Inherent

For several minutes I am left to my own devices, reeling from what all just unfolded. Out of nowhere. What I did, how we kissed against the wall, what Harry coyly said before disappearing into the next room.

Don’t think we won’t finish what you’ve started.

With lungs that feel like they are at only a quarter capacity, short shallow inhales are taken through my nose as I try to find some semblance of control over myself. For the level of need that has come over me for things I’ve only had a taste of.

Concussion, I remind myself. This probably isn’t what Doctor Carroll meant by ‘rest’.

Not by a long shot.

It’s impossible to deny, however, that I want more than just this last sampling. The wedge of distance that has been between us is finally gone, and now I can’t suddenly can’t seem to get enough of Harry.

Through the crack in the door—I’m guessing he intentionally left it slight ajar—I hear the start of running water.

After all that’s happened today… in spite of it all, I have to smile. If someone had told me this morning that I would be in Harry’s bed in mere hours, I would have laughed. And then cried at such impossibility. The absurdity of it all, the euphoric insanity of how we were finally brought together again, leaves me hopeful. If we can stick with each other through this, the hardest of times, we can get through anything.

My hands tremble as I bring them up to cup my face, no longer feeling so foolish for my body’s strong, unexpected reaction to him. There is nothing left to hold me back, I realized as much in the middle of our first kiss as soon as we got through the door. And then, the only explanation is that my heart had just gotten carried away. In the absolute best way possible.

I can still feel the firmness of his chest pressed against mine, our hips locked against each other while my legs looped around his waist. Those soft, throaty moans resonating deep within him as I kissed his neck. I want that again… while not nearly brave enough to encourage such intimacy again, the suggestive promise he made before coolly disappearing into the bathroom makes it hard for me to relax, as he earlier instructed.

The statement echoes in my mind, keeps me totally preoccupied with what he could mean by that exactly, keeps me totally wound as tight as a hot coil ready to burst. It feels as though I cannot cool until he does finish what was started. If he does.

It’s isn’t like the sentence could be construed in any other way, even if he didn’t use that flirtatious tone. His gaze, under the darkened light, heated in that telling way whenever he rarely makes it obvious exactly how much he is restraining himself. He muttered it out under a husky reverence that promised more of what just took place.

He knew what he was doing when he turned back to me, how I’d sit out here, shocked and waiting and wondering exactly what he meant. And he wouldn’t leave me wanting more, just to tease me with empty promises.

… Or at least he better not have. That would be mean, but perhaps a taste of my own medicine.

When I think of it this way, of all the times we’ve gotten close and carried away—in not just intimate ways—only for me to recede, pull back into the depths of my insecure mind, I can hardly place any blame in Harry for this.

Even though I have a feeling I won’t have to. Not if he plans to finish what I started.

Jesus.

In these next moments that I have alone, my mind continues to race with possibilities, what he has planned in that devious head of his. And then, of course, such lines of thinking bring me to the shocking realization that I am laying in his bed.

I sit up quickly, only with a slight rush of dizziness greeting me from the sudden action, to take in my surroundings.

Like the rest of Harry’s house the furniture and décor are all modern, simplistic, and contrastingly stark against the absolute life he always exudes. The large, high bed I sit in the middle of—far aware from falling off the edge, as he most likely thought of—is strewn in dark, smooth cotton sheets and a lightweight duvet, appropriate for these hot summer months. Soft and silky beneath my fingertips, it’s as if the bed beckons me to bury into its cozy linen and immerse myself in this taste of Harry’s world. Even in my upright position I can smell his scent all over, embedded in the sheets as strongly as fabric softener.

Other than the television and various abstract pictures hung on the wall in front of the bed, a dark chest of drawers sits against the far wall. Somehow, however, the room does not feel lacking or barren. It’s as if he fills the void space, makes this otherwise austere apartment feel more like a home. It’s all so clean, too, a huge difference from other males in my life. The last time I walked into Caleb’s tiny apartment before he died you couldn’t have seen the floor for all the dirty clothes, empty pizza boxes and various other trash. And though I haven’t been to Alex’s place since then, either, I know it must be the same way.

Then again, Harry is worlds different from either of them. For one he is not a drug addict, and though I hate to admit it, he has respect. For both himself and his home. Something my brother or his friend never really had. I look around and I envision a man who lives here with the exact personality and traits as Harry. Someone who, for the most part and more than a young man his age should, has his life together. More than together.

It would be so nice to just rest. Like he asked. But I feel revitalized, eager to take in more of his personal space, eyes gliding over every single one of the room’s contents as quick and thorough as possible. On either side of the sleek TV are large, heavily curtained windows. The last thing I take note of is another door next to the one Harry disappeared through, and I guess it to be a closet for his always surprising, surely impressive wardrobe.

While absentmindedly thumbing the blanket, I imagine how diverse and almost contradictive it must look: from leather jackets and skinny jeans to tailored suits and suede boots in the same breath. It isn’t just how differently he can project himself in whatever company he decides to keep on a particular day, but how it absolutely fits him. It doesn’t seem fake or forced—Harry is whoever he wants to be, and he has absolutely no care for whatever others think of that person. It shows how seriously he takes his business, and also how he isn’t afraid to let his true nature show through while not working.

Just thinking of him, really thinking of what makes him the person I have utterly fallen in love with, helps me calm. Breathe. Eases my erratic thoughts. With a soft sigh I ease back to rest my head against one of the thick pillows, staring up at the ceiling as I shift to curl up in the blanket.

Here, totally, engulfed in Harry, I feel safer than I have all day.

At peace. My heart doesn’t race. The blanket warms my already flushed, sensitive skin. The soft lighting allows me to finally close my eyes, first for a moment or two, and then for longer. I don’t see flashes of the burglar’s retreating figure, don’t hear the sound of police sirens, don’t feel so unbearably close to fainting like I have for so long. Instead, I breathe in the blanket and try to relax my tense muscles.

It’s hard to get that far, though, without Harry close. But progress is progress, and more than I have made in some time.

Thankfully it’s only another few minutes before the bathroom door swings softly open, and my eyes along with it. I don’t want to move just yet, content with my position as I catch Harry with an adoring smile, observing me curled up in the middle of his bed. I only am able to meet his soft gaze for a moment, feeling a little foolish still for my earlier behaviour now that I’m facing him after having some time to clear the lust filled haze from my mind.

Without saying a word yet, our small smiles the only thing we share, Harry makes his way toward the bed. The cushioned mattress sinks under his weight after he settles on the edge, close to me, and angles his body so he can reach and smooth my hair back from my face.

