Devil's Due [h.s.]

Chapter 21

Chapter 21

"Stay there." Harry braced an arm on my shoulder, pinning me to the ground. He pulled his legs from around mine, rising to his feet in one swift movement before pulling the headband off my wrists. His sudden absence was enough to almost send me toppling backwards.

Post-nut clarity.

I'd heard about it before. Read about it online. Laughed about it when I'd seen it in an article. Thought it targeted mostly men. But I was wrong. God was I ever fucking wrong.

I watched in the mirror, massaging my wrists, as Harry disappeared through a door a few feet away, only to emerge seconds later with a roll of toilet paper and a towel. It was hard to cover my wince, my cheeks heating as he headed in my direction. I looked away from him and at myself – at the flush of my cheeks, at my inability to yet keep my legs from shaking when I moved them, at the girl who made a big fucking mistake.

It was an effort to close my legs. One that I did so quickly, in an attempt to match Harry's pace. Everything felt a bit sore, despite the fact that he'd just used his fingers. Also, probably due to the fact that it'd been over a year, at least, since I last had sex or done anything sexually intimate.

Harry squatted at my side the same moment that I reached for my pants.

"Here," his voice was unnervingly gentle, "Let me clean you up–"

"It's fine," I shook my head, snatching the toilet paper from his hands, both legs already half-clothed. "I can do it, don't worry–"

"River." The same gravelly tone wrapped around the word. Harry reached forward, bracing a finger under my chin and pulling me toward him. "What's wrong?"

His eyes had gotten their sparkle back. They were clear and open, focused directly on my own. With a shaky breath, I shook my head again, pulling my pants the rest of the way up. "Nothing. Seriously. Nothing's wrong–"

It was a bad idea to try to stand up. The moment I lifted from the ground, Harry groaned in annoyance and quickly jumped to his own feet, hiking one hand under my arm and the other snaking around my waist so that I didn't nearly topple right over.

"Stop it," he said, voice a little more insistent. His eyes met mine in the mirror. "You need a few minutes to recuperate. Your legs are gonna fuckin' give out."

I hated that he was right. With a small huff, I braced some of my weight against him. "Just... can you help me to the bathroom?"

I was not about to get a fucking UTI from this man's fingers.

Harry stared at me for a few seconds before letting out a small sigh and helping to half-drag me to the bathroom door. I was in and out in a few, effort-filled minutes – trying not to dwell on the mounting soreness between my legs and refusing to look myself in the mirror as I washed my hands. When I came back out, Harry watched every step until I slumped down on the bench. All of my limbs felt like jelly. And he hadn't even fucked me, which was the worst part.

Harry crouched down again, bracing his hands on my knees. I tried to look anywhere but his face, my cheeks heating again.

"You regret it." He said bluntly, the words causing me to wince again.

"I don't." It was a quick response. Honest.

He gave my knees a squeeze. "Then why are you acting like this?"

Like what? I wanted to ask him. How would he know what I was like after someone had just fingered the fucking life out of me?

The truth was, I didn't regret it. It was probably the best fucking orgasm I'd ever had. And I didn't hate that it was with him. What I hated was that I knew the type of person he was. Or at least, had a good sense of the type of person he was.