Smut warning

Emily:

A weight is lifted off my shoulders as I sit shotgun in Harry's sportscar. My previous emotions, being brought on at the mere thought of our wedding, enveloped me into a state of sadness and frustration. The moment the cold jewellery touched my fair skin, momentarily, my clouded emotions escaped me. Though my only mode of release was tears, it had to be done. Better done behind closed doors, than in public.

The car is silent, and I sit slightly angled so I am able to look at the scenery — both outside, and inside of the car. Harry was a sight I couldn't get tired of looking at, even during this period of our life, he remains my salvation.

I can feel myself falling asleep as the car smoothly drives along a soft country road. I desperately am trying not to doze off, currently enjoying my location and my company, I want to feel this way for as long as possible. My body, however, is sleep deprived, from my constant tossing and turning, the overthinking and plotting.

"You can take a nap, if you'd like," Harry is the first to speak as if he is able to read my mind. "We will only arrive in an hour."

"I wish I wasn't so tired," I sigh, kicking off my shoes and resting my feet on the seat beneath me. "I want to admire the scenic route."

"We will take this way home, then." Harry glances over at me, shooting me a smirk. "I'll wake you when we arrive." He promises.

I give in, without a word. As I close my eyes, the touch of Harry's hand intertwining with mine rattles my core, momentarily waking me as I glance down at our connection. It feels nice, and I decide not to decline the contact I had been craving but was too afraid to ask for. His minor action is one so powerful, I sleep soundly the whole way to the venue.

I wake up only moments before arriving and lay eyes on the beautiful church at the end of our journey. Our dear friends are finally getting married today. Today is one of the happiest, most important, days of their lives. For me, and even possibly Harry, the day before us would consist of an abundance of flashbacks, and envy, for the spouses to be.

As Harry parks his car, I can feel the eyes of the guests burning through the windows at us. I glance over, up towards the steps of the church, where a number of guests stand as they wait to enter the building. Some, are people we know, friends we had become distant with over the years and throughout Harry's success.

Others are simply onlookers, excited to see a man of status attending the same gathering as them. This, somehow, makes me feel important, on a day that is about everything except Harry and I.

"Are you ready, love?" Harry asks me, squeezing my hand before shifting the car into park.

"Ready if you are." I nod, smiling towards him.

Almost in sync, we open our doors, stepping out gracefully and looking at each other over the roof of the car. Harry smirks at me, now making a joke of us mimicking each other's every move. We close our doors on the count of three and strut to the back of the car where we meet each other.

Harry's hand reaches for mine over the trunk of the car, and with that, we walk towards the group gawking in our direction.

"Why are they staring at us like that?" I question, looking around in confusion. "Do I have something on my face?"

As we ascend the steep concrete steps, Harry takes a place behind me and lifts the small train of my dress high enough to enable easy steps on my part. I'm flattered, and in awe, by his actions, and take notice that the people surrounding us feel the same. We stop, momentarily, and chat up a few old friends. They compliment us, with bright eyes and convincing words, but that is hardly enough to trigger a genuine thanks from us.

"Emily, you're glowing!" Our friend, Patty, chirps to me. She seems far too excited to be seeing Harry and me again, but I must admit, it is fun to play pretend with people you hardly see.

"Thank you! I feel fantastic." I nod, smiling at her as she sways in her dress. "I have nothing to complain about these days!"

I lean on Harry, and we both laugh at my comment along with those around us. But, different from them, we are laughing for completely alternative, and obvious, reasons. At least we are keeping our sense of humour until the end.

Our interactions are kept to a minimum before the host calls us into the church to take our seats. Thankfully, we have been seated beside a couple we do not know. We have escaped interrogation, although, I must admit, we are good liars.

Watching our friends elope, and profess their undying love for each other, causes tears to escape my eyes. I find myself not being the only one here who is brought to tears, many women around me are patting their tears away with soft silk tissues. For them, their tears are those of joy, the ones you can feel raising up your eyes as you smile at a tender sight. On my part, the tears are bitter and burn as they enter my tired weeping eyes. Harry feels this vibe, wrapping his arm around me as he brings me closer to his side.

"I will be with you forever," The groom ends his vow, and kisses the hand of his soon-to-be bride.

"I said something like that too, you know," Harry whispers into my ear, before kissing my temple. "And I still mean it, if you'll have me."

I look up at him, a tear travels down my cheek, leaving cold remnants behind. He peeks down at me, his big, warm, hand raises to my cheek. His touch is so soft, as his thumb brushes the heavy tear from my skin. I lean into his palm, closing my eyes as if we are the only people in the room. I nod gently, before looking at him again. His green eyes radiate from my perspective, the high church lights cast down on us, and it feels like I am witnessing an angel.

That interaction was enough for me and, almost immediately, I felt better, and authentically began to clap for the happy couple. I was like them once, I already had my parade and shoved the love I had for my significant other down the throats of my guests. Having said that, the divorce rate in England is roughly fifty per cent, and I hope they come out on the better half.