“You tired?” he inquires softly. I let my eyes droop until they close again, in bliss as his fingers continue to stroke through my hair, from my temples and back again. It takes a moment for me to speak, totally tranquil.

“A little.” There no way I could even think of telling him how exhausted I feel past the adrenaline and the need to stay awake and enjoy more of him, though. He has enough to worry about today when it comes to me, and it would be just cruel to add to that already monstrous pile.

On what feels like a natural impulse, I pull my hand from underneath the blanket and place it over his. He pauses his rhythmic movements, blinking once and a wider smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. My fingers fit between his perfectly, the warmth of his hand settled against my cheek.

For a few minutes we stay like this, utterly content with this contact, like it eases both our worries, halts every last one of our frantic or angry thoughts in their tracks, makes us see what is clearly more important than anything… this, us, these small moments stolen while everything else has gone to crap. Being together.

I figure, ultimately, that I could be put through hell and back and I’d be able to get through it, come out the other side a better person, as long as Harry is by my side. And in a strangled heartbeat I would do the exact same for him, remain by his side through thick and thin.

If I got through today—even if I did faint, I am still in one piece when all is said and done, and I only have him to thank for that. So it lends to my absolute confidence that we can handle whatever obstacle cruel fate will surely throw our way next.

Harry is the first to move, and only to lean down and deliver a kiss to my forehead, then to my hairline he had been previously stroking, and finally softly to my mouth. My eyelashes flutter at the contact and his hand moves from underneath mine to my side, circling around me. I hardly notice it, eyes practically shut now, and he doesn’t remove his mouth from mine until his other hand deftly snakes under the blanket to the back of my thighs.

Then he is lifting my smaller form slowly so as not to startle me, closely monitoring my expression. By now I am all but used to him picking me up as he pleases, my only reaction a slight flutter in my belly and my reaching hands as they ache to touch him, hold him, and my head rests against his solid shoulder.

When I sigh in contentment, Harry’s worried expression relaxes some and he turns to the bathroom. He’d left the door ajar before so now he easily toes it open without any of the urgent force he used to kick open his bedroom door earlier. I can’t help but to squint as we enter; this room’s lighting is much brighter than the soft, relaxing ambience that I’ve grown used to.

“Alright, I’m going to put you on your feet,” he warns quietly and waits for me to nod in acknowledgement before setting me down. The luxurious stone floor is cool beneath my bare feet and momentarily draws my attention away from Harry to look around. I finally take in the large, expansive space. He’d set me in front of a long counter that houses two sinks, bordered with a mirror that reaches the ceiling. It’s the first time all day that I’d really gotten a good look at myself since the disaster back at home. Thankfully, my appearance doesn’t look too much worse for wear, or rather at least not any more than I did this morning. Lack of sleep is clearly outlined in darkened circles beneath my eyes, but that is something I’ve grown accustomed to seeing over these last weeks. Perhaps it’s because the injury to my head from the fall earlier is invisible that none of today seems real. Yet here I am, stood here with Harry after my house was ransacked and I fainted, and he found out, and here we still are.

Next to me he stands tall, strong and resilient, no sign of stress from today’s events written in the soft expression he wears. He’s watching me through the mirror, I realize, and we both smile when we make eye contact in it.

As his hands linger, one on my shoulder and the other clasped firmly at my waist, he makes sure once again that I am steady. Being so caught up in the sight of us—me, tucked close and protectively to his side, appearing small compared to his taller and more powerful form—it takes me a moment to notice the large tub filled with water and nearly overflowing with bubbles. The stone floor continues seamlessly onto a raised platform, in which the tub is sunken. Farther, an immense all glass shower lines the wall opposite to the bathtub.

I don’t even realize that I sway to the side until Harry’s hold instantly returns, firm and strong enough to keep me balanced on his own.

I blink, and he frowns. Just like that, like a one-track minded fly attracted to his blinding light, my attention is zapped back to him.

“What?” I inquire softly, seeing and knowing the look in his eyes. That innate concern and protectiveness coming into play.

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” he admits, just as quiet, because he knows how this will make me feel. Even still I tense up and stare at him blankly, warily.

“Well,” I trail off, obviously not at my sharpest at this moment. “How am I supposed to take a bath?”

That is probably the dumbest question I could possibly ask right now, and I only realize as much when it’s out of my mouth and can’t be taken back. Almost instantaneously, my face flames traitorously to my belated understanding.

I can’t help but to look away quickly, intimidated, realizing what Harry implied. Flustered thoughts of what ‘not leaving me alone’ could mean… as the idea of being naked in front of him crosses my mind I hastily glance to the side, to where the door lies far away to see if a quick exit is possible.

But I don’t move, don’t feel quite as much consuming panic as I once would have. It’s still there, sure—my constant battles with raging low self-esteem and insecurities, but the shouts of escape in my mind are not quite as loud as I expected.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t answer my question with one of his usual, expected cheeky remarks. He takes this, me, seriously, and reaches to hold my hand and draw me closer. I didn’t even realize that I backed away even as I continue to sway slightly. Somewhat disoriented now, I go to him willingly until our chests brush and our eyes meet and my breath is all but taken. Again.

Now, though, Harry isn’t purposely drawing this reaction from me, isn’t trying to influence whatever decision he might want me to make.

Because he’s serious.

“I’ll be fine,” I try to promise, the words spilling out again uncontrolled. My obvious nervousness doesn’t affect him in the slightest, however, and he easily brandishes control over the situation that, if it were in my hands, would run totally aghast.

“How’s your head?” He questions, seemingly innocent, but I know my answer will decide my fate.

“Better,” I say quickly, too quickly, and too much like a question of my own. I flush under the intensity of his stare, even more as his gaze narrows at my sheer transparency.

Lying with a straight face—outright lying like I am now—has always been near impossible to accomplish. Yes, I can try, but a total stranger could pick up on it. And Harry, who knows me so well, probably even expected a fib to come of my response. Hell, he saw me totally lose balance not even two minutes ago. I’m the worst liar on the planet, which is ironic because of how much I’ve been doing it.

“Really.” The way he stretches the word tells me exactly how disbelieving he truly is. That, and his deepening frown.

I stumble on my own feet when he gently pushes me backward with the tips of his fingers so I am at arms’ length, an obvious sign that points to exactly how not better I am actually feeling. He sighs at this, at my flittering guilty gaze that can’t rise past his shoulders, then his hold drops and I am left to stand totally on my own.

