CHLOE

I have imagined this moment more times than I care to admit. I have imagined his taste; I have imagined the smell of his skin up close; I have imagined how his lips would feel against mine. I have imagined hearing the beat of his heart; I have imagined the scratch of stubble on my chin from the few hours of growth on his face. But nothing I ever imagined could have prepared me for the real thing.

He is soft. He is warm. He is safe, despite being the danger. His lips touch mine with surprising gentleness, given his harsh, brash exterior. His breath tickles my cheek as he opens his mouth and his tongue brushes mine, his hands cupping my face and holding me still, ensuring I could not escape even if I wanted to.

I don't want to. I want nothing more than this, forever. 

He tastes of alcohol; of one too many beers and possibly a chaser of some sort - whiskey perhaps? Yet his movements are fluid and controlled, and deliberate. He isn't drunk, and if I was feeling tipsy before I am certainly as sober as a judge right now. 

His hands drop from my face to my waist, pulling me towards him and scrunching the fabric of my dress in his fists as he breathes hard into my mouth. I have never been kissed like this before, with such passion, such carnal desire. I feel wanted, I feel needed. I feel like I can do anything I set my mind to, such is the power of this kiss. 

And then his right hand moves from my waist, sliding slowly up my body to my ribcage. My stomach turns over sharply, and my body stiffens as he pauses for a moment, before extending his fingertips a couple of inches higher and running them gently over my breast. It feels good, but fear is preventing me from enjoying it. An involuntary gasp has left my lips, and he seems to take this as encouragement and repeats the motion, lingering a little longer over my nipple this time and then squeezing me gently.

I am frozen to the spot, torn between pushing him away from me as hard as I can and pulling him closer. A victim of my own naiveté, I never expected him to touch me like this. I don't know what to say or do, and I don't know if I want this. Yet at the same time I crave it, and I don't know what I will do if he stops.

I let him continue kissing me, my mind racing at a hundred miles an hour, chased by fear. His left hand also leaves my waist, this time to drop to the hem of my skirt where his fingertips skate delicately over the bare skin of my thigh. This is definitely too far, and I pull away with a jerk, breaking contact and taking a deep breath, my insides trembling with nerves. His hands stop moving, and he surveys at me intently. The look alone is enough to melt my bones like butter. 

I am afraid to tell him to stop; afraid of him laughing at me, or yelling at me for leading him on. I want to kiss him, I want him to hold me close to him, but I'm scared of letting him do anything else. 

He leans towards me to kiss me again and I turn my face up to him, craving the taste of his lips. I reach up to cup the back of his neck with both of my hands, desperate to run my fingertips over the smooth skin where his curls lie. His palms rest back on my hips for a few seconds, squeezing me gently. And then before I can stop him he is lifting the hem of my dress up, sliding it up my body to my shoulders, and slipping it over my head. It falls to the floor, leaving me standing in front of him in just my underwear, consumed with embarrassment at being exposed like this. My mouth won't work to tell him to stop, and my body won't move to retrieve my dress. I can do nothing but stand here in front of him, almost naked, while his hands gently stroke my stomach and slip down my thighs again. Tears are pricking the backs of my eyes. I feel vulnerable, and cornered.

I need to tell him to stop. I need to tell him this is not ok, that this is going too fast, that I don't want this to happen. But instead I open my mouth to let his tongue slide against mine, and I put up no resistance as his fingers tease the top of my knickers. One of his hands finds my breast again, kneading it delicately and swiping the pad of his thumb a couple of times across my nipple through my bra. Despite my fear I am beginning to ache between my legs. I am torn between letting him take this a bit further, and screaming at him to stop. 

I couldn't bear a repeat of last time, of lying on my back wishing I was somewhere else, anywhere else, while he pounds inside me, thrusting out his own pleasure without a second thought for mine. Yet already this experience is different to the one I had with him. Harry's touch is gentle and slow; teasing. Harry's touch hints at what else is to come. Harry's touch is enticing, and pleasurable. I want it, but I am afraid to want it.

His lips continue to press against mine, and mine respond as though they have a mind of their own. I can feel the pace of my breathing increasing as he touches my breasts, my body beginning to relax against his. My heart is still pounding from fear, but amongst the fear there is now a sliver of enjoyment. The sliver begins to grow, and the fear begins to shrink, slowly building the trust that he holds so delicately in his hands. He could shatter it in an instant, but maybe he senses how fragile I am. Where he was rough and impatient, Harry takes all the time in the world. His fingertips brush across my stomach again, over my hips, across my thighs and then towards my core. 

I'm definitely not ready for this, and his patience has given me the strength to speak up, to tell him to stop. I open my mouth.

"Harry -"

Just as I speak his fingers brush against the front of my knickers, sending a jolt of pleasure shooting through my groin so powerful that my legs wobble and I give a little cry of surprise.

