Inherent

The drive north is peaceful, if not a little anticipant. Next to Harry, ever the careful driver who (mostly) keeps focussed on the road, I can’t seem to stop fidgeting. He notices, but knows very well it isn’t over anything negative. I’m just excited; for once, I cannot wait for the stress-free time we need together. But as we come closer and closer to our destination, I take note that Harry seems to grow nervous too. Not in an obvious way, but his hands subtly tighten on the steering wheel before he switches the car into a lower gear and slows to the new speed limit. Then he does what has become habit, nearly a need. His hand reaches over from the gearshift to envelop one of mine. Warm and comforting resting on my thigh, I smile and glance at him knowingly.

“Are we almost there?” I keep my tone light and playful.

We’re in a higher class quiet suburb. There are trees lining every street, much greener and more natural than Chicago’s mostly cement cityscape. Even more so than the simplistic landscaping surrounding my home, too, and it feels like we’ve travelled much farther to get here than the simple thirty minute drive. This is the community that people come to when they want quiet, none of the chaos that comes with living in such a large city. Families come here to live, to grow, because if their work is in Chicago the daily commute is still easily doable.

It’s a beautiful place to live.

“Almost. Just a few minutes, Angel. Are you tired?”

I am, but I shake my head all while trying not to blush and let show the warmth that courses through me at his use of the pet name. “Nope. Are you?”

Last night we stayed up fairly late. Cuddling, watching some movie which I hadn’t bothered to pay attention to, and too caught up in Harry to care. We were both up early today, however. Harry even earlier than me. Add that to the stress and trauma of this morning and I am exhausted. I can’t imagine how drained he must be. In truth, all I want to do tonight is see the house and then relax. Fall asleep in Harry’s arms. Nothing would make me happier.

Soon the sun will begin to set, and as we continue to drive through the pretty neighbourhood, a comforting sense of peace comes over me.

He shakes his head, too, with a small though strained smile, and we both know we’re lying. For each other’s sake. Something tells me, though, that he has the same plan for tonight as I do. I also have a fair idea where Harry’s sudden rare bout of nerves might stem from.

“We could roll up on a shack and I would be totally content,” I decide to jest, and grin when he visibly relaxes into his seat with a light chuckle and the loosening of his hand on mine to an easy, comforting hold.

“Good. That means you won’t mind the outhouse, either?”

Through a giggle, I respond to his deep chuckled question with more banter. “Gee, I wasn’t even expecting that. We’re movin’ on up.”

There’s a hint of relief in his new bout of laughter and I know I have reassured him without have to confront the issue head on. Which, sometimes like this, is a good thing. A better thing, one that puts us both more at ease. Harry and I are a little bit different in this respect; with me, it's best to try and get to the head of the issue, no beating around the bush. But with Harry, sometimes it's best to subtly solve whatever problem there might be.

Most of all, I feel relief. All I am concerned with is the present, the hope that this weekend is bringing. We need some time to ourselves and decompress, to be together unhindered. Worry-free. We haven’t had that in so long.

As we travel farther east into the suburbs—and even closer to the lake—Harry glances over to me while stopped at a quiet intersection. Much quieter than the streets I’m used to driving at home, there aren’t even any other cars; I think he just stopped because he could.

“The house is just around the corner.”

I can’t help it. I get excited, really excited, because I know what this place means to him, and what he wants it to mean to me. My free hand comes over his, absently plays with the rings adorning his fingers, and I try not to look too giddy. This weekend is going to be amazing, I’m sure of it.

Before moving from the empty intersection, he stares at me for a moment longer, and I know he has something else on his mind. “Promise me one thing,” he requests softly. At my confident nod, he continues. “Don’t overthink anything. No worrying about anything, alright?”

Like that first night at the Uptown theatre, he is asking for my trust. He is asking for me to let go of all my reservations, fears of what could be taking place at home in the city, and to fully be with him here, in the present. And that is something I don’t have a problem with at all. Hell, that’s what I have been doing anyway.

If memory serves me correctly we have already talked about this. Yesterday he asked me the same thing, so I know it must mean a lot to him. Just as much as all the other promises we have made to each other.

With a soft look in his direction, I counter his promise. “Only if you do the same.”

Harry breaks into a breathtaking, genuinely happy smile that is so contagious a light giggle erupts from me. “I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Styles.”

His eyes flash playfully, and I jump when his thumb tickles the palm of my hand. “Alright. Let’s get a good look at our little love shack, shall we?”