To my credit I do manage to remain upright. I made the trek up here to the apartment after all, even if he did help me then and most of the time was spent standing still in the elevator. I feel totally unstable, but I manage it.

He backs away, though, uninterested in this small accomplishment of mine, and crooks his finger once he stands a good five feet away.

“Walk in a straight line.” Even after he instructs this, I remain rooted in place.

Breaking out into a forced smile, I have to hold back a small laugh, choosing to make light of the situation in hopes that maybe then he’ll let it go. “I’m not drunk, Harry.”

“Julia.” There’s a warning embedded clearly in his tone, one that tells me he is not messing around, not even for a lame joke that I might usually gain a small chuckle from.

“Fine, okay.”

With a sigh of my own now I choose to get it over with and quickly move forward, praying that the momentum will keep me upright at the very least all while rolling my eyes, grumbling, and acting way more confident in this test than I really am.

And it all backfires on me—the forward movement caused by my huffed stalking toward Harry causes that dizziness to return full force, so much so that I stumble when I am only halfway to him.

Harry is too far away to save me, I think as I gasp and stumble, but the distance melds together in a swimming mess and suddenly it feels like he is miles away instead of the few feet that remains between us. As soon as my upper body began to waver, however, Harry sprang forward. I barely clamour to right myself while still thinking of how much it would hurt to fall onto this hard, cold stone floor, and in several quick steps his arms enclose around my waist and push me forward into him. This way, I no longer have even try and stand on my own.

“Julia,” he snaps roughly, slight frustration colouring my name as he says it once more. Ultimately my stubbornness is what got us here, to me almost falling again, and Harry knows that just as well.

“Maybe I’m just a klutz,” I suggest half-heartedly, but my faltering signals exactly how shaken I am. So maybe I did underestimate the effects this concussion would have on me. Futilely, it was my silent hope that the symptoms would wear off in the couple hours since I hit my head. Since my headache is near non-existent now it almost seemed plausible, but after this my hopes have been totally dashed. It looks like we’ll have to deal with this for the twenty four hours the doctor said we would.

“Yes, perhaps you tripped on thin air,” Harry reasons sarcastically, now a little lighter.

While holding onto him in an added, cautionary effort to avoid falling, I start to laugh. At this, this situation we’ve found ourselves in so suddenly where I can’t even walk without him right by my side. There is also the fact that I am totally okay with it, that I want him here next to me anyway.

Then my laughter dies and my smile fades some when I glance back to the large, filled tub. It looks so inviting. The one Harry filled just for me, probably spent extra-long adjusting the temperature of the water so it is neither too hot nor too cold, had just the right amount of bubbles… I can almost picture him doing all of these things then standing back to assess his work, to see if it is ‘good enough’ for me.

He doesn’t realize that it was simply the thought he put into this that means more to me than anything. He could have accidentally filled the tub with freezing cold water and shampoo instead of bubble bath and I still would have swooned—that’s how absolutely smitten I am. Before comprehending all of this, I’d been on the verge of suggesting that I take a shower instead or just forget about the whole thing altogether. But I can’t, not will all the thought he put into this.

More than that, too… deeper, maybe this will be good. Somehow perhaps this will be another one of my barriers that we break down tonight.

I look back to him, chewing my lip in timid contemplation even though I’ve already decided on what I want. My eyes don’t see what one might on the surface, though; I see Harry, all that we have been through including today and all the way back, over months and months. How absolutely fine yet alarmingly alive he makes me feel, how we should have made this step long ago, because despite some reservations, I have been ready.

After having accepted so much about me, much more than meets the eye—all of me, I realize, taking a bath with Harry in the same room doesn’t feel a quarter as exposing or revealing.

Not now. Physical barriers are something I finally want to get past. I don’t want to say no to something that I want.

“I—” My voice dies as I attempt to find the right words to say, if there even is a way to tell him I am ready for such a step, if this doesn’t bother me as much as I once thought it would. Or at least… it doesn’t right now, but it perhaps when it comes time to actually strip my clothing I’ll cave, wig out and run.

No, no. I don’t want to do that. Quickly, I glance behind Harry to the waiting tub, at an utter loss for words.

Having been watching me closely throughout all these split-second decisions, he picks up on just what is going through my mind. A soft smile encompasses his pink lips, and he fidgets for no more than a moment in consideration before doing maybe the one thing I didn’t expect, but should have because it’s so Harry.

“Alright, how about this.”

In a quick, confident movement he unbuttons his shirt, not looking at his current task but only at me, observing my reaction. For a moment I stand there dumbly, not quite able to comprehend what is happening. I don’t have it in me to look away, to not stare at the vast array of tattoos on his chest and torso that greet me as he shrugs off the garment from his shoulders.

He doesn’t blink under my blatant staring, not even when I don’t have the decency to tear my eyes away and look him in the eye. If anything, his soft smile morphs into a restrained, amused smirk. I take in his tanned and toned skin past all of the ink adorning his body, his defined pecks that lead down to a tight, obviously frequently-worked abdomen. The very moment my gaze settles on the fern tattoos that sit on either of his hips, he reaches to unzip the fly of his jeans.

Only this is what snaps me from my trance.

“Um—what, what are you doing?” My stumbled question breaks the light silence that settled over us, and he barely even glances at me.

“I’m undressing,” he says simply.

When he begins to push the jeans down his thighs I snap fully into reality and take a fast, surprised step backward.

Okay, maybe I can’t do this after all. For some reason Harry being naked with me is all the more terrifying.

“Why?” It comes out much more frank than I intend, but there’s no way I can even look in his direction and I need to know what the hell is going through his head.

“Because we’re taking a bath together.” There isn’t any condescendence in his tone—no sarcasm, just a light, factual statement. My breathing increases, my face heats to an impossible degree, I look over my shoulder toward the door in search of a quick, cowardly escape.

Before I can make a move, though, his hand engulfs mine and he pulls me back to face him again. Utterly out of my mind with embarrassment, I make sure to keep my eyes averted from his nude form, focussing only on his face. Then he catches sight of my expression, how pale I’ve surely gone, and then he releases a small laugh tinged with slight worry.

“Jules… I’ve still got on my boxers.”

While shaking his head in an amused sort of dismay he continues to pull me closer, and now my legs finally unfreeze and follow him willingly. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Take a deep breath—you’re fine.”

