THE TAYLORS [H.S]

26.

Warning: This chapter and the next chapter is not suitable for those under the age of 16.

Harry.

I wasn't a poet, nor did I ever think I would be, though there was something about Annabeth Taylor that made me want to write wishful thoughts and sappy words down into a notebook until the pages were filled with nothing but the intoxicating thoughts of her.

The way her body looked with the glow of the moonlight seeping through the window, the way the lines of her body casted a shadow onto the bed, and how much my greedy fingertips wanted to reach out and hold onto her.

She wasn't shy with the way she tossed and she turned, the way she was purposely arching her back in ways that made my head spin in ways I didn't dare to speak aloud.

In return, I wasn't shy in the way I tucked my hand under my head and watched her body move. I wanted to have that very image of her imprinted on my brain for years to come. It would be known as the slice of heaven that was would always be just that inch away from reach.

She had a deadly smirk on her lips, one that told me I might just be hers for the night. The dark Angel in my bed was having fun with toying with my head. Despite the stone-like expression on my face, I drank her in like she was a moving flame.

"Tired?" She asked, her voice clear and confident. My eyes trailed down the length of her body once more as she waited for my answer.

"No." I wasn't ashamed of how gravely my voice sounded, nor did I care about the smirk that widened on her lips at the sound of it.

Twisting her body until she was facing me, she laid on her stomach, her legs bent, dangling in the air. In that moment I had to look away, because an eye full of her breasts was enough to make a monk fall at their knees for her.

My gaze lingered on the wall behind her head, the playful giggle that echoed across the room sending goosebumps to coat my skin. What she was doing to me was something that I should of been wary about, though I was all for the spell she was casting over me, over my body.

"Why don't you tell me what's on your mind, Styles?"

I glanced over at her, eying the confident smirk on her lips in admiration. There wasn't a lot of girls that didn't fall shy at the stony expression of my face, nor were there a lot of girls that made me need to look away when their expression got too intense. Hell, thinking back now, I don't think there had ever been a girl other than Annabeth Taylor that had a gaze so intense that it made me need to advert my eyes.

"Wouldn't you like to know," I murmured, keeping my eyes trained on the way she moved her body like she was my own personal dancer.

The smirk never wavered, sitting perfectly on her lips as she crawled just that little bit closer to me. On her knees, Anna tilted her head at me. A look that went straight to my cock, and I swallowed hard.

In that moment, Anna was every wet dream I had ever had. So devilishly beautiful, so dangerous, so fucking alive. Everything I wanted, and yet, she was so far away. My hands tightened around the duvet. I was too close to losing control and taking a piece of her that I desperately craved.

"I think I would." She was taunting me, like the siren she was. Her voice was a soft as silk, coating her words like a song that would soon drag me down into the fiery pits of hell.

My eyes met hers, and I took her in like I needed it to survive. It wasn't normal for my skin to buzz with adrenaline from just a look from her, and yet my whole body felt as if it was on fire.

"I don't think you'd be able to hand it," I murmured, though my hands reached out to glide against her thigh. I didn't miss the way she shivered, her eyes glazing over as she shut them momentarily.