'The night's almost up
The night's almost done
But I see your eyes
You wanna go again'
*
The theft of the Cullinan IX is only one day away. The small ring, known as the insignificant piece of the most famous collection of diamonds in the world will soon be in our possession. If all goes to plan, those tasked with protecting it for the monarchy won't even realise it's gone until the culprits have slipped away in the crowds of London, their pockets much heavier than when they started the day. This is the first step in pulling off the greatest heist in history. Eventually, when people look back on this moment in time, what we're setting to achieve will be written on the pages of the story. Though our names will remain anonymous, our legacy will be known for generations to come. Perhaps that is the biggest prize to win.
The atmosphere in the warehouse is one of excitement. Everyone that can help has spent every waking minute of their days leading up to the main event in this building. Of course, it's only a small task that requires few people, but to make sure it runs smoothly it's best to have more hands on deck. A small team was put together to make sure George had everything ready tech wise, Louis also helping when he had the time. Another had put together a selection of weapons in case we need them but in my naivety I pray we won't. It's just a simple case of taking the ring when no one is looking. Surely that should be easy.
As of late, the paranoia has gotten to me, though, which has only encouraged me to better my skills with firearms. If I've learnt anything over these months it's that you never know when danger will strike. I always need to be prepared, especially when we're about to pull off a high stakes robbery. Hugo Charles has made it perfectly clear that he's watching our every move, which means he's probably aware of our activities. The question that remains is why he's chosen to keep silent about them. Maybe he wants the pleasure of bringing us down himself. Wants to make it personal.
I've spent most evenings after work at the warehouse practising my aim. When Harry can help he's there to guide me, but Zayn and Babz have led the session a couple of times. They've shown me some new techniques that I won't deny feeling excited over. There's a certain type of adrenaline that courses through your veins when you're holding something so powerful, knowing exactly how to use it and being able to perform the act in a technical way. There's a flamboyance to it, the art of shooting. I've gathered that Zayn isn't the biggest fan of guns, rather opting for weapons that require more physical strength, something I believe to be down to his time in the army. Babz, on the other hand, takes particular pleasure with firing a gun. She's cocky with it, and rightly so considering how excellent her aim is. It only leaves me wondering how long they've had to rely on these weapons.
More and more I seem to be finding myself drawn to them. After the first time I was attacked at work, I was so terrified of them. The sheer damage they can cause sent a shiver down my spine and made my pulse race. Just knowing how easy it could be to end someone's life, how easy it would be to end mine if those men got what they wanted. Since then, every time I spend in the presence of the weapons only sparks my curiosity more. There's a familiarity with them now, something I feel comfortable with. It's put my entire moral compass into a spiral.
Trying to understand my ethics isn't helped by the abundance of questions compared to the few answers we hold regarding Hugo Charles. Visiting Belly certainly helped, but only to a small degree. At least I know I can trust her, so I'm not entirely alone in this. However, without even realising she's been embroiled into something she had no say in. Her life, and that of her baby's, is now on the line, the worst part being she can't even confront her fiancé about it through fear of making things worse. I've held my promise and kept in contact with her; I won't have a repeat of the events of Joe's death on my hands again. That day has been tattooed on my memory, leaving scars on my heart. A man I once envisioned a life with now dead because of the woman he loved too hard. A tragic end to a sorrowful tale. I will do everything in my power to ensure Belly does not meet that fate.
I've been working down on the main floor today, reading over some more of the notes from the original cutting of the Cullinan back in the 1900s so I'm prepared for the next heist. Harry has been upstairs making calls and ensuring the day is fully planned out. He's nervous, that much is obvious. I haven't seen him this jittery in the time that I've known him. This morning he kept to himself, eyes down and lips sealed while he chewed the inside of his cheek and picked at the skin around his nails. I knew better than to try and converse with him when he was in that state.
Despite the buzz of the warehouse, it's been quiet for me. But now I'm ready to focus my attention back on the deafening sounds of bullets as I convince myself I'm not a damsel in distress. While I appreciate the help from the team, I know I can't rely on them forever, and to be honest I'm enjoying the feeling of shooting more and more these days. After every shot I feel the impact vibrate through my body for hours after the occurrence, the ring lingering until I get to wrap my hands around the weapon again. A voice in the back of my head keeps telling me to run from that feeling, to flee the scene before anyone catches me in the act, but for some reason my feet will always stay cemented to the ground as I continue firing shots at the wall. It's frightening, really.
