Dead Flowers | H.S.

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Orange or mustard?"

Harry's eyes did not leave mine. Cheeks reddened, I pointed to the shoes again, smiled small.

"Orange or mustard, Harry?"

He pressed a kiss to my forehead, arm over my shoulders, nose against mine.

"Sometimes I cannot believe how much I love you."

"We are shoe shopping for your mother."

As if I had made his point for him, Harry gunned against my forehead, held me close to him, began to sway in the middle of Macy's two days before Christmas, even sang low in my ear.

I circled my arms around his shoulders, soaked in his affection, played with the curls at the bottom of his neck, breathed gently into his suede coat, ignored the burning eyes, looked past the halted carts, fell in love again and again and again.

-

"Do you need any help?" Anne half heartedly asked as Harry and I lugged in the paper bags full of Christmas gifts from the car.

I let Harry answer for us, a smile on my lips as I turned and walked up the steps to begin wrapping. Harry followed close, but he was never really far away from me. His breath was always fanning over my shoulders, his fingers were always in my hair, his hips were always against mine. As soon as the bedroom door was shut, before I had dropped the bags, before I had unwrapped my scarf, before I had breathed in the scent of Harry's youth for the first time since that morning, Harry was unbuttoning my coat from behind me, hips against my bottom, curls against my shoulders.

"Sugar," Harry whispered, "you're a vision."

I dropped the bags, let him unbutton my coat, let him unwrap each of my layers slowly like the dead skin of a sunburn, let goosebumps wash over my skin, let my hair fall down my back, let his fingers touch my nipples, moaned his name, breathed him in, sank to my knees, ignored the scratchy carpet, made Harry call my name into his own palm.

Harry dropped down in front of me and we kissed, I bare and him nearly all clothed.

He held my face and my hair and my neck like I was trying to run away from him.

"I don't know what I would do without you," he whispered, "I don't know how I would be able to go a single day without grazing your waist or kissing the back of your neck."

"You would find another lover," I said lowly, undressing him quick while he kissed my throat, "and you would love them the way you love me."

"Impossible."

I wanted him inside me-I wanted him away from me. I could not breathe without him or without his breath on the back of my neck. I knew that he had lovers before and that he had loved them before he had loved me. I wanted to be his last as he hungrily pulled my hips over his as he lied against the wall, kissed my breasts while I covered my mouth with my palm, rode him, ground hard and deep and long.

"Don't think I could love someone else like I love you," Harry fiercely said, holding my chin in his palm, "because I couldn't."

I said nothing, just moaned, kept grinding, kept having sex, kept flipping my hair down my bare back.

"Jane, I'm serious," he said, louder. "I don't want anyone but you."