His lips tasted salty from our tears. His touch was gentle yet firm. His heart beat hard against mine.

I dropped my bag on the floor as his hands dipped underneath my top to stroke my waist, his breath hot in my face and his tongue warm and wet in my mouth. He walked me backwards towards the stairs, never breaking our kisses except to lift my jumper over my head and let it fall somewhere in the hall, and by the time we reached the upstairs landing, his jumper and tshirt were both off and his chest burned hot against my bare stomach. My fingers ran through his hair as he pushed me on my back on the bed, landing on top of me between my legs so I could feel him hard through his jogging bottoms. I literally ached for him. I reached between us to run one hand over him gently as he propped himself up on his elbows, dipping his head to graze his lips across my neck, my collarbone and the curve of my breast. He reached one hand behind my back and unclipped my bra, trailing his fingers down my abdomen to the waistband of my jeans.

My skin sizzled with anticipation as his mouth travelled to my nipple, and as his tongue swirled around it gently, he eased my jeans over my hips and down my legs. Involuntary sounds escaped my lips and I tugged at the roots of his hair, trying to be gentle but barely able to control myself. His fingertips traced their way back up my thigh, agonisingly slowly, and brushed delicately between my legs. I sighed, but before I could begin to enjoy the feeling he continued higher, skating softly up my side to my other nipple. 

My hands gripped top of his joggers and I pulled them down impatiently, bringing his boxers down with them. I curled my hand around his erection, running the tip of my thumb over the silkiness of his skin, and felt him give a soft huff of pleasure against my breast as he began to roll my nipple between his fingers, knowing this would make me squirm beneath him. I lifted my hips up, craving some form of contact, and was rewarded with a jolt of pleasure as his hardness pressed against me in just the right place. He lifted his head to brush his lips against mine, and slipped his other hand between us to pull my knickers down.

As his tongue dipped into my mouth one of his fingers brushed between my legs for the second time. I gripped his length tightly with one hand, cupping the back of his neck with the other, and held his face to mine as his fingertips teased me again before sliding one, and then two, fully inside me. I gave a whimper of pleasure and felt him twitch in my hand, and this knowledge that he was just as turned on by this as I was only brought me closer. Our kissing became more urgent and he moved his fingers smoothly in and out of me, slowly but steadily. Within seconds I was on the edge, and didn't even have time to utter a word before pleasure took over and I dug my nails into the back of his neck and cried out into his mouth.

"You coming?" he murmured against my lips.

"Yeah," I gasped, and he pushed his fingers in deep, kissing me hard, and then gave a murmur of longing.

"I can feel it," he whispered. "Fuck." He moved his hips back suddenly, pulling himself out of my grasp as I finished, and gradually slowed his hand to a stop. "I didn't realise you were so close," he added softly.

"Neither did I," I sighed, my eyes still closed as I came down from the high. 

"I had to pull away," he explained. "That was going to make me come. That was fucking hot."

I pulled his face down to mine again, not wanting to lose the moment, and he lowered himself onto me again so our chests and hips were touching. After a moment I felt him nudge towards me, and felt the heat from his erection now digging into my thigh. I nudged him back, ready to continue and give him the release I knew he needed. 

He sat up momentarily to roll on a condom, and then nestled back between my thighs, his mouth hot on mine again and his touch becoming more impatient. I wrapped my legs around his waist as I felt his tip pressing gently against me, pulling him towards me; desperate to feel him inside me. He slipped one hand between us to guide himself in, and gave a soft grunt as he pushed forward, filling me completely.

I gripped him tightly as he moved, focussing on his smooth rhythm and long strokes. His hair tickled my face as his pace increased and his stubble grazed my chin, irritating my skin in a way that could only be described as painful pleasure. I was still sensitive from my first orgasm, and it took me no time at all to reach my second. I cried out again, and he pulled back to look down at me as he moved, watching my face with an expression of seriousness and determination that only intensified the rush. As I finished he propped himself up on his hands and began driving hard and fast into me, panting with every thrust and staring deep into my eyes with that smoldering look that always had me weak at the knees. I had just hit my third peak when he gave a grunt and jerked a little, his eyes closing as I knew he was finally coming too. I dug my nails into his back and pulled his lips to mine to kiss him while he rode it out, fearing this was the last time we would ever be this close yet hoping he had the stamina for another round before the night was over.

He came to a stop, panting heavily, and kissed me gently; a gesture that seemed almost out of place after the forcefulness of the last few minutes. I kissed him back, pulling his body against mine so he was lying fully on me, craving the closeness before I would eventually let him go for good. I wanted to savour this moment, to remember being Louis Tomlinson's girl, to enjoy it for what it was before common sense won over impulsivity and took our paths (and our lives) in different directions. 

He slipped out of me but remained where he was, in comfortable silence, while our breathing slowed and reality set back in. I gave a deep sigh, and his fingers grazed my shoulder gently. Eventually he rolled off to the side where he continued to stroke my upper arm with his fingertips while I lay perfectly still with my eyes closed, completely relaxed. 

"Well, I think I got my song about us," he mused.

I opened my eyes and looked at him in confusion. "What song?" 

