Both of us paused, our kiss breaking only for our eyes to meet one another's, again. I felt my heart plummet to the pit of my stomach, as his eyes dropped to scan over my face, appearing as shocked as I was.
He'd kissed me.
My chin was still held between his fingers, his thumb suddenly shifting to smooth over my bottom lip, only mere inches between our faces, now. A small shiver travelled along my spine at the pad of his thumb lightly tugging at my lip. He appeared almost entranced, just as I was; lost in this very moment, almost fearing the consequence of stepping outside of it.
I hadn't expected him to do that - not at all, and I was sure he hadn't expected to, either, judging by the silence that had fallen between us, and the slightly bewildered look upon his features as he desperately seemed to search my expression for an answer. I'd tasted alcohol upon his lips - surely, the key motivator for his actions in that moment, as it must have also been mine. Because this was irrational, and it was stupid. The amount of turmoil and difficulty that had been caused merely by Harry and I hooking up as strangers - I had a deep, gut feeling that it wouldn't even begin to match up with what would happen now, that we'd crossed this line with the added complications of knowing and working with each other.
I knew in that moment, that I needed to pull away and cut this off before it could go any further. I needed to take a step back, both literally, and metaphorically, and tell Harry to leave my room. I needed to create some space, and collect my thoughts; something I quickly realised I was truly incapable of doing under his watchful eye. I wondered if Harry was thinking the same - both of us in pure silence as our eyes continued to search each other's. But, undoubtedly, I could see the very look in his eye I'd come to know on the first night I met him - that hazed, flushed look upon his features, slightly intensified by the alcohol, as it had been before, as he stared up at me - wanting.
He couldn't even begin to know what he'd done for me that first evening. He had no idea how far I'd stepped from my comfort zone, merely by going home with him, how in many ways - it was that evening that had equipped me with the sudden confidence to take the leap; take this job. I was growing a strong fondness for how empowered I felt in his presence - even if he was disagreeing with me, or if we were disputing a situation; my words felt like they held immense value, as did my actions, even under his disapproval. He equipped me with something that I couldn't quite label, but it was oddly addicting.
But, now was different. I couldn't fully put my finger on why - but his lips on my own, though their effect on me was filled with just as much intensity as it had been a week ago, his kiss; his touches, they felt different. I wasn't sure if they were more urgent, somehow, paired against both of our clear hesitations, or if it felt as if he was saying more.
He used his hand again to tug me back to him, and again, I didn't make any effort to stop him. His lips crashed into mine once more, and this time, he pulled me to join him in his position on the bed. The moment my knee pressed against the bed, Harry pulled me forward, to lay me down on it with ease, shifting his body to hover over me. His hand found the side of my face as the back of my head pressed against the pillow, and his tongue swiped along my lower lip to push into my mouth. Though my head had initially screamed at me to do anything but this, under the captivation of his touch, how could I do anything else? It managed to push all hesitations from my head. That was all it took, with Harry. His touch; his attention; his lips on my own; him - I was rendered incapable of focusing on anything else.
My head tilted back into the pillow, as he then brought his lips away from my own, only to press them against my jaw, dragging an urgent line of kisses across it. My fingers weaved into the hair on the back of his head, before my lips parted of their own accord at the sensation of him grazing his teeth over the skin just below my ear, lightly nipping at it, and causing my back to arch from the mattress, further into his grip. He dropped his hand from its position on my face, allowing him to curl a finger around the strap of my shirt, exposing the bare skin of my shoulder to him. I could feel goosebumps beginning to arise, following the trail of his mouth on me, before he leaned back for a moment, his eyes landing on mine, again.
It was almost like he'd stopped to take it all in; to relish in our position, for a moment. His eyes flickered from mine, to my lips, where short, urgent breaths were blown in and out, already feeling so deeply worked up by the sensation of his lips upon my skin, before his eyes fell over the entirety of my face - just for a moment, before he brought them to the remainder of my skin exposed before him, undoubtedly able to see the way I was reacting to him. It was like he needed to pause in order to fully understand the effect he was having on me, like he wanted to revel in it, a vague satisfaction on his features.