After packing up my work, I make my way up the staircase to Harry's office on the way to the shooting range. I take some time to stare out at the building, watching people work away on their tasks. It's like a symphony of ambition, the way that people put all their effort into their tasks. No one slacks in this building. Their work ethic is infectious in a way. It only encourages the rest of us. Like every great event, it's always the people in the background that carry the end result, not the faces that represent it.
As I walk down the hall, there are no voices coming from the office. Perhaps Harry has finished with his calls. I continue my leisurely pace down the corridor, the lights brighter the further I go as the few pieces of outdoor lighting through the cracks of the main doors disappear. If I hadn't become so accustomed to this place it would unnerve me with how ominous it is when alone. A few knocks sound through the door of the room, almost like something is tumbling to the ground, which only worries me.
I pick up my pace and rush slightly towards the room in case something is wrong, though I doubt there's much I'd be able to do. My hand is cautiously placed on the handle, waiting a few moments in case there are more sounds. Eventually, another bang sounds as more things fall from their shelves, and I finally find the courage to open the door.
What I am met with is not what I expect, though.
Instead of finding Harry, presumably with a temper, I find two men. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust but when they do I realise who I'm watching. George and Louis. Kissing. Against the bookshelves.
I stand there for a few minutes in shock. They don't notice me at first, their bodies still glued to each other's while they melt into one another. It's gentle, but urgent. George has his back against the shelves, his hands pushed to Louis' chest, while his companion holds his face. Although I always suspected their affections towards each other, I never thought they'd act upon them. George is far too timid, and Louis is too proud. Yet, here I stand, watching them make out as if recreating the scene from Atonement in the library.
They barely even take the time to hear for the door open, completely enraptured with each other. Louis grabs George's leg and hoists it slighter higher against his hip, George's hand moving behind him to grab a shelf for balance. I shouldn't be here, but the image of them finally giving in warms my heart. When they pull back for air, their faces remain close, noses brushing against the other's with small smiles. Louis mumbles a few words that I just about hear.
'Where did you learn to kiss like that?' he asks, not taking his eyes off of George, who simply shakes his head.
Not wanting to eavesdrop any longer, I finally clear my throat. George's eyes falter over to me quickly before moving back to Louis, who has frozen in his spot. Though I try to hide it, a grin has settled on my lips at the sight. Suddenly, the two men break apart, creating more distance than needed, as if they've been caught doing something sinful. I never want them to feel that way around me, but I know it's because it's a moment of vulnerability.
George bites his lip when he meets my gaze, but Louis turns and walks to the window as he scratches the back of his neck. I hope he doesn't feel embarrassed. The warmth that comes with knowing your feelings are reciprocated should be enough to thaw his cold exterior and allow some light to shine in. From the looks of things, he just needs some time to adjust. I won't prod either of them for information if Louis isn't comfortable with that, he's made it abundantly clear that his emotions rarely come up in conversation. As long as they're happy, that's all I care about.
I walk a little further into the room, my footsteps the only sound until I speak. 'Do either of you know where Harry is? Supposed to have a shooting session with him and I thought he'd be here,' I tell them, ignoring the elephant in the room.
Louis keeps his back to me, but George remains calm. He gives me a quick nod, the corners of his lips pulling up as if to say thank you for not pushing it. 'He's in the gym, needed to let off some steam.'
'Cheers, I'll see you guys tomorrow,' I say, before backing out of the room at a much quicker rate than I arrived. I don't bother to linger outside, it's clear I've already disrupted something special, but seeing them, it only reminds me of the innocence I once felt.
I can't say I have much experience with falling in love. To be truthful I don't think I've ever felt it. With Joe I had convinced myself of it so soon in the relationship until one day I realised how I'd forced it upon myself. Before him I rarely felt comfortable enough to explore that feeling with anyone. At 25 years of age I've still never felt that connection with someone. You'd think that would be enough time for someone to find their other half, the piece that completes them, but so far I've only matched with broken parts.
It's something I've read about frequently in books, watched on the TV, even seen in front of me with friends. From what I can gather, falling in love creates a chaos in your chest, a haze in your eyes, a shake in your breath. It's earth-shattering, yet life completing all at once. Like the sound of birds chirping in the morning when you wake, while reminding you of the calamity of the rain that thrashes against your window in a storm. Pulse-quickening but mind numbing. Is that something I really want for myself? I'll never know.
