I didn't leave the bedroom for another couple of minutes - I didn't quite feel like I could. Instead, I was frozen to the spot, staring down at my phone screen, desperately searching for my composure.
I felt sick. I thought, somehow, that I'd managed to compartmentalise the phone call I'd had, weeks ago, with her. I knew, deep down, that I hadn't acknowledged or addressed it enough to ever have been able to rationalise it properly, or to even begin to move on - but I'd convinced myself that I'd managed to set it aside, and move forward. It was so much easier to trick myself into believing I had a hold on things, when I was enjoying where I was at so much. In London, I hated everything about my life, day-to-day; and though I hated to accept that there was an overarching problem, there was nothing to really distract myself with. On tour, there were a million and one things to keep my head away from everything that I hated.
I knew my coping mechanisms were practically non-existent - denial and avoidance could only take me so far, but I couldn't will myself away from it. That felt like the worst part - I knew the way I lived wasn't sustainable, yet I couldn't bring myself to change it - I was desperate, aching to continue this pattern, no matter how it killed me. Every single sense in my body screamed at me to keep battling this alone, and to keep 'coping' in the only way I knew how.
It was infringing on the only period of guaranteed peace I had left. After this week, and the final tour shows took place - everything went back to uncertainty. I wouldn't know how things with me and Harry were to work; I wouldn't have this routine that I adored so much, of travelling with my friends and getting to play at doing my dream job. I knew Harry and I would need to talk about that, too, eventually - how would it work? But I sort of feared that I'd have grossly misread us in wanting us to continue past tour; I still couldn't believe that he really wanted me. Even with everything he did, even with every gesture, and affirmation - even though I stood, now, in an apartment in the middle of Italy that he'd brought me to for the sole purpose of enjoying a week together - I couldn't fathom how he could mean what he said, about how he felt for me. I couldn't fathom that if he knew everything I'd been concealing, he might just understand it. It felt selfish, and almost disrespectful to him - but I couldn't force myself away from it.
My mind felt like a broken record - torn between an attempt to try being open, and making tiny, useless advances like telling him my mother had originally been in contact, but then in drawing back in lying about any surrounding details. Every attempt I made, I stopped myself from following through. It was useless, and it was relentless.
Part of me was still mindblown by his continuous composure - even when it felt like he knew I was lying, or that he'd picked up on my shifts in demeanour, he never lashed out. He never grew angry, or abusive - he never lay a hand on me, or sought to hurt me, and that was something I equally had to adjust to. At points, I questioned if he'd picked up on my dishonesty at all, because he'd never truly let any frustration show; there were times I felt I could sense it, but he'd mask it as quickly as it had manifested.
This was yet another thing to weigh down my chest. It was becoming exhausting, and it was beginning to scare me how, against everything I'd ever taught myself, I wondered if it would be easier to tell Harry what was going on. I didn't know, this time, why she'd reached out, or what had prompted her to reach out again after a few weeks of silence - but Harry didn't even know that I'd talked to her, to begin with. I'd chickened out of telling him the real truth, and so we had nothing - he knew nothing. I'd never, in my life, considered sharing these parts of myself with somebody - and I knew, in actuality, that I couldn't bring myself to do it. But the temptation lingered, and it was scary.
I realised I'd spent far too long in the bedroom, and I quickly set my phone back down on the bed, switching it off. I briefly considered texting Grace, but I decided I didn't want to bother her with this right now; I also didn't want to delve much further into this topic, in fear I wouldn't, then, be able to conceal my anxiety around Harry. If I quickly cut off my thoughts, now, I may have been able to keep this up. The ambiguity surrounding her call, though, was enough to unsettle me - I didn't know what had prompted her to contact me, again. But I knew, equally, that I didn't want to contact her in return, to find out.
I blew out a breath, praying my expression didn't give anything away as I walked back into the living room. I pulled the sleeves of Harry's jumper over my hands as my eyes landed on him, still on the couch, meddling with his guitar. He looked up, dragging his eyes over my body before furrowing his eyebrows in a way that made my heart drop.
"Are you okay?" he asked, instantly, and I silently cursed how unbelievably bad I was at masking my emotions, along with how long I'd taken to return to the living room. I always thought I'd been pretty good at it - but Harry had this shocking ability to pick up on my demeanour without so much as a single word.
"Yeah - sorry," I bit my lip. Think. "I was replying to some texts I'd missed from Grace."
"Was it her who called?" he asked me, a gentle smile on his expression as he took my words as truth. He trusted me, and I was a liar. I could only be further prompting an eventual outburst of anger and impatience from him.
