He looked down at me, a smirk taking place on his face, and putting both of his hands at each side of my face, he leaned down to kiss me in a slow, lazy kiss. Our lips were molding to each other and his tongue slipped past my lips to find my own, deepening the kiss and the urgency, but never quickening the rhythm.
My hands went to cup his face and I wished I could pull him down closer to me, by wrapping my legs around his body, but he had me trapped under him, his legs at each side of my body pinning me to the bed.
"I'm tired." I warned him and he smiled, shrugging his shoulders a little before kissing my neck.
"We don't need to fuck." His kisses were soft, not very sexual, and still, I found myself thinking that maybe fucking one more time wouldn't be the worst idea ever, despite my legs being tired and sore from the long session in the shower.
I shivered when his fingers were right under the little top I had on, his lips making their way to my stomach while they left soft kisses on my skin. Distractedly, I played with his hair, which ends were brushing against my skin. I traced my fingertips over the muscles of his shoulders, smiling when he shivered, stopping for a second before looking at me with dark eyes.
"No fucking, Harry." I squinted my eyes distrustfully at him, pretty sure he was getting ready to just take my panties off and fuck me until I cried of exhaustion.
"You're so boring." He mumbled.
He continued kissing, humming lightly until he placed a final kiss right under my bellybutton and then came up to kiss me once more on the lips.
Settling his head on my boob once again, he drew lazy figures on my stomach with his fingertips, the little hairs on my arms and neck standing up at his touch.
"You should get a tattoo." He said, breaking the comfortable silence that was surrounding us.
I considered for a second, realizing that the idea didn't actually bother me. I had always found tattoos fascinating, the way they ran along your skin, representing the power a person could have over their body, to decide how to mark and differentiate themselves, how to make themselves special where the nature had made them regular. I just had never had the balls to go ahead and get one.
"You think?"
"Yeah. It should say Harry's girl." He said thoughtfully and I could only burst in laughter. "And it should go on your ass, so people can know you're mine." His voice was so serious, it certainly didn't match with the ridiculousness of his words
"That is a great idea." I laughed. "On my ass?"
"Yes. Big red letters."
"Lovely."
He looked up at me with a sheepish smile on his face, leaning a little to kiss me, which slowly turned into a make out session, the kind that leaves you without breath and with swollen lips. He pressed his body against mine and I put my hands on his neck, keeping his face up and our lips connected for a long while. My heart rate had increased by the time he let me go, his lips pressing a kiss on my heaving chest.
"Maybe I should get one." I said when I had finally recovered my breath. Brushing my fingers over the lines of his rose tattoo, I admired how nicely all of his tattoos complemented him, his whole persona, even when they were nothing but a senseless mess to me. Maybe that was exactly the reason why.
"Do you want us to go to the parlor tomorrow? Maybe you can see some designs and we can come home and think about it."
At the mention of the word home, a thousand butterflies erupted in me, going beyond the limits of my stomach and fluttering all over my body. He had said it so casually, a word that meant so much, and maybe I was probably over reacting, he probably hadn't meant anything other than his home, one that wasn't mine, but only his, but it sounded so lovely coming from him. Home, fucking home.
Lesson- Part Thirteen
Start from the beginning