As they walk out the doors and collapse into their awaiting limo, the guests are all piling up at the door, in a rushed and messy attempt to reach the venue in a timely matter. Harry and I do not hang back, and are one of the first out of the church and darting to our car.

I can feel my dress flying behind me, as Harry pulls me through the parking lot and into the car. We speed off onto the narrow road and follow the car in front of us to the next building. I feel wildly comfortable beside Harry, and for the first time, in a long time, it feels like we aren't enduring any difficulties. I feel like my old self; I never want this day to end. Approaching the hall, which also doubles as a hotel in which we will be staying, I take in its beauty. The large white pillars out front and tall rounded doors give away the luxury of the setting.

Upon entering, we easily find our table. We sit with our old friends and shoot the shit for almost an hour before dinner is served. The room is packed, and filled with only the most beautiful mood. Harry and I take it upon ourselves to congratulate the newlyweds and present our gift to them as a generous check, encased in an envelope with both our names pressed onto it.

It was the least we would do.

As the night passes on, the tables begin to empty, as the dancefloor overflows. I smile to myself as I observe a few of the other couples dancing, from the comfort of my seat, and little kids gracefully playing and waltzing around like the adults, doing their best to stay occupied.

I've always admired the scenes of weddings, they're continuously flowing with a loving enthusiasm, there's never a dull moment, between the laughter of children dancing and the smiling sensation of the happy couples.

I take a taste of my wine, Harry's hand caressing against my leg, his fingers cautiously moving the material of my dress to slip under it.

His warm touch clasped to the tenderness of my skin spontaneously permeates my soul with a sense of clarity. I glance over at him, noticing how he's smiling with his eyes focused on the dance floor, nonchalantly causing my toes to curl slightly within my heeled shoes. My eyes mirror his gaze, my own smile painting across my supple lips as I witness a young girl and boy dancing, her little white dress floating with each step.

I feel him squeeze my thigh considerately under the table, granting a sudden urge of desire to sweep through me.

I bite down on my lip, taking a small breath as I sense the tip of his fingers rubbing circles against the softness of my skin. At first, I disregard the tenderness and the intriguing touch; I have longed for so long to feel his touch, but I'm sure it's just in the heat of the moment.

I take another sip of my wine, placing it down as I perceive his hand inching higher, his fingers lacing the outline of my lingerie, immediately driving my head to revolve in roaring circles. I take a breath, my eyes narrowing over to meet a far-flung grin, anticipation becoming something that I'm struggling to avoid.

A shiver radiates down my spine the minute his fastidious fingers continue to grace the touch against the slender column of my lingerie, almost causing my breath to hitch in my throat. He nonchalantly reaches for his wine glass, takes a drink, the delicacy of his touch still enthralling me, moderately, and steadily.

I let out a breath as he stops tampering with my sanity, moving his hand to decline back towards my lower thigh, his eyes shimmering at me with that cheeky shine they have possessed since the day I met him.

"Lose ye' breath? Hm?" He chuckles like the tease he used to be before things began to escalate into a rocky abyss of insignificance.

I don't respond as I mildly bear my teeth to sink into the mellowness of my bottom lip, striving not to concede my irate sentiments to leave him of innocence and drag him to the hotel room.

It has been months since the sensation of his touch being pressed to my body pervaded my senses. I was freezing and fragile, now I appear rekindled and swelled with an intensity I can not fathom to detail. My eyes take intimation of his cut creased jawline, down to his crimson red tie, and the way his white shirt is rolled up his sleeve, exposing a few of his youthful tattoos engraved into his surface like a permanent cascading waterfall.

I subtly lick my lips, savouring the aftertaste of my wine, beginning to wish to taste what his sweet lips provide, something I have not sampled in a while — something I crave — like a bee covets luscious, rectified honey.

I catch him off guard when I caress my hand to relax on his inner thigh, his eyes immediately diverting their full attention to me as I smirk in a spontaneous manner. He swallows the last bit of his wine with a hard gulp, pressing the glass to the table.

"Be nice," He raspily clears his throat, eyeing a couple as they pass the table, oblivious to the devious shenanigans leisurely taking place under the table, out of view.

I inch my hand further up his thigh, gliding itself skillfully over his package, his jaw clenching as he gulps.

"Em," He breathes, my hand allowing itself to stay positioned to tease his delicacy.

"Breathless?" I tease him the same way he did to me, entertained by his darkening eyes, and his trembling lips as he attempts to battle the same desire I am caving into. "Hotel?" I whisper, his eyes closing for a split second, his head descending in a nod.

"You're going to have to move your hand, first." He comments and I raise a brow, just now noticing his hand gripping my thigh mildly, but enough to make it known he is caving.

With a smirk, I cast my eyes between his own and his hand settling on my groin still, "So do you," I remind him, his hand releasing itself from my thigh, mine doing the same, setting him free as he stands to his feet, he grabs his suit jacket from its position overhanging the chair, driving it up his arms before extending me his hand — the hand that executed an enthusiasm — a burning in my soul that I have neglected to welcome in a while.

