Background Noise [HS]

TWENTY-NINE

To be so wrapped up in someone—held together in their arms, broken down by their kiss—was quickly becoming one of Violet's favorite feel­ings. One she grew more familiar with the longer she sat there at the mercy of the man that marveled her, delicate in every touch trailed up and down her skin. He was a tender teacher, moving at a pace that would have left him impatient had he not been dragging out every moment, learning along with her.

Harry was feeling things he never had before. This was as new as him as it was to her. For once, his actions were not driven by lust, but by love. He practically ached with it as his chest swelled, heart content to be in such proximity of hers. For the first time, he did not get caught up on where this could go so much as how lucky he was for how far it'd already gone. Violet didn't have to tell him; he knew he was her first. First touch, first kiss. Knew a girl like her demanded trust before all else—needed it—and felt incredibly privileged and responsible to maintain such a level with her.

Refused to mess this up, for she was all he had left to lose.

Finger pads dotted the sides of her neck as he cradled her face, thumbs, the corners of her mouth. The pads held firm pressed to her skin while his mouth came to hers like a dream comes to one in sleep—awakening the senses, sending the mind running a mile a minute, even while the body lies at a complete still. The slow, languid latching of their lips sent her insides unraveling. Hands wrinkling the fabric of his shirt, Violet remembered their first kiss—how it had been delicate, careful.

Nothing like this.

Harry wasn't holding back. Not in the way he held her, for this was one of the few times the twitch of his hands could be mistaken for something else. Nervousness, perhaps, though that couldn't be farther from the truth; how could one be in living a moment they'd yearned for as long as he had?

No, he wasn't nervous. Just vulnerable in allowing himself to be so candid in touching her without the fear of being felt. His hands cradled the frame of her face firmer than ever before, allowing her to feel the tremors, mistake symptoms for products of nerves and not ask questions because of it.

It felt more honest.

Deceiving, still, but less so than he'd been before.

Harry allowed it for as long as he could possibly hold still, and that wasn't very long at all. The involuntary movements were becoming more frequent in spite of the medicine meant to keep them at bay, and he tried not to think too much about the immune system and its ability to adapt with eyes closed. Screwed them tight, blocking out images of specialists scratching their heads and fussing with their chins. Tried not to think about percentages or anything involving the phrase "rapid depletion." Cursed his body for betraying him for the more he tried to hold still, the more he trembled.

When he could no longer bear it, Harry heaved Violet into his lap. And when their mouths lost one another in the abrupt shift, he latched onto the first bit of her he found—a patch of skin just below the ear. She craned her neck back and out protruded her carotid artery, inviting of lips to come and wrap themselves round, feel the blood pulsate between them. He did not deprive himself of such pleasures, attacking the area with the intent to bruise. It was entirely arousing, measuring the erratic nature of her heart through lips swollen from all their assaulting.

Pleasure and pain went hand in hand with him burrowed in the crook of her neck, curly wisps of hair tickling her skin, lips working with tongue to lap along her flesh. It was along the artery that he felt the fire of her blood burn, hot and bright and undying for him. Violet's body was his to manipulate, and he reveled in the way her pulse quickened against the mouth making a point of marking her, for she was his, and he had every intention to make known just exactly what that meant.