I full on laugh, all while quietly taking note of his use of ‘our’ instead of ‘his’, and the term love shack ends up making my cheeks heat in a flush I just know that he notices. Judging from his sly smirk that overtakes his smile, he’d said it just to see my reaction.

Lips pursed and trying hard not to egg him on, I heartily agree.

When the car moves from the intersection and down a quiet street, my breath is stolen. Harry points it out with a soft “here it is,” but I already know anyway.

Hidden away under the private cover of mature trees and up a long cobblestoned drive, a large brick house spreads across the front of the expansive property. The house is older, perhaps having been built as early as the nineteen thirties, and while vastly updated and kept up, it still manages to maintain an enchanting vintage feel. The immaculate landscaping only accentuates it all.

“Holy crap…” I draw out the two words under my breath, but Harry catches it. He smirks in satisfaction. “So, I’m guessing the outhouse is around back?”

This is all I can say when he parks by the front door after being totally silent the whole way up the drive, stunned and awed by its beauty, by the fact that Harry wants this house for us, for it to be our home, even if just ‘to get away’. Personally, I believe a beautiful home like this would be wasted if it isn’t enjoyed year-round, and somehow I think he knows that, too.

His infectious, bellowed laughter picks up at my remark, and his next words are said through lingering chuckles as he stares over at me in the same wonder his eyes always hold when he looks at me. And, like usual, I totally melt under the attention. “I love you.”

He had to remove his hand from mine to park, but upon hearing this I instantly reach for him. He meets me halfway and takes my hand in both of his, brings it up to lay delicate kisses to my knuckles with his eyes hooded as he looks at me, the love and affection in his eyes overwhelmingly welcomed.

“I love you too,” I utter, soft as my eyes flutter at the feather light contact of his mouth against my skin. Tugging me forward, his lips touch mine in an even lighter, teasing kiss. “There is something special in the backyard for you, but I want you to see the inside first.”

I’m unbuckling my seatbelt and opening the door before he can say anything more, but not without stealing another quick, slightly deeper kiss from him. I exit the car in a fit of giggles as he shouts for me to wait for him, and I do so while bouncing on my heels out of pure anticipation.

The look in his eyes as he slowly gets out and stares at me from over the car is indescribable, but his beautiful smile tells me that whatever he’s feeling is good.

“I love seeing you like this.” The admission comes when he loops his arm around my waist, and he bends some to speak it close to my ear. I pause my hurried walk toward the door and look up at him in question.

“Like what?”

“Happy,” he declares. It hits me that I really am. In this moment and with him, I am happy. So happy it’s ridiculous, the absolute best kind of happiness. The kind I longed for, for so long. I found that happiness in Harry, and now—finally—it is held tightly, not pushed away like I tried so hard to do in the beginning.

With his help, I realized one thing: I am deserving of this feeling, of happiness, every day.

And I also realized that to be this happy, he has to be in my life.

His hold tightens around my waist to pull me closer, and I melt into his side even more. It’s obvious he likes to indulge me during times like this, when I’m letting down my guard for him more than ever, allowing myself. The truth is I am so excited, apprehensive because this house surely costs way, way too much money for me to ever consider, but I want this weekend to be worry free. We can figure out what the heck we’re going to do about that later.

For right now, for this weekend, I am beyond excited. Because this place could mark the start of a real life with Harry, a permanent place in his. And god, do I want that. I revel in this moment, because it isn’t often I feel such uninhibited happiness.

“Come on, Gorgeous,” he says after we climb the pretty stone steps that lead to the huge, wooden French doors. For a moment I stand there patiently, inhaling the scent of freshly cut grass and potent yet pleasant pine—the earthy smell of being surrounded by a miniature forest. Adding to that, I swear waves can be heard from the lake.

An incredible atmosphere.

Even from the outside I know already that this is my dream house. If not for the beautiful location, it reminds me of Dad’s cabin. Except much larger, way more luxurious—all while maintaining a lovely rustic charm. What I don’t want to think about, again, is how much a place like this… in such a lovely neighbourhood north of Chicago, is worth. This is a place where wealthy families come to settle down, or for anyone who prefers to stay on the fringe of the fast-paced city life. It is one of the most sought after neighbourhoods this part of Illinois.

Harry’s hand is poised on the large brass door handle, having just unlocked it with a key he’d already had on his keychain, and my attention snaps to him when I realize he is looking back at me. Having been so caught up in just the outside alone, I didn’t notice that he was waiting. He is full on grinning now, most likely having no doubts whatsoever just from my reaction. That I absolutely love it.