"Mhm," I returned, moving to take a seat on the couch before his arm caught my waist, prompting me to sit on his lap, my back against his chest. His lips pressed to my temple as soon as I was seated, and it made my chest ache. His guitar was resting against my knees, his attention fully on me. I felt his fingers push some hair behind my ear.
"You didn't answer?"
"No," I swallowed, the lie uncomfortable on my tongue, "it was easier just to text her."
He didn't reply for a few seconds, and I could feel his eyes scanning over my side profile, before I turned to meet his eye. They held the exact uncertainty; the exact suspicion, that I feared they would. Maybe this was it. Maybe here was where he snapped.
"Okay," he returned, quietly. Whatever outburst I'd been waiting for - it didn't come. He blinked, then, and my eyes followed the purse of his lips before he picked up his guitar, again, and brought it back into a playable position. He was so patient that it hurt. I didn't know why he was with me. I knew, if I was him, that I'd have given up a long time ago - I wasn't worth all of this hassle.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment, placing a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth. I watched his eyes shift, slightly, before he turned his head to face mine, his eyes drawing over my face. He pressed his lips together, then, and didn't tell me whatever he was thinking. I couldn't really dispute it - I wasn't telling him my thoughts, either.
He brought his arms fully around me to strum once at his guitar, before he stopped. He made an attempt at explaining the basics to me, but with my inability to fully focus on this, now, no matter how interested I was in his words, combined with my musical inability - I was barely picking anything up. He was patient, and he was light-hearted - like always - and he almost managed to draw my attention away from everything I was hopelessly fixating on, onto him - onto how much I adored being in his company, doing something like this.
He'd stifle a laugh at my inability to replicate whatever chord he'd just shown me - even positioning my fingers on the strings for me, until I finally provoked a sound that sounded somewhat tenable. He cheered, then, overly praising me for strumming something he could likely do in his sleep, but he threw his head back in a generous approval, nonetheless.
"Maybe we should leave the music to you," I remarked, watching him grin at me.
"We can practice," he returned, teasing me as he brought his hand back over the strings. He strummed at them a few more times, his eyes gently narrowing in concentration as he appeared to grow briefly lost in his actions.
"Spinning out-", he began to sing, all of a sudden, very quietly, before he stopped. He cut himself off, leaving the words to linger there as if he hadn't really meant to sing them. It was more like he'd begun to play, and they'd accidentally slipped out. It wasn't a song he already had - I practically knew them all like the back of my hand, now. He stopped playing, and leaned his head back on the couch.
"Is that something you've been writing?" I asked.
He shrugged, then. "It's not really anything."
I watched as he closed his eyes, blowing out a breath. I didn't ask him anything else; I only looked at his face, gently mulling over how much I loved doing that - just being able to look at him, so close. Faint stubble had begun to appear on his chin and jaw from when he'd last shaved - maybe a day or so ago - and his skin had already begun to pick up more of a tan.
I'd never felt this for anybody before. Even in my avoidance, and even in my web of lies and half-truths, all I longed for was him. I could sit there for hours, just watching or tracing over every detail of him, and I'd never grow bored of it - I was certain. I didn't know what this feeling was, but it was crazy. It was reckless, and it was insane, but I simultaneously never wanted to stop feeling it.
Harry had told me, in LA, that he didn't know what I was doing to him - all he knew, was that he didn't want it to stop. I felt that very same thing, beyond words, now. It had only grown, and grown since California - since London; since Vegas. Every place we'd been together; every night and every day, it was increasingly out of my hands. My secrets were all I had ahold of - but it didn't stop the relentless guilt that I was feeling for keeping them.
When we'd gone to bed, Harry had casually lifted his phone from where he'd left it on the mattress - he glanced at it, before setting it down on the bedside table without another thought. He'd told Stella and Ally only to call if it was urgent, and he'd promised to do the same - and so, there was nothing for him to check. My phone remained off, as I picked it up to set it on the other table, feeling Harry's eyes land briefly on me as I did so.
For what felt like hours, my mind was riddled with the mixture of guilt from lying, but also pure confusion and anxiety from what had happened. Why had she called? The absolute last thing I wanted to do was reach out to her again, and find out - mentally, I couldn't handle another conversation like our last. I was praying - stupidly - hoping that, somehow, it had been a misdial, or even just an attempt at asking for money, like last time - nothing more; something I could force aside, and deny. Something just felt off. Why call again - why now?
Harry was already asleep, beside me, when I reached for my phone from the bedside table. I held it downward to shield the brightness of the screen from reflecting back to Harry's eyes, so I wouldn't wake him, turning my phone back on. We were back in a similar timezone to Grace, and so I could hope that she'd still be up. I'd updated her on Harry and I's trip - how much fun I was having until now. Though I initially hadn't wanted to bother her yet, I could feel myself already beginning to spiral, and so I started composing a text to her.