When I watch Louis and George, though, that is what I see. I see that hopeless excitement but fear of the unknown. It's refreshing, really. Not everything in my life has been tarnished by the grim reality of my dangerous situation.
I continue my journey to the gym, despite only having been inside there once or twice since working with the team. There's some music playing that sounds throughout the hallway, Led Zeppelin. Very Harry. I can hear the sounds of gym machinery clanging, mixed with grunts here and there. As I approach, my feet halt when I catch a glimpse inside the room through the window on the door.
Harry lays back on a bench, a barbell held in both hands above his head as he lifts the weight with ease. Though I see a thick layer of sweat on his features, the light bouncing off and illuminates his skin, he doesn't seem to be struggling. Suddenly, I feel like a teenager spying on the boys in the locker room, swooning over anyone with the slightest bit of muscle, but I can't seem to help myself. This may be the first time I've truly allowed myself to appreciate the way his body looks.
As he moves the weight up and down, the muscles in his stomach and arms clench. They're prominent when they do, chiselled in a way that isn't normally visible when relaxed, but it's a sight I could get used to. Some shorts sit on his hips, black and hitting mid-thigh. With each lift they rise a little, exposing a tattoo of a lion on his leg.
Eventually, I open the door and peer in. His head turns to the side, catching my gaze, but he doesn't stop his exercises. I walk closer to him, my eyes wandering around the room as I get closer. It's small, only a few machines littered around, with some other equipment organised on a black metal set of shelves in the far corner. A few items are scattered across the floor, but around Harry is just his water bottle, t-shirt and phone. Minimal, just how he likes it.
My feet move round the bench, taking me to the spot at the end where his head rests. I look down at him with a small smile, watching as his tongue pokes out in concentration. His eyes try to focus on other parts of my face, but eventually they give in and meet mine. His pupils immediately soften at the contact, dimples showing as his smirk grows.
'You're distracting me, Atlas,' he warns, continuing his movements. I peek over at the weight to check what he's lifting, before rolling my eyes to antagonise him. It's an impressive weight, the smugness on his face evident before I face him again.
My hands move to the bar of the weight, helping him lift it over the hooks unexpectedly. He raises his eyebrows at my actions, not willing to end his session just yet. While he tries to move it again, I press down over his grip. He sighs at the contact, but finally gives in. 'We have work to do,' I claim, moving my hands to my sides again.
He reaches behind his head and grabs one of my hands, pulling it closer before he presses a quick but gentle kiss on the skin. His eyes never leave mine as he does it, but once he lets go he leans forward and cleans himself off with his shirt, as if the small act of affection didn't happen. It was so casual, normal almost. When his lips touched the skin, it was like all time stopped as I focused on the sensation. It completely erased any of the sexual frustration I felt when watching him work out, now replaced with a hammering against my chest as I struggle to focus on anything around me, my breathing slightly hitched.
No more words are said as we exit the room together in the direction of the shooting range. As we have the many times before, we go through the weapons room first, selecting a couple of guns to test out. Instinctively I reach out for the smaller pistol that I've grown used to, but to my surprise Harry grabs another. One much larger, similar to the weapon used by the men in the car when they chased us through London. If I'm correct, it's a rifle, but the specifics I'm unsure of. Despite how used to the guns I've become, every time I see a new model I feel that sudden wave of worry.
Harry doesn't let me question it, instead heading straight towards the door for the shooting range. I'd be lying if I said I was comfortable walking with trying out such a powerful weapon, but why is this where I draw the line? Any of those weapons should frighten me, yet here I am ready to willingly use one of them. I already have used them to inflict harm on others. Perhaps it's the knowledge that there's no turning back now that I've become acquainted with them.
Harry sets the larger gun out on the table, loading it with ammunition but allows me to hold onto the smaller one for now. His back is still exposed, t-shirt hanging from his back pocket. I can see small goose bumps form on his arms at the chill in the room. It's always cold in here. It feels like there's a breeze at times, drifting across the illegal activities that take place in this rom. Maybe it's the souls of those that have fallen victim to them, lingering long after they've departed.
The only sound echoing around the room is that of bullets being loaded in, some knocking of the metal clanging. I join his side and start loading my own, now understanding the basics of it after being shown so many times. It's all muscle memory now, which should probably alarm me, but it's become part of my routine.
