Stall 2

Chapter 22.

He hung up the phone, and set it on the coffee table; looking over to me with another sweet unnerving smile, "Now that's sorted out - You ready for dinner baby?"

Is he... high? Is that what's going on?

I watched him with silent suspicion as he cooked us dinner, eyeing him like he was possessed and all but held up a crucifix at him.

This is bad.

He was nothing but affectionate and loving all night, not one crass dirty innuendo left his mouth and he was on his best behaviour.

Which for Harry, is not fucking normal.

Everytime he noticed me staring at him, like he was some circus sideshow attraction with nervous eyes, he'd just smile at me.

I honestly found him holding a knife against my damn vagina less threatening than that sweet smile.

Ever had a shark smile at you? No? Sounds creepy right? Yeah cause it fucking is.

I decided to test him, just to see on a scale of one to ten how fucked I really was with whatever game he was playing.

We had finally gotten into bed, with Ludo taking his usual spot at the end of the bed while Harry snuggled up behind me like a koala; keeping up his soft and tender act with soft kisses to my neck before nuzzling his nose against it.

"Maybe I should get you to eat me out and then just leave you hanging more often, you're much better behaved" I said, waiting for his reaction.

For the briefest moment I felt his arms tense, but he recovered quickly and simply agreed, "Maybe you should, you had good reason to darling, I deserved it. It's fine."

I swear I felt all the blood drain from my body, listening to the casual tone in his tired voice. It was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that feels like the apocalypse is just around the corner.

On a scale of one to ten, I am eleventy-fucked.

But I wish instead of dragging this out with whatever psycho stepford housewife charade he's pulling, he'd just put me out of my misery and just do, I don't know, anything!

He hasn't reacted at all except for just being, nice. Overly nice. It's driving me insane.

And that's how it's been, all the way up to today. Wednesday.

Where he's slowly tortured me since I woke up - he knows exactly what he's doing. It's not the usual kind of obvious teasing he normally does though, it's subtle. Or maybe I'm just that on edge with my nerves shot to shit, that I'm over sensitive.

I'm fairly sure though, he's purposely trying to kill me with just... how he looks. His mannerisms. Subtle gestures. His confidence.

It's  like he's pulled some reverse psychology crap and his lack of interest, and indifference these past few days has me transfixed on him like I'm in some kind of trance.

Whilst he's been affectionate, there hasn't been a single ounce of sexual intention with any of it. It's been like living with a cuddly abstinent saint for three days.  

I was still in bed, trying to wake up properly when I watched him walk out of the bathroom from the shower; all glistening skin and wet hair, a towel wrapped loose around his hips so low that it teased a glimpse of just above his pubic bone.

Some days it still just slaps me, just how devastating this man is with his appearance; and while he always looks good even when he doesn't try, but when he does try... it's like an orgasm for the eyes.

He went and stood in front of the wardrobe, paying me no attention as he dropped his towel and I tried not to drop my jaw clean off my body.

I watched as he sifted through clothes to pick what he wanted to wear, humming a tune to himself like some chipper songbird while I let my eyes trail over his toned back; seeing the muscles contract with his movements until I let my gaze drift lower to his firm behind and bite down hard on my lip.