"Can I touch you?" he asked, suddenly, a deep rasp present in his voice, and I could've come undone at the mere sound of his voice posing such a question. His eyes were burning into mine, urgency present in his gaze, but still awaiting my confirmation before he went any further. Somehow, the question felt bigger than our situation. He was undoubtedly posing the question to me, but it also felt as if he was asking himself, if he should, or if it was the right or wrong thing to be doing. Though a question with the purpose of progressing our literal situation, it seemed to signify much more. He'd avoided me all day - he'd tried to avoid any situation that even came near to resembling this, as had I. But we were here, now, and neither of us, truly, in our state of intoxication, seemed to want to turn back.
"Please," I breathed a response, my hand resting upon the side of his face again. I was practically aching for him to touch me as he was proposing. He seemed to sense my urgency, and mirror it with his own, still, curling his palm around my thigh to pull my leg upwards, allowing him to shift his own body to press between my legs. His nose nudged against my jaw, his lips, again, grazing over the shell of my ear and setting my skin on fire beneath him. I couldn't help but gently buck my hips upwards, desperate for an increase in contact from him. I felt him take a sharp intake of breath as I tried to increase the pressure from his touch, only to feel a smile tug at his lips, against the line of my jaw.
As he drew back momentarily to examine my face, I thought he looked as if he were about to say something. The glint in his eye told me enough, however, when his hand suddenly fell between us to press over my clothed centre. My lips parted in a quiet gasp, only for Harry to capture them in his own. I was beginning to love the way he occupied every sense in moments such as this; the way he held my body against his own; the way he caught each sound from my lips to accept them as being for him. I was aching for more; for him to go further, and to give me what I needed from him.
There was no longer anything slow, or particularly thoughtful about his movements - now I'd given him my approval, the strong sense of urgency seemed to return to his eyes, and they appeared to darken with lust at my mere granting of permission. His fingers curled around the hem of my shirt, and I lifted my arms as he tugged it over my head, before he removed the remainder of my clothing in equally swift movements, leaving me only in my underwear beneath him. My own hands darted outward to reach for the buttons of his shirt, met with the memory of how I'd slid these buttons undone a week before, something resembling butterflies beginning to flutter in my stomach. He watched me carefully as I slid the final button through, and he pulled his arms through the sheer fabric of the sleeves. My hands reached to lay upon the smooth skin of his abdomen, before his finger curled underneath my chin to lift my head up, forcing our eyes to meet. It was then that he slid his other hand beneath the band of my underwear, dragging his fingers over me.
"Harry," I murmured, my eyes aching to flutter shut, as he quickly removed my underwear and discarded them to the side. He tilted his own chin upwards, almost mimicking my own movements in an aching taunt, his eyebrows raising slightly, beckoning his name from my lips. It was then, at last, that he dipped his finger into me, and if it weren't for his grip on my chin, my head would've fallen back against the pillow, again. He didn't hesitate to roll his thumb over my clit just once, drawing a moan from my lips - he needn't have done anymore; I was already practically melting into his hands, as he slid one finger into me, causing my head to start spinning relentlessly. Everything felt so incredibly heightened - the alcohol I could taste on my own tongue, as well as his, paired with the buzz of excitement and twinge of stress at being with him again, the fact he wasn't wasting a single second, as well as the literal effect of his fingers working against me, was enough to send me into a frenzy.
"This is what you've been wanting, isn't it, Iz?" his voice sounded lowly against my own lips, his forehead pressing to my own as he kept me there, in the palm of his hand, refusing to connect our lips properly in the way I was yearning for him to. It was like he truly wanted an answer - beyond the rhetorical tone he used, and the fact that I did - of course I did; our circumstances in that very moment gave him all the confirmation he needed. But At my inability to answer, he added a second finger to me, his hand shifting only to draw his thumb over my clit in a rapid, repeated circle, causing my eyes to close, properly, and my back to arch into him even further. "Isn't it?"
Yes. It undoubtedly was - though before, I'd refused to admit it; this was exactly what I'd been wanting. I knew he'd caught my relentless stares at him over the past day, just as I'd caught his; my inability to tear his eyes from him, my brain filled solely with preoccupations of what he was doing; how he was behaving; recollections of how he'd touched me that night at his house; how it had felt to be with him.
"God, yes," I breathed against his lips, unable to prevent myself from tilting my chin to connect them, finally, which he appeared to gladly accept, his fingers continuing to move against me. Something so simple - just his kiss, was like nothing I'd ever experienced. The way his lips would so easily mould against my own, the way they felt against mine, as his tongue moved into my mouth. There was such deep intimacy within it; I'd never craved somebody's kiss before, like I did his - it was like the second he pulled his mouth away from mine, I was aching for its return. I'd never felt so much from a gesture so simple; it was like a conversation that we didn't know, truly, how to have. When Harry kissed me, everything stopped. It was such an unparalleled rush that, even if given the opportunity, I was sure I'd never get used to.
