Matilda | Harry Styles

FORTY-SIX

There was a different kind of urgency in the way he kissed me, that evening. I felt every part of it - the way he was clinging to the sides of my face as if they may disappear out of reach, otherwise.

It wasn't like I was objecting, by any means - his kisses were something I was definitely well acquainted with, by now - but there was something else in these particular ones. In the whole time I'd known Harry, it was like I'd been able to read so much from the way he kissed me - from the first night time he'd kissed me on the night we met, on that deserted street in London; full of heat and intensity, to every single kiss that followed. Before we'd gotten together, each kiss was so urgent and almost pleading - like we didn't know when we'd get to have another one, and so if we'd caved in, it had to take everything we could give. They'd never lost that spark, even with how frequently we got to have them, now - whether it was a brief kiss in passing, or a lingering one before we parted for him to head out on stage, or even if it was the lightest of pecks against my forehead or my cheek; each one carried enough to make my skin heat.

I remembered the night we'd been out in Las Vegas, early on - when he'd showed up at my hotel room, and we'd ended up sleeping together again. That was when it had gotten heavier, because we knew - both of us - that every single potential string was attached to whatever we did that evening. We could try and sever them with damage control in the days that followed - but it was futile. I'd known, then, that this had more meaning than I wanted to believe; I could feel it in how heavily it weighed on my chest, practically until the time came that I could finally have it again. It would've kept being that way - I was sure of it. It was funny how those strings had felt like some kind of catastrophe - some inevitable collapse, or explosion, and neither of us felt like we could avoid the crossfire.

If I'd thought every string was attached before - this was a new level. This was being with him, completely, and practically binding ourselves to a string that kept us both together; a deliberate submission that we were going to share our lives, as they were, in every way. We'd practically tied those strings with our own hands - it was like I was bound to him, and I never, ever wanted to be cut free.

It wasn't at all as suffocating as I'd imagined it might be. In fact, it was the opposite - Harry seemed to remove every crushing weight from my chest; looking at him felt like fresh air was hitting my lungs for the first time after endless hours of struggling to breathe. Every single time - it was like learning to take a breath; a proper one, a real one.

I was the best kind of breathless, now, however, as he kept my face cradled in his hands. To love somebody like this was endlessly frightening, but I just couldn't stop - that was the part I had to run with. Whether I wanted to, or not, I was going to love him anyway. And it wasn't like he was difficult to enjoy loving.

His fingers pushed into my hair, and I couldn't help but tilt my head back to lean into the touch. He appeared to notice; grinning slightly against my lips as he continued to kiss me. It didn't feel like there was anything left unsaid - for once - our kisses didn't have to make up for everything we couldn't say but rather, now; it reiterated everything we had said.

I leaned in to drop my lips to his neck, but they barely made it there for a second before Harry turned us over so that my back pressed against the mattress. His face buried into my neck as I felt the familiar trail of his lips on my skin, as one of his hands gently drew over my outer thigh, bringing it up to his hip.

"Harry," I whispered, though I wasn't sure I even had words to follow it. His nose nudged against my cheek as he lifted his chin a little, and his hand found the other side of my face.

"I know, baby," he murmured back as he pressed a lingering kiss to my cheek, as if reading whatever it was I was even attempting to convey. I ran my hands over the back of his shoulders as his body pressed onto mine, and I was struck with this incessant need for him to feel how much I loved him - however that may be, I wanted him to feel it. I wanted to feel it, and it seemed like he did, too.