Maybe he’s thinking of my heart or most probably the stress this might put on my injury, but things start to slow down and I lean to rest my head against his bare chest after sneaking a glance down to see that he is, sure enough, wearing underwear. A pair of Calvin Klein boxer briefs cling to his hips. Breathing as he instructs, I too release a relieved, chagrin tinged laugh. Only Harry I would expect to completely strip down on a moment’s notice without any warning, and I’m kind of surprised he held back from going totally stark naked.

With him is the only time my breathing exercises ever work and not do more harm than good.

I inhale deep, evenly, and calm down quicker than we both could have predicted. I’m just thankful that Harry doesn’t mind my total inexperience still and is able to laugh at my innocent embarrassment at all things in the form of physical male anatomy.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he informs, soft, sweet, and thoughtfully, fingers running up and down my back. “If you don’t want the bath, baby, it won’t happen.”

I notice that he still doesn’t give me the option of bathing alone, doesn’t offer something not quite so intimate like helping me in and out of the tub so I don’t fall, but then I realize that no matter what, he would still end up seeing more of my body than he ever has before.

This level of concern I expected of him, but I still can’t quite believe that a man like him truly exists. The feeling of his bare flesh underneath the tips of my fingers is exhilarating as I loop my arm up and around his neck, gazing at him easily in reassurance. “No, I’m okay. You didn’t scare me. Promise.”

“You’re certain?” He presses, giving me the opportunity again to bail. I withdraw to look up at him and nod decisively.

To prove my point—though I don’t really allow myself to think too much on it because if I do I will surely freak out—I untangle myself from him and step back carefully to mimic his earlier actions, clenching my fingers around the hem of my shirt.

I inhale once more to try and steady myself, and without looking at him in growing fear that I really will chicken out if I do, in fear of seeing the perfection of his body against the imperfection of mine. In fact, I beat down every last one of my insecurities. My shirt comes up, knowing full well that my bra covered chest must be on full display as I reach to pull the shirt over my head. I can’t help but to clutch it to my torso the moment it is off, shifting my gaze farther downward so it lands on nothing but my feet and the floor. I focus on the soft fabric being wrinkled between my fingers and not on Harry’s reaction.

Vile thoughts run through my head, thoughts like why on earth would did I do that? And why did I think that he would want to see me naked anyhow? Thoughts that revolve around how stupid this is of me, and that he is probably repelled by me.

Gentle fingers slide under my chin, drawing my gaze up to meet his. He keeps his line of sight steady, looking nowhere but softly into my eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he declares with nothing but conviction. As if fully aware of the self-conscious thoughts running through my mind and that I am completely frozen in fear before him, he takes over the task that I bravely set started.

One has to give me some credit for even taking my shirt off, though. This morning I could hardly look at myself in the mirror. He takes the shirt from where I hold it almost protectively and after some serious mental coaching I release it. It is promptly tossed into a laundry hamper sat by the long counter, along with all the clothing he has shed so far.

Then, without any warning whatsoever, he thumbs the button above the fly of my pants. I tense instantly at the contact, at the realization that Harry is taking off my clothes, and most importantly of all… his hand is that close to the most intimate part of my body.

My breath catches in my throat when his eyes do finally slide down to where his hands are currently occupied. A restrained heat erupts again within him as he lingers at my breasts, his touch roughening slightly when his index finger worms its way into my fly to take hold of the zipper.

Faint—I feel faint, but not the terrible, dreadful kind where consciousness might be ripped from me whether I like it or not. The good kind of faint; the excited kind that only ever occurs when Harry is in my presence and decides to do something totally unexpected, like now. The kind that occurs when I can’t believe what is happening, but want it to continue regardless.

I release my breath in a flurry and my hands shake at the sight set out before me, of Harry, undressing me while he is nearly naked himself.

In seconds he is pushing my pants down past my hips without even a hint of hesitance. His hands don’t fumble like mine did when I took off my shirt out of sheer nervousness—the complete opposite. He completes his task with a sure, deft hand.

He doesn’t stop there, either. Slowly, Harry stoops down until he rests on his knees on the cold granite floor, pulling my pants until they are down to my calves. Like this, he is eye-level with my navel. I merely stare, unable to look away as he glances up to me and plants a tender kiss to my stomach, warm breath fanning against my skin as he lingers there.

If my breath was caught by him before, it is totally stolen away now. The flesh surrounding the area where his mouth met my flesh erupts in goose bumps. I feel my face flush with a burning heat, one that rivals the intensity of his locked stare.

No, as tame and considerate as this all is Harry definitely meant it when he said earlier.

Slowly, without any rush, he pushes my pants down the rest of the way until they bunch at my ankles. One of his arms come up, around my thigh, and brush against the black lace of my panties on my backside. I don’t even tense, don’t have to before it becomes obvious what he is doing. Quickly, he tugs on my right calf and quietly instructs to lift, which I instantly oblige. Soon the pants are totally discarded, having switched arms to my other side when he pulled off my opposite pant leg, taking every precaution in steadying me so I don’t have to chance to even wobble. There’s something more, however, to the way he touches me. It’s as though he takes every opportunity to explore more of my body, and I am okay with that.

The newly shed article of clothing tossed in the hamper, and after a savouring kissing to each of my hips, Harry stands again to his full height.

“I love you,” he says quietly thought a breathy chuckle, like he can’t believe it. That we’re finally to the point of saying it aloud, speaking openly of how much we truly do mean to each other. I find myself laughing too—another one of those disbelieving, overjoyed sort of laughs, and between it I vivaciously reply that I love him too. Even now, it doesn’t feel like just saying it is enough. Maybe it’s because we’ve both known it all along, that it just seemed obvious, and contrite of us to go so long without expressing our feelings. This entire situation, right now, seems like something to blissfully take in humour.

Now I’m as naked as he is. Still in our underwear, we gaze at each other with a newfound understanding, trust. Mostly on my part—I’m willing to bet that Harry would have been willing to strip down anytime I asked before today, if only to laugh at my expression when he actually did it. The difference is that he has long been comfortable with his body, while I have not come to that same place with my own. I feel shaky, embarrassed to be stood in front of him with almost everything on display, and it takes everything in his loving gaze to keep me here and not clamouring to hide myself with clothing again.

But truthfully, it isn’t nearly as terrifying as I predicted.

No idiot, I know it’s all because of him. He undressed first, lent me his level of comfort with his own body. I see the want in his eyes, too, concealed only by a thin layer of control as he slowly took in my nearly exposed form for the first time. It gives me reassurance that he liked what he saw, that I should not be ashamed by my own body or try to hide it like I always have for so long now.