'My mum called earlier - has she said anything else?'
It was only a moment before she replied, and I sighed in relief to see that she was awake.
'No, WTF?'
Another reply came through: 'Did you answer?'
I sighed, leaning my head back against the pillow. I heard a shift in Harry's breathing, as he tossed about in his sleep, his arm instinctively thrown over my side.
'No,' I replied.
'I thought you told her not to contact you', Grace responded equally fast, and I bit my lip.
'I did, and she hasn't. Until now', I replied again, before I felt Harry's hand move on my waist. I turned my head, to see his eyes flickering open.
"You okay?" were the first words out of his mouth - in a low, tired murmur. His hand rubbed once over my hip, and I set my phone down, turning to him.
"Yeah," I returned, shuffling back down in bed and turning to face him. His eyes were barely open, only temporarily stirred from his sleep, as his head still pressed to the pillow. "Sorry if I woke you. It's just Grace."
"Is she okay?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. He didn't even know her, and he still had concern for her wellbeing. He was so good, it was beyond me.
"She's fine," I returned, hating how on edge I felt. I let my hand shift to the side of his face, watching him exhale a tired sigh as his eyes closed, properly, again. I shuffled myself closer to him, burying my face into his neck and feeling his arms wind around me, pulling me to his bare chest without any hesitation. I attempted to drop the tension in my shoulders; to initiate the reaction he always provided, but I wasn't sure how much longer I could go on like this. I just needed everything to stop.
I felt better by the time I woke up - but it was only avoidance, again, and it only worked for the briefest of moments. Harry wasn't awake, in a rare occasion, when I finally stirred - I woke up, and I laid my eyes on him; sleeping peacefully beside me, and for a moment, I felt okay, because of him. And then, the confusion and the anxiety came flooding back in. I was torturing myself, trying to figure out why my mother had called - but I knew, ultimately, that the worst thing I could do, mentally, was reach out to her again. I'd been stupid to do so, to begin with - it had only caused more pain, and I'd had to quickly suppress it in order to keep functioning. Had I paid it any more mind than I had, I'd have driven myself insane - and that was what was happening, here. I couldn't contact her again, whilst keeping it from Harry - I'd done that once, and it had felt horrible. I needed to hope, and pray that it was somehow a misdial - she hadn't really reached. out, again for any particular reason - I could let it go.
Harry's eyes flickered, slightly, and I sensed a shift in his breathing as he appeared to stir from his sleep. I wasn't sure how long I'd been laying there, but I couldn't deny the slight ease I felt in the pit of my stomach as I felt Harry's hand draw slowly over the small of my back.
I'd left and I'd grown up. And it was okay. That was what he'd said - and I almost believed him. But why didn't it feel like it? Had I left anything, when I carried it all with me, every single day? Had I grown up, when all it took was the sound of her voice to make me feel like a powerless child all over again? I wanted to believe him so badly.
"You were tossing and turning all night," Harry's voice sounded then, thick with sleep as his eyes still didn't open. I pursed my lips, though he couldn't see the gesture. I'd been so happy before this phone call had come to ruin it all - I wanted him to draw me back. This week was supposed to be an amazing one, for him and I - no security, no fans, nothing to do, and nowhere to be. I was with the person who made me the happiest, without even trying - but he did try, still, everyday; tiny, little gestures, and repeated affirmations. He'd brought us here, and I wasn't sure how he kept getting better - but he did. I needed to push through, and enjoy this week.
"Sorry," was all I murmured, biting my lip as I brought my eyes over his face. "You did kick me at one point, so I think we're even."
"I absolutely did not."
"You actually did," I said, biting back a laugh at the shock in his tone. His fingers pinched at my hip, then, causing me to lurch forward, into his grip. I was being honest - he'd knocked his leg into my own at one point, in his sleep, completely by accident, and I found great humour in it. "It hurt, as well. You kicked me right in the shin," I insisted, feeling his chest rise in a gentle laugh as he pulled me on top of him, rolling onto his back.
"Oh, baby, I'm sorry," he cooed in a teasing manner, kissing the side of my head repeatedly as he pulled me to him. "Let me make it up to you," he whispered, then, with a grin, flipping us over so that he could hover above me. He kissed my jaw, briefly, nudging his nose against it as my head sunk back into the pillow that had previously been his.
He drew the covers back, releasing the heat from underneath them that had been surrounding our bodies as he lifted himself off me, briefly, to shift further down my body.
"Tell me where it hurts," his voice dropped an octave, and I almost shivered as he drew a hand over my leg, a goading smirk on his lips. He was addicting. He hadn't hurt me at all, and he knew it.