He looked faintly embarrassed, his eyes darting briefly away from mine. "I don't know if you remember, but I said I wanted to write a song about us, about the intensity of our relationship..."

"Yes, of course I remember," I squeaked, my eyes searching his face for further explanation.

"I was just thinking then," he continued, almost to himself rather than to me, "about the concept..." he trailed off again, and I didn't like to probe him further while he was so deep in thought - I didn't want to interrupt his creative flow. I watched his face as his frown deepened and he bit his lip, his eyebrows twitching a couple of times. "Watch this space," he said suddenly, his mouth breaking into a radiant smile with an undertone of mischief.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my heart missing several beats at the thought of him writing a song about me, but he shook his head.

"You'll know, one day," he said mysteriously.

"What - "

"Jess, I write songs about important things in my life," he interrupted. "They might not always be obvious, and it might sometimes just be a single line in a song that holds particular significance. There are some lyrics that I've written that no one even knows the true meaning of, apart from me. But our relationship, although it's been short, has been unforgettable. I'm not stupid; I know all good things come to an end, but I feel like ours ended long before its time. I don't think I could explain my feelings to anyone else, and even if I could I don't think anyone else apart from you would understand them. I think we had a connection; a connection that you don't get very often, and I know you feel it too. And that in itself deserves recognition; a nod of acknowledgement."

I stared at him, my heart now pounding, and he smirked, his eyes narrowing and turning my legs to jelly.

"Every time I kiss you, I can picture our first meeting so clearly," he confessed. "Seeing you from across the VIP room at Cirque Le Soir, and sitting down in your booth. You sassing me from the word go and me thinking maybe I'd met my match in you. Trying to find an excuse to get you on the dance floor so I would be able to touch you without seeming like a weirdo. Wondering what you would say when you found out I was famous, and then feeling like a complete tit when I realised you already knew and had been messing with me the whole night. Trying my best to convince you to come home with me and then eventually being the one to put the brakes on because I didn't want to take advantage of you... This all flashes through my mind whenever I taste you. It's so fucking intense, and I'm gutted - so fucking gutted - to let it go."

My mind reeled, not only from the amount of information in a few short sentences, but also from this insight into his interpretation of our first meeting. I had thought I was being embarrassingly uncool while he had kept his composure in true Louis style. And yet the whole time he had been just as nervous as me. I couldn't keep up with my own thoughts.

"All I'm saying is, listen hard to our music. I know you do anyway, being a superfan and all -" (he winked, and my stomach somersaulted) "- so you shouldn't have a hard time figuring it out."

I wasn't fully sure what he was getting at, or maybe I just didn't want to get my hopes up that there might possibly be a future song about me on One Direction's next album. I wasn't sure how I would cope if that actually happened, and decided the best course of action right this minute would be to forget he even said it, and just live in the moment while it lasted. Especially as we were counting down to the last goodbye, and every second that passed took us closer to the inevitable.

So I said nothing, but reached for him and pressed my lips to his, hoping to convey the depth of my feelings in the kiss. He seemed to understand, and laced our fingers together as his mouth moved against mine, speaking without words, expressing without sound. His kisses were gentle this time, almost as though he were savouring the moment just as I was, and as I squeezed his hand he cupped my face with such tenderness I felt a swell of emotion. I rested my leg over his, and he pulled my hips forward so our bodies were pressed together again, side by side. I felt his own swell beginning to nudge against me, and his hand found my breast again as I arched my back and squeezed his waist with my fingertips. . .

The entire night was spent like this: drifting in and out of sleep, caressing each other, making love. I lost count of how many times we peaked; the hours blurred together into a haze of intimacy, desire and warmth. Yet all of a sudden the clock showed 6.03 am, and I knew I had to leave the comfort of his bed for the last time and get back across North London to my flat to get ready for work. He joined me in the shower, teasing me on his knees one last time as I leaned back against the cool tiles and pulled at the roots of his hair. 

As I pulled on yesterday's clothes that were scattered along the hallway I held back tears, not wanting our last minutes together to be miserable, and watched as he made me a cup of tea in his dressing gown, the mundane reality of day-to-day tasks seeming somewhat out of place during such a poignant farewell.

I had meant what I'd said the night before: I didn't want a long, drawn out goodbye. This was hard enough already, without the added emotion of long speeches and declarations of love. Once I had gathered up all my things he saw me out into the hall, making small talk as I adjusted my bag strap on my shoulder, fished for my keys and checked I had my phone.

I looked up at him one last time. Our eyes met; our expressions identical. Love, lust, sadness, regret, understanding, loss. Too much to articulate, but no need for words. He kissed me, and I kissed him back. 

I stepped away from him and opened the door. The morning sun was bright and already warm, and instantly lifted my mood. What was meant to be would be, and I knew deep in my heart that somehow we would both be fine. 

Halfway to my car I turned and looked back at him. He was standing watching me, a soft smile on his face that told me it was killing him letting me go, but it was still the right thing to do.

"Jess!" he shouted suddenly, as I opened the car door. I paused, one foot in and one foot out, shielding my eyes from the bright sunlight with my hand. "Love you," he called.

"Love you," I called back, smiling. "Goodbye."

~~~

Epilogue to follow tomorrow x