Taking my lip between my teeth for a moment, we lock eyes as his thumbs the waistband of my underwear. With intention, he silently looks to me for final permission. I nod.

At this, my way of telling him to go one without actually saying it because I fear my voice will shake with nervousness; he pulls my panties down with care, not once looking away from my eyes.

Once they are past my hips they fall down to pool at my feet, and I step out of them in tiny, jumpy movements.

I can’t believe this is happening.

At my sides where the low waistband of my underwear was just residing, he massages soft circles into my hips slowly, sensing just how huge of a nervous wreck I am despite being sure that I want this. And rightfully so. This is the first time he’s going to see me, all of me, totally exposed and vulnerable under his eyes.

Holy hell. I hesitate for just a moment, right as the tips of his fingers glide up my back in search of my bra clasp, and he pauses.

“You don’t have to do this,” he informs again, strained and now looking at odds with himself. “I feel like we’re ready for this, baby, but I don’t like to see you scared. I want you as comfortable as possible.”

And it’s with this, Harry’s utter acceptance of me and whatever I choose, that I nod once more. “I know,” I murmur, reassuring him now, making the conscious effort to try and sound more confident and less like a whimpering, cornered animal. “I’m fine with this. Not scared at all—just, just a little nervous.”

My smile flickers as I admit my silent worries. This, indeed, is a huge step for us.

He gazes into my eyes for another long moment, testing my resolve, my decision, to see if there is some fault or hole in what I’ve said. But my eyes don’t drop from his for even a moment, and I say no more. I’m sure.

And this is what he needs, too, to be sure. To continue from where he paused.

Skilfully, he lets loose the clasp and my bra straps fall loose on my shoulders. I can’t help the instinctual reaction to catch it before it can fall away fully, but Harry knows exactly what to do—he leans closer, kisses me softly, and slowly pulls my arms down, my bra coming with them. After gently tossing it away he rears back on a small sigh, still unbearably close yet not remotely near enough as his nose brushes against mine.

I am totally bare in front of him, and he seems to fully realize this fact too. Through lidded eyes he takes in my nude form for the very first time. Now with one hand resting at my hip again, his hold tightens subtly, and he covers my mouth with his once more. Hungrily, but with clear restraint. He’s showing me, nonverbally and without touching or going farther than I can handle right now, how much he wants me.

I know that he has already set boundaries for tonight and what is going to happen, how far things might progress while we’re both undressed and so close to one another.

A bath, most probably, and nothing more. At least that is if I don’t try to push him any harder than I did earlier.

“You are beautiful, baby.” There’s a husky deepening to his voice after he pulls away, breathing deep but controlled. My heart jumps at this, at his clear need for me, yet how he is holding himself back because he is aware of just how vulnerable I am in this moment.

Trying bravely to come out of my self-conscious, repetitive thoughts, I choose now to take in his form once more. My tongue darts out to wet my lips as I reach to run my fingers down his torso. His abdominal muscles tense under my sudden skimming touch, and he releases what sounds like a strangled sigh.

“You’re killing me here,” he admits with a humorous grin, despite the fact that he means all of what he said. In slight alarm I quickly retract my hand within widened eyes and a hasty apology on the tip of my tongue, but he grabs hold of my hand and draws me closer, chuckling softly. “Only half kidding,” he says, smile straining further when my breasts brush against his torso.

I suck in a sharp breath at this foreign, ultra-sensitive contact, refusing to break from the heated though playful stare that Harry incited. He places both my hands at his sides and the tenseness I feel radiating through him contradicts his next claim. “You could touch me like this all night if you want. If it would help you feel more comfortable.”

I shake my head in quiet, awed dismay at the man stood before me. “I don’t think I could put you through that, as fun as it sounds.”

Knowing Harry he would only last so long, like that, before he can’t stand it any longer and takes back the control that so easily comes to him. And then, I have a feeling, that he would be the one doing all the touching. “Besides, I am comfortable.”

As comfortable as I’ll ever be during such a strange, revealing moment, a moment of entrusting Harry to see all of me, to not feed into my insecurities, and to allow this step in our relationship.

From the skeptical expression he wears, I can easily tell he doesn’t believe me.

“We’ll see about that, then,” he counters, just as I remember soon that we will, in fact, be bathing together. He has yet to take off his underwear, too. I forgot about that… I remember all of this right as I feel another deep blush creep onto my cheeks.

Of course he is quick to pick up on this, being ever attentive to my slightest reactions and cues, and he moves his hands from my own at his sides to gently cradle my face. He leans forward and, very softly, connects his mouth with mine. For a moment I am more focussed on the soft caress of his lips against mine than the fact that I am standing stark naked in his bathroom, waiting for him to undress too.

This kiss is one of reassurance where any words would only fail us both, and another clear show of restraint.

He draws back after slowly lowering his hands from my cheeks. It’s difficult to keep my touch idle at his sides, longing to pull him closer so I can kiss him again and run my fingers through his hair, down his back, and then kiss his neck in that place where it draws those pleasure-filled groans from deep within his throat.

“This is at your pace, baby. As fast or slow as you like.”

He continually shocks me with his unceasing, limitless concern. Now, I fully believe that I won’t ever find a man so understanding. So absolutely loving.

“You are amazing,” I breathe, feeling as though I have to express my love for him yet again. The words don’t leave my lips, however, because I don’t want to say them too much. I don’t want them to lose meaning, though by now it is entirely obvious that my love for him is unfading.

Still, if ‘I love you’ was the only phrase I could ever speak to him again, I would be fine with that.

His fingers trail down from my shoulder and past my spine, ghosting across my bare skin for the first time. It’s a total overload to my already hyperactive senses.

“You’ll realize yet,” he begins to reply lightly. “That you are clearly the amazing one out of the two of us.”

I laugh a breathy giggle, too focussed on his wandering touch to do much else. “Doubt it.”

“You’ll see,” he declares, firmer, and only now withdraws. In his eyes lies a promise, as though he feels absolutely certain of proving such a claim.

“For now, though, I think we should hurry before the water gets cold.” He nods back toward the tub, but still doesn’t take his eyes from me.

“We probably should,” I shyly agree, yet can’t muster the self-assurance to strut toward the tub without even a look to him over my shoulder as I might in far off dreams.

Instead all I can do is stand here, lacking anything in the way of confidence and Harry smiles softly down at me, having already known that he would have to take the initiative many times tonight.

“Come on then,” he says with a tug on my fingers, feigning a rush, but leads me over at an easy to follow pace that isn’t too much, won’t run the risk of making my head spin. While walking I have an overwhelming feeling that I should be trying to cover up, my modesty nearly winning out over my goal to overcome fears of my body, of others seeing it, of Harry seeing it.