“This is beautiful. Unbelievable.”

Much like The Uptown. Harry likes this place just as much as I do. It’s far too nice for it to simply be a getaway. Out here it feels like I can breathe. Far away from danger, from past memories, this feels like a fresh start. One I want almost desperately.

I wonder, somewhat wistfully, if he is picturing himself living here with me. Because that’s exactly what I am doing right now—living, spending my days here and going to sleep with him every night.

Crap. Longing for a house I might not be able to afford in ten years—this can’t end well.

“Hold on.” His hand falls from the door and he draws closer, takes my hands in each of his and holds them between us. “One more thing.”

“Shoot,” I reply immediately, eyes wide with anticipation, and meet his softened gaze. He smiles at this—because at one point in time, getting me to agree to anything at all was like pulling teeth.

A lot has obviously changed. For the better.

Despite my easygoing demeanour, I feel how serious he is, and listen carefully, devoting my full attention to him. “Don't overthink it.”

If I didn’t have déjà vu before, I certainly do now. On our first date he asked me to make that very promise. And that turned out to be one of the best decisions I’d ever made, one of the most fun, exhilarating nights of my life. One I would never forget.

And I have this feeling—that this weekend will be the same.

All the promises we have made each other have only done us a world of good. Each time I came out stronger, a better person.

Despite my easygoing reply I feel how serious he is, and devote my full attention to him. My total, honest sincerity. Of course I have no issue agreeing—every part of me actually wants to.

“For the whole weekend?” I ask playfully with feigned doubt. His eyes linger on my small smirk, which only makes heat spread through my body. This is very quickly turning flirtatious, which is a far cry from how I felt this morning. I feel lifted. Hopeful. Happy—to be here with Harry.

“Yes,” he rumbles out the word as he pulls me closer, leaning down to brush his lips over mine in an equally playful, teasing kiss. One I return easily, one that he instantly deepens, and my body melts into his, my hand coming to rest on his chest. It rises and falls against my hand slow and steady, lets me know he is okay now, too. That he has made the same promise as well.

“I think I can do that,” I agree softly upon pulling away some, only for him to lightly nip my bottom lip and his hand tightens at my waist in protest. The abrupt sensation causes my breath to hitch, and I feel him smirk knowingly against my mouth. “Good. Just me and you this weekend. No one—nothing else.”

“That’s all I want,” I exhale, my fingers clutching his t-shirt, our torsos flush against each other. The air thickens with subdued, but long-present sexual tension. Major sexual tension—which I have pretended wasn’t there for the most part, but that is becoming harder and harder to achieve. Especially when he insists on kissing me whenever possible… especially after the other night.

Now, it’s impossible to deny.

“Come on.” He clears his throat, tucks me back into his side, and opens the door. “I have half a mind to show you the master bedroom first.”

I can’t help it—I laugh. I laugh because he is such a man, and it’s also nice to know he is feeling the exact same things I am. He shakes his head at my light chuckling response, a smirk perking his own plump lips.

The second I lay eyes on the inside instead of being enamoured with Harry, however, I am rendered speechless, whatever witty banter on the tip of my tongue totally lost.

The foyer alone is huge, its open space immediately lending to a grand staircase off to the side that winds up in a curve of regal dark antique wood, and beyond that an entertainment area. From here I see a baby grand piano and a large, luxurious living room behind it. The ceilings are high, so high that one would have to crane their neck just for the hell of it. And the walls, which are coloured canary yellow if not a hair darker, are fully decorated in elaborate white frame molding that wraps around the entire vast space, right up to the ceiling.

Beyond where I am stood, frozen and gobsmacked, I see the beginnings of a kitchen off to the left.

“Jesus.”

Harry laughs, but I can’t even find that in me.

“Oh my god, Harry.”

“Is that a good ‘oh my god’, or a bad one?” I laugh when he mimics my tone and accent near perfectly.

“A good one. Definitely a good one.”

Unable to stand the distance between us, I all but gravitate toward him and lace my fingers through his, my smile so big it all but splits my cheeks. It’s so hard to rein myself in, my appreciation of this gorgeous house, and I don’t even want to. I want to enjoy this moment in all its purity—and, as promised, not overthink.

My sandals clap against the aged, beautiful dark hardwood floor once we come off the rug placed in front of the French doors, and I take a moment to admire them as well, pausing in my excited near-jog. Harry goes along with all of this, watching me closely with a dazzling smile, and seems to be in no hurry.

