Harry's brain is on fire.
He isn't sure he remembers how to breathe as she sits on top of him, brushing her lips down his bare chest. She looks up at him, mischievousness in her gaze, and if he didn't know better he'd think she can't wait to get her mouth on him.
But he knows her, and he knows that what she truly likes is power. It's the knowledge that she can toy with him and fuck up his mind that she finds so rewarding— no matter in which way she achieves it. She'd tie him to a board and leave him there forever if she thought she'd be able to strengthen her ownership over him in that way.
Temporary and fickle, but still ownership. She knows he'll let her do anything to him when he's at The Den, no matter if it leaves bruises on his body.
He respects that. He knows what it's like to crave control over someone else, to be the one that gets to decide what happens to them. If they live or they die, in his case, if they succumb to pleasure or are reborn from the ashes, for her. She's so good at making him buckle, it makes him wonder if she's an angel, or a demon sent from hell to punish him for all his crimes.
God knows there are too many under his belt. The road behind him is a path of destruction.
He's losing his mind, cherry on his tongue.
She drags her nails down his chest, as sharp as claws, and red lines blossom on his skin after their passage. She looks up at him with those ocean eyes of hers, so cold and yet so feral. He's nothing more than a prey to her. He could die on that hill, he thinks.
"Are you not up for playing, today?" she asks him, taking in the stillness of his body. Usually he's so eager to blow off steam, to claim every curve and crook of her body as his and shower every inch of her in his most complete attention.
Today, however, something's wrong. He's restless, can't stop the racing of his mind. Not even her caresses are enough to quiet him down. He didn't bother chasing her, toying with her. He took over the bed in the instant he arrived, and he knows he left her confused, even though she didn't tell him.
Instead, she climbed on top of him and undressed him, slowly, taking her time with each piece of cloth he was wearing. His tie was the first to fly to the floor, soon followed by his jacket and shirt.
Now his bare body shines under the warm orange light, its dimness designing a game of shadows down his abdomen.
She kisses his stomach, her eyes still burning into his, and then that place where his ribs meet, and then goes up, up, up, until her warm lips are resting on his collarbone.
"So needy," she murmurs, and he narrows his eyes at her.
"Watch your mouth."
He's up for pretty much anything, but being talked down to is something he deeply dislikes. He won't have anyone treat him like less than he's worth— he'll never accept that. He doesn't care whether it's meant or for fun. He'll riot before he allows anyone to do that. He didn't fight to get where he is just to have someone come around and treat him like the child they think he is. Like the child he was, the one he never got to be.
She looks into his eyes, and he can see in those puddles of sky that she understands, deep down. But still, she doesn't bend down to his will, because he may be the president, but he's also naked under her. That's enough for her to know he belongs to her right now.
"Why would I? I know what you want," she replies, a laugh in her voice, licking a stripe up the side of his throat.
A shiver runs down his spine, making his breath hitch. He can feel the cooling wetness on his skin, goosebumps on his arms. He raises his hands, letting the tips of his fingers travel over her thighs in a reverent way, as if she's a special gift he waited so long to unwrap. And in a sense, she is. It's been way too long since he last came to The Den. He waited until the need was weighing down on his bones and clouding his every thought with unholy, unasked for details, and now that he's here he can't wait anymore.
He turns them around with a flick of his hips and lowers his body on hers, humming when her legs wrap around him. He draws an imaginary line from her throat to the lace of her underwear with the tip of his finger, a sarcastic smile appearing on his face when he lowers his hand a bit more and she buckles at the friction. "Who's needy now, angel?"
She bites her lower lip and grabs his arm when he tries to pull away, looking at him with dark puddles of want seeping through the light blue of her eyes. "I know you're too good to leave me hanging, Harry."
He debates what to do for some instants.
He could, indeed, leave her hanging. He could show her what happens when she crosses him, he could make her regret it. He could make her writhe under him until all she can do is scream his name and beg him over and over again to put her out of her pleasurable misery.
But then he'd punish himself, too, and his pride isn't damaged enough for him to consider doing that.
His fingers toy with the lace as he stares down at her, a dark look in his eyes. In another life, he'd wonder what it'd be like to remove the pretty fabric with his teeth. This time, though, he doesn't bother. He moves it to the side and lets his finger move over her trembling body.
I'll kiss every inch of you and I'll find those spots that make you quiver, and you won't be able to forget me anytime soon.
His own words come back to him, and for an instant he imagines lying down in that same position, but with a very different kind of bird under him.
He shoves the thought away. "You're right, I don't want to play today," he whispers, not giving her any warning before pushing his hips against hers.
Her back arches in pleasure and she presses her chest against his, shuddering and shivering in his arms. "I knew you wouldn't disappoint me," she says quietly once she catches her breath, and Harry smiles, bringing his mouth to hers as he finds his pace.
