Blueprint

P8 - Night Hours

Coming to My Sense by Alina Baraz

This chapter contains explicit, mature content**

Week 7 of Internship

4:55PM

The ink on my fingertips appeared to have smudged several times against the intricate, but trivial loops and swirls. I did that thing he doesn't like — I bit the tip of my pen and absentmindedly read through the case facts he presented to me this morning. While he sorted through his schedule and made some calls, I lazily leaned my side against the back of the sofa in his office, legs hanging off the arm of the sofa, and  my eyes occasionally and obsessively trailing towards him. The very logical part of my brain found my incessant need to see him every half hour quite threatening. But the hopeless romantic in me shyly looks away when he makes the slightest movement that could possibly give me away.

I kicked my legs back and forth very slightly, storing the information I scanned as much as I could without getting distracted by his voice. There came a point where I glanced up and found him already looking at me. Our eyes locked momentarily before his pink mouth curves upwards at the corners only slightly, and he shakes his head amusingly at the synchronized eye contact. I don't look away when he does, and find that my gaze transforms into one of admiration, one of peeking desire.

He wrote and he wrote, flipped through documents and annotated here and there. My cheek presses against the softness of the sofa, my full lips pouting naturally at the pressure against one side of my face. Big, warm eyes wander his face, dwelling on the handsome features, the naturally alluring aura that he was dripping in just sitting there. I knew what that taint of hairs that littered his jaw and the spaces around his mouth felt like against my skin. I still felt his nose brushing against my own if I thought enough about it. But more importantly, I knew the way his mouth felt on mine. I convinced myself that I had stopped thinking when I slept with him, but it seems I was the match and he was the lighter fluid that lit up my mind with many, many more thoughts.

Harry looks at me again, catching my dreamy gaze. I don't even register that he'd caught me fast enough. He raises a dark eyebrow, bringing his clasped, ringed hands to his lips as his eyes examine me and the way I was situated. The hands covered much of his lower face, but his eyes remained viewable, and their beautiful pale green lulled me further into whatever daydream I had accidentally fallen into. A pink tints my cheeks, the temperatures rising on the surface of my skin when he doesn't look away, and I wondered, or maybe hoped, he was admiring me, too.

I must've looked like I needed attention.

He stands from his leather desk chair, his hands pressing against the sides of his neck as if to remove the tension that had been building up there. He lets out a low sigh through his lips, and I blink away the sight of him as he approaches where I sit. I had picked the perfect day to wear a skirt, as he crouches by the arm of the sofa where my legs hung, his fingertips brushing upwards against the soft skin. I nearly shudder at the sensation, only to feel it disappear as he looks up and glides a single hand up the side of my thigh not pressed against the furniture. Sighing, I take a deeper breath to regulate my excited heartbeat. I'm being teased and I'm aware of it, only watching the beautiful curve that lifts the corners of his mouth, that forces the indent against his cheek to appear.

"You need to stop making that face at me," he whispers lowly, leaning forward until he's almost forcing me to lean back, his hand pressed against the sofa where I'm seated, dipping it there as he supports his body. I tip my head back to maintain our heated eye contact. His eyes hardly move as he examines my face, with a fixation on my lips. "It's distracting," he adds quietly.

I inhale deeply, searching his narrowing, focusing eyes. "I'm sorry," I apologize with little meaning.

"Don't sound very sorry, do you," he murmurs, his breath fanning against my lips. I nearly melt and disappear into the crevices of the sofa. If he just kissed me, that was all I needed.