(No Control - 45. Up All Night - second part)

The paps are waiting outside Craig's, and of course they recognise my number plate and start taking pictures before the car has even come to a stop.

I can see Jess is biting her lip nervously, and my instinct is to put my arms around her to shield her from it all, but that's the last thing I'm allowed do.

"Let's get inside as quickly as possible," I say, trying to let her know I understand her apprehension. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah, fine," she says, but she's not fooling me.

She suddenly lets out a hysterical giggle and presses her lips together to control it, and I look over at her in confusion, but she just shakes her head and looks away.

The paps are noisy and intrusive as usual. They shout and shove and cause a commotion as we get out of the car.

I make eye contact with the waiter as we walk in and he brings a bottle of Dom Perignon over immediately, and I can tell Jess is shaken by the large sip she takes.

"Are you sure you're ok?"

She looks terrified.

"Yeah, I just wasn't expecting it. Sorry. I'm not used to all this."

It's second nature to me now. I occasionally forget it used to be scary at the beginning, when I wasn't used to it.

"Don't apologise," I try to reassure her. "Comes with the territory with me, I'm afraid."

I can't tear my eyes away from hers. There's something about her vulnerability that makes me want to protect her from this superficial and pretentious world.

She doesn't belong here, I think suddenly, and my stomach lurches at the thought of her not being part of my life. I don't know where that came from, and it's made me feel uneasy.

She takes another drink from her Champagne flute and I throw caution to the wind, reach across the table and touch her fingers lightly with mine. For this brief second I don't care who sees. I don't care if it's front page fucking news. I don't care if it's tweeted and retweeted by every One Direction update account. I don't care if the world knows this beautiful girl is with me.

And then I come to my senses and remember the shit I have to deal with on a daily basis, and the struggle I have to keep my private life private, and I gently pull my hand away and curl my fingers around the stem of my glass instead.

"So are you having a good time so far?" I ask her.

"You mean tonight, or this week?" she asks, and then looks embarrassed, and I grin.

"Well I was actually meaning tonight, but we can talk about the week if you want," I tease, and her face starts to go red.

"Tonight is fantastic, thank you," she says, and it comes out all nervous and squeaky.

"And this week?" I press, unable to stop myself from beaming at her discomfort. And her beauty, obviously.

"Also fantastic," she says faintly.

"Good," I smile. "Me too."

She blushes deeper and I press my lips together nervously and run my tongue between them. I take a quick glance around the restaurant to make sure we are not being overheard, but no one is paying any attention to us.

"Have you been to the US before?" I ask, after the waiter has taken our orders.

"Once, when I was about ten, I think," she replies. "We went on a family holiday to Disney World. Why?"

I shrug. "I was just wondering. There are so many things I don't know about you, whereas you know everything about me."

"I don't," she says.

I tilt my head to the side, questioningly.

"You know more about me than I do about you," I smile.

"Well maybe I know the stuff you tell interviewers, but I don't know the important stuff," she replies.

"That's still more than I know," I point out.

"OK," she concedes. "So what do you want to know?"

"Everything," I say immediately, and I can just picture Louis smirking and shaking his head, mouthing No chill.

She smiles shyly. "Like what?"

I think for a moment.

"If you could have one superpower, what would it be?"

She raises an eyebrow and looks at me with exasperation, and I start to smirk - at the fact she's on to me, but also that I've proved myself right and she knows it.

"You hate being asked that question," she says accusingly.

"Which proves you know more about me," I tease, and she shakes her head.

"That just proves I've seen that one interview where you said it."

OK, fair point.

"OK. Serious question then," I say slowly, and think for another moment. "Favourite colour?"

"Seriously?" she says, with a look of disbelief.

"Why not? It's an important question."

Come on Jess, it's the trivial stuff like this that I want to know.

"Um, OK. Depends on what it is. I love anything pink and sparkly, but I wouldn't want a pink car. Or pink bedding. Or pink hair."

I chuckle at this last example.

"What colour is your car?" I ask, curiously.