The kiss is wet and raw, fuelled by the closeness of their bodies and the way her hands grip his arms, as if she feels the need to stabilise herself even though her head's on a pillow. He can taste her last drink on her tongue and he's sure she can taste the cherry on his, the soft flavour mixing with the sharp edge of alcohol.
For a second he thinks he's dreaming, free falling into the lights of his city and the stars he can see from his balcony at night. There's a warm knot inside him that makes his body feel hotter and hotter with every passing second.
She wraps her hands into his hair and tugs at the strands, making him moan quietly into her mouth. "Can you still feel my tongue on your neck, Harry?" She whispers to him when they break apart to catch their breath.
He bites her lower lip gently, gripping her hips to keep her still when she pushes them up to meet him. His only response is to kiss her again, his tongue delving into her mouth, aggressive and demanding. "Can you feel me?" He finally asks, and she lets out a cry. "I asked you a question, angel," he says when she doesn't reply.
She glares up at him. "Can you?" She turns them around, giving him a little wicked smile before lowering her body on him again.
He clenches his teeth, gripping the bedsheet beneath him to resist the urge to put his hands on her and set his own pace. He can feel his heart beat in his ears and he's sure he'd be seeing black by now if the room wasn't already dark enough on its own.
She leans down on him, leaving a kiss on his jawline before sucking down on that same spot she'd explored with her tongue before. Harry exhales slowly, his breath trembling out of his throat.
She drives him crazy, she absolutely does. She reminds him of someone, someone just as sinful but two times as innocent, and he really can't force his brain to quiet down.
She straightens her back again and looks down at him with a smile on her face, with the same expression of someone that knows they have the upper hand.
He lets out a hiss when she moves quicker on top of him and she revels in the sound, as if there's nothing she was hoping to hear more. Her fingers wrap around his bare throat and her nails scratch his skin, but he doesn't mind and looks up at her, a dark, heated look in his pale green eyes, as if he's daring her to squeeze harder.
Take my breath away, he thinks. Kill me if you dare. Everything gets a little more inconsequential the longer he walks this earth, anyway.
But even though his life is in her hands, she doesn't take the opportunity and lets his neck go. He doesn't know if he's elated or disappointed.
He makes to explore the curve of her bottom with curious fingers, but she takes his wrists and pins his hands above his head.
"You can't always be in control," she tells him, a ferocious look in her eyes.
He doesn't fight against her, lending her the reins and the complete control over their meeting. She stares him down, her fingers grazing the inside of his wrists gently, such an opposition to the strong hold she's keeping them in.
Everything gets quicker and quicker, and his breath gets shallower and his heart beats harder, and he watches as the woman on top of him takes a very familiar form. Before he can realise what's going on he's staring at those eyes of starlight he's grown to know, and reaches his high with a gasp.
"Lark."
He widens his eyes as his brain registers what has just happened, but she doesn't seem to mind.
"Call me whatever you want sweets, I don't care."
He frowns and turns them around again, sitting up and putting some distance between them as his heartbeat slows down, trying to make sense of his actions.
She's looking up at him with a confused look in her sea blue eyes, and he suddenly feels bad. He finishes her off with his fingers, quickly and harshly, not leaving any room for teasing or breathing before she lets out a little cry.
He stands up from the bed, leaving her panting on the mattress, and sucks his fingers clean, sending her a side glance before running into the bathroom.
Harry does his business quickly and makes sure he looks presentable enough before walking back into the room and gathering his discarded clothes, putting them back on piece by piece. He feels wetness on his neck and touches the spot, furrowing his eyebrows when he realises he's bleeding. She must've accidentally cut him with her nails when she grabbed his throat.
He ignores it and moves on, not bothering to put on his tie before rushing out of the room and building.
Harry is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't realise someone is standing close to the door until it's way too late.
He looks down and frowns, because those eyes of starlight are staring right back at him.
• • •
Alouette shouldn't have gone out the next day, she knows that. But she couldn't help herself.
She wanted to find out more about the mysterious place she'd seen Harry her in some time before, and that day was perfect to do just that. She'd checked Harry's calendar from Evie's computer and made sure he didn't have any appointments out in the city, and so she'd gone out.
It was the only day she could explore safely, considering Nathan had to leave for the Revolution soon.
But she hadn't expected this to happen. She hadn't thought she would be here right now, staring into Harry's eyes.
It turns out he doesn't keep all his appointments in the calendar he shares with Evie. It also means she's absolutely screwed.
Alouette's heart is beating at a thousand miles per hour and she stares at him wide-eyed, trying to find something, anything to say. She forces herself to look at anything but his dark green irises, and frowns when she sees a little spot of red on his usually perfectly white dress shirt.
