It goes on for a few short months, the taintilizing little "game" that she plays. It should have meant something to her, the simple fact he hadn't left already, but her mind stays constantly occupied with nagging worries that cloud her vision. It only seems to worsen when her friends feel the need to pry into their personal life. They ask her if she's done anything with Harry yet. If she's slept with him. When she answers truthfully with a shake of her head, she's met with startled gasps, as if she had told them she did something terrible.
"We've only been dating for four months," she had said in defense, twiddling with her fingers.
"That's four months too long," One of her friends had remarked. "Well, you better get ready."
"Yeah, there's only so long that boy can hold himself back before he gets impatient," Another had snickered.
"Harry's not like that," she said, which had been met solely with an agreed upon, "All men are the same."
And even though she knew she should have ignored them, she doesn't. It only makes sense to her. Harry hadn't forced himself upon her or made any sort of suggestive comments in the months that they've been together, but she can sense it in his lingering eyes and lustful smirks and the way his hands constantly reach out to touch her. So, when Harry asks to take her out for the night to a fancy restaurant days after the conversation with her friends, she suddenly grows nervous. The signs were all there, clearly pointing that tonight is the night. After all, it had been long enough. Still, she puts in the effort to look extra nice for him, wearing that specific little red dress that she knows he loves - the silky one that hugs her body just right, the hem reaching just mid-thigh. She puts on a dark shade of red lipstick and does her hair all pretty just for him. He, of course, looks delectable as always in all black and a Saint Laurent dress shirt. He's just as charming and chivalrous that night, if not even more so, holding open doors for her and pulling out her seat at the restaurant.
Later, after they've eaten and are walking back to his car, he pulls her over to him and sheds the suit jacket he wears to give to her, draping it over her shoulders. It smells just like him, something musky yet sweet and entirely intoxicating, warming her senses. Just outside his car, he pauses in front of her and notices the way she has wrapped her arms in front of herself. Truth be told, she grows increasingly more nervous as time wears on but he mistakens it for her being cold. It is a rather chilly night, he thinks. He rubs his hands at her upper arms from underneath his jacket, his lips unfurling into a tempting smirk that brandishes his dimple, jade green eyes locking softly with hers.
"Come back to mine?" he asks. "The night is still young, innit?"
It's a harmless question but it's one that suddenly sends her heart spiking. She hopes he can't see the sheer obvious panic on her face. She's come to find that it's not even just because she's more nervous to sleep with him than she lets on, but rather how she truly feels for him. She likes him. A lot. In fact, she's falling in love with him - and to be invited back to his home for the first time (she's seen it fleetingly before but to actually stay there is a whole other story) frightens her. Being around him is always overwhelming, but in a good way. Enjoyable and pleasant, but so incredibly overwhelming. Often times she finds her face burning from timidness when he winks at her or drapes his arm around her waist; other times she feels faint and dizzy when they kiss in the dark or in his car. She wonders if he even feels the same. If she can even cause such an effect on someone older and "more experienced" than her. She's constantly trying not to do anything that will risk losing him or making a fool of herself. Does he ever fret over the same things?
It's something she's never asked him and probably never will. Before he can notice her hesitating, she says yes and soon enough she finds herself standing outside his home, following him passed the doors. Yet with each passing minute and step she takes, she is quickly overcome with anxiety. She has to tell herself to get a grip, that it's not as if she isn't expecting it to happen. She feels as if every moment building up to then, every date they've been on and every effort she's ever made to keep his attention on her, has been her somehow mentally preparing herself for the inevitable. They'll kiss, he'll make her feel comfortable and warm and nice - it's not that big of a deal. Except it is.
Comfort
Start from the beginning