Another team member is in the far corner practising his aim. I watch as each shot flies through the centre of the target each time. He barely needs to try. It's effortless, really. There's no hesitation in his technique. His feet are placed firmly apart, arms raised at the perfect angle, both hands on the weapon. He barely moves when he shoots, something I still haven't mastered.
Only when Harry clears his throat do I turn my attention away from him and focus on my own area. Harry sits on the edge of the table, ushering me forward to start shooting. As always, I take the same stance, focusing on my breathing and making sure I pull the trigger as I breathe out.
The first few shots are ok, not my best, but the burning of Harry's eyes into my side distracts me. Knowing how intently he's looking at me, the way he always does, without acting upon it. It's sending my mind to a place it shouldn't be right now. He's quiet, too quiet, but I'm putting that down to the anxiety over tomorrow's robbery. Rather, his eyes are what he's using to communicate. Under his gaze I can never tell if I'll feel comfortable or flustered. Right now, it's the latter.
I walk back over to the table to reload the gun, not daring to meet his gaze. It's glued to my body; I know his eyes are trailing over me. When I put on my gym leggings this morning I knew exactly what I was doing. The past couple of weeks nothing sexual has happened between us. A few kisses and touches here and there, but nothing past that. I've been waiting for him to make the next step, but his feet never moved. Perhaps he's had enough of me. I suppose having me live with him can be suffocating, maybe all the sexual tension between us has dissipated.
I've always felt like a burden to people, even more so these days. I know I've become part of their family, but I still can't shake the idea that I'm getting in the way. That everyone's lives would be much simpler without me in it. Around Harry, I fight these fears every day. It's true that he makes me feel safe, and he goes out of his way to praise me and make me feel seen, but part of me will always worry that I'm not good enough to be around him. I've never felt worthy of attention.
Harry notices my shift in demeanour, shuffling slightly closer to me before his hip bumps my side. 'You alright?' he asks, concern laced over his features.
It's the complete opposite of how he acted a few moments before. The worry he had for the heist has now been replaced with worry for me, which only makes me feel more like a problem. 'I'm fine, just tired,' I answer, busying myself with my weapon. To diffuse the tension, I move on to another subject. 'You'll never guess what I walked in on in your office.'
His eyes brighten a bit, the excitement of the admission raising his eyebrows. 'Do tell,' he commands, a smirk on his lips. 'What sordid affair have you walked in on?' he teases while poking my arm once I've finished loading the gun.
I turn to face him with the gun positioned in both my hands. There's no fear on his face despite the fact that the gun could easily harm him. One slip up and a bullet would be sent through his leg. 'George and Louis making out and the bookshelves.'
He immediately smiles, nodding at the words. His hand is brought to his mouth and his pinches his bottom lip between his thumb and finger in thought. It just makes me stare at them more. 'It's about time,' he answers, keeping his voice low. I barely hear him as I continue staring at his mouth.
He clicks his fingers in front of my face, pulling my attention back. When I look into his eyes I see the humour on his face. He's enjoying how nervous I've become. I walk back over to the shooting booth, using one hand this time to aim. I have to improve my shot with that. With the gun in front of me, and my finger on the trigger, I speak again with a raised voice. 'Why did you never help it happen sooner?'
I don't look at him, but I can tell his gaze has faltered slightly, no longer focused on my body. 'I don't like to meddle in people's lives,' he tells me, but I don't agree.
I face him again, shaking my head. 'Yet you meddled in mine,' I tease in a playful tone. It's working in distracting my mind from all the things it wants to do.
He seems to be finding the humour in the conversation though. But his words always have a layer of flirtation to them. The way that he speaks is intentional. 'I don't recall you complaining about it.'
I turn back to the target, firing a few more rounds. Each shot is better than the last, a couple now perfect. With each centre I hit, he claps his hands slowly in approval. Something about it pleases me. I hate how much I seek his validation.
After some time, he stops me, coming forward and taking the gun. Immediately, I am handed the larger one. It's much heavier, as expected, but not to the extent I imagined. It's a different feel to the other guns I've used. It reminds me of the types of rifles you see in films and TV shows, wooden barrels and traditional. The stem is quite long, meaning the barrel will have to rest on my shoulder to hold the weight. When I initially try to hold it up, I struggle with positioning it right.
Like some knight in shining armour, he comes to my aid. His hands are delicately placed on my hips as he positions them correctly. One foot is in front of the other, my right shoulder pushed slightly back with it. The gun rests on there, but only a small portion of the end, the rest is stretched out in front of me. He hesitates at first when he places his hands over my own, helping me adjust my grip, but he keeps them there longer than I was prepared for. I can feel his breathing down my neck, tickling the hairs that hang loose. My back is pressed tightly to his chest. It reminds me of the first time he taught me how to shoot.