"There's blood on your shirt, sir," she whispers.
The surprise in his eyes turns into boiling anger and he grabs her arm, dragging her with him towards a black car on the other side of the road.
"Hang on, stop—" she tries to say, but he opens the door and shoves her inside before getting in just as quickly.
She pushes herself to the other side, panic filling her. She's never seen him so angry before. She'd thought she'd annoyed him at times before, but now she realises he was never truly mad at her. Until now.
The car speeds down the road and everything around them is dark, and she's sure he can hear her quickened breath in the silence.
"You disobeyed me, Lark." His voice is low, dark. He isn't even looking at her. He's staring straight ahead, the neon lights of the city illuminating his face of a thousand different colours at once, making his cheekbones seem sharper and his eyelashes longer. His hair is a bit disheveled, and if they were in another situation she wouldn't be able to get over how stunning he looks.
"I'm sorry," Alouette breaths, but isn't sure he cares for her apology at all.
"I'll tell you what's going to happen." He sends her a sharp look, one that tells her to shut up in that very instant if she doesn't want to regret it. "We are going back to my palace and you won't speak a word of what you saw tonight. If you even as much as open your mouth I'll hunt you and whoever knows down and trust me, you don't want to know what I'll do to the both of you. Don't defy me. Is that clear?"
Deep quietness follows his threat, and a freezing chill washes over her.
This is the man she's been warned against. This is who he is. Not the man that listened to he on the balcony or that made her question her own reality in his studio, and neither the one that teased her in his limousine. This is him.
Cold, calculating, frightening. Dangerous. Someone that will stop at nothing to get what he wants.
In that moment, Alouette understands.
So far, he's been kind to her. He's let her do whatever she pleases, he's laughed along with her and has shared some pretty explicit thoughts with her. But she was mistaken, she evaluated him wrongly.
He doesn't have a soft spot for her. He's let her be free, but that's only because he didn't deem her as dangerous. She might think there's something between them now, but what she hasn't realised is that he'll crush her under his boot in the instant she stops being neutral with him.
If she dares to oppose him, he'll destroy her, and nobody will be left of her for her family to find. He's only good as long as you're on his team. If you aren't, well— that's your cue to run very, very far away and never look back.
If he's reacting like that for something as small as her not being where she should be, Alouette doesn't want to think about what he'd do if he found out she's part of the Revolution.
"Yeah," she whispers, frowning when she hears the way her voice trembles. She didn't mean to sound so weakened and frightened.
There's a click, and Alouette feels instantly sick when she realises he's locked all the doors of the vehicle. "Louder, Lark. Is that clear?"
"It's crystal clear, sir."
He finally turns his head and looks at her properly in the darkness of the car, freezing her down in her corner. He's rather underdressed, the top buttons of his shirt undone and the collar crumpled up, his tie not present, but he's never looked as terrifying as he does now.
She stares into his eyes and knows his aren't just words or empty threats— he means them way too much. He will dispose of her if he feels the need to. He'll do it without a second thought and then go on with his day like nothing happened, and she won't be anymore.
Alouette mentally thanks the lock he put on the doors, because if he hadn't put it she would've already got out of the car and thrown up in the middle of the road.
"I've been nice to you, Lark. Don't make me regret my kindness."
She gulps. "I won't."
His gaze burns into her, and then he shifts closer to her on the seat and cups her cheek with his hand. The touch is warm on her skin, but it sends shivers down her body all the same. His pupils are wide in the darkness, the usual green of his eyes nowhere to be seen, and Alouette wonders if that's how it feels to look into the eyes of a wolf in the seconds leading to its attack.
He tilts his head and grazes her lower lip with his thumb. "You'll be a good little bird for me, won't you, Lark?"
She nods. "Yes." Her own voice sounds so much deeper than ever before, and she's shocked by it. It's like he's able to unearth a side of her she didn't even know was there.
His eyes fall to her mouth, and for the shard of a second the irrational part of her expects him to close the distance between them and kiss her.
But he doesn't.
Instead, he retracts his hand as if she burnt him and moves back to his original seat. "Good." He doesn't even glance at her as he speaks, as if he had enough of her face for today. He probably has.
Alouette observes him. Whatever he chooses to think or believe, she still doesn't know what he was doing there. It's still a mystery to her, and while she finds it maddening, a part of her is glad she doesn't. She wonders when she started caring about him being able to keep his privacy or not. The man has just threatened to destroy her if she reveals his secrets, she must be going crazy.
But she wants him to know she doesn't know, that she's sorry. That despite everything, his secret is safe with her.
"Sir—" she starts, but Harry interrupts before she can say another word.
"No."
Thank you so much for the 40k reads! I hope you enjoyed this chapter x
Miki