Pretty Please Don't Pinch Me

22. Tattoos

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I try to be rid of my impure thoughts, and am finding it impossible to do so with a shirtless Harry. I switch off the bed side lamp, and unfortunately I can still see him quite clearly due to the moonlight coming in from outside. The blanket lazily covers his boxers and I see a glimpse of the pair I tried on earlier. I blush at the intimacy of it all, and turn on my side with my back facing him.

The blanket covers my legs and I feel the shirt ride up, exposing part of my back. He consumes my thoughts, and it is as if my body is aware of his presence. I can't seem to calm down enough to sleep.

I restlessly turn over to be more comfortable and we lock eyes. One tattoo in particular catches my eyes, and I lean in a little more closely to get a better look. I still can't make it out and I shine my iPhone light on it to decipher what it is.

I touch it and he inhales a sharp breath.

"What does this one mean?" I ask, now propped up on my side by my elbow.

It's the name Gemma in Hebrew," he tells me. "My sister," he quickly adds.

"That's a pretty name."

"You'll like her," he adds, and a warmness spreads over my body. He must intend on introducing us from what he's said.

I now touch the bird closest to me on his upper chest.

"I almost got a bird tattoo on my eighteenth birthday," I inform him.

"Why a bird?" he asks interestedly.

"It's my name meaning. The meaning behind my name is a bird. It also means a few other things like life, or vitality... And also desired."

He looks over with a mixture of mild shock and also curiosity.

"I like that," he replies. "Mine literally means 'ruler of the house'. I used to remind Mum all the time, though it was very clear that the girls ruled in our house," he laughs.

I like it when Harry talks fondly about his family. I feel him opening up each time we meet, and it has me wanting to know even more about him.

"And this one?" I say as I softly rest my hand on his stomach on the detailed butterfly. I linger longer than I probably should and he laughs at what I'm assuming is the memory of getting it done.

"I was heavily intoxicated at the time, but somewhat ashamed to admit that it's now one of my favourites."

"You definitely make it work," I say as I trace my index finger lightly over the outline.

"You need to stop that," he says huskily.

I look a little perplexed by his comment.

"I'm trying my very best to be a gentleman, but I'm becoming all too aware that I'm in bed with one of the most beautiful girls I have ever laid eyes on, while you're in your underwear. Do you understand how much of a turn on that is, even without you touching me?"

The sêxual tension in the room is already palpable. So many aspects of his words blow me away and I'm left in shock while my brain tries to process it all. One of the most beautiful girls he's ever laid eyes on? That certainly can't be true. But he speaks with such conviction and earnestness, that I genuinely believe him. I wish I hadn't drunk tonight. I really, really do. All I want is to lie in his arms and for our lips to meet. All I want is for-