He drew his hand downward, over my shin and to my ankle, to hook my leg and draw it upwards. He knew exactly what he was doing, as he hovered between my legs, kissing gently at the inside of my ankle, a smirk continuing to play on his lips.
"There," I told him, watching how his eyes had been on my own, waiting for an answer as his lips ghosted over my shin, tempting my back to arch from the mattress solely at how he was teasing me. And just like that, he'd drawn me back in the way I'd been hoping he would; in that scary, effortless way that he always seemed to. It was wrong, and it wasn't fair - on either of us - but he just felt so good for me. He made me so happy, and he made it so easy to forget that I was hurting. But, guilt, or not - uncertainty, or not, it didn't change how much chemistry we had within our relationship. Within a moment of his touch being on me, it felt easy to push everything else to the side. All there was, was him.
He dipped his head down, then, to kiss the inside of my knee, tracing his lips in gentle kisses along my leg, and up my thigh. I exhaled, sinking back into the pillow as I felt his hand draw lightly over my leg, his lips on my skin being the only thing I could focus on. Somehow, simultaneously, in his hands, my entire body felt at ease, but every single sense was somehow overwhelmingly heightened and invigorated.
I gazed down at him as he kissed along my thigh, and I couldn't help but suck in a breath. His hair was beautifully dishevelled from sleep - the curl pattern seeming to intensify slightly with the humidity and lack of styling he'd done to it, since being here. His eyes, whenever they flickered to my own, cut right through me, filling me with an indescribable warmth. His movements were slow and deliberate, but they felt lazy and instinctual at the same time.
He moved, briefly, back upwards to edge his lips towards my own, and I caught his face in my hands, bringing him back to me. One of his hands rested beside my head, keeping his weight off me as he ducked his head to kiss me. I gently pushed my hands against his shoulders, nudging him off me to prompt him onto his back, allowing me to swap our positions. I hovered over him, now, watching his eyebrows raise in an almost surprised approval as he drew his hands over my hips to pull me against him.
He tilted his chin up to meet my lips again, our foreheads pressing together, but I gently drew back, parting my lips to goad him towards me. He leaned in, further, only to realise my game in refusing his kiss, his eyes flickering down to my lips as a smirk overtook his features again. I was playing his own game, that he loved to use to toy with me - pretending like he'd refuse my kisses only to grant them a moment later, and I now realised why he did it. It filled me with a funny sort of adrenaline to watch him tilt his chin toward me, aching to kiss me like I always was with him.
He breathed out a laugh as I nudged my nose against his, still not kissing him, and I watched, satisfied as his eyes flickered over my own as if taunting me to continue. My knees rested on either side of his body, and I felt his hand trace down over my lower back, goosebumps arising on my skin to follow the line of his touch. I felt his hand grasp over my bum, squeezing at it in an attempt to draw me closer to him and win this little game that we had going - and it almost worked. I leaned forward in a quiet gasp at his sudden touch on me, but I managed to turn my head to the side before his lips could capture my own, again. This was a fun game.
"Isabella," Harry's voice carried lowly into the small space between us in a gentle warning, and it was enough to make me shiver. His hands coaxed over my sides, still, as I dipped my head to press my lips against his throat, feeling him clench it in response. It was hypnotic, to watch him like this; to trace my hands or my lips over him and watch how his body reacted. It was the same reassurance he'd given me in showing me how rapidly his heart would beat in my presence; it was that same reassurance that he felt the same relentless fascination that I did; that he, too, reacted without even having to think, to movements that I made.
I trailed my mouth over his chest, then, slowly advancing downward to kiss over his abdomen. I flickered my eyes up to meet his, relishing in how he was peering down at me, his lips parted in anticipation. My lips pressed to his butterfly tattoo, ghosting over the smooth skin and the curves of his abdomen, as I felt one of Harry's hands stroke gently over my hair.
I wanted him to feel everything he made me feel. That buzz in the pit of my stomach when he barely even had to touch me; that chill that rocketed through my veins from a simple locking of our eyes - I yearned to have half the effect on him that he had on me.
I gently shifted back upwards, letting Harry's hands find my waist, again. His palm then pressed to the small of my back in a gentle acknowledgment, as our foreheads pressed together. There weren't any words for how it felt to look at him, with his eyes glazed over, exhaling in a gentle gasp as my hand drew over his crotch. I drew my head back, slightly, to enable me to watch his jaw clench, and I felt my stomach knot in return. I couldn't help but fixate on every slight change in his expression. It was a photograph that would remain in my mind, forever.