"Black," she says. "And my bedding is -"

"White, with a silver trim," I interrupt.

She raises her eyebrows, and I feel a flush rising through my body. I'm glad she doesn't make a big deal of this. I'd hate for her to find out I'd been fantasising shamelessly about that night at her place since it happened.

I clear my throat.

"Favourite subject at school?" I ask.

"English and Maths," she answers.

"Why?"

"Numbers make sense. You always know where you stand with them. One plus one always equals two. It never equals three. The answer never changes, no matter how many times you ask the question."

I nod. This sounds exactly like Jess.

"And why English?"

"For the exact opposite reasons I love Maths. You can interpret words in any way you want. And I can't stand bad grammar, it's a pet hate."

"Favourite food?"

"Too many to choose from."

I chuckle.

"Come on, play the game."

She rolls her eyes.

"It depends what I'm in the mood for."

"You'd be no good at being interviewed," I tease. "You just have to give an answer, it doesn't matter if it isn't the exact, whole truth."

She opens her mouth in mock disbelief.

"You mean to tell me you aren't definitely going to name your first child Darcy?" she says in shock, and I laugh louder than I intend to.

"I don't know," I grin.

She shakes her head at me and I run my hand through my hair and look down at the tablecloth.

"OK, quick-fire round," I declare. "The first answer that comes into your head, no hesitation."

She looks nervous.

"Ready?" I don't wait for her answer. "Go. Favourite flavour of ice cream."

"Cherry."

I wrinkle my nose. "Gross."

She huffs.

"You can't ask me these questions and then judge me on my answers so blatantly!" she scolds.

"Sorry," I grin. "But cherry? Really?"

"What's wrong with cherry?" she demands.

"It's gross."

She huffs again and folds her arms, but I can see her mouth twitching and I smirk.

"Anyway. We've gone off subject," I remind her. "Favourite chocolate bar?"

"Double decker."

"Really?"

"Yes, really!" says in the same huffy tone, but she's grinning too, now. "Why, what's wrong with that?"

"It's gross."

"It's gro-oss," she mimicks, imitating my accent and tone frighteningly well.

"Did you just take the piss out of my voice?" I ask.

"Gro-oss," she says again. "You say it weirdly. Like, the 'o' sound is really long. Gro-oss," she mocks again. "What even is that accent, anyway?"

"What do you mean?" I ask. "It's Holmes Chapel."

"It's Holmes Chapel," she imitates, again in a perfect take on my voice. "Holmes Chapel doesn't even have its own accent."

"Yes it does. I am living proof of that."

She snorts, and my cheeks ache from smiling so hard.

"Favourite place in the world?" I ask.

"In the arms of the person I love," she says, and my heart lurches and she blushes and looks down at the tablecloth.

Before either of us can say another word, our starters arrive.

......

The food, as always, is top notch. By the time we're finished I am stuffed and tipsy, and judging by the way Jess has relaxed, I'm guessing she's feeling the effects of the Champagne too.

We decide to go to Project for a few drinks, and after I've called my 'henchmen' (as she apparently calls them), I pull my card out to pay for the meal.

"Please can I pay my way?" she asks sweetly, pulling her card out of her bag.

Is she for real?

"Absolutely not," I say firmly, and she seems to accept the finality in my tone and smiles appreciatively.

I love that she offers. Most girls don't.

A text comes through from Dale. Paps outside. Hurry up.

I warn Jess, and as we get to the door I hesitate.

"Will you be alright?" I ask. I know she hates this bit.

"Of course," she smiles, and I lead the way to the door.

Usually I would let her go first, but I know she would get eaten alive in the frenzy, so it's better for me to lead the way and let her follow me, with Dale ushering her from behind.

We step outside and the flashes start, and Dale immediately strides behind us, protecting us from these idiots. They're being particularly rough tonight and I hear Dale yelling at them so I stop and turn around to make sure Jess is OK, and I feel her stumble into me.

