Perspective

Chapter Forty Nine.

My worrying thoughts getting replaced with memories from the night before again, and the image in front of me replacing the dread in the bit of my stomach with that warm fluttering feeling when I see his bottom lip pout out, and his brows crease on his captivating features.

The slight frown on his face has me smiling to myself and I'm glad he's asleep so he can't see the reaction I have to him now.

He'd probably smirk over it.

Even though we're laying so close, I want to get closer and I slide my hand over his stomach; feeling it rise and fall with his breaths. He's so warm.

I've never seen someone that suited blue so much. He's making this blue lighting look beautiful.

Who knew underneath everything he was so damn lovely.

Fucking hell, I'm a soft piece of shit for him now but I genuinely can't help it anymore and that is all his fault.

I let my palm smooth down past his belly button, and listen to a sleepy little hum come from him that has me raising brow, and as I continue tracing my hand around, he exhales a sigh still fast asleep but looking very content.

I guess Gizmo isn't the only one that's a slut for tummy rubs.

I graze my fingers over his lower abdomen, feeling the trail of hair that disappears under the blanket; watching his stomach muscles twitch from the contact and another faint sleepy hum echo in his chest.

That sound triggers the flood of audio porn in my mind, all the different pleasured sounds I've heard him make from shaky breaths to loud drawn out moans that feel like that vibrate my whole body when I hear them.

It has my stomach getting tight and my pulse picking up the more I think about it, and I swallow, trying to ease my nerves over the sudden urge it's giving me.

See, there's a thing on that 'list' that Harry refers to of the things I enjoy, that he has some obsession with adding to; which I haven't mentioned. When I like someone, trust them and I'm given the opportunity, pleasuring them is something I genuinely enjoy.

A lot of the time, it was just expected of me, demanded or just taken without my consent but when I want to do it... I really, really enjoy it. I love seeing that person I care about in bliss, listening to them and seeing their reactions. Often it can even feel better than receiving pleasure.

... I like Harry, and I trust him. And now I can't get this idea out of my head.

I have a momentary panic in my chest over getting rejected, genuine fear jolting through me over initiating something; because even though we've had sex, the more I like someone the more bashful I seem to get. It's because I care about what they think, how they feel matters more and it becomes so important to me.

I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, feeling my heart thump hard in my rib cage as I hold my breath and fight to ignore the insecurity in my brain screaming worst case scenarios at me and decide to at least try.

Maybe I can start showing him more of that side I keep tucked away, that I save for the people that are special to me.

I slip my hand lower under the covers and my brows shot up at the same time I roll my lips inside my mouth to stop from laughing to myself; when I graze my knuckles against what feels like a painfully hard erection.

Well, I guess he's having better dreams than I did. Maybe he really does snort viagra.

That deviant playful streak flares up in me, one that I thought I'd never feel again and I try to be as gentle and careful as I can when I lift up the covers and pulled them down to his thighs.