I'd been missing out on so much of sex before Harry. I'd had it, before him, and I'd never disliked it - but it had sort of felt like something you just did, within a 'relationship'. I hadn't known how horribly draining of a mindset that was. There were so many aspects I'd never have known I was missing, until him - sex wasn't just some brief, emotionless encounter, that never felt as fulfilling as it was supposed to. Even before I'd known Harry the way I did, he'd exposed me to all the intricacies of being intimate with somebody; and being with him, even now, it still shocked me how intense it could all feel. Nothing even had to have happened yet; just touching him like this felt like more than anything I'd ever known before him.
I slid my hand beneath the fabric of his boxers, wrapping my hand around him and sensing the short exhale that left his lips, in response. His lips, almost instinctively, pressed in a brief motion to my throat, before he sunk back into the pillow, his mouth falling open, again, and his eyes lazily drawing closed as I grazed my hand over him. I nudged my nose against his cheek as I gently pulled him from his boxers, dragging my hand in a light motion over the entirety of his length, feeling him hiss in approval. I wasn't sure what it was - really - and it needn't have really shocked me at this point; never, in any sexual encounter prior to him, would I have taken the time or diligence to have such an intimate moment, aching to provide him with pleasure, but things were always different with him. It was all I wanted, now.
Harry's head turned, slightly, edging forward to try and meet my lips again, but I drew back, causing his eyes to flicker open. He narrowed them at me, only for my thumb to draw slowly over his tip, urging a pant from his lips before he could press me.
"D'you think you're funny, or something?" he asked me, then, referencing my repeated refusal to kiss him. His voice rasped in a way that caused an ache to form in the pit of my stomach as my thumb coaxed over him again. I bit back a satisfied grin.
"Maybe," I countered, drawing my hand downward to his shaft to drag it over his entire length, again. I had to admit; I loved feeling like I had this power over him. I brought my hand away from him, then, bringing it briefly to my mouth to run my tongue over my own palm, lubricating it to bring it back over him, again. He gasped a moan as my hand found him again, gliding over him with ease, now.
I sensed Harry's breath hitching in his throat as I slowly moved back down his body; my lips tracing along the surface of his skin until my fingers could curl around the hem of his boxers. I pulled them down, properly, enabling me to wrap my hand properly around him. It surprised me, still, how captivated I found myself in providing him with pleasure; with how much it stirred me, and how much I adored doing it - though I'd never had casual sex before meeting him, I realised, now, that I'd definitely been desensitized to it. I was anything but desensitized to this; I was relishing in every movement from him - in every exhale that fell from his lips, in every flicker of his eyelids as he awaited my every move.
I pushed my hands up his thighs, now, locking my eyes onto his as I gently drew a line over him with my tongue. He sucked in a breath, as I brought one of my hands back around him and took his tip between my lips, before leaning my head down to take more of him. I felt his hand push into my hair, as he'd now propped himself up to reach for me, as I drew my head back and repeated the motion.
"Oh my fucking god," he murmured, then, tilting his head back briefly against the pillow as I trailed the flat of my tongue over him, taking as much of him in my mouth as I could, with my hand shifting to take whatever I couldn't manage. I let my eyes meet his, again, but this time, it appeared to strike a nerve within him, prompting a groan to fall from his lips that caused an ache between my legs. His fingers pushed further into my hair, drawing it back from my face to allow me to keep working him, unobstructed.
Every view of him felt like my new favourite; the aching vulnerability on his features, as his eyebrows furrowed, causing a crease to form between them - his lips parting as his chin would tilt upwards, inadvertently breaking our eye contact only for him to desperately draw his chin back downwards in an attempt to regain it. He looked unreal - just like this - as I pulled him from my mouth and tilted my head to the side to enable me to trail open-mouthed kisses along the side of his length. I heard him exhale an approving hiss as my fingers drew over the other side of him; my thumb tracing over his tip, practically begging for more.
I would've been beyond happy to keep going like that - it felt rewarding enough to see him like this; to touch him and relish in how he was going insane; to taste him, and feel his hands tug on my hair in an attempt to cling onto whatever control remained. Even in my satisfaction with our position, I felt his fingers curl around my chin, pulling me back to him. I obliged, using my hands to pull myself back over to him, following his demand as his lips met my neck, immediately sending another surge of adrenaline through me. My breath hitched in my throat as he grazed his teeth over the skin below my ear, whilst I was still reeling from how turned on I'd felt him become in my hands.
I needed more of him, and he knew it, pushing his hands under the shirt I wore to grasp at my hips. He tilted his chin in an attempt to connect our lips, only for me to repeat the very same action of drawing back, growing obsessed with how his eyes darkened at my bold movement. He made one more attempt to kiss me, but when I continued the game of avoidance, I sensed the cogs turning in his mind.
"Still don't want to kiss me?" he asked, his tone light, and his eyes taunting me as his fingers drew over my ribs. I bit back a satisfied grin at how worked up he was becoming - of course, I wanted to kiss him, but I was having far too much fun to oblige. He hummed, then, that familiar glint in his eye. "Mm - okay. We'll see how well that lasts."