When breathes a sharp intake of breathe while inhaling my scent, shamelessly smelling my hair. There's something so erotic about it, despite how cautious he's being. I hardly remember that someone else is in the room until the door closes upon their exit. At the sound he pulls away from me.
'Try that position and let me know how it feels,' he tells me, stepping over to the table again. I do as I'm told, focusing my eyes on the same target I've been shooting at for the past half hour or so.
I put pressure over the trigger, but the sound of the shot knocks me as the impact pushes against my shoulder. It's intense, much worse than when I first tried shooting, something that causes me to almost drop the gun. I know better than that given what happened last time.
Harry rushes over as I cry out some profanities, immediately checking my shoulder. Like before, he rubs at the muscles to try and relax it, but the pain radiates through my arm. I move the gun over to the table, Harry following behind, before leaning forward with both arms. 'You could have at least warned me that it would hurt,' I moan, rolling my shoulders back.
I hear him sigh behind me as he places his hands on my shoulder again. Noticing my hand on the front of it, he understands that the pain is not located in my back, moving around to face me as I turn away from the table. 'What did you think would happen?' he asks with malice, annoyed at my own tone towards him. I can feel another game of back and forth coming on.
I keep my eyes to his chest, not wanting to meet his glare. The sweat on his skin has since sunk in, but I can tell he's still cold. Without realising, I reach out to touch the top of his chest, my fingers delicately tracing his collar bone. As suspected, he's freezing, my warm touch jolting him. He curses under his breath at the contact, trying to focus in one his own movements on my shoulder. 'It's not fair when you're caught off guard, is it?' I whisper in reaction.
He stops massaging my muscles, peering down at me. I finally allow myself to look up, his tall frame hiding me away from the world. I see him swallow deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing. It's hard to even breath when I find myself locked in his gaze. It's so intense, I often forget where I am. I swim in those eyes and lose myself entirely.
Our bodies are close, but we barely touch. I can feel the outline of his, but contact is never made, not since his hands have removed themselves from my shoulder. I want to touch him, to caress every single part of his body. I want my mouth to move over his skin and litter it with marks to show who had him. I want to feel his own hand wrapped around my throat.
Suddenly, I start to move my fingers across his chest, letting the cold tingle against my touch. I never look away from his face, his own eyes darting between my lips and my stare. It can't seem to settle on an area. I continue my movements, dragging my hands over the marking etched into his skin, taking caution with areas of light scarring. So many stories lay behind those scars, I hope to hear them one day.
My hand moves lower. When it reaches the band of his shorts, I ghost my fingers around the hem, never actually removing them. We both know where this is going. No one else is in here to bother us, everyone on the main floor is too busy to even consider entering. It feels risky, but it's all I've been thinking about since I walked in on him working out.
Harry breathes heavily, the huffs from his nostrils hitting my face. 'Atlas, what are you doing?' he questions, as if he doesn't already know the answer.
In my mind, a thought pops in. Information that I was told not too long ago that I've never addressed with him. I want to tease him, to push him to his limits so he'll push me to mine. It's never simple with us, we always have to antagonise the other to get what we want. That's the best part about it. 'Did she do this?' I start, noticing his eyebrows tie together in the centre as his features fall. 'When you fucked her against a wall, did Santine touch you like this?'
Upon hearing her name, he tries to pull back, but I grab his cock through his shorts, immediately cutting his actions short. I'm not hard with my movements, instead choosing to teasingly touch him through the fabric, knowing how much it's driving him mad. He doesn't answer me, refusing to give me the reaction I want, but I know it's not far off.
'Or did you not allow her that privilege?' I continue. His eyes have wandered to the wall behind me. He's choosing not to respond, to ignore me. It's only a matter of time. Seeing his gun in his back pocket inspires me, so I lean forward and grab it. When I aim it at the side of his head, his eyes finally come back down to mine. There's no fear behind them, just surprise. 'Did you threaten her with your gun? Hold it right on her temple while you fucked her?'
Finally, he allows himself to react, grabbing me by the throat while he pushes me back until my legs hit the table. The guns and ammo rattle around underneath me, some falling to the floor. I can't help but smile. 'This is the same gun I pushed between her eyes while my cock was still hard, love,' he begins, flexing his fingers on my neck. 'Does that make you jealous?'