I’ve come this far, and so I reason that it shouldn’t be too difficult to go all the way. With my dignity hopefully intact too.

Still in his underwear—I blushingly wonder when he’s going to take those off—Harry moves to lean over the tub. And though in this moment he remains a total gentleman, only looking away from my eyes to guide me over, he seems almost intimidating to me again from his place stood towering over me. No longer can I fight the urge to hide myself, and my free arm crosses protectively over my chest.

The quick movement only draws his attention away from where he leaned to check the water temperature, and with a determined spark shining in his eyes he sees the position I am in and pulls me closer. Now I keep my gaze downward, feeling awkward and embarrassed. More by my own covering actions that the fact that I am blatantly naked in front of him. He doesn’t attempt anything in the way of having me expose myself again, only speaking softly while his arms circle around me, bringing me close. He kisses me again, as though he knows the comfort it brings to me in such a perilous moment.

“You don’t have to hide yourself from me, but I want you to be comfortable.” From this I recall his made only minutes earlier. At my pace, he said. And to my relief he meant it. “Because you are beautiful,” he reminds me once more, knowing I need it, and pecks my mouth lovingly. Likewise, he is also very aware of how huge of a step this is for me.

For us. When I really think about it, that I am here, so vulnerable, so put on show as it feels in my mind, the fact that I am mostly okay with it (which is really all I can ask for with my shyness)… for the first time, well, it is pretty well mind-blowing.

This moment is staggering. It means yet another step forward in our relationship, one in the right direction. For nearly a month now it felt like we were going backward and I was, quite literally, running away from him. But how easily we were brought together today, and now this last month is meaningless. Wasted by my fear of being hurt. If nothing else, I know I’ll never break the promise that I made to Harry tonight. I’ll never leave him again.

From how he gently runs his fingers up and down my sides in an ever patient movement, he knows this just as well. He doesn’t push me into trying or pretending to be confident in such a sensitive state—he waits, allows me to slowly acclimate on my own, like I need to.

“You can roam around my place like this all day too, for all I care,” he pauses to crack a cheeky smile, and my own grows in preparation for whatever he is surely going to say. “In fact, I’d prefer it.”

A relieved sort of giggle bubbles from me, and for some reason, the fact that Harry is still Harry comforts me more than anything.

The image of us lounging about the house naked runs through my mind, as he earlier suggested that he would allow me to touch his bare skin for as long as I want. It’s ridiculous and inconceivable, but somehow I could see him proposing the notion, and actually somehow convince me consider it too.

As I lower my hands back to my sides and slowly clench them into fists, he continues with determination. “But seriously, Jules. I’m not going to take advantage of you. Ever. You can get dressed now if you like—you’re in control here.”

Now that is somewhat difficult to wrap my mind around. Harry, a man who easily takes command of an entire room with his control in seconds, is handing it over to me without even the slightest hint of protest.

“Thank you,” I mumble out, nearly overwhelmed. The reassurance that I could stop anytime if I feel I need to, and that he wouldn’t be angry or hold it against me is a much needed comfort. It only makes me surer that I want this, however, and my smile widens. “You’re amazing.”

“You’ve already said that,” he laughs, still unwilling to take any compliment. He brushes off the gratitude with an easy smile, and for now I manage to let it go. Soon, I’m going to have to sit him down and make sure he knows just how much I love him, how much he really is appreciated, for all his love and kindness and acceptance. It may or may not involve something similar to the method he used earlier with me to spill the truth—through heady kisses and wandering hands—but by the time I’m done, he will know very well.

“I know. Doesn’t make it any less true.” For now this is all I say on the matter, and don’t press when he glances toward the waiting tub again.

“You ready?” he asks gently. I know this is another chance to back out, but that isn’t even a faint consideration. I’m sure.

Standing closer to the water now, I inhale the inviting lavender scent of the bath bubbles. I nod to him, still somewhat bashful even after our best efforts to ease my worries, but I guess it will probably take time for this sort of thing to feel natural to me in such a state. For the first time, nude, with Harry. I can’t expect something like that to come instantaneously.

“Right then,” he straightens and I swear a brief flicker of nervousness passes through us, in the way he bites his lip and looks at me with a vague hesitance. He stares into my eyes for a long, lasting moment, before he hooks the waistband of his underwear and swiftly pulls them down. I can all but feel myself overheat, can hardly stop myself from looking down as he steps out of his boxers and kicks them to the side. But I don’t shy away, either, as I realize this is what he suspected would happen, and the reason why he was so hesitant to shed the last of his clothing in the first place.

For an indeterminate amount of time—probably more than thirty seconds, but I can’t keep track over the ringing in my ears and the excitement of all of this running through me at full speed—he simply stands there, on display, taking his bottom lip between his index finger and thumb and waits, knowingly and patient.

He appears totally at ease now, a smirk fighting to make its way onto his mouth, and then for a split second my eyes flicker down to the one part of Harry that I have never before seen. I catch the sharp ‘v’ of his hips that I’d caught glimpses of before when he shed his shirt, though now with the rest of it on display, I realize that it leads to the main attraction—to his manhood. I always sort of faintly assumed that due to his height he wouldn’t be ‘small’, but with a thick swallow as I abashedly drag my eyes back up his lithe form, I decide that he has far exceeded my expectations.

When I see his full, returned smirk that he doesn’t even try to hold back, it becomes obvious that he wasn’t afraid to show himself to me like I momentarily suspected. No, he was only worried about my reaction rather than any reservations to be had about being actually nude. He shakes his head in quiet wonder, unfaltering.

“I love you. I love you very much, Jules.” As he says this again he takes my hand and soon, while holding firmly still to my waist with his other hand, he’s helping me step into the tub. Slowly, I dip my toes in past the bubbles to feel the temperature first. It’s hot, but not uncomfortably so, and in a soothing way I just know will help me relax some. And while bathing with Harry, I know I’ll need that. Because I am still self-conscious next to his all perfect body, I quickly lower myself into the tub. The bubbles cover me practically up my neck, and I blink the haziness that such quick movements bring on. Unsure of what to do and feeling slightly awkward—no surprise there—I stay sat in the middle, waiting.

