seraphic [h.s]

chapter thirty two.

His hands were on me. They were everywhere they could be. Trailing down my arms, scouring over my stomach, gripping my thighs. I could feel him all over. His hair was a mess, ends curling onto my skin as he kissed his way down my body.

"Harry... I thought you were... I thought you were away." I breathed out into the space between us, barely able to concentrate with the tiny licks he was giving me, devouring the skin of my neck. He hummed, lips vibrating on the goosebumps he had caused, "I'm always here." He said, his voice soft and sweet and full of longing.

I pushed up onto my elbows, getting a better view of Harry's piercing gaze that watched me as he lowered himself, pressing kisses to the inner parts of my thighs, "You came home early?" I questioned, my breath escaping me as he trailed his lips over my panties. He hadn't stopped watching me as he did so, and it only grew to the heat surrounding us.

"Je ne voulais pas partir," His voice bounced off the walls, the raspiness of his French tongue hitting me, "Pas toi. Jamais toi." Words fled from his mouth and it only made my brows furrow, "You know I have no idea what you're saying Harry." I huffed, my annoyance being completely cut off as he licked a slow stripe over my clothed center.

I cried out into the air. In the quiet room of a house I couldn't recognise. Where were we right now? I couldn't open my eyes though, not when he moved my panties to the side softly, mumbling French words I couldn't understand as he looked at my bare, soaking flesh. "Ma vue préférée." He smiled, before he lowered his head completely and licked me like a damn ice cream.

"I could fuckin' look at you forever." He mumbled between licks and sucks, my mind absolutely unable to speak coherent sentences back to him. I wiggled and whined and shut my eyes so tightly I thought I might explode. How could he make me feel this good? I wanted to ask him, wanted to demand an answer on how he knew exactly what to do, how he made it feel so unreal, as if he really knew every part of me, like he'd studied it for years.

My mouth opened, lips parted and panting for any bit of air, "Harry." I swallowed, sweat now gracing my forehead. But he didn't answer, he kept going, his hand gripping mine as if to tell me that he had heard. And just as I felt his tongue swipe over my entrance, my head shot back into the mattress, hips lifting from the bed. "Please, oh my god-"

My eyes flew open. Wide and alert. I was surrounded by darkness and there was a horrifyingly loud ring flooding through the house. I turned my head to the side, looking at the time on my bedside table through hazy eyes. "It's four fucking o'clock in the morning?" I whined, slamming my head back down onto the pillow, hoping for the ring to pass.

It didn't. Instead, it rung again. The shrill sound causing the hair on my arms to stand up. Who thought it was reasonable to ring at four in the morning? I racked my brain with possibilities, nothing arose. Maybe something was wrong. I gasped, unable to push the thought out of my mind, because if something was wrong, I would never be able to live with myself knowing I never answered the phone because I'd just waited for it to stop.

"Fuck." I spat, throwing the covers off from my body and swinging my bare legs onto the carpet. I took quick steps, reaching my door and tip toeing out into the hallway, shaking my head at the visual image of me walking downstairs in just a blue pair of panties and a matching singlet top.

It was four in the morning and I prayed with every fibre in me that nobody else had woken up.

God, this was not an ideal situation. I hated walking through the house when it was dark, let alone while the phone was ringing like crazy. As soon as my foot left the last step, I dived— or what felt like a dive— towards the phone and landed with an 'oomph' on the edge of the couch, "Hello?" I whispered, rubbing my knee that copped the brunt of my leap.