I felt a buzz in the pit of my stomach at his sentence, unable to stifle the excited grin on my lips as he effortlessly manoeuvred me to lay beneath him, my head against the pillow. He slipped his hand between my thighs, drawing the pads of his fingers along my centre, still covered by my underwear, but the contact still didn't fail to provoke a short exhale from my lips.
My eyes locked back onto his, my lip falling between my teeth as his face hovered dangerously close to my own. I was already so worked up before he'd even laid a hand on me, and his touch on me, now, was already enough to send me into a frenzy. I tilted my chin, hoping to beckon more from him - he'd have been kissing me, now, without a doubt, had I not taunted him with such a game. I hadn't realised how hard it would've been to keep this up, the moment he had his hands on me; all I wanted to do was tempt his mouth onto my own, and to feel his tongue glide over mine - but I was attempting to stick to what I'd started. It always felt so intimate, to have every sound from my mouth; every reaction, every breath, caught by his own whenever we'd kiss in a moment like this - it allowed every part of us to be connected. But, now, we only had our eyes, and our hands, though I could still feel his breath fanning over my lips.
He slipped his hand beneath my underwear, immediately collecting my arousal on his fingers as he drew them along my slit, causing my lips to part. I sensed the smirk drawing on his own features at my obvious arousal, his nose nudging against my jaw as he drew his two digits over me again, only to press the pad of his thumb to my clit.
"Oh," I barely forced the gasp from my lips as I felt his curls tickling my cheek, his mouth latching onto my neck as I felt his finger push into me, followed easily by a second with how unbelievably ready for him I already felt. I felt him hum against my neck, as he drew his fingers out of me in the same delicate manner that he'd inserted them, only to draw them upwards to circle them over my already sensitive clit. I let my head tilt back, my hand snaking into the curls on the back of Harry's head as he continued his blissful assault on my neck, and I already found myself growing overwhelmed by the urge to feel his mouth connect with mine. Harry appeared to have read my mind, turning his head to ghost his lips over my own, but he still didn't let them connect - mirroring the game I'd chosen to play with him only minutes before, despite how I was now silently begging him to kiss me. A shudder travelled along the length of my spine as he drew his chin back from me, tempting my own to raise in a pathetic attempt to beckon his kiss - but it didn't work, as a knowing grin broke out on his face, and he pulled my underwear properly down my legs and discarded them to the side, followed by my shirt.
He didn't say anything - he didn't need to, because without me even giving in, he'd basically already won, and he knew it. I'd barely been able to last a minute with his fingers working me before I'd been desperate to kiss him, but it was now his turn not to oblige. He trailed his lips over my jaw, instead, relentlessly circling my clit with his fingers without even having to do much else - I was mere seconds away from coming undone in his hands, and he knew it.
His name fell from my lips as I tangled my fingers into his hair, gripping at it as his face remained buried into my neck, now, licking and kissing and biting at my skin in combination with the continuous movements of his fingers against my clit - I was practically putty in his hands, with my head back against the pillow and my mouth falling open, unable to do much else but take everything he was giving me. I had no choice but to let my moans fill the space between us, with no kisses from the man prompting them to stifle the sound; I was done for, my hand wrapping around his bare bicep and clinging to it as my orgasm hit me, my body shaking beneath him as he pushed me through. A string of praise fell from his lips, but I couldn't even distinguish what he was saying to me - I was unable to focus on anything other than his fingers on me, and the grip I had on him, in return.
Still dizzy from my orgasm, I was aching to feel his lips press against mine, but he didn't even make an offer. Instead, he ghosted his lips back over my jaw, before drawing his fingers from between my legs to push them into his mouth, reigniting me instantly.
"I need you," I told him, then, breathless as I watched his fingers pull from between his lips. I hadn't even come back down yet, or been able to even steady my breathing, but I was aching to feel him inside of me. His eyes flickered over my own, and I watched him reach for a pillow from behind my head, drawing back from me for a moment to position it further down the bed.
I shuffled down on the mattress, feeling Harry's hands grasp my hips to direct me onto my front, so that the pillow rested beneath my stomach. I heard a movement behind me, and the familiar rustling of a foil packet that told me Harry was retrieving a condom, as I brought my knees up to elevate myself a little more. This wasn't even a position I'd had sex in before, but my entire body was practically throbbing to experience it with him. I couldn't even see him, behind me, but I was still entirely aching with anticipation at how I knew he'd look - his dampening curls falling over his forehead, and his eyes darkened with lust; the way his cheeks and lips would flush in a moment like this. I didn't need to see him to know how good he looked.