Harry soon follows, however, easily slipping in and settling behind me. He sighs as the water comes up to his torso, taking only a moment to get used to the water until he’s reaching, pulling me closer as he settles against the angled back of the tub with another deep, contented sigh. He tugs my waist until I settle against him, as far as physics will allow, legs on either side of me while I keep my knees pulled to my chest. The position is impossibly close and my body can’t help but to become tense at the intimacy, and the pure physical proximity of our nude forms. But I can’t imagine bathing with Harry any other way, or else it would feel lacking, restrained… and from now on, there will be no more of that.

“This okay?” After he is satisfied that we are as close as possible, he inquires hoarsely to my level of comfort.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, sure, even as I feel him brush against my backside.

“Good,” he murmurs, not trying to relax my still tensed figure. With my legs pulled up close and arms wrapped around them it helps in feeling a little more secure, though it doesn’t take long for this position to become uncomfortable. My shoulders ache with the pressure of sitting like this, and it’s no doubt that Harry knows it too. Still he waits, patiently, for me to come around, knowing this isn’t one of those things he can push me into.

Slowly, through closed eyes I lean back until I come to gingerly lie against his torso, his arms immediately enveloping my waist as soon as it is possible. It makes me realize now that he was, in fact, waiting all along for me to build up the nerve. My head comes to rest on his chest and the level of comfort and newfound protection I find while he holds me close is unprecedented.

Upon releasing the breath that I’d been long holding, I glance up to see Harry’s stare focussed on me with affection, a soft smile growing. Finally I relax some, and he seems content to simply soak here, like this, in each other’s arms.

Lord knows we both need it.

He has one arm wrapped around my waist still and the other travels to trail up and down my arm beneath the water’s surface. We stay like this, and the minutes or exact amount of time aren’t counted. I’m almost lulled to sleep when he stirs, taking a washcloth that was waiting on the edge of the bathtub. The movement rouses me and I jolt to full awareness with a slight start, blinking dazedly.

It takes only moments to calm upon the realization of where I am and who I am with. With Harry.

“You’re exhausted,” he says, stating the obvious in a disapproving hum. “We’re sleeping in tomorrow.”

Before I can deny just how drowsy I have suddenly become in these last few moments alone, he has me lean up and move forward slightly, with a gentle push to the small of my back. Sitting up now, he has access to my back, and feeling exposed I can’t help but to tense slightly, frowning in confusion.

“What—” my voice dies the second he glides the washcloth over my shoulder blade. I fall silent, totally still at first, having not thought that Harry would set about bathing me himself. That is a whole other level of intimacy, and one I’m surprised to find that I want to explore. He takes his time, focussing all of his attention on the task at hand.

Soon he abandons the washcloth and finds more closeness with the use of his hands; long, skilled fingers accessing and untangling every knot of tension they find.

“That feel okay?” He asks, somewhat unsure. I wonder if this is a first for him, and because this is the first massage I’ve ever received, it is jaw-droppingly pleasurable. I may not have anything to compare it to, but I am sure his fingers are without doubt gifts from god himself—or whatever higher power blesses the earth with confident hard-headed businessmen who like to give their women delicate massages in the bath after a long, emotionally toiling day.

“Yes,” I sigh, wishing I could see his expression right now, to see how he feels about this. “Feels amazing.”

Maybe this is how he wants it, though. This way, I feel nothing but his body against mine and his calloused though gentle touch kneading out every last bit of strain from all my aching muscles. As the minutes go by I all but slump forward, my knees brought up to rest my head against as I am in complete bliss. Never did I think a bath and a massage would be so capable of unwinding me so fully. And it probably wouldn’t, if it weren’t Harry here with me.

At first he emits a long, controlled breath of his own, careful not to press too hard or be otherwise rough in his ministrations. His legs, perhaps unconsciously, come marginally closer around me. Not much, but enough for me to realize that past all this innocent cautioned care, we are totally naked, pressed nearly as close as can be to each other. Suddenly at these thoughts his touch takes on a whole other meaning, morphs from tender and gentle to sensual, deliberate. It isn’t long before I find myself leaning back to create friction, so his fingers delve a little deeper into my flesh below my shoulder. In turn he inhales, shifts to accommodate this new proximity. I don’t react when I feel his growing hardness at the small of my back, and neither does he, except when his mouth unexpectedly comes in contact with the top of my shoulder.

Having been so hyperaware of even the smallest of his advances I flinch at the sudden feeling of his lips, warm and tantalizing against the coolness of my back.

He smiles at my reaction, which he probably predicted, before applying more pressure and kissing a path up to the curve of my neck. Almost on its own accord my head tilts to the side to allow him more access, and he brushes my hair over my opposite shoulder, its ends wet from being immersed in the water, and then his arms tightly come around my waist again all while his mouth never halts.

“Yeah, this is really nice,” I suddenly mumble out, unable to hold back my need for him any longer. But everything is happening at once and I just can’t quite believe it, so my mouth moves rapidly in an effort to make sense of things, to somehow try and express how I feel. What occurred just before he drew the bath is still as fresh as ever in my mind.

“Really, really nice—”At the first brush of his hand against my breast I instinctually freeze up, once again, but then the sensation as he lightly brushes over my hardened nipple overpowers any of the fears I would otherwise dwell on.

“Harry,” I gasp, inhaling his name while nearly overwhelmed by these new sensations that he is stirring within me, and I tilt my head back again to rest against his chest.

He lightly nips at the flesh of my neck while huskily murmuring my name in return, strangled and just barely restrained. Still, he remains cautious, though I hear a smirk in his voice that tells me he already knows the answer to his next question. “You’re okay with this?”

“Yes,” I say, releasing my lip from where I’d been biting it in my struggle not to let a whimper slip when his free hand trails from my waist down farther, coming to rest on my inner thigh. I hold onto his arm, frozen, waiting for him to continue, and yet my mouth cannot stop, thinking he wants to hear my consent aloud. “Yes, yes. I’m okay with this.”

He’s holding back—it’s entirely obvious to see, even as his large palm cups the curve of my breast, having taken my nipple between his fingers. A tendril of pleasure shoots straight to my core at his actions, and as soon as he pulls away from my neck I turn to the side, craning in desperate search to connect my mouth with his. I meet him with surprising force, and he returns the heated lock with untamed inhibition.

“Hell, you are so fucking beautiful,” he groans out after rearing back to breathe, and hungrily drinks in the sight of me before him, exposed from the chest up with one of my hand desperately reaching to hold onto his neck—I don’t even remember doing that. He looks at me with hooded eyes and lust clouded vision, mouth ghosting over mine as he speaks in rough, gravelly tones.

“I can’t touch you,” he says next, clearly pained. “Because if I do I won’t be able to hold back, and you’re fragile right now. Not tonight.”

