The Only Exception | W2S

TWENTY(!).

Harry. His eyes. The way he looked at me. The last few weeks. Him. Just... him.

My heart pounds so furiously it feels as though it might burst.

With shaky determination, I force myself forward. I need to change, crawl into bed, and let sleep smother this chaos.

But I don't move towards the bed. Instead, I turn, hand trembling as I grasp the door handle, and pull it open.

Harry is there, fist raised, poised to knock.

We freeze, mere inches apart. The charged air between us is almost suffocating, the intensity making my skin prickle.

"Holly—" he begins, his expression unreadable but achingly vulnerable. "Tell me if I've got this wrong, but—"

"No," I interrupt, shaking my head as my voice wavers. "No, you haven't."

A beat passes, and then he steps closer. His hands rise, gentle but sure, cupping my face. Our foreheads meet, and the world narrows to just this moment. Just us.

"Can I—?" he murmurs, his voice thick with hesitation, but I don't let him finish.

Instead, I close the distance between us.

The second our lips crash into each other, it's like a dam breaking. There's no hesitation, no careful testing of boundaries—just heat. His hands grip my waist, firm and desperate, pulling me flush against him as I grab at his shirt, tugging him closer. It's messy, frantic, and I don't care.

I can taste the faint bitterness of alcohol on his lips, and it only adds to the rush coursing through me. His hands are everywhere—my back, my hips, my hair—and I match his urgency, my fingers sliding under the hem of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin.

We stumble backwards into my room, the door slamming shut behind us. He presses me against the wall, his mouth moving hungrily over mine, and I gasp against him as his hands roam with reckless abandon. It's all-consuming, like neither of us can get enough.

"Holly," he mutters, his voice low and rough, before his lips trail down my neck, teeth grazing my skin in a way that makes my knees weak. I clutch at his shoulders, struggling to catch my breath, my head spinning from the mix of adrenaline and alcohol.

"Don't stop," I manage, my voice breaking as I pull him back to me, crashing our mouths together again. His hands grip my thighs, and before I can even process it, he lifts me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist.

We're a tangle of limbs as he carries me to the bed, barely making it before we collapse onto it. His body presses into mine, the weight of him grounding me and igniting something wild all at once. My fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt, and he lets out a frustrated growl, tearing it off himself and tossing it aside.

His hands slip under my top, rough and eager, and I arch into him, pulling him closer. It's fast, messy, and we're both breathless, too far gone to care about anything but this moment.

When he looks at me, his eyes are dark, filled with a raw, unspoken need that sends a shiver through me. "Holly," he murmurs again, and this time it's not a question.

Harry's hands are everywhere—my waist, my hips, my thighs—exploring me with a hunger that's impossible to ignore. His lips move down my neck, grazing my collarbone, and I shiver under his touch.

He pulls back just slightly, his gaze dark and devouring as it roams over me. His hand comes up to gently cup my jaw, his thumb brushing over my cheek. "Such a pretty face," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, almost reverent, though the intensity in his eyes betrays the fire raging beneath his words.

I barely have time to process before he's kissing me again, harder this time, like he can't get enough. The air between us is electric, charged with adrenaline and alcohol, and every touch, every sound seems amplified.

"You're gonna ruin me," he growls against my lips, his words half-lost in the chaos of it all, and I can't help but smile against his mouth.

Ignoring every alarm going off in the back of my mind, I answer him. "I'm counting on it," I whisper back, my fingers tangling in his hair as I pull him closer.

His hands are rough against my skin, leaving trails of heat everywhere they touch. I pull him back down, our mouths meeting in a feverish clash, and it's clear we're both beyond the point of no return.

The room is filled with the sound of laboured breaths, of whispered names and muffled groans. Every movement feels urgent, desperate, like we're both trying to burn off the energy coursing through us before it consumes us entirely.

And when he pauses, just for a moment, his forehead resting against mine, his voice is low, ragged. "You drive me fucking mad, Holly."

It was everything and more. 

He laughs again, the sound dark and loaded, before diving back in, and everything else fades into the chaos of him.