I can't help but laugh at the insinuation. Though it confused me at first, Harry owes nothing to me. We aren't exclusive, just people that work together and occasionally fuck, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't spark something in me. If he did that now, after everything that has happened since, I'd be holding this gun against his head without the intent of sleeping with him.
Irritated by my reaction, he reaches out behind me and pushes the items off the table before lifting me and placing me flat on my back, his hand still wrapped around my throat. There's more pressure behind his grip, but it doesn't alarm me. I still have the gun aimed at his head, enjoying how dangerous this has become. Ever since that night in the shower, I've been fantasising about the other ways he could potentially harm me during sex. It's not that I have a pain kink, but the risks that we seem to be taking with each other excite me like nothing else has done before.
I press the gun harder against his temple, but Harry barely moves. 'Why would I be jealous when I have you right where I want you,' I tease, my knee raising to rub between his legs. It's a decision he didn't realise I would make, his grip loosening slightly. As he grows use to the feeling, his head drops, hair tickling my face as he breathes heavily. 'Maybe it's you that likes danger.'
At this his head raises again, hand releasing my neck before grabbing the gun from my grasp. Instantly, it is placed between my eyes, the same way he told me it was Santine. 'I wouldn't be so sure, my little gem,' he whispers. The nickname immediately makes my chest tighten. I've never been a fan of pet names before but hearing one fall from his lips is enough to change my mind. I want him to say it again and again and again. 'Notice how your legs tightened around me the minute I placed the gun to your head?' he asks. I hadn't even realised my body instinctively pulled him closer at the motion. I can feel him against my centre. 'You like it more than me.'
His hips rock once the words leave his mouth, the friction already having an effect on me. With each roll he manages to hit the right spot, distracting me from my own game. I suppose I never had control in the first place, he always dominates in these scenarios, not that I have a problem with it. 'Then give me what I want.'
Suddenly, his face lowers to mine, and our lips finally meet. One hand is placed back on my throat, while the other keeps hold of the gun, pressing into my skin harshly. I don't even know if the safety is on or not, but part of me doesn't care. Our lips move together aggressively while I grab his shoulders to pull him even closer to my body. I ache for his touch, for any form of intimacy.
Being able to touch his skin with no clothing prohibiting brings me pleasure, despite the fact that my body is still fully clothed. I hope we can change that soon. As if hearing my thoughts, he leans back, the gun in his back pocket again as he reaches for the band of my leggings. He drags them down my legs swiftly, not bothering to take his time, but my underwear stays on. Leaning back over me, he reaches for the gun again, bringing it to my head once more.
He flicks his gaze up to me for a moment, as if asking for permission, but I'm not sure what I'm consenting too. 'Should I touch you when I could kill you?' he questions, voice low.
I'm so turned on, it's alarming. Most people would question my own sanity for this but having that weapon poking at my skin only excites me. 'You won't hurt me?' I question, but I already know the answer
He shakes his head, leaning forward once more to plant another kiss on my mouth, but this time it's slower. Gentle. The ones I seem to be craving the most. 'Never,' he breaths out. His free hand moves between my legs, lightly caressing over the fabric of my underwear. It's slow, but enough to make my breathing shake. I always feel safe with him. I'll never doubt that.
His hand slips into my underwear, mimicking the same movements. It's unlike the rough touches we previously shared, but it's intensified by the presence of the weapon, something I've almost forgotten about until he pushes it slightly while his position adjusts. With his fingers rubbing circles over my clit, my eyes are locked on his. My mouth falls open quickly as a moan escapes. It only encourages him to pick up the speed.
He'll be the death of me, I think.
My legs clench around him, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside of me. Only then do I feel complete. There's something so wonderful about how well our bodies fit together. Not wanting to waste another minute, I grab the gun quickly while he focuses on his hand between my legs, bringing it to the centre of his forehead. He smiles down at me, a look of pride on his face. 'Please just fuck me already before I shoot you,' I beg, trying to maintain any sense of pride but it disappeared the moment I saw him in that gym.
'Demanding thing aren't you, little gem,' he speaks before kissing me once more. I push the gun harder against his head in an attempt to get him to stop him and begin what I asked. Eventually, his hand moves to his own shorts, pushing them and his boxers down in one swift movement. He's already rock hard; he's been wanting to get to this part too.