He stops and pulls back an inch, looking concerned for the first time since this started, or perhaps even since the first time I ever laid eyes on him. "Is this ok?" he murmurs.

He is waiting for either the green light, or for me to put a stop to this, and in doing so he has put me back in control of the situation. I know in an instant that he won't push me to do anything I don't want to. Rightly or wrongly, and in this moment only, I trust this man implicitly. Everything has changed.

"Yes," I whisper. "Don't stop..." 

His hands squeeze my bottom as he kisses me again, pulling my body against his, and this time I feel him pressing hard against me, digging into my stomach through his shorts. The feel of it intensifies the ache between my legs, and I can't resist pushing myself a little harder against him, trying out how this feels. He lets out a breath, and his fingers slip between my legs again, brushing more firmly against the fabric of my underwear, before he slips one finger beneath the gusset and runs it against my skin. 

I can feel how wet I am by the way he slides against me, and I grip the back of his neck with my hands as we kiss harder, desperate to manifest my desire in some way. He pushes me backwards to the bed, my legs giving way as the backs of my knees hit the edge of the mattress. As I lie down he lies immediately on top of me, pulling impatiently at his own tshirt and casting it aside the second he is free of it. I break from his lips to stare at the tattoos on his chest, having only seen glimpses of them and trying not to stare, this is my opportunity to see them up close, but he doesn't let me look for long. His lips are on mine again, and he is wriggling out of his shorts and kicking them to the floor so he is lying on top of me in just a pair of soft jersey boxers. His erection is now pressing hard against me but I am nervous to touch it, having only done this a couple times before and not knowing how Harry likes to be touched. I am afraid of doing it wrong and highlighting my own inexperience. Above anything, I don't want him to laugh at me.

He reaches awkwardly behind my back, fumbling for the clasp of my bra and this brings with it a new wave of anxiety. I would never have thought half an hour ago that we would be doing this tonight. If I had... well, I wouldn't have believed it, first of all. But I wish there could have been some way to prepare myself for being this intimate with someone who only a few minutes ago was yelling at me as though he couldn't stand the sight of me. The whole thing is weird and fucked up, and I'm half expecting him to jump up suddenly and start being vile again. 

I feel the clasp unhook behind me, and with a quick swipe my bra is on the floor with the rest of our clothes. His mouth wastes no time in covering my nipple, sucking gently and causing my toes to curl. I try not to pull too hard on his hair but I am literally squirming beneath him, soft moans falling from my lips without my consent. No one has ever made me feel like this before. I am already close to an orgasm - I can feel the tension between my legs - and I know it won't take much to release it. As if he can read my mind his hands tug at my knickers, pulling them down my legs, followed by his own pants. I sneak a glance at his crotch: he is fully erect, and big. He is moving over me, between my legs, and I lie back again as I feel the warmth and silkiness of his skin nudging gently between my thighs. I open my legs to let him in, pulling him down on top of me and closing my eyes as his fingers slide against me again, using my own lubrication to cover his tip as he guides himself agonisingly slowly inside me. 

It takes several slow, gentle thrusts for him to be fully in. Once he is, he pauses for a moment, propping himself on his elbows and leaning down to kiss me again. I reach for his face and nudge his hips with mine, eager for the friction again, and he begins to move. He keeps the pace fairly slow and always gentle, never rough or hard. It builds gradually, and within half a minute I know I am going to come. 

I have never shared this moment of intimacy with anyone before - this is another first for me, and as my legs begin to tremble and my hips start to buck I close my eyes, feeling shy at him looking at me while I am at my most vulnerable, but also not caring because this feeling that is breaking inside me is like nothing I have ever felt before.

Flying solo is nothing compared to this. His movement inside me heightens every wave, every pulse. My blood pounds in my ears and I hear myself giving some sort of exclamation of pleasure, intensified by the feel of his fingertips tugging gently on my nipples. I am engulfed by this euphoria, completely surrendered to it and unable to do anything except lie here shuddering while it takes over my entire body. His thrusting continues throughout, and only as the feeling is starting to fade do I realise he is now moving faster than before, his forehead pressed against mine and his lips pressed together in a hard line. The look on his face is primal and determined, and God, is it a turn on.

I may have just come but the sensitivity is still there, and he drives himself deep inside me, still managing to be gentle but obviously on the verge of his own peak. I tilt my hips back so his pelvis is nudging me with every thrust, sending me back to the edge again within seconds. Just as he lets out a low, breathy growl of relief and buries his head in my neck, my second begins and I dig my nails into his back and surrender to it yet again.

It isn't as powerful as the first, but still I can do nothing but lie back and let it consume me. He slows down and comes to a stop, remaining inside me for half a minute while he pants into my shoulder as he gradually slips out, my own final weak contractions pushing him away.

I can't move - my whole body is paralysed in some sort of post-coital bliss. Once he has rolled off me onto his back on the other side of the bed I can do nothing but close my eyes. Sleep engulfs me within seconds.