"Isabella," he murmured, suddenly, breaking our kiss for a brief moment, but not creating any further distance between us. My eyes opened, as my hands lay on either side of his face, my fingertips grazing the soft waves of his hair. His forehead pressed against my own, his eyes the only thing I could see, as he pulled his hand back from between us. I almost winced at the lack of contact, desperate to feel his touch on me again, but I lay underneath him, breathless.
He looked as if he wanted to say something. He drew his face back from my own, just enough to bring the entirety of his features into view. This was no longer one of the first times I'd seen his face so closely, but it still didn't fail to fill me with awe. I wondered if he was aware of how he looked; really, if he was able to comprehend what it was like to look at him in this proximity, and how effortlessly beautiful he appeared.
I brought my hands down to land upon the buckle of his belt, pulling the leather through and loosening it. Our eye contact never wavered as I slid my hand just beneath the place it had occupied, and he leant into my touch, as I became increasingly desperate to remove the remainder of his clothing. My eyes then fell to his body, in front of me, as he finally relented and pulled back to remove the last of his clothes. Each individual inking upon his tanned skin captured my attention; each one, and I found myself aching for the opportunity to reach out and run my fingers over them. If I wasn't so desperate for more of him; on the verge of begging for him to get back over to where I was, and give us both what we wanted, then I would've taken the time to examine each intricate detail; relishing in them. But I needed him, badly.
Harry remained where he was, his eyes dragging over every centimetre of my body in a tantalising examination. The look in his eyes was indescribable, just as it had been the other time that we'd been together. All cockiness; all performance; the wit, and the ego, it was gone. It was like as soon as we'd stepped into our own seclusion, the extravaganza was played out; the great 'Harry Styles' was absent, and it was only Harry, unveiled before me, appearing lost in his own thoughts; lost in the intensity of our situation. He knew, like I did, that we were playing with fire. I didn't doubt that his mind was almost entirely clouded by that very fact, like my own, but his eyes told me that in that moment, he didn't care - not there, and not then. All that seemed to matter was this.
He leant back over me, his lips brushing over the corner of my mouth, as I felt him line himself up against my entrance, causing a gentle hiss to leave my lips in anticipation. It was then that he hesitated, drawing his head back, and mumbling, "Shit."
My head lifted from the pillow, following his movement as he suddenly created some distance between us. I wasn't sober enough to even begin to contemplate whether he, at last, was having second thoughts, and considering bolting from my room at that very moment. It was only when he peered aimlessly around us, that I realised. A condom.
After a second, I realised he couldn't have had one on him. Why would he? Neither of us had planned to end our night in this manner - at least I knew that he hadn't gone out with plans to sleep with somebody else, either. I bit my lip, toying with my thoughts, before it came to me.
"In my bag," I told him, propping myself up onto my elbows to watch him. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, tilting his head slightly to one side, as if daring my words to be true. He glanced over at the armchair, only a foot or two away from the bed, and he reached for my bag that I'd discarded on it upon arriving back at the hotel earlier tonight. I brought my lip between my teeth, as he reached into it, at my request, and retrieved the condom that I knew was in there. As soon as I saw the foil packet between his fingers, and he drew back over to where I was waiting for him on the bed, I knew what I wanted to do.
"Why?" was all he said, as he brought the packet to his teeth and tore it open in one, swift movement. His eyebrow arched in my direction, awaiting a response. I watched as he pulled the condom on, but he still didn't come back to me, not fully. Instead, his fingers grazed over my outer thigh, causing me to shiver, but he was almost refusing to give in until he had his answer.
I knew what the real answer was. Grace had playfully stuffed a wad of condoms into my bag before I'd left, shooting jokes at me about how I'd be needing them when I saw Harry again. I'd laughed after finding them in my bag - far too many to be subtle, shaking my head at her antics. I was never the type of person to carry them otherwise - I wasn't exactly particularly versed in casual sex, but Harry didn't know that. At least, I'd never told him so. But in that moment, I found myself wanting to test him, suddenly recalling the way he'd seethed so unnecessarily earlier on at my momentary interaction with Dylan, in the club. I'd already given him what he'd asked for - I'd admitted that being here, like this, with him, was what I'd been wanting; what I'd been thinking about. I wanted him to do the same. A small part of me had toyed with whether I could declare his actions to be rooted in jealousy from him; what he'd so smoothly tried to label my anger towards him and Stella, earlier on. Had he been jealous? The alcohol in my system was pushing me to find out.
