Shelter // H.S.

Chapter 32*

"Tell me you love me

And I'll be good to you

Oh, yeah

I'll be good to you, baby

I'll be good to you"

Harry's hand slips under the slit in her satin dress, skin against skin satiating the appetite he has for her body as his lips work against the crook of her neck. There's that sweet spot, he knows it, and his lips, tongue, and teeth attend to it. Her head falls to the side in ecstasy as he has her against the nearest wall, her bag falling from her grip, the sound muffled softly against the carpeted floor of their hotel room.

Moans fall past her breath as his hands work her sides, bunching the satin red dress that adorns her curves. Hungry to take it off he tugs on the fabric—desperate hands shaking, aching to rid her body of the offending garment.

She lets out a delicate sigh as he brings his mouth to her jaw, pressing open-mouthed breathy kisses to her skin.

He swears he can almost taste her perfume—the same perfume he watched her spray in the crook of her neck in the bathroom mirror before they left—it's floral, sweet, and utterly intoxicating.

He loves the way she smells, he always has. From the moment he sat beside her in the backseat of Niall's car, the soft notes of her perfume hit his nose as tenderly as the sound of her voice did the first time he heard her speak.

Since then he's found the scent of her to be calming, relaxing even. His nose is always buried against her skin—in her hair, her neck, or even between her breasts. To his disappointment the small bottle of perfume on her bathroom counter is unlabeled, but at times he finds himself wishing he could purchase a thousand bottles of his own and drown himself in it.

Even her post orgasmic sweat is intoxicating to him, but it could also just be the pheromones.

"Oh, fuck." She heaves out as he slides his knee between her legs, pleasure shooting straight up her spine. The friction is divine as she grinds herself against him, reminding her of the desperate movements she made the first time she found herself vulnerable in his arms.

He places a hand under her chin, directing her lips to his, hungrier than ever for the taste on her tongue. He swallows every moan, every whimper. She works, finding the right rhythm, slowly grinding against his muscles.

"H..." She whispers into his mouth. 

"Shhh..." He presses his leg harder against her core, right where he knows she needs it, with the right amount of pressure he knows will make her crumble in seconds.

The thin strap of Dallas' dress falls from her shoulder in the midst of their movements, Harry's hand reaching up to meet it. He slides it further and further to feel the supple skin of her shoulders, and she swears she can feel him trembling as his fingers trail along her clavicle.

"You're so beautiful." He whispers in endearment as his lust blown pupils gaze across her collarbone, gently tracing his finger to meet a mole that sits right in the valley of her breasts.

She blushes, finding herself melting under his benign habit of unsolicited praise even now, months in.

"Here."

With gentle hands on her hips he turns her around, lingering on her waist for a moment before pushing her hair to the side. She giggles, her short choppy locks falling back into place despite his efforts. She appreciates the gesture, he knows she does.