boys don't cry. [h.s]

sixteen

April

Harry's hands were everywhere at once.

They were in her hair, running along her waist, stroking her face, gripping her hips, squeezing her breasts, grasping the back of her neck, trailing over her bum. His kiss was searing hot, his tongue urgent and his lips rough, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip so hard it hurt. She was desperate to touch his bare chest, to run her fingers across his hard stomach and skim her nails across his back, but she was so overwhelmed all she could do was grip his hair tightly between her fists and kiss him back as if they didn't have an entire night.

He moaned hotly when she yanked on his damp hair, pulling away from her with swollen, wet lips and a frantic expression in his eyes. "I want you, Is," he mumbled, his voice so low and raspy that she felt light-headed.

She swallowed and trailed her thumb across his jaw, looking at the way his eyes flickered from her eyes to her lips, his own lower lip. "Yeah," was all she said, but it was enough for Harry. He hooked his arm around her leg with a low growl, dipping his head to reconnect their lips and wrapping her thighs around his waist. He pushed their bodies back against the wall roughly, his hips grinding against hers so that she could feel him through their layers of clothing, and she whimpered into his mouth.

He was kissing her so fiercely, so hard and rough, making her breath come out in uneven pants as she clawed at his face and hair. When he rolled his hips forward again, though, she couldn't stop herself from imagining how many times he'd done this to a girl, how many times he'd ripped all power and self-restraint from their grasp until they were a hot, burning, incoherent wreck in his capable hands.

He let her go suddenly, backing away as she threw out an arm to cling to the wall and stop herself from melting into the floor. He stared at her warily, panting almost violently, like she was some sort of wild animal and he was the prey.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, his voice a little breathless, sounding utterly afraid of what the answer would be.

She stared straight back, trying to figure out her answer. Truthfully, she couldn't remember ever wanting anyone this badly before, and more than anything she wanted to see if she could make him feel even a fraction as good as she felt when he touched her.

Beneath that though was a small flicker of anxiety, diminished in size since the other times she'd been with him this way, but still there nonetheless. Speaking purely from objective past observation, Isabel knew Harry was not one to make a massive effort with girls after he fucked them, and everything would be different between them tomorrow if they did this. Plus, Harry was more than adequately experienced and she was scared of him, of his intense stare and his big hands and rough lips, of what they would make of her flawed and comparatively inexperienced body, of what state he would leave her in after he'd taken what he wanted.

"Isabel," he prompted lowly, coughing into his hand awkwardly to conceal the urgent whine to his voice and shifting forward onto his toes, like he was physically restraining himself from moving towards her.

That little whine made her mind up.

She nodded, reaching for the hem of her top and pulling it over her head, dropping it to the ground and trying to avoid squirming under his gaze as his eyes raked over her.

She stepped towards him as confidently as she could, gripping the back of his neck and pulling his head towards her for another open mouthed kiss, swiping her tongue across his hot lips as his arms circled her bare waist and tugged her towards him, tightly pressing their bodies together. She had to lean forward on her tiptoes slightly in order to reach him, gripping his bum and pulling his waist closer to hers, making his fingers press harder into her sides and his teeth graze her bottom lip.