"Y'know," I said, looking up to meet his eye. "Never know what'll happen. Remember that guy from the club?" I asked, innocently, his fingers freezing in their position on my thigh. I continued, deciding to play with him as much as possible, "Dylan, his name was.. they could've been useful."
I watched his gaze harden as he stared down at me, his jaw clenching at my words. I felt a small pang of drunken victory in my chest - I knew it; he was jealous. He was seething at such simple words from my lips - words with no substance, and no truth behind them. To me, it was almost funny; how incredibly untrue they were, but he didn't know that much, or perhaps, he did, but I'd managed to strike a nerve, nonetheless. And if I was sober, this would've been so damn revealing. Why did he care so much? Why did I care so much? I supposed, for the very same reason we found ourselves in the position that we did.
The hand that had rested so delicately on my thigh now practically clawed at it, pulling my legs apart. My head fell back against the pillow, as he moved back to hover his body over my own, and he didn't waste a second, before quickly pushing into me. A moan fell from my lips, my body so, incredibly drawn to him. There was such a sudden absence of tentativeness, or hesitation - no second thoughts, or doubts. His hand rose to grip at my jaw, pulling my face down so that I could meet his eyes, but I could've never expected the look I saw in them, then. Each time he looked at me, my knees felt as if they would buckle beneath my own weight, but this was different. This was beyond intense; this was fiery - he was pissed that those words had even dared to leave my mouth, and though I knew I wouldn't get him to admit why, this told me more than any of his words could.
I gasped as he pulled out of me, but our contact couldn't have been lost for even a second before he filled me again, the indescribably blissful burn I felt at the size of him causing my eyes to flutter closed. I tried to force them open, but I couldn't, his grip on my face the only thing preventing me from throwing my head back against the pillow. He quickened his pace, now, and I felt his fingers drag from their hold on my face to curl around my throat, placing just enough pressure upon the sides for my lips to part, only intensifying every sensation I was feeling as a result of his movements. My hands rose to meet the sides of his face, his skin hot beneath my touch, as I pushed my fingers into the messy strands of his hair, unable to do anything but cling onto him as he pushed relentlessly into me.
"Shame that he didn't stand a chance," he murmured, suddenly, against the shell of my ear, just loud enough for me to hear him. With his fingers pressing against my throat and his body pressed to my own, I couldn't stifle the smile that pulled on my lips at his words, feeling a strong sense of satisfaction and a flutter in my stomach, quickly intensified by the overwhelming feeling of Harry inside of me.
It was quickly becoming too much. With his grip upon my throat; the occasional rise of his other hand to push my hair from my face and tuck it behind my ear, or to smooth his palm over my cheek, each gesture was enough to send my mind spiralling, only to be brought back by Harry himself; his hands on me, his thrusts into me; his face, only mere centimetres from my own. His lips were ghosting over my own, now, our foreheads pressed together as he suddenly pushed into me in his deepest movement yet, causing a moan to fall from both of our mouths, my entire body feeling as if it was on fire. Just the sound of his moans as they fell from his lips were enough to push me closer and closer to the edge, only further encouraged by his repeated thrusts into me. A thin sheen of sweat now adorned his skin, his arms and chest gently illuminated with a soft glow, as was his face, damp strands of his hair falling over his forehead. I reached up to push his hair from his forehead, his eyes watching me so carefully as I tried to keep my own open. I was desperate to see him; to look at him, and relish in the way he was, above me.
"Harry, I-I'm-" I stammered, unable to even form a coherent sentence as he continued rocking into me, but he seemed to understand, allowing his lips to press roughly against my own, now. His tongue pushed into my mouth, just as his hand fell from my face to land between my legs. I groaned into our kiss as he rolled his thumb smoothly over my clit in a few easy movements, causing me to come undone beneath him. My body shook in his grip, our kiss breaking only to allow my head to roll back, my lips parting in an uncontrollable gasp and his name falling from my lips as he sent me over the edge. I did my best to keep my eyes on him, unable to do anything but relish in his look as he coaxed me onwards, appearing encouraged by my release.
