Wish You Were Here - Part 2

Chapter 31

OLIVIA'S POV

My shaky hands grip the top of the bathroom counter as I pull in slow, measured breaths in order to regain some sort of composure.

I don't know why I let Bec talk me into getting this ridiculously over priced lingerie that probably makes me look more stupid than sexy. 

My eyes peel reluctantly over my body in the reflection of the mirror in front of me. A black lace bra that costs a week worth of rent and matching thong cover merely inches of my body and I squeeze my eyes shut with the thought of the potential embarrassment of the sheer black thigh high stockings that are being held up by a garter belt around my waist.

Am I meant to wear heels?  Bec insisted I pack some but I feel even more ridiculous in them that I probably already look.

I curse myself for not drinking more wine at dinner to quell my blossoming inhibitions, remembering that Bec said it's important I look confident even if I'm not.

How the fuck am I meant to be confident when the man I'm trying to turn on has slept with every Victoria Secret model on the payroll?

My insecurities, bubble over when I involuntarily think of all the horrible things I've read about myself on social media in the last year by other girls I've never met. Ugly, fat, undeserving, hideous, slut, manipulating, beard, hag, publicity stunt, old. Like most women would feel in my position, although I wished I was above it and it didn't effect me, the cruel words hit me like knives in the chest every time I saw a picture of Harry and I posted by someone else and the comments that followed it.

"LIIIIIV!"  I hear Harry whine from outside the door. 

Shit! How long have I been in here? Maybe this is a bad idea, he'll think I'm trying to be something I'm not and I know he loves me for me, ugly pyjama shorts and all.

I shake the doubt from my mind.  What's the worst thing that can happen? If he laughs then my ego will be bruised and I won't do it again. Period.  I'm ditching the heels though.

I take in a deep breath and reach for the door handle. "Sink or swim Liv, just got to jump in." I tell myself as I push open the door.

Harry is thankfully rummaging through his suitcase and I have a second to lean against the door frame to steady myself, my butt resting against the back of my trembling hands in an attempt to stand up straight and push my shoulders back.  Fake it 'til you make it, right?

Harry must have noticed the silence and he stands up to look in my direction, a pile of t-shirts in his hand.

"Holy fuck!" He breathes, his hand flying over his bare chest as the clothing falls out of his grip and onto the floor.

I bite my lip, too nervous to speak in case he hears the uncertainty in my voice, blowing my 'sexy and confident' act I'm attempting and I hear a low groan trap in the back of his throat.

I wish I was one of those girls who could strut up to him and push him on the bed, swing my leg over his hips and fuck his brains out.  That's exactly how this played out in my head as Bec and I giggled at the hypothetical scenario in the fitting rooms of the lingerie shop and debating buying a whip as a joke, but as I stand here, frozen in front of him, the reality of the situation is very different. I'm hesitant and shy and, well... me.

"Come here," he exhales, his voice so low and raspy it sends a shiver down my spine and I find my body responding before my brain can convince it not to.

I take the few steps towards him, the closer I get the more apparent Harry's erratic breathing is, matching my own ramped pulse, until I'm standing just a foot in front of his widened eyes and heaving chest.