Blueprint

P7 - View

This chapter contain explicit, mature content.

He drove quietly. I sensed a tension in my shoulders and a restless churn in my stomach. My heart feels like the only organ inside of me experiencing the shock of a roller coaster drop. The invitation to his place was a clear indicator of his plans.

As I thought of that in particular, I fisted the fabric of my skirt and wiped my clammy palms as I sat in the passenger seat, constantly. My breath was shallower, quickening breaths producing slightly labored breathing. Eyes were trained on the passing view of the city and not him as he pulls up into a parking garage. I could squeal with excitement and faint at the same time. My imagination was more active than usual, hyper aware that the fantasies were so close to tangible reality.

I didn't know what thought to focus on specifically. Whether that'd be the parking garage we were pulling into that sat right next to a tall, glass-encased building that was indicative of contemporary architecture or the sleek, mahogany floors that felt like air if you stepped onto them even with shoes on or the activities we were about to get into. I stared at my black flats the entirety of the way, my heart lodged so far up my throat that all I could manage was a tight-lipped smile every time an employee in the building looked at me -- which was quite a lot.

"Is this...a hotel?" I asked quietly when we were alone in the elevator.

Harry pats down his pants in search for something, sighing at himself when he realizes that the keys are in his right hand. Even in the most distraught, under-slept, and unkept condition, he looked insanely good, better even, as if seeing him in a much more natural state encouraged my uncontrollable attraction to sink in deeper. I leaned back onto the elevator's mirrored interior and watched him quietly, shying away from him only to still be taken aback when he finally looks up at me. His pale eyes lowered and his dark eyebrows followed as he clears his throat and mutters, "Not really. It's my building."

I try not to make my shock too obvious, but by the way my mouth instantly forced itself open, I knew it was too late to try and put up a unfazed facade. "Your building? As in...you own it?" I nearly whisper back, slowly, trying to grasp the magnitude of his wealth. Clearly, it wasn't very prominent in our prior interactions, but now...

He nods, turning his head to view the floor numbers as they go higher and higher, the anxiety-inducing ring airing out with every passing number. Nine...ten...eleven...

"Yes. I haven't renovated the whole thing yet. But I'm looking to get into real-estate," he explains briefly, his thumb reaching up to swipe at the tip of his nose. That hand then runs across his unshaven jaw, the skin around his mouth shaded by the lack of care to shave.

Pressing my lips together, I simply nod and look away at the numbers.

Thirteen....fourteen....fifteen..

I gently glide my clammy hand across the fabric of my black pencil skirt.

Sixteen...seventeen....eighteen...nineteen....

The duration of the elevator ride seems to go on forever. He felt his phone vibrate and dug into his pocket for it, quickly typing a response to whatever text he received. As he places it back into his pocket, he looks up at me. Our eyes lock and there's very little said, but I find myself not discouraged. The look on his face was neutral, and intimidating of course, yet I sensed a more comfortable energy. It seemed like we were looking at each other for too long, the look in his eyes shifting from harmless to motivated with intent. His usually bright eyes were not any different, though they were accompanied by a very obvious mischief and desire to do things to me as his eyes gazed down my figure again, drinking in the accentuating outfit.