Pure Ones || H.S

14

Warm flesh in contact, heavy hot breathing heard loudly. Moans muffled together like a little rhythm he admired. Her sweet perfume was strong piercing into his nose as she undressed in front of him. Beauty was all he see. Pale, short little leg supporting her petite body as her skin was decorated by freckles, veins and permanent scars.

Her small breast, he kissed, the little bump of her small hips, he showered with love. Her tiny hands both grasping to his soft greasy hair. "Harry," she called.

He looked up, enjoying his name being called by his beloved ones he had always craved for love. Her eyes steamy, biting her lips while her cheek flushed red.

"Wake up,"

Groaning, he woke up from his slumber, fully clothed on the sofa in the middle of the living room. By the corner five feet away, stood little Belle only in her towel.

"I think my dress is dry now," she blushed, looking down.

"It'd take a lot more than this to wait for it to dry," he sat up and wiped his sleepy eyes. He had been dreaming about fucking Belle a lot lately. Its driving on his nerve.

She nodded carelessly, looking around. She was shivering and Harry didn't seem to notice it until a little sneeze came from her.

His head snapped towards her. "Are you okay?" he frowned.

"Yes," she sniffed. "Just a little cold," that's when he realized her body trembling, face puffy and pale like a living corpse.

"Come here," she sat comfortable next to him as he embraced her with warmth and security. "You're very cold," he whispered.

"I know,"

Seconds by seconds as it pass, she sat there and feeling a little warmer. She laid her head on his chest and she heard his loud heartbeat. She peaked at him through her eyelash and he looked back.

"What's wrong?"

She looked down to her bare thigh. "You're not going to hurt me, are you?"

He sighed loudly. "No," He leaned back. "I told you that,"

She nodded slowly. She looked around her surrounding, as if hesitant, wanting to say something. "When I was younger," she suddenly began. "When I was younger, my father was a kind man," she said.

"My father was very gentle to me, I knew he loved me very much," she never liked the memory, the lease favorite she had in mind. "One day his company got bankrupt, we had to move to somewhere cheaper. I was only a kid, I didn't understand any of it. It was my birthday, there was this doll that I wanted. It had pretty pink frills on her dress."

"I was asking too much from him, I guess. That night, he punished me. Just once, he slapped me on the cheek," she sighed softly. "It hurt badly, I had red marks on my cheek for a few days," she reminisce her childhood. "He never said he was sorry, barely looking at me even 'til today. But I know he regretted it,"

"I just wish he could've talked to me again," she was at peace with it, there was nothing else she could do about it. She had tried very hard to approach her father but to no avail, her effort seemed pointless.

She sighed, finally turning to him, who was listening intently.

"I didn't know," he muttered. "I'm sorry you had to get through that," he frowned.

"Don't be," she smiled. "I have my mother, my uncle," then her voice broke, remembering how hurt her beloved uncle could be.

Harry held her chin, raising her face up to his. "I didn't hurt him," he said. His eyes were truthful.

"I trust you," she muttered. He had such beautiful emerald eyes, she adored them. "Harry," she called. "Who's she?" he just realized she was holding something in her arms. She showed it to him, the old photo in her hands. "I found this under your bed,"

Harry eyed the familiar crooked photo; of him and a girl his age. She had beautiful yellow hair, pure blonde to her eyelash. She was beautiful, so beautiful and pure like an angel.

"Delilah," he finally breathed out, staring at the photo in her hands.