"That's it, Iz," his voice came lowly against my mouth, the contact our eyes held causing a shiver to travel along my spine as his fingers continued to roll smoothly over my clit and his thrusts never ceased, pushing me through my high as he appeared to grow closer and closer to his own. My hands rested upon his jaw, tugging his face towards me in a silent encouragement. It could only have been another minute before I felt him nearing his end, his eyes fluttering closed as his lip fell between his teeth.
"Come for me, Harry," I murmured against his lips, now, feeling his body stiffen a little at my words as he made one final push inside of me, filling me entirely, before a string of groans fell from his lips, and I knew he was finished. My hand pushed the hair from his face as he dropped his forehead to rest it on my bare shoulder, deep, sharp inhales and exhales falling from his lips, as we both came down.
I stared up at the ceiling as his body collapsed against my own, not daring to let my thoughts cloud my head now that I was undoubtedly sobering up, and no longer had the distraction of what had been happening between us. I heard Harry begin to catch his breath, before he pulled out of me, and discarded the condom he was wearing into the trash, nearby.
His face had undoubtedly softened as he returned to me, but it was incredibly flushed, as I was sure mine was, too. His lips were a dark pink, his cheeks heated in a fainter, but similar colour, his skin glowing with sweat. I couldn't tear my eyes from him, my lip falling between my teeth as I watched him, now.
I couldn't help but remember that night at his house, when he'd asked me if I wanted to stay. He'd feared the words, and my potential response, as soon as they'd left his mouth - I knew that much. I remembered how his eyes had widened in shock at his own proposal, and how he'd awaited my response with trepidation in his gaze.
"D'you want to stay?" I dared to ask him, staring at his side profile as he eyed the wall. I knew what his answer ought to be, and I knew that tomorrow would already be complicated enough, as it was. I knew there was a tumultuous conversation to be had; but I didn't care. At that moment, it didn't matter. That was tomorrow's problem.
He turned to look at me, tentatively. "I shouldn't," he returned, just as I had, that night at his house. He almost appeared slightly disappointed with himself, but I still caught the glimmer in his eye as he watched me, a tiny smile tugging on my lips at the irony of his words. And despite his response; despite the accuracy of it, and the fact we both knew that he was right - he reached for the covers of the bed, slightly unkempt as a result of our previous movements, and pulled them downward. I watched him in surprise, as he shifted upwards in order to lay back, his head against the pillow, and he pulled the covers over the lower half of his body.
I could feel his eyes on me as I pulled back my own end of the covers, and mirrored his actions, climbing into the bed to pull them back over myself. There was minimal space between us, his leg grazing my own as we both shuffled into a comfortable position, claiming a number of pillows behind each of our heads.
No further words were exchanged between us that evening; it was only a matter of moments before I saw Harry's eyes flutter closed in the most delicate manner imaginable, his eyelashes brushing over the heights of his cheekbones as his face freed itself of expression, and he appeared to fall asleep - the haste of which was most likely aided by the alcohol most definitely still in his system, as it was in mine. I lay on my side, my hand cradling my head against the pillow, but I couldn't bring myself to look away from him, not yet. He looked so peaceful, completely rid of all the complications we'd both battled with over the past number of days.
I didn't dare let myself think; not yet. I needed to be free of my own mind, just for a little while. And somehow, with him laying beside me, that felt rather easy. I often hated evenings the most; nights, where you only lay in bed, in silence, alone with your thoughts. There was no room to hide, then, or to distract. You were forced to face whatever you'd tried to suppress; there was no other option, when you lay alone with your brain. But beside him, now, it was nothing of the sort. It all seemed to melt away, with the soft breaths that left his lips, and the tiny, barely noticeable twitches of his nose in his sleep, which almost made me laugh quietly to myself.
My mind was quiet. It wasn't fighting me, or battling me. I hoped that numbing was caused by the alcohol, because that would've made things much easier for my head, tomorrow. I didn't dare to consider that it might be him, that it might just have been his presence beside me that caused my relentless inner-criticism to cease. That wasn't feasible; it wasn't practical.
I didn't remember my own eyes eventually closing, nor did I remember how long it was before sleep pulled me under, that night. I didn't remember when his arm had moved outwards to wind around my body and tug it to his own, or when, or if I'd only dreamed his lips pressing against my bare shoulder, at some point.
I didn't remember him waking up and leaving, either. It was only that following morning, hours later, when I finally stirred from my sleep, hit with a pounding headache as a result of my alcohol consumption from the tumultuous night previous, that I found the space beside me to be empty, and Harry was nowhere to be seen.