It’s hard for me to catch my breath for a good minute. I all but huff and puff at what he only just started—or continued from where we left off—at what he’s only just begun to unleash on me.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes in a purr, leaving light kisses to my jaw after he removes his hands, going back to circle around my waist. My rational mind understands what he means and why, that he can’t touch me where his hand had been paused so close to at my thigh. I nod shakily, too, because now I understand. Why he stopped us from going too far, because I am worked up enough as it stands.

Gingerly, he traces along the contour of my hips, head still bowed and resting against the side of mine while he waits patiently for me to fully come back to my senses, to think past all the fog he created in my mind where all I want is more of his touch, everywhere.

“Sorry,” I stammer now myself, realizing that I also had a small part to place in this latest encounter, having practically begged him on, trying to minimize the distance between us with only more intimacy while his hands stroked my back. At the time it seemed like nothing more than my body’s reaction to him, but it was a subconscious invitation. And even if given the time back I would not retract it. Hell, the only reason I’d want the time back is to relive it, experience it again. “I—I got a little carried away there.”

I keep reminding myself of the doctor’s orders, and that even though in the heat of the moment I convinced myself it wouldn’t be taxing to my injury, it might have been if it went any further. Anything more than what Harry just gave me would have been, without doubt, the definition of ‘overwhelming’.

“No, don’t do that,” he refuses firmly. “Don’t ever hold back on me, baby.”

A fierce, heated blush encompasses me, Harry never one to leave anything unsaid. “Just wait,” he says the words cheekily but his voice is husky, expressive of just how much of a promise it really is. “I won’t be able to keep control myself for much longer, not when I’ve got you like this.”

With a breathy, shy giggle I lightly smack his bicep. “I think we’ll survive.”

“I hope,” he jokes, smirk now strained, and I am clued in to what he means when I still feel him again my lower back. Crap—well, now I feel bad. Like a tease, even though he was the one to partake in most of the actual teasing. I quietly mouth another quick “sorry,” to which he only shakes his head again.

“Trust me, I quite enjoyed that. Don’t apologize.”

Finally, while still feeling an aching, ever present need pressed low in my belly, I have come back totally from the spell that Harry cast over me so effortlessly.

After kissing him gently once more, the bath continues, and we mostly keep our hands to ourselves. It’s difficult at first, but soon we fall back into our easy, peaceful companionship, and it’s all too easy to relax. Just before we get out he guides me forward and then back so I lean and find support on his knees, and he very slowly and gently washes my hair. It’s so soothing that I almost fall asleep here once more, here in his hold, and it takes me a moment to become fully aware once we do finally vacate the tub.

Just as he did before, he is sure I come to no risk of falling. He steps out first, wraps a towel around his waist, and then holds out another one for me. I slowly stand and, smiling softly, he wraps the plush towel around me and helps me out after I adjust it under my arms.

Guiding me to sit on the edge of the bathtub, he presses a kiss to my forehead and murmurs that he’ll be right back. It feels like only moments before he returns, but being so sleepy it wouldn’t be a surprise to me if he’d been gone a little longer.

I look up in slight surprise, however, when I see him carrying my overnight bag upon his return. The one that was left at Vivian’s after we hastily left—or rather Harry did, with a non-compliant me in his arms. It didn’t even cross my mind what I would wear tonight, with my old clothing now tossed in the hamper.

“I called Vivian earlier,” he explains. The only time he could have done that was while he was drawing the bath; he must have been quite busy to do all of that in such a short amount of time. “Let her know you were alright. She offered to drop off your bag after we forgot it.”

At the mention of today’s earlier events, he looks at me humorously, no doubt having recalled past all the emotional moments to when he and I argued, and that I’d been so stubborn, and him even more so. But because of that it all came together so beautifully, and after being so truthful, our relationship feels stronger than ever.

With the small shake of my head, I laugh softly. Today has been incredibly long and taxing, the start of it terrifyingly bad, but I’m happy I ended up here with Harry. That I finally told him. That I didn’t run from him again, and now we’re better for it.

‘Today… today’s been a little crazy, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, darling,” he agrees easily. I’m busy picking out the pair of cotton shorts and a tank top that Vivian packed for me to sleep in. “It’s been a very long day. And now I want you to get some rest.”

It doesn’t take long for me to change—Harry turns to give me some privacy though it wouldn’t have perturbed me if he didn’t—and it’s a small surprise when I find that I can walk on my own as we go back to the bedroom, even while so tired. It looks like the effects of the fall are starting to wear off a little more after all.

Even so, he still keeps a cautious hold around my waist just in case, and I can’t help but to smile sleepily at all of his concern. When I fall into bed at the side closest to the bathroom door, I start slightly when I feel Harry climb on top of me. With my face buried in the pillow I had no warning of his actions. He straddles my upper thighs, sure not to lean any of his weight on me.

“Told you I’d take care of you,” is his only explanation, warm hands slipping underneath my top to caress my back. He’s massaging my back. He must have noticed, earlier, how relaxing it was when he did the same in the bathtub. The tank top is pushed as far as it can go up my back, and then his hands fall back into their hypnotic, soothing patterns all across my skin.

“I love you,” I murmur groggily one last time, meaning it with all I have in me. It comes out slightly slurred and muffled by the pillow, but Harry whispers it in return. Quietly, because from how much I have unwound, he must suspect me to be close to sleep now. Finally.

Eventually, I wake to him sliding into bed next to me. It’s a bit of a surprise to my tired mind, but then reason with myself that I must have nodded off. He, quite literally, put me to sleep. That is a feat no one else has ever been capable of.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers again, gently pulling me onto my side and close to him. “Let’s get some rest.”

Notes

Holy crap... holy crap. That actually happened. All I can say is wow, because none of this chapter was planned and it took me by total surprise. Once the idea of the bath got in my head I couldn't not write it, and I hope you guys liked it! It's also seriously long, but I didn't want to break it up and leave it off in an awkward place, so tonight you have about 12,000 words to read!

So things are becoming more and more intimate, as I mentioned earlier. Though it wasn't much I figured it would be safest to give a warning before the chapter! I will keep doing that, just in case :)

There's both some fairly huge drama and a steamier moment in the next chapter. Some of Harry's past will be revealed, too, and I can't wait for you to read it! If you have a moment or two, I'd appreciate it so much if you left a comment! What you thought of this chapter, predictions for what is to come, or any random thoughts on this fic in general... I'd love to hear any of what you have to say!

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