In fact, he looks to be more excited about my reaction than the actual house.

Hand gently encased over mine, Harry leads me straight from the foyer and through the living area. I pass by the piano and silently gaze at it in awe, and then my eyes catch the large windows that span up at least two storeys, the intricate white frame surrounding all of them. A beautiful chandelier hangs overhead, unlit for now in the daylight but is absolutely gorgeous, and to the left a vast stone fireplace takes up over half the wall. It appears to be working, as it should in such a luxurious place, but the thought of curling up on the couch with Harry in front of the fire is almost too much to handle. Above the wide mantel a large TV is hung against the stone that runs from the fireplace all the way up to the ceiling.

“Is—is this place for real?” My dazed question comes after he guides me out the sliding glass door, straight onto a patio. From here, all that can be heard is the soft rustle of light wind through trees and beyond that, the lake. “Are we really staying here?”

It’s almost too good to be true. And the fact that Harry is interested in purchasing this borderline mansion of a home?

Hell, alright. It is a mansion. There’s no use in denying it, as much as it causes a nervous sweat to break out over my forehead.

“Yes, darling. It is very much for real.” I almost choke with laughter because of his prim and proper accent, and how he uses to mock my own in good-natured humour. “And we are staying for the weekend. Actually, as long as you like.”

Hell.

As if he knows that I might be freaking out just a little at the size and sheer extravagance of this beautiful home, he tugs me forward, and soon I discover what is perhaps his best kept secret about the whole thing: a set of wooden stairs, which look a little aged but gorgeous because of it, that lead down through a thicket of vegetation to a beach. Of white sand that looks perfect for sinking your toes into, and it leads directly to the shore of the lake.

When we descend the long stairway, Harry smiles when I kick off my sandals and step onto the sand, which has warmed from the full day of sun. It feels just as heavenly as I thought it would.

Without even thinking, I turn toward him and instantly reach my arms around his neck, standing on the tips of my toes to deliver an enthusiastic, grateful, and loving kiss. His hands instinctually comes around my waist, and he returns the kiss without thought. We melt into each other, and he chuckles against my mouth when my feet end up sinking into the sand and he has to bend farther to keep the connection, hand gently pushing on the small of my back so my hips end up meeting his.

“Thank you,” I breathe, peppering his mouth with light, appreciative kisses. “Thank you so much for doing this, Harry.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” he murmurs upon pulling away just a few inches, the jade of his eyes more intense than ever under the light of the sun. The breath is nearly knocked clear out of me. “You deserve all of this and more. Much more than I could ever give you.”

“Shh,” I admonish, frowning. “You’ve given me more since we met than—than I could have ever hoped for. You’ve made me so incredibly happy, Harry. It’s mind-blowing.”

On a returned mischievous grin, he mutters out his reply before swooping down to steal another deep kiss. “You’re mind-blowing, my love.”

A little later, after showing me through three other bedrooms and several entirely too grand and luxurious bathrooms with tubs in them that I could soak in until turning into a human prune, we end up in the master bedroom just as he joked about earlier. Except, after having a tour of the entire house with Harry being amused whenever I couldn’t help but ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ over nearly everything, we are both tired.

More than tired, actually.

The bed might genuinely be the largest I have ever seen in person, its rich dark wooden headboard up against a light cream coloured wall with floor to ceiling windows facing the lake on either side of it.

This is where it starts—or, rather, this is where all the tension and need come to a head. I can tell, in how his touch lingers over my hip as he bends over the side of the bed to kiss me, that he is restraining himself from deepening it. He is restraining himself, as usual, but I sense just how frustrated he might be underneath that. Intimately.

Tonight—tonight, I kind of want to do something to combat that frustration. I just don’t know exactly what, and I don’t know how to verbalize that desire.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he murmurs against my mouth, eyelids fluttering as I attempt to lean up and reach his retreating lips. When he smirks knowingly and pulls away anyway, I grab his hand to keep him close and pout playfully, for once feeling a little brazen. Already I can feel my cheeks heating with the thoughts that are racing through my mind. “What, baby?” He asks softly, peering down at me with half-lidded, desired coated eyes.

Shy though determined, I continue to pout and crook my finger for him to come closer.

His mouth twitches as he tries to conceal his smile, brows pulled together, and inches nearer. He stops at that, however, which causes me to frown in frustration.

“Closer.”

A few more inches, and then he halts again.