Instead of taking my own underwear off, he pulls it to the side. He positions his length to rub across my already sensitive collection of nerves, earning some more soft moans from me that mix with his own. I can feel the pre-come leaking against me as he moves, lubricating the area the way I want. Finally, he grabs my hips and pulls me closer before gripping his cock and slowly pushing it in.
The sensation makes my eyes roll back, lids instinctively shutting with no way to keep them open. I almost lose my grasp of the gun, but once he's fully inside me, I open my eyes again and position it back where I want it.
'You're so desperate for me, it's charming,' he laughs lightly, keeping his stance while I adjust to his size. He's already hitting my g-spot, but I know if he goes further I'll fall apart within minutes.
Before Harry, I'd never partaken in dirty talk. With him, it comes naturally. However, all I want right now is for him to shut up and do as he's told. My hand moves the gun from his forehead, trailing along his nose until it reaches in mouth. I push against his lips for him to open, which he willingly does promptly. The gun in moved into his mouth, but I don't go too far. I'm not sure what his limits are yet. 'Shut your pretty mouth and fuck me like your life depends on it,' I order.
Without delay, his hips pull back slowly before pushing forward with force again. My body slides slightly against the surface, Harry grabbing my hips to hold me in place. As he does the gun goes further down his throat, a quick gag sounding. I go to pull back, but he takes hold of my wrist and stops me, shaking his head. He likes things in his mouth; noted.
Again, his thrusts into me, my legs wrapping around him once more as if he can't get any closer. With each roll of his hips I feel that same sense of euphoria that I always do with him. It's unlike anything I've ever experienced. He moves one of his hands to rest against my throat again, taking up the position he's grown used to when we're in these moments. I never considered myself as being into choking, but these days it's all I think about.
My free hand grips his that rests on my hip, digging my nails into the skin as his pace picks up. It's rough, the sound of our skin smacking echoing around the room. People can probably hear us outside, but in truth I don't care. All I can think about is how close I am to the edge, when we've only just started. His grip on my neck tightens the longer we stay like this, rocking our bodies back and forth until we reach our high.
With my legs laced around him, he finally moves his hand from my hip down to my clit, bringing the hand I gripped on his with it. He guides my fingers to move with his, increasing my senses as I near my abyss. His fingers are rough compared to my soft hands, but our touch is just as intense. I can feel how close I'm becoming, my walls clenching more and more with each second that passes. Harry is panting more than usual too, indicating how ready he is to finish.
I move our hands away from my nerves, wanting to prolong this longer, instead lacing my fingers with his in front of us. His eyes fall to their embrace, expression concentrated before he smiles with the weapon still in his mouth. This is how our hands will remain for the rest of this. I never want to let go. Only with Harry do I feel completely safe.
Abruptly, Harry finishes before me, his own release warming me. He continues his thrusts but at a slower pace, coming down from his high, but it goes on much longer than either of us planned. It's like he's forgotten where he is, what day it is. I tighten my legs, trying to get the last few hits I need before I climax, finally reaching my own state of bliss.
Neither one of us move from our position, staying like that for five minutes or say as we try to control our breathing and understand what just happened. Eventually, I pull the gun out of his mouth, checking the safety is on. It was off the whole time. Something about it invigorates me. With the safety clicked on, I throw the weapon on the floor.
Harry pulls out of me slowly, grabbing his t-shirt to clean me up enough before I can reach a bathroom. I lay back and stare at the ceiling, my hands in my hair as it pushes the sweaty strands away from my face. I feel Harry bring the material of my leggings to my ankles, rolling them back onto my legs. He stays stood at the end of the table, just watching me as I smile to myself.
My body aches slightly, but not enough to stop me from moving. Once I have the energy, he holds out his hands, pulling me up as I grip onto them. Like we did during the act, his fingers intertwine with mine. On his lips I see a smirk, but not one of lust. It's affection. Care.
He leans forward and kisses me once more, leaving his lips on mine without moving them. I'm not sure he can manage much more after what he just had in his mouth.
I pull back, still smiling at him. I can't help but grin when I see him after moments like this.
He looks down at me with furrowed eyebrows. 'Why are you smiling?' he asks timidly. It sounds like there's worry in his voice, like he's some joke to me, but it could not be further from the truth.
I shake my head, gazing at our hands once more before meeting his eyes. 'I like when you call me little gem.'
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A/N: Insert cowboy emoji again
Thanks for 50k you're all MENTAL