I reach out and steady her, and feel fury rising in me. Who the fuck pushed her? If they fucking touched her I will lose it.

I catch Dale's eye and he sees the look on my face and gives a discreet shake of his head, warning me to calm down.

"Can you stop pushing her please," I say as politely as I can, and hang back so she can walk in front of me, where I can see her. I turn around and look straight the buffoon who shoved her.

"Please be more careful," I snap at him, and shut the car door with more force than is strictly necessary.

"Are you hurt?" I ask her once we've started to move off.

"I'm fine," she says. "Sorry about that. They must have known I'd be here tonight. Bloody paps. They're always following me."

It takes me a second to get it, but when I do I struggle to control my laughter.

"That guy was a bloody idiot," I chuckle. "I couldn't believe it when he shoved you."

"No harm done," she smiles. "Although I think I may be a little bit hurt."

What the fuck? I swear I will have this car turned around and that fucking pap charged with assault.

"Where?" I ask.

"Just here," she whispers, pointing to her bottom lip and looking at me through her eyelashes.

Ohhh.

"Oh no," I say softly. "We can't have that. Maybe I should kiss it better."

"Maybe you should," she murmurs, and my mouth is on hers before she can say another word. Her fingers pull at the collar of my shirt and it's so fucking sexy. I let my imagination run wild, fast-forwarding to when we get home later, unzipping her dress and letting it fall to the floor at her feet.

"Better?" I ask, after I pull away. If I carry this on my boner will be evident. I almost wish we were going straight home. The fuck-me dress will look amazing on my bedroom floor.

"Much," she smiles, and I reach over and hold her hand the rest of the way to the club.

We are shown to a private booth in the VIP lounge, and I order a bottle of Dom Perignon, because I can, and because I know she likes it, and because I like impressing her. Not that she seems particularly bothered by stuff like this, but you know what I mean.

Once we've sat down I can't help but lean over and kiss her, but she instantly recoils in shock.

"What are you doing? Someone might see," she says.

Surely I should be the one bothered about this not her?

I take a swift glance behind me, but nobody has even looked in our direction. It's dark, and the people in the VIP area aren't interested in us.

"No one's watching," I tell her, and I lean towards her again, craving her affection, but she puts the palm of her hand on my chest and pushes me away.

"They might be," she says uncertainly.

Doesn't she want this? I don't get it.

"Maybe I don't care," I say, recklessly.

"We both know you do," she says, in a tone that implies she won't discuss this.

I push on anyway.

"Right now I don't," I say, stubbornly.

"Right now you're drunk," she says, bluntly. "You'll care when it's all over Twitter, Sugarscape, Hollywood Life, The Daily Mail..."

Alright, alright, I fucking get it. You're not interested.

More of my security team arrive - there's always a stronger presence in places like this, especially if I'm with a girl - and they stand together, hiding us from the world.

"What's your excuse now?" I pout, childishly, raising an eyebrow.

"What do you mean, excuse?" she asks.

I shrug and look away, twirling my glass by its stem. She nudges her knee against mine and when I look up into her eyes she raises both eyebrows at me, indicating she wants an explanation.

Isn't this the opportunity I've been waiting for? She's drunk, I'm drunk. I can just ask her what the deal is, and hopefully she won't remember by the morning.

I can't look at her while I do this. OK. Here goes.

Fuck, I'm nervous.

"Sometimes I don't get you," I begin, and I can feel her looking at me. I've got her full attention.

Fuck, this is stressful.

"You're so laid back with me," I continue, "it's like..."

"Harryyyyy!" someone shouts, and I look up.

Lou Teasdale slides into the seat opposite us and beams at Jess, who greets her happily.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, giving her hug.

"I'm here with some friends - Erin and Jack. They're over by the bar so I thought I'd come and say hi and see if we could join you?"

"Course," I reply, and a little part of me is relieved to be let off the hook from that conversation. "That ok with you babe?" I ask Jess.

Fuck.

FUCK.

I just called her 'babe.'

That just slipped out.

FUCK.