And though he retains that ever present, remarkable amount of self-control, I catch his gaze darken further at my one worded order. Well—from me, it was more of a quiet polite request, but still. My position (albeit unintentional, despite my intent) spread out on the bed telling him to come hither is more than a little suggestive.

It’s only a small game for me at first, a little experimentation, getting more and more comfortable with trying these new things with him. With going out of my comfort zone, only to find it doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all. In fact, I want nothing more than to continue. To Harry it is clearly a game too, of self-restraint, while having a little fun while we’re at it—he will inch a little more toward me and then stop, eyebrows teasingly raised, but I do notice that his breath hitches once before asking, “this close enough, baby?”

There’s a rough note to his tone, lets me know that this isn’t really that much of a game at all for him. Nor is it for me.

I shake my head.

Finally he bends, relenting to my obvious hint of just how close I want him, but stops halfway. To the point where I could reach up and pull him down if I feel so inclined. Instead, I release a light huff, sigh and bat my eyelashes until he sits at the edge of the bed next to me, leaning to hover over my form, his arm stretched to rest on my other side. “How about now?”

“Almost there,” I say in a small voice, breathless but hoping like hell it comes out as confident as I want it to.

After another twitching smirk, he leans until his mouth just barely brushes mine. Not being able to resist any longer, I reach to tangle my fingers through the silky hair at the back of his head, and lightly push until I can lay a soft kiss to his lips. Despite our little game, of Harry playing hard to get, he instantly deepens the kiss, takes my mouth fully in an intense connection that has my mouth opening for his tongue.

“Wanted a shower,” he says quietly upon pulling away, appearing to have to force himself to do so. But the words are soaked in that same desire I see in his eyes, now locked intensely with mine. “Now I just want to stay n’ kiss you.”

“So stay.”

He stays.

The moment I utter those two words his mouth returns, and he finally pulls his legs up onto the bed. More focussed on each caress of his soft lips against mine, I hardly notice that he is moving us until I drop my head back on a pillow to peer around half dazedly, seeing that we’re now in the middle of the bed and he is hovering over me, his elbows supporting his weight on either side of my arms while his knees rest beside mine. Through all of this he is incredibly gentle, his hands remaining at my waist, undoubtedly conscious of today’s events, how fragile I might feel, but he really doesn’t need to be.

Physically I feel fine—mostly. And while the day’s revelations might have served as a huge emotional shock to know that someone so close to me, even Alex, could do something so horrible, it doesn’t affect me. Or rather I won’t let it. Because I won’t allow him that kind of control over my life, or let him ruin what will surely be a perfect weekend with Harry.

I am barely aware, focussed on the brush of his tongue against mine, but my body quickly complies when his knee nudges my legs apart and he comes to rest between them. Upon abruptly becoming aware of his arousal, pressed against my core, a whimper falls from my mouth, and is taken by his own. Flashbacks of that night just a few days ago instantly assault every one of my senses, remembering the way he made me feel with the most intimate yet simplest of touches, his touch.

If possible, an even bigger fire is set within me. My hips unconsciously thrust up to meet his, and Harry whispers out a soft curse after abruptly disconnecting his mouth from mine, dipping his head to nip at the underside of my jaw. I gasp, and my hands instantly go on their own search to feel more of him. Up the hem of his shirt and along the firm planes of his toned abdomen, my fingers trace every muscle until he is tensing, shuddering on top of me.

“Jules.” His voice is rough. My insides melt even more when he calls me this. “If you don’t want this to go farther, we have to slow down.”

Tonight is different. Tonight, he is giving me the option of not stopping. All along he has read me so very easily, been able to tell I wasn’t ready to explore more than the moment he took things down a notch. And that is something I have always been so incredibly thankful for, the amount of thought and care he puts forth to ensure I am comfortable, that I only have the very best of experiences with him.

Every one has been amazing, and they only seem to get better and better than the last.

So a trill runs through me, because tonight, he thinks otherwise. He is putting out there the option of continuing. Perhaps he believes I am ready, as ready as I feel. My heart flutters in anticipation anyway but damn, that is expected. Harry is just so beautiful, so handsome and intense and when he is intimate, he is intimate. And the thought of exploring more of those intimate moments with him has my blood heating that much more.

As I stutter my next words, I am sure. I might sound uncertain, but that is only because I am truly clueless as to how to continue. Like all the other times, I’m hoping he picks up on this and gives me the guidance I need.

“I know. But I—I want to.”