Clearly having pulled the condom on, I felt his hand slip between my thighs to nudge them apart a little more, before I felt him trail his tip over my slit, drawing a line and causing my lips to part. I wasn't sure I'd ever been so desperate for him, even with the intensity of all the encounters we'd had, before - still reeling from my previous orgasm, I felt like I'd explode if I didn't feel him inside me, soon. And, then, he obliged - pushing himself into me as his hands found my sides, both of us breathing out a groan, in unison, at the pressure.
I practically whimpered beneath him, feeling his chest press to my back as he ducked his head to kiss the space between my shoulders, before he slowly slid back out of me, only to repeat the action. His fingers drew over my ribs as he pushed into me, filling me as much as he could with a low hum that caused my heart to race. He leaned forward, again, biting at my shoulder before his mouth found the space beneath my ear, becoming preoccupied with it.
There'd always been an urgency in our sex, from the very first time we'd had it with one another - and I knew, now, since we'd been together, that it had felt laced with so much more. But it never failed to shock me, just how intense it all felt - there was so much being said between us with every rock of his hips into me; an exchange of energy that was just beyond words. Our connection deepened with every day that passed, but it seemed to only culminate in moments like these - the moment our bodies would intertwine, it was like there was nothing else in the world but this; nobody but him, and I. I felt so much for him in the most trivial of situations - in brushing our teeth in the mornings, or making the bed; but in a situation like this, it hit an insane peak. His lips on my ear seemed to tell me so much - he was so gentle and tender with every movement, yet somehow was able to balance it with the rough intensity and urgency that he brought to each encounter.
His movements began to quicken, as my head tilted back against his shoulder, before his hand found my throat and prompted me further back. All I could do was oblige, letting him coax me backwards, somehow further into his grip, as my head tilted entirely back and my body was able to press to the front of his. I gasped with each thrust into me as his thumb caressed over the side of my neck, his grip tightening as he kissed my hair, and then the side of my face.
Our position had given him access to the remainder of my body, and I felt his other hand drag over the lower part of my hip, holding me to him, as mine could only grip his outer thigh, weakly holding him against me. He continued to place kisses on my skin, my entire body feeling like it was on fire as his hand that had traced my hip finally drew downwards to allow his fingers to rub against my clit. I felt like I was going to lose it, as he kissed the entirety of my face, now - slowly, and torturously - still without relenting and kissing my mouth. My lips were parted, aching for his to find them, but they still didn't.
"Mm, you look so pretty for me," he rasped against my ear, his hand still grasping my throat as he pounded into me. My head was tilted, letting my eyes meet his as he held my face towards him. I moaned again as I felt his fingers pinch at my clit. "All for me, isn't it? Yeah?" he prompted my response, but I wasn't sure I could even find the words.
I willed a response from the depths of my resolve, feeling my eyes desperate to roll back as he continued to hit every possible spot inside me. "God, yes." And it was - it was only him, always.
"Good, baby," he praised in return, with a clear awareness of how his words sent shockwaves through me whenever they fell so beautifully from his lips. "You're so good. You feel so good," he continued, nudging his nose against my cheek as I brought my hand up to cup his face, behind me. He was driving me insane - with his hand on my throat, holding me to him, and the other on my clit, relentlessly circling it to push me closer and closer to the edge - I knew I couldn't last much longer.
He was kissing anywhere but my lips; planting messy kisses on the side of my face and over my jaw, as I clung onto his arms where they held me, leaning my head back into him. Each thrust into me felt somehow deeper than the last, drawing me further to my limit. I felt my eyes aching to flutter shut, but more than anything, I wanted to feel his lips on mine, to intensify everything else that I was feeling. It was crazy; how good it felt to be with the right person, with how delicate he was with my body whilst somehow being able to push my limits more than anyone.
He pulled out of me, then, guiding my hips so that I was on my back instead, now. He shifted the pillow to lay it under my head as if it was instinct, and I lay my head against it so that I could face him properly, unobstructed, meaning I could properly take in how unbelievable he looked hovering above me. A sheen of sweat had begun to coat his chest and his abdomen, the butterfly tattoo on his torso practically glistening. I ran my hands over his shoulders, as he leaned down to press his forehead to my own, as I was already practically aching to feel him again. My hands found his face, pushing into the hair by his ears, as he brought his mouth closer to mine - ghosting his lips, once more, but still not kissing me; drawing back when my chin tilted uncontrollably towards his.
"It's your game," he murmured, then, in a reminder of how I'd teased him, and I almost winced at how badly I wanted to feel his mouth on mine, but I knew he was having far too much fun to oblige. I could sense the return of the smirk on his lips, as his hand drew over my outer thigh, coaxing my legs further apart, again.
