Flat 51

She hesitated a moment. Respond. Respond. Please respond. I mentally begged her as I gently, nervously dragged my lips over hers. She wasn’t moving. Please, Emily. I’m begging. She didn’t move. I pulled back, forcing down the tears that were climbing to my eyes. My heart was tearing in two. I held her for a moment longer before removing my hands from her waist and taking a step back. Disappointment was evident in my face, I’m sure.

But just as I went to turn away, she leaped into my arms and crashed her lips against my own, throwing her arms around my neck. I eagerly returned the kiss as she dropped back to her feet and her hands began to roam over my torso, lighting my body on fire. It was pure passion against passion as she settled her hands in my long hair and desperately tugged. It was hot breath, hot skin, hot movements. I groaned into her mouth, immediately responding to the sensation. I kissed her smooth collar bone, her shoulder, her neck, her face. I knew she wanted this just as much as I did. I could feel her heartbeat pounding through her veins. I could see the passion in her eyes, the desire. It was only us as our bodies collided, releasing the passion, the tension, the anxiety, the fear. I’d lost track of time. I’d lost track of my sanity. She’d taken it all.

Voices outside the kitchen were what severed the moment in two. I quickly jerked away and turned, spotting Louis and what appeared to be Niall coming down the hall. Oh, but her lips on my neck, sending ice straight down my spine. Her hands, sliding up my shirt. I braced my arm against the wall, just above her head, and groaned deeply, sensually in response to her passionate touch. I growled and grabbed her hand, separating us, and yanked her through the back door and back in another door until we were in my room. She immediately had her lips on my face, my neck, and her hands underneath my shirt.

“E-Emily, we’re moving too fast,” I muttered, kissing her back with equal passion and energy. She hummed in agreement but didn’t stop. And dammit, I didn’t want her to stop. I lost my balance and fell against her, pushing her into the door and bringing her down with me. I landed on my knees and never released my lips from her flushed neck, kissing, sucking nipping.

Finally our bodies began to slow. We relaxed a bit as my lips worked their way slowly, gently back to her jaw, then to her mouth. I stopped, breathing hard, and rested my forehead against hers, eyes closed, bodies touching. Locked.

“I’ve wanted to do that since I met you,” she muttered between breaths. This was new to me. I thought for sure she’d hated me. After all, I was, admittedly, an ass to her from the start.

“Then why’d you hesitate?”

“Because I wanted to make sure it meant something.” I smiled and chuckled a little and sat back next to her against the door. She was right. It needed to mean something. She wasn’t just another skinny little whore from the bar. She was special. She was perfect.

I glanced at her with surprise when I heard a laugh emanate from her throat. She threw her head back and laughed harder, her eyes lighting up with something akin to happiness. I began to laugh with her. I didn’t know why we were laughing, but I knew I felt right. I knew I should have kissed her. I knew I wouldn’t have been able to go another day without it.

Until the phone rang. My phone. With the ringtone I set. The ringtone that only meant one thing.

He was gone.
Zayn was gone.

Notes

I don't know where that came from, but... let's see how drunk we can get Harry.