Perspective

Chapter Sixty Two.

This makes Harry pause, groaning against my neck at the circling of my hips as my hands slip from his neck and wander down his front to sneak under his shirt again to feel over his heated skin while his breathing falters.

I know I've always been on the more reserved side with Harry, but that doesn't mean it's who I am. When I'm comfortable with someone doing things I actually want to do and my anxiety isn't eating me alive... I'm not like that at all.

"Are you telling me to fuck you Heartbreaker?"

His question is full of surprise, as if I'm joking (I have no idea how, I thought I was being obvious) but his voice has dropped to the deep rasp that makes me want to shiver.

"If you want me," I say back with my breath catching in my throat when he halts my movements on top of him; but keeps me pressed hard against the erection trapped in his pants that I swear I can feel throbbing through the fabric.

Then again, it could be me throbbing.

He leans back to look at my face, and I gulp at how wild his eyes look but his voice has an apprehensive tone to it, "We don't have to do that -- if it's too soon we can wait it's okay. I'm not trying to get that from you. I'm happy with what we're doing right now... I thought you just meant you wanted to touch each other or something tonight, take it slow, I don't think we should-"

"Are you saying that because you don't want to fuck me or because you're worried about me?" I cut in deciding to be blunt, feeling his stomach muscles twitch and jump when I run my fingers over them before slipping my hands out from under his shirt.

If he doesn't want to, that's totally different. I'll stop completely with no problem - but if this is because of concern for me, then I don't want to stop.

Also If I didn't know any better I'd swear I were drunk by how I'm acting, but I'm sober as the day I was born.

It's amazing how different actually enjoying sex with someone will have you behaving... or being in love with them.

Excitement instead of shame.

Harry pinches his eyes shut, huffing air out through his nose as if he's in pain, "Fucking hell Drew -- of course I want you and hearing you talk like that isn't helping. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact I can kiss you again. I don't want to do something you're not absolutely ready to do -- if I fuck this up again I'll never forgive myself."

That's sweet, but I'd really like it if he fucked me up right about now.

It means a lot, more than I think he realises that he cares so much but I don't think I've ever been more ready to have anyone fuck the living daylights out of me... well anyone besides him.

I'm also unsure if he realises the way he's acting is only making me want him more.

Who knew compassion and consent were such an aphrodisiac?

You know what, Maybe I am actually possessed by a horny hamster in my head; because my response to Harry is grasping the hem of my shirt and pulling it up over my head, tossing it on the passenger seat before I reach around to unhook my bra.

Maybe this is a bad idea but I am so beyond over fighting with myself when it comes to him.

I need to trust my choices. I need to trust myself.

Harry's eyes open in time to see me slipping my bra from my shoulders, pulling it off my arms and discarding it with my shirt; left topless in front of him with my adrenaline fighting my shame and I swear his eyes snapped three times wider.