Fishing For A Dream [Book Three]

Chapter 40 - Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Harry and I rushed back to the hotel - both out of a need to get out of the cold, and so we could be alone. Walking through the empty hotel lobby, we smiled at the night staff behind the desk and headed straight to the lift.

Standing side by side as the doors closed, I wanted to pounce on him. I wanted to sink my fingers into his hair and feel him pulling me tight against his hard body while our tongues danced and mingled together. But, as I glanced up at the bug-eye shaped camera above us, all I could do was reach for his hand, and link our cold fingers together as we both tried to keep the desire to rip each other's clothes off at bay with steady breaths.

"This might be the slowest lift known to man," I grumbled, watching the numbers up to our floor crawl past at a snail's pace. There were only seven levels, but it seemed like we were being winched up to the top of The Shard by hand in a wicker basket.

Harry did not help matters by leaning over to press a single kiss to my jaw, and muttered in a voice that promised the wait would be worth it, "Patience, James, patience."

I was seriously considering throwing caution to the wind and pushing him up against the wall and kissing him properly, when finally the elevator came to a stop at our floor, made a little ding, and the doors opened. Hand in hand, we all but raced along the corridor to our door, giggling with excitement.

My patience seemed to wear thin as I leant against the wall next to our door, watching Harry as he dug the key-card out of his wallet. Pulling him against me whilst he blindly tried to get the card in the lock, I tried to contain that I was grinning from ear to ear, and whispered, "I love you so much, Styles."

He left the lock for a second, putting his whole focus on me. Cradling my face in his hands, his rings were cold against my cheek as he kissed me deeply - warm tongue slipping lazily with mine. I breathed him in, holding on to the lapels of his black wool coat, allowing the love I felt for him to wash over me. If this was what it meant to be with him, if we continued to have nights such as these, then I wanted to be with him forever.

As a hand left my cheek, our mouths hung close, and I heard the beeping of the lock on the door before he pushed it open. Making no attempt to move, he said, "I love you, too, Lil."

I moved first; heading inside and making sure he followed quickly. Alone in the dark, safe in our room, there was a flurry of movement as I pressed him up against the nearest wall, and kissed him like I'd wanted to in the lift.

Other than a quiet, sleepy quickie on Christmas Day night (okay, and also when we got to the hotel, before joining everyone in the bar), we'd been too busy or too tired to be intimate with each other. The fresh air had blown away the worst of the inebriation from the champagne, leaving us more love-drunk than regular drunk, and with the right amount of tipsiness to feel comfortable losing our inhibitions. I didn't second guess myself when I spilt out just how much I loved him, and felt no need to tease him as a way to diffuse my bashfulness when he did the same.