Poppy/H.S

Chapter 24

The last three weeks have been very challenging for me, longing for any kind of contact with Harry and Poppy whom I last saw on the day of Anne's birthday party. Harry and I occasionally text couple of times a week, but it's nothing like before when we saw each other more often since we always seemed to find a relevant, and sometimes stupid excuse to meet up. Harry mentioned he was swamped with work when we exchanged a few polite messages the other day, and honestly, I could relate to his business.

I've been working on a few cases recently, hence why I had to meet up with my clients multiple times. Luckily, I'm not on any case that would destroy me emotionally at the moment, since I've been only dealing with a couple of divorces that have been going relatively smoothly. Harry, on the other hand, has been working on something new, according to what he said to me. I wasn't bold enough to ask him what it was, assuming