Like a pair of giggly children, we subtly find our way departing the scene of the reception, managing to disappear without being observed by the main people of the wedding.

The tour from the elevator to the doorway of the room was a brisk walk permeated with a pang of intense lingering hunger. The moment Harry thrusts the door open, I enter, turning around and mounting him against the door as it shuts, his hands spontaneously clasping to the material of my gown embracing my waist, our tongues caressing and binding like two ships.

He groans into our kiss, carefully pushing off the door, guiding us towards the bed, my hands brushing off his suit jacket, enabling it to drop to the carpeted flooring of the hotel room. I begin to press my agile fingers to the buttons of his shirt, shakily undoing them in a hasty manner, his own hand unzipping the back of my dress.

When I get his shirt wide open, his bare chest staring at me in the face, I force the shirt down his flexed arms, another article of clothing making its way to the floor. He helps with tugging off my dress, my feet slipping out of the heels, my body now only clad in a pair of my black, skimpy lingerie.

I struggle to keep my hands to myself as the raging desire to feel every inch of his body infuriates me while he kicks off his shoes, my hands now vigorously drawing at his pants as we flounder our way towards the bed.

I decline against the fresh coverings, his body surging to hover over mine, the cloying sensation of his kisses weighting to the slender column of my neck hitches my breath in my throat.

The enraged desire and anticipation rise with every rich, sensational kiss his lips allow being caressed to my once cold and bitter body. My fingers tangle themselves within the silkiness of his short hair, the ends just beginning to curl.

My fingertips haven't run through his hair in a long time, they almost misremembered the way it felt to have his smooth hair glide against each fingertip.

I am taken back as I feel the stroke of his tongue glide over my collarbone, his hands wandering my body like a map with no destination. I move my hands to release his soft hair from my grip, moving to feel every dip and curve his body has to offer, gliding over his abs like rocky mountains covered in dripping honey. My hands and eyes honouring the full power of his physique.

"I want you," I feel him whisper swiftly against the edge of my skin, lifting his head slightly to allow the shade of his eyes to gleam into my own. I bite my lip, feeling the cold chain of his necklace tapping my warm skin, all thoughts becoming superfluous but one.

I nod, not managing to mumble my words, instead, I wrap my leg around him, surging his body closer to mine, a deep primitive tug that signals that I want him. My mouth takes bold possession of his lips, my tongue exploring the texture of his, the feathery strokes of his tongue causing my hormones to percolate furiously, bouncing against the seams of my skin, humming through my veins, igniting a hunger that has been caged for so long. As we kiss with promises full of fulfilment, his delicate fingers begin to slide down the lacy underwear clasped to my body, my head twisting frantically as I kiss him deeper, ready for what's to come.

He surges himself closer to me, his hard thighs crowning my hips, pressing me against his arousal. I haul in a breath, my body closing tightly around him as he enthrals me with his entry, an engulfing emotion hitching my breath, the slowly repeated motions bringing back memories that have felt so distant. I haven't felt him this close to me in a long time — I have not felt him.

Heat and power radiate between our bodies, both of us working together to create a fulfilment of passion and love; the long, gradual, ride of delight silencing the deep hunger inside me. Wildness beginning to brew beneath the gentleness he surging. I relentlessly move my hips against his, my nails gliding against the skin of his back in the passion onslaught of his desire, denoting a reckless savage lust, unlike anything I had ever felt before. Our tongues dip and swirl in sweet motion, his strength throbbing inside me at a faster pace — transcending physical pleasure. An urgent need and want flow in a commanding way between us as I arch my back to better accept him.

The stirring of primal needs hits its towering peak, his groans becoming more powerful, my lips forcing themselves not to pull away from his kiss, my teeth wanting to bite into the skin around his shoulder, but I divert the frustration to my hands on his back.

Ripples of pleasure make itself distinguished, molten waves melting inside me, a keening sound escaping my lips as I throw back my head, my eyes narrowing to half-mast.

It was potent — he was damn potent.

His sweaty body falls beside me, nothing but our deep, heavy breath fills the silence around us, my legs quivery and moist, his chest rising rapidly as he gazes up at the hotel ceiling.

"Fuck, that was great." He breaks the silence, reading my own thoughts, it was not great, it was fucking euphoric. "I love you," He breathes with a short breath, tilting his head to look at me.

The narcotic power of his deep voice draws a smile from my honey tasting lips, tampering with my sanity again.

"I love you," the words effortlessly slip from my lips, "Please, don't leave me."

my thoughts escape through words, a craving that was fulfilled now revealing a vulnerability that I am not sure whether I want to be exposed.

I feel his hand reach over and press softly over mine, "I'm right here, Em. I'm not going anywhere."

His husky voice sends shivers down my spine, my body moving closer to his, my mouth skimming the edge of his lips, allowing him to take control of rained, silky, kisses.