𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐃 // 𝐇.𝐒.

20!

Chapter 20

To get any sleep after that had been tough. The rude fucker walked away, abandoning me unfinished to prove his dominance and arrogance to me.

I tried to do it myself the moment he left the room for a drink downstairs. Though, it wasn't the same. I couldn't feel the distinct build-up he made me feel in a matter of seconds.

I like his touch much more than my own and that isn't fair.

Realizing what I had done might've been another reason why I couldn't bring myself to come undone. I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that I gave in to his temptation.

I was ready to let him have all of me. So drunk off his stare that made me feel irresistible, there's no way I could've said no.

I thought I was opposed to becoming one of his dolls, but maybe I'm not.

I'm in the shower now, early in the morning, after a night of tossing and turning. I don't think Harry slept. If he did, he must've slept on his couch downstairs. Though, I could give a damn about where he did or did not sleep.

He's an asshole.

I'm rinsing the soap off my body as I stand under the rain pour of his showerhead. My eyes are closed with my head tilted back, feeling the warm water soothe me for another minute longer.

Then I hear the bathroom door open.

I'm positive I locked the door before coming in for a shower.

Harry huffs with heavy footsteps into the bathroom. I then panic when I see him through the almost-fogged-up-but-not-quite shower glass door. Immediately, I cover myself up with hands that could only cover so little.

"What the hell!" I yell at a shirtless Harry, but he's not looking at me. His eyes are scanning the countertop of his sink then the floors of his bathroom.

He's looking for something.

Oh, fuck.

"Fucking hell," he mutters under his breath when he can't find what he's looking for. He's then looking through the cabinets underneath the sink, but after a quick scan, he slams the cabinet door shut.

"What... are you looking for?" I ask, choosing to play dumb rather than tell him I tried on his ring and never put it back. If I'm correct, it's still in the front pocket of my jeans—the ones he tugged off of me last night. I remember stepping over them in its pile on the floor after I had changed into my sleepwear.

"A fucking ring," he answers me, looking for it on the floor again.

"Oh," I say, hesitant to uncover myself in case he looks over. "What's it look like?"

He only groans and steps out of the bathroom, leaving me unanswered. Though, I'm completely aware of what the ring looks like. Gold with a freshwater pearl on top.

I shut the water off when I'm alone again. I then squeeze the water out from my hair with a light twist. After opening the shower door to grab a clean white towel, I pat myself dry.

Maybe I could 'help' him look for the ring and when I 'find' it, my life would be spared. I would hate for him to think I was trying to steal it and then kill me for it.

Instead of changing into the clothes I brought into the bathroom with me, I walk out with the towel wrapped around my body. "Have you-" I begin, about to suggest he look for it elsewhere, but I've stopped. He drops my pair of blue jeans onto the floor again as he holds up his ring for show.

Shit.

"What the fuck was my ring doing in your fucking pants?" He asks, sternly. His green eyes are dark, opposite of how they were last night with his head between my thighs. From how much eye contact he was giving me, I see a noticeable difference.