He catches the direction of my downward gaze, and his breath hitches as his eyes flash with heat. Unrestrained heat. “What is it you want, baby?”

Albeit with a good amount of hesitance, my hand slowly draws down toward the waistband of his jeans. He sharply inhales once more, removes his own touch from underneath my shirt to place his hand over mine. “Are you sure?”

To this I nod, decisive yet too shy to verbalize my desires.

“You have to tell me, Jules…” he glances down, eyes intense with both lust and restraint, to where my hand is, to where it wants to go. “You have to tell me what it is exactly you want.”

Saying it out loud might scare me off—he is right in thinking that. Or rather, it would have if it was any other man laying over me but him. Underneath Harry, I feel totally safe, at ease (still more than a little timid but utterly willing past that), and I want to try. Try something more, to take another step.

“I want to make you feel, how I felt…”

His heady gaze traps mine the moment this statement leaves my mouth and his head snaps back up to peer at me. A ghost of a smile tips his lips, and he keeps his eyes locked with me for a long, intense moment, silently trying to judge if I really am as ready as I say I am. Past that, I see the clear desire he attempts to keep such a tight rein on. For so long now he has held back, and held back a lot, for my comfort. Now, I want him to finally let go.

“Are you sure?”

Despite the small amount of nerves, I want this. I want for him to feel as amazing as he made me feel, and I want to share that experience with him—I want to be the one who causes him to come totally undone, too. He watches as my lips are taken between my teeth and I nod, murmuring out a “yes.”

Controlled as ever, he lowers his head and his mouth takes mine. Kissing me, firm, letting some of his desire slip that he has kept a tight fist holding back. I sigh, and unable to keep my other hand from exploring, I end up bashfully tugging on the edge of his shirt. At this he pulls away marginally, and lightly nibbles at my bottom lip before speaking, soft yet rough. “You want to try something new tonight?” I nod again, cheeks heating, because he knows exactly what I am referring to. “Any time you want to stop, just say the word, baby. Understand?”

Now faced with a new set of dilemmas, I hesitantly nod once more before struggling to find my voice. He takes this as hesitance and pauses in the middle of pulling his shirt up over his head, bunched up around his neck, and I only end up smiling. He begins to shake his head, however, all while wearing that soft smile that causes wild flutters in my belly. If I wasn’t totally decided before, then I certainly am now. Harry is, without doubt, the most patient man on earth.

“I’m sure. I understand.” Sensing that I have more to say he nods, all while shifting on his elbow and actually looking a little strained. I realize, belatedly, that his hand still holds mine at the waist of his pants, and that yeah, this might be more difficult than ever for him.

So I quietly, shyly admit my slight issue. “I just—I kind of, don’t really know. What to do.”

With the softest look in his eyes I think I have ever seen, he nods in understanding. “I can show you, Jules. If you want me to.”

“Please,” I release my held breath in relief, and he chuckles quietly.

“Let’s get rid of this shirt, first.” And he does. My hands fall from him and soon, the shirt is discarded in a quick toss somewhere on the floor. Upon turning back to me, his lips part and his eyebrows pull together. And though nervous, it really is hard not to smile. Any other man might have just jumped right into it, but Harry? His eyes, hooded, intensify. “This is at your pace.”

“I know, Harry,” I say, and quite boldly, my hand reaches to where it formerly occupied. His own finds mine halfway, and after another brief pause where he holds eye contact with me, with his hand over mine he slowly guides my touch to the visible strain at his crotch. As soon as my hand touches his hardening length, even through his jeans, his biceps tighten and he hisses out a breath right as I sharply take one in, shocked at such an intense reaction from this slight of a touch. A heat quickly begins to grow at my core, and my own eyes are lidded as I look up to him questioningly.

I get the idea when his hand presses harder, and I apply some light pressure. “Is—is this okay?” I ask, my voice the epitome of hapless virgin.

But Harry, on a disbelieving smile, murmurs out a strained “yes.”

For a moment he closes his eyes, presses his hips into my hand, and I can only watch, totally enthralled. He releases a breathy groan.

Only a moment later his gaze slowly slides up from where they were focussed heatedly on my hand. “I want to take off your shirt, baby. But, I… I want you to understand that, I don’t want us to go that far tonight.”

Instantly, admittedly a little eagerly, I nod in understanding. “I know, Harry. I just want to make you feel good.”

Finally, I get the whole sentence out without stuttering. That’s got to count for something.

He groans at hearing me say this again, deep and low in his chest. It sends a shiver straight through me, and intensifies the heat.