"God, I can feel you shaking, baby," he said, then, his voice low as a short, breathy chuckle, almost in a mixture of being achingly smug, whilst somewhat in disbelief, fell from his lips. I felt him draw a hand over the side of my leg, as if taking it in. He was right; my legs were practically quivering, I was so desperate for more of him. I'd already come undone, once, and he'd done nothing but intensify and build the pressure ever since - my body was in overdrive, overwhelmed by everything I was feeling both physically and emotionally at that moment.
"It's you," I murmured in a flustered response, a near-pout forming on my lips as I caressed my hands over the sides of his face. It was true - even without the physicality of our situation, I was sure I'd never been so attracted to anybody in my life. He didn't have to even touch me for my knees to feel weak in his company.
He pressed a single kiss to my throat as he drove himself back into me, and my lips parted in a blissful reaction to the sudden return of that familiar, unbelievable pressure. He drew his head back, briefly, to draw his eyes over my face, his lips parted as he appeared to be in somewhat of a trance. It sent a shiver along the length of my spine, to feel his eyes on me like that; his eyes filled with so much that I couldn't even begin to pinpoint. I let my eyes lock onto his, equally entranced by his face above my own, feeling my eyelids aching to close as he continued to push himself into me. I felt so much for this man that it hurt.
His face buried into my shoulder as he hit a particular spot inside me, beckoning a breathy groan from my lips, as he continued. He seemed to sense how quickly I was approaching my end, as I wound my arms tightly around his back, clinging onto him as he buried himself into me. I tangled my fingers into his hair as I knew I couldn't take much more, feeling the increase of pressure in the pit of my stomach as I was pushed closer and closer to the edge.
I gasped out a moan as Harry's hand fell between us, again, and I was done for - and he sensed it, undoubtedly, finally obliging in pressing his lips to mine as I reached my end. I practically melted, hit with everything all at once - the overwhelming nature of my orgasm, causing my entire body to shake beneath him as he never ceased his movements against me, just as he caught my chin in his hand, connecting our lips to take everything I was giving him. He captured the groans from my lips, his tongue sliding into my mouth as I allowed him to take over, entirely. I was seeing stars, as he occupied every possible sense - it was too much, feeling the release I'd been aching for in combination with how desperate I'd been for him to kiss me again - it was everything, all at once. It was like the relief that had filled my chest at feeling his kiss, again, had been enough to push me over the edge once more when combined with how he was touching me. The buildup in the pit of my stomach reached its peak, immediately causing a third orgasm to rip through me, only mere seconds after the second one had, as his fingers failed to cease their circling of my clit.
"Oh my god," I breathed, my voice shaky and barely intelligible as I felt Harry, too, come undone - a low groan leaving his lips as his shoulders tensed beneath my hands, whilst I murmured in his ear. His forehead fell against my shoulder as repeated short, sharp inhales and exhales fell from his lips, and my fingers weaved into the damp curls on the back of his head.
I almost whimpered, feeling him pull out of me, as he lifted his head to press short, spaced kisses to my chin. I exhaled, shakily, my chest rising and falling as I brought his face back to my own, grasped in my hands as I kissed him, still reeling from everything that had just happened. We lingered like that, for a moment - in silence, both of us catching our breath with funny, elated smiles on our lips. I couldn't help but reach out to kiss him, every other second, just overwhelmed with how much adoration I felt for him with every moment that passed.
I was on cloud nine with him - no matter how bad things seemed to get in my own head, he had a scary way of pulling me back down. I was torturing myself in his absence, but he made it so easy to leave it all behind me. I appreciated every part of him - every intricate detail, every little habit; it was a feeling I'd never known I was capable of harbouring for somebody, and it was at the point where I didn't even know what to call it. Despite everything - despite all that I'd experienced, and all that I suppressed inside of myself - he made me happier than I ever had been. I could be going through such awful things - I could be carrying so many burdens that I was aching to relinquish, without thinking I ever could - but he could somehow, simultaneously, make these times the happiest of my life.
"God, my Iz," he murmured, then, his hand drawing over my face to push the stray hair from it. My stomach fluttered with butterflies as his eyes locked onto mine. His expression was contemplative; thoughtful, like it held so much more beneath the surface. He bit his lip back into his mouth, as if he'd thought of saying something else, but he didn't - we just watched one another, in a quiet awe, gently drawing our hands over one another.
There were a million and one things on my mind, then - but not one that I could bring myself to say. He was everything - and that was it. In the turmoil of my emotions; in my relentless, never-ending battle going on in my head - it was that, I knew for sure - it was him, for sure. With all of my doubts and uncertainty, he was the one surety - how I felt for him, and how it was like nothing else. And that, paired with everything beneath the surface, was going to drive me crazy.