Till Dawn (HS)

vii

Clara hadn't expected him to keep his arms around her and hold her against his side, but he did, and she wasn't going to dare ask why. She reveled in the feeling of his chilled skin brushing against hers; his body was cold but for some reason it made her feel warm inside. Clara, gaining the courage after a few silent minutes, brought her head to the top of his chest and rested it there, his heart beat pounding in her ear. She blinked and held her breath as she waited for what she knew would come; he would push her away and tell her something along the lines of 'don't get any ideas'. And Clara would pretend to agree with him but her stomach would actually tighten into knots as his rejection put out the growing flame of hope and affection within her.

But much to her surprise, he didn't. The rejection never came and Harry let her rest her head on him, not saying anything or moving except for the subtle intervals of his rising chest. Clara ignored the feeling that blossomed in her as Harry's arm slowly but surely moved across her waist a few moments later, so that his hand was resting above the curve of her bum. She wondered if he noticed the way her breathing picked up at the small but significant gesture. Harry's touch was never anything but forceful and greedy, but now Clara felt like she could melt into his soft caress, his fingertips thoughtlessly tracing circles over the skin at the end of her spine.

The gentleness contradicted greatly to how aggressive Harry had been this time. She could feel the bruises already tainting her skin and as she laid there, the reminisce of him fucking her into the mattress, grunting in her ear and making her come undone with ease, played over in her mind. Clara had her fair share of intimacy with boyfriends in the past, but never had it been anything like the few times with Harry; he was rough and unforgiving, making her see stars and causing her toes to curl. Harry was everything she needed him to be. She couldn't imagine anyone else being able to handle her the way he did, like she was a doll solely there for him to use and to torment in the best way possible. She liked the feeling of not being in control for once, even if it meant having him eat her out but not let her finish, twice.

The bastard.

It was about ten, maybe twenty minutes later that Clara brought her index to the tattoo of a gem cookie inked into his underarm, an amused smile dancing on her lips. "I like this one," she hummed. The sleepiness from her state of bliss still lingered in her blood.

Harry peered down and she swore she spotted a smirk twitching in the corner of his lips. "No, you don't. You're lying," he observed.

"You're right, I am," Clara laughed and propped herself up on her elbows to stare down at him better. She stared down at his handsome face, the skin looking supple enough to rub her cheek against, and the smoothed creased between his eyebrows making him look younger, healthier. She tried to ignore the fact that her breasts were right in his face and her cheeks were probably red with embarrassment, and instead focused on the structure of his cheekbones and jaw.

"It's a pretty dumb tattoo. Why did you get it?" she asked curiously.

"Why do you want to know?"

"I dunno, I'm just wondering. That's what people do, you know. Ask questions about each other so they can get to know them."

Harry's eyes gleamed with skepticism and he studied her for a moment, debating whether or not to entertain the conversation. A moment later, unable to look away from her bright and curious eyes, Harry's face relaxed and he gave in with a sigh.

"I like those cookies, that's why."

"That's it?" she mused, raising her eyebrow. "You got a tattoo of a cookie just because you like it? Come on, there's supposed some deep, dark story behind it."