“Fuck, Jules. You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” His quiet, heated statement hits me right between my legs, sending trills of excitement through me. Moments later, my shirt promptly joins his on the floor. Bottom lip harshly taken between his teeth, I can’t help the heat that rushes up my neck and onto my face when I see his gaze trained intensely on my breasts, covered by my bra. He seems content to leave it on, so I don’t want to ruin the moment by asking—well, actually, he most likely wouldn’t say no to taking it off, I realize with an inward wry smile.

Any amusement at the situation is promptly snuffed when his head dips, and he mouths over the swell of my breasts, hand reaching to cup one through my bra while his teeth lightly scrape against the other in such exquisite way that it causes me to whimper.

“You’re so beautiful,” he groans, leans up again to press his forehead against mine. I breathe out shakily. “Jules, do you want to take off my pants, or should I?”

“I want to,” I respond, but end up fumbling to take down his fly, the act so intimate I can barely handle it, it’s almost overwhelming. In the very best, most erotic kind of way. With a soft and contained chuckle he ends up having to help me pop the button when my fingers just don’t seem to know what the hell to do. I sincerely hope they don’t keep doing that, especially with what I’ve got in mind.

When his jeans are open and the waistband of his Calvin Klein underwear is visible, he once again pauses. “Are you alright with this?”

He’s asking if I want to continue. Even now, with his pants nearly off, he still maintains control.

I want to see him finally relinquish that, and I want to be the one to help him get there.

“Yes,” I reply, softer, fully realizing this moment and what it is for us. A moment of trust, of exploration, and of love.

“Then relax, baby. Tell me what it is you’re worried about. Are you sure you’re ready?”

Damn. Yes, I am ready. “I want this, Harry. I’m just afraid that—that maybe I won’t, you know, um—do this, right.”

My stuttered explanation causes another heat in my cheeks, but one that is no comparison to the slow burn deep in my belly.

“Jules, look at me.” I didn’t even realize that my vision is trained on his shoulder, an innocent part of the anatomy that doesn’t cause me to worry too much about what exactly I’m about to do. Slowly, I raise my gaze to meet his. With his weight still resting on one elbow, he raises his free hand to push my hair back behind my ear, his touch gentle. “I love you. My love for you is so intense it feels like I can’t even contain it. Don’t worry about doing this right, because whichever way you do, it is the right way. As long as it’s you.”

It feels like the very best kick to the gut one could ever receive. Totally winded by what is easily the sweetest thing he has ever told me, I dazedly murmur out that I love him too, all while tracing the tips of my fingers up his jaw.

“Do you trust me?” I nod. “Okay. Good, because I trust you too. And unless you don’t want this, then, if you want, we can continue.”

He’s right. I really do trust him—hell, with my life. This moment, no matter how new and foreign to me, is more than enthralling. He trusts me enough to bare himself in such a vulnerable way, a way that he never has before. Yes, it is my first time pleasuring him, but it isn’t as if I am as totally inexperienced as I was when we first met. I have seen him nude, we’ve bathed together, and he’s given me the same pleasure that I now want to give him.

As an extremely clear, very thorough answer, I reach up to press my lips against his.

I’m game—still admittedly nervous I might royally screw this up somehow, but I’m game.

Slowly the shaking in my hands lessens, my breathing evens out, and while opening my mouth to allow another soft brush of his tongue, I slowly push the jeans down his hips. I pull away a few inches so he can shimmy out of them totally. On a soft exhale, the boyish grin he suddenly gives me is equally as breathtaking as every other little thing he has done in these last few moments. “I’m almost naked, Jules.”

My returned laugh is a little breathless, too. “Trust me, I’m aware.”

For some reason his laugh dies at this, and his eyes darken with an untamed craving that I have only ever seen so unhinged very few times until now. He kisses me, surging forward, his mouth plunging onto mine with a delicious fervor that has us both sighing, grasping, whimpering in moments.

And when he pulls away again, he locks his eyes with mine as he slowly, testingly, thumbs the waistband of his underwear. I hesitantly glance down to see his length slowly become exposed as he pushes his boxers down his thighs.

The only time I’ve seen Harry nude, well, he… hadn’t been excited at the time. Even then his size was impressive, if not slightly intimidating, but now—it practically stuns me.

My tongue darts out to wet my bottom lip before biting down on it, not finding myself scared away, but intrigued.

“Still want this?” He asks, throaty and quiet, sounding on the very edge of his control.

I nod. “You’ll… show me what to do, right? I don’t want to hurt you.”

I look up in confusion when I feel his shoulders shake, only to see him silently laughing, mirth in his eyes. “Trust me, Angel. You won’t hurt me.”

As he says this, he gently takes hold of my hand again and guides it downward, harshly chewing his lip, and his entire body tenses the moment our hands wrap around him. I gasp, and then hold my breath altogether when me moves my hand up, and then back down. When he speaks, the words are rough and choppy.

“Just touch me, Jules. All you have to do is touch me, and I’ll be the most satisfied man on earth.”

His hand lets go of mine and I concentrate hard, replicating his movements, and as I bring my thumb up to caress the deep pink of his head, I hear the catch of his breath followed by a long, deep groan. I look up in time to see his eyes flutter closed, jaw ticking once as he swallows. He drops his head to glide his mouth down the column of my throat before laying kisses to my collarbone. Now I can’t see exactly what I am doing, but find that doesn’t hinder me at all. I gasp through a whimper when his sloppy, light kisses turn more intense, and he begins to suck at my pulse point—far away from the bruises on the sides of my neck.

It doesn’t escape my attention that he doesn’t do this long, either, not long enough to leave a mark.

“Just—just like that. You’re doing perfect, you’re so perfect, baby.” He rumbles this all out into the curve of my throat, breathless, and both his assurances and utter vulnerability urge me on. I continue my movements, repeating the ones that draw the most tantalizing of moans from his mouth, to feel the soft scrape of his teeth against my collar bone when he can’t help himself. Soon, he is lightly thrusting into my hand, now unable to hold himself back, and I know he is close.

“Christ, Jules,” he mutters, rears his head back to catch my mouth in a heavy kiss, thrusting his tongue to meet mine. Seeing Harry come undone like this, on top of me, his body covering mine, assaulting every one of my senses with his pleasure, is almost too much. He utterly surrounds me. “I’m close. I’m going to come.” He attempts to pull away, perhaps assumes that it might be too much for me, but I shake my head and with a hand pressed to his shoulder I pull him back.

“Harry, it’s okay.” The desire in his eyes intensifies, and it takes two more thrusts into my hand before the entire length of his body goes rigid, every muscle hard and unyielding as his pleasure overcomes him, as he finally allows himself to lose control.

Biting down on his bottom lip, his eyes don’t leave mine once as I feel him spill onto my belly, more passionate and intense than I’ve ever seen them as euphoria takes hold. His ragged breathing slows, and once he comes a little back to present, he swoops down to kiss me again—fervently, impassioned. In this moment I feel the craving, the hunger between us grow even stronger. I return the kiss with equal enthusiasm, bringing one hand up to gently pass through his hair while the other holds tight to his waist.

Slowly, after several minutes when our kisses become a little more docile, lazy, momentarily satisfied, his body relaxes and he breaks away to smile down at me, an affectionate twinkle in his eye. “I’m afraid I’ve made a bit of a mess on you. Let’s get cleaned up.”

Without another word, he swiftly stands from the bed, fully nude and unbothered by it, and gathers me into his arms, striding to the bathroom. And heck, I’m unperturbed by my bared chest, too. When we’re in the shower together, both of us somehow not cooled down by the water in the slightest, he wraps his arms around me from behind and whispers lowly into my ear. “Thank you for that, baby. But I do want you to know—I am not a selfish lover.”

I feel like he plans to prove that to me, sooner rather than later, and thoroughly.

Notes

Hi, I'm back! Pretty late, but here it is, and I sincerely, wholeheartedly apologize for the wait. You deserve better! I just got so terribly stuck. Usually I'm pretty good with avoiding writer's block but when it hits, it hits hard, and it took me a good few weeks to get out of this slump. No excuses, though. I hope this chapter makes up for the wait!

Okay. I wasn't sure whether to include this last part, or to just cut it off as Julia and Harry got in bed for the night, haha. But so much character development was to be had with it, so I decided to leave it in for anyone who is comfortable with reading it. I really really suck at writing these scenes, though, and I hope it wasn't too terrible!

So, what did you think?! This is only the start to their weekend, and yes, they will be going farther intimately and having their first time! Or at least, if you guys want to read that. As always I will mark that chapter with another warning. :) But what did you think, of the house, of Harry and Julia being so incredibly sweet with each other?! It's so cute, and I couldn't help myself with all the fluff. Just let me know especially because I struggled so hard with this chapter, if you liked it! :)

As always, thank you!