This Thing Upon Me [Order The eBook] [Harry Styles]

Chapter 31***

"Yeah...kind of..."

"Let's get comfortable..." He rose and before I could follow, he told me to give him a sec.

**********

When he returned, he was unspeaking. He held out a hand and I accepted, feeling my insides go gooey when his warm palm enclosed my fingers. It was happening. Something was happening, but I couldn't tell what. No more pretense. No more begging to be kissed. He was taking me to his room. THEIR room, I corrected myself. But then another part of me shot it down and repeated, HIS room.

He wanted me there, and had invited me there, and now he was leading me there, hand in hand. My knees grew weak halfway down the hall, registering the familiar paintings and the collage of Polaroids from my first visit. Registering the perpetual chill of the polished concrete at my feet. Feeling him lightly stroke my fingers. Inhaling his bodywash, which had doused me and would overwhelm my senses for the remainder of the day. I nearly collapsed then, but knew I had to be strong. There were only a few more feet and I would be safe in his bed, with him.

Upon entering, it felt like early 2015 again; Valentine's Day. He had changed the sheets and shut the drapes and lit several candles around the floor of the room. It was his signature to give these moments a sense of occasion, and it got me every time. 

Now he brought me before him and removed the few rings I wore, bunching my fingers together in his palm and kissing them repeatedly. Then he reached around my shoulders and removed my cross necklace, his beard brushing my ear in the process. I kissed his cheek before he retreated, and he looked back at me with a smirk.

There was a bottle of whisky on the nightstand and a single tumbler. I sat on the edge of the bed, as directed, and watched him pour a bit of the amber liquid neat, then toss it back with a grimace. He then poured me a bit, and I downed it right away, hissing through the afterburn. I drank it quickly because I was afraid to miss his next instruction.

When I handed him the glass, he poured himself another draught and downed it just as quickly. I had a second as well, feeling it burn a hole in my stomach as it trickled down my esophagus. On his third, he kissed me and slowly spilled some into my mouth. 

I grabbed the back of his head and gulped every drop he offered, wiping my chin before reclaiming his lips. His liquor-soaked tongue tasted cool and fiery, and I lapped it up, breathing fiercely from my nose and yanking his hair with both hands. He drank a bit more (straight from the bottle) and again I drank it from his mouth. When I finished, he ran a fingertip along my bottom lip until I drew it into my mouth. The whites of his eyes appeared as he savored the textures of my tongue and teeth, and I struggled not to bite down on him in my intoxication.

"Z..." I breathed when he pulled away. He still hadn't spoken. He laid me down across the center of the bed, his fingers scratching at my waistband. Soon he snatched my sweats down my hips, exposing the hard-on I'd been hiding from him. His lids fluttered drunkenly, and he expelled a slow, tortured breath. He wanted to savor the sight of me before digging in. We knew we could never have this 'first time' again.