I look at her nervously, but she beams at me and says it's fine for Lou to join us, and I am literally sweating.

Honestly, I can feel a trickle running down my back.

I need to get a grip.

"You guys having a good time?" Lou asks Jess, and she nods, still smiling, and her whole face is lit up.

I watch Jess as she talks to Lou, and I rest my hand on her thigh - not in a pervy way, but in a I just have to touch you way. Although the fuck-me dress makes it hard - (literally) - not to have pervy thoughts.

They start talking about make up and hair, and Jess is pulling her curls forward over her shoulder, showing the ends to Lou. Once she lets go I reach forward and brush them gently back over her shoulder and she reaches her hand over to where I am now resting it on my own leg, and links her fingers with mine without looking at me. My heart skips several beats.

Lou notices us holding hands, and keeps darting looks over in my direction as I watch Jess and smile. I'm glad she gets on with Lou. I mean, Lou gets on with everyone, so it sort of threw me a bit when she said she didn't really take to Nadine. But I don't know how anyone couldn't love Jess - she's just perfect. I haven't got a bad word to say about her.

By 2am my bladder is about to pop, but I really don't want to leave because I'm having such a good time. But it's either that, or piss all over the floor.

I chuckle at my own silly thought, and then pull my face into a serious expression and excuse myself to go to the bathroom. I use the VIP one and when I come back Lou has taken my place next to Jess and the two of them are deep in conversation. It looks serious, until Lou's face suddenly breaks into a beaming smile and I hear her say, "Is he?" as I approach our booth.

"Is who what?" I slur.

"Wow, you're drunk," Lou remarks.

"Mmmm," I mumble. I do feel rather wobbly on my feet.

"If I were you, babe, I'd call it a night," she says, and I nod at Lou, and then catch Dale's eye.

I lean down to Jess and put my hand gently on her knee. This isn't necessary as she was looking up at me anyway, but I want to touch her. I'm missing the physical contact.

"You ready to go?" I ask, trying to form my words coherently, and she nods and smiles at me.

Fuck, she's beautiful.

"Mm jus' gonna say bye to Jack n Erin," I mutter, and I struggle to keep my balance as I walk over and give them both a hug goodbye.

Fuck, I'm drunk. I need to control my mouth tonight, or I'm going to end up making a dick out of myself.

When I stumble back over to Jess and Lou, Lou pulls me into a tight hug.

"She's falling for you," she whispers in my ear. "Tell her how you feel - don't mess this up."

Her words don't really register through my drunken haze, and I wave goodbye to a blank space as we wobble to the exit and into the night air.

Paps. Fucking everywhere, clicking and flashing, blinding me as I try and walk in a straight line.

I hear Jess gasp and I turn round just as some slimy little shit says, "Jess, is Harry good in bed?"

He's got hold of her arm.

Dale steps between them and I slide my arm around her shoulders and get her to the waiting car as quickly as possible. Everyone is shouting, and I can hear Dale giving the arsehole a bollocking as we get in the back seat. Dale jumps in the front and I pull the door shut, just after I hear someone shout, "Let's follow them!"

"What the fuck?" I mutter, but it comes out slow and muffled, like my tongue is too big for my mouth.

"They're following us," Dale says as he looks in the wing mirror.

I'm so drunk. I need to sleep this off.

Jess stares out of the back window at the fucking pap car behind us, and I can see her twisting her fingers together nervously.

Fuck this.

I am not having that bastard ruining our evening, making crass comments to my girl and making her feel uncomfortable.

"Stop the car," I demand.

I never demand anything.

Dale looks uneasy.

"What?" he asks.

He's stalling.

I'm not in the mood for this.

"Seriously, stop the car," I say, a little louder.

"Do you need to be sick?" Jess asks softly, and I feel a rush of... something I can't explain.

"No, I need to tell these paps to stop following us," I reply shortly. "Can you pull over, please," I ask for the third time, a little impatiently now.

Do these people work for me or not?

Fuck, I'm an arsehole for thinking that.

But the car is slowing down, and comes to a stop at the side of the road. I'm about to get out and give them what for, for scaring Jess, when I see the pap car pulling alongside us. No doubt they're going to try and take more pictures.

Like there aren't enough pictures of me in this world.

Be calm.

Don't rise to it.

Be polite.

Maintain the public image.

I wind my window down. "Can you stop following us, please," I call.

"Hey Harry, I'm Chris," the pap says immediately, ignoring my request.

He looks like a Chris.

"Hi Chris," I say flatly. "Can you stop following us?"

I turn my head to the other one who is staring at me gormlessly with his teeth hanging out, filming me. "And put your camera away please," I say firmly.

"Let us take some pictures," Goofy says.

What the fuck did I just say?

"You," I point at Goofy, aware I am slurring again, "you are really rude."

"Harry," Jess says gently, her hand finding my arm. I get goosebumps.

"Is that your girlfriend?" Goofy asks, goofily. He even sounds like Goofy.

Yeah, like I am going to tell you.

"Please, just stop following us and leave us alone," I repeat. "It's two o'clock in the morning. I'm really tired. Go home."

"Sure, no problem," Chris says uncomfortably, and lowers his camera. Goofy is still filming.

"Is your girlfriend going home with you?"

Fucking Goofy is either deaf or stupid. I can't be arsed speaking to him.

"Your friend is really rude," I tell Chris, my temper rising. "I've asked him to stop filming me, but he carries on. Seriously, stop it."

We need to get out of here before I say something that Karen won't like.

"Put the camera away, dude," Chris tells Goofy.

Finally.

"Thank you," I say sarcastically. "Have a lovely evening."

I wind the window up and nod at Dale, and the car moves off again, leaving the Papmobile behind.

Jess is looking at me, and I smile at her, feeling embarrassed at my little tantrum.

"He really pissed me off, speaking to you like that," I offer as an explanation.

"He was vile," she nods, and I love that she's siding with me.

I take her hand and squeeze it gently.

When we get home I stagger into the kitchen and pour us a glass of water each. Jess is saying something about Grimmy, and I lean towards her as she takes a selfie of us.

I can smell her perfume. It makes my heart race.

"Did you have a good time tonight?" I ask her, and she turns to me and puts her arms around my waist, smiling up at me.

"It was amazing. Thanks for dinner, and all the champagne," she says softly.

"Glad you enjoyed it," I say sleepily. "I had a great time too."

"Come on," she says, taking my hand. "Let's go up. You look shattered."

I admire her legs as we walk up the stairs, and I feel a tingle in my groin as I realise that at long last the fuck-me dress is coming off. I follow her into the bedroom and she steps out of her shoes. I can't wait any longer.

I walk up behind her and take her hair in my hands, brushing it forward over her shoulder and kissing the back of her neck. I take the zip between my fingers and pull it down in one fluid motion so it pools on the floor at her feet.

I mentally note this moment, because that was slick as fuck.

"I've been waiting to do that all evening," I murmur in her ear as she squeals, and I slide my arms around her waist, clasping my hands together over her stomach, and burying my face in her neck.

She exhales softly; a sound I have come to recognise as one of unveiled desire when it comes from her.

"You have far too many clothes on," I say, my lips pressed against her skin. She turns to face me, smiling, and gives me a hard shove. I lose my balance and fall back on the bed, laughing because she's sassy and beautiful and I'm drunk and a loser.

She sits astride me, and I push myself up and pull her face towards me, kissing her softly and slipping my hands down her sides to squeeze her hips.

I want her; fuck, I want her so badly.

She's like the air I breathe. I feel like I need her to survive, but at the same time she makes me weak at the knees. She's my fucking kryptonite.

I definitely know I'm drunk, thinking shit like this.

She pushes me back down again and presses against my dick and I moan longingly into her mouth. I want nothing more than to sink inside her, feeling every inch of her around me, filling her and satisfying her completely.

I need her. I just wish she needed me.