, deeper than I have ever even allowed anyone to see me.
And while I never thought it could be possible, Harry has kept more of his life a secret than I have. I see the vulnerability past that stoic businessman exterior, or the constant cheek the motorcycle driving bad boy doles out. I see all of him, and I am confident that I can handle whatever else may be unearthed about him. Totally confident.
Now I finally relax some, too, allow my shoulders to sink into the bed as my fingers take up a constant pattern in his hair. After all that’s happened today we need this. We need this moment, with each other, to just see. To feel that we’re here, that we aren’t going anywhere.
Before leaning up again some minutes later, he turns to press his mouth to my heart, once twice, three times. Then he peers up at me, the action holding so much meaning that I can hardly comprehend it, tears springing to my vision. Now I’m the one reaching, clamoring to connect my mouth with his in an equally tender kiss. I savor this, this feeling of total acceptance that I have never experienced before. The acceptance from Harry is something so foreign, so freeing, and I never realized how utterly trapped I was by my own disorder and constantly growing fear of rejection until now.
What I have with him is something I could have ever only dreamed of, and now he is here. He’s here, and he hasn’t left.
“Wait here,” he says quietly, unwilling to break the tranquil silence that so easily came over us. His fingers make a slow drag from my pendant, past the v-neck of my shirt, the dip between my breasts, and then skimming past the curve of my waist. Reluctantly I loosed my hold from around his neck with a soft, for once contented sigh. “I want you to rest here for a few minutes, while I get your bath ready.”
I nod, but he isn’t finished. I blink when he pointedly shakes his head and reaches into the front pocket of my pants, like he has done before, but now his hand remains there longer as he maintains the still simmering contact. He takes my phone in his large hand and all but makes it disappear.
“Oh—I should probably text Vivian,” I say suddenly at the remembrance of my friend and how we left her at her apartment. The last time I messaged her was while we were at the hospital. She needs to be filled in, if only so she knows I am okay.
“No,” he stresses firmly and I let it go almost instantly with a small, incredulous smile. “She can wait. And no TV. Nothing.”
Only now do I notice the large television hung on the wall in front of the bed. “No getting lost in that head of yours, either. Just close your eyes and rest.”
Still smiling I do as he instructs, eyes fluttering shut, and I fight an even bigger and cheesier smile when he leaves a light kiss to my forehead. “Just rest.”
When I continue to comply he presses another kiss to my cheek and then finally one to my mouth, and then cool air fills the space he occupied. My instinctual reaction to reach out for him should be shocking, my fingers searching blindly and frantically to land on his retreating forearm. He pauses as soon as I do this and it’s obscene, the panic I ridiculously feel at the thought of him being away from me. Even if it is only in the next room and only temporarily. He hushes me as I start to call his name quietly, but laced with fear. Fear of not having his protective, calming presence near. Fear of that gang tag still painted on the wall at my house, fear of the person who put it there. What they might do to me if they found me. And most of all, fear of Harry leaving.
Suddenly, I’m much more than grateful for my ordered stay here until the house is fixed, or, if Harry has his way, until the crime is solved. I don’t know if I could handle being alone, especially not at home. While he eases these worries with the reassurance of his sheer strength and inherent protectiveness, it really is just him. His gentle caresses, his whispered words, his goal of ‘taking care of me’ tonight. It’s him being here right next to me when I need him most.
My eyes opened as soon as he pulled away, even leaving up on one elbow in an effort to decrease the painful distance created between us. All I can think, right now, is that I need him close.
“I’m right here, baby,” he comforts quietly, low and rumbling. He reaches to skim his fingers over my cheek lovingly.
We stay like this for several moments and I calm as best I can, ever aware of how odd I’m acting. This isn’t like me. Usually I hide my emotions and vulnerability under lock and key. With Harry, though, I find that it no longer makes sense to be that way with him. He’s already seen me at my breaking point, he accepts me for who I am. I’m not going to hide from him now.
Gently, after another few seconds pass and I calm some, he presses his palm into my shoulder until I rest against the bed again. I sigh, sufficiently reassured.
“Just for a few minutes,” he murmurs, sounding as though he doesn’t want to leave as much as I want him to stay. This should all be totally ridiculous, but it isn’t. He glances over the side of the bed to one of two doors. “I’ll be right through there. Not far at all, Jules. Then I’ll be back. Alright?”
“Alright,” I agree, gazing up at him with nothing but affection. If he can accommodate my sudden attachment issue, he is capable of anything. And I love him more for it.
He smiles, then throws in a soft order. “Rest.”
Nodding, I allow myself to finally relax back into the smooth covers again, willing the tension in my shoulders away. After he gets up—this time with no grabbing or protests from me—he pauses at the bathroom door and glances back, seemingly innocent, but the words that come out of his mouth totally contradict the light tone he uses.
“Oh, and Jules? Don’t think we won’t finish what you’ve started.”
Notes
I'm so sorry for the wait on this chapter, but I hope the length and content makes up for it! So much has happened, and I hope you're happy with more insight into Harry's thoughts and how he has been reacting to everything. And plus, all the romance and both the hot and cute moments :)
Did you like it?! Was it lacking? I was so hesitant to post this because Harry and Julia's relationship is progressing and I've never written anything quite so focussed on the romantic side of things. In the next chapters they are going to become much more intimate too, and it won't be long until they have their first time! Of course, I will post a warning at the start of that chapter if anyone would rather not read that.
If you have a moment to spare, please consider leaving a quick comment! I'd love to know how you feel about this chapter :)
hey where have you been hun? im just checking up cause you've been gone so long, also was wondering if you will finish this fic or not :D sorry for bothering you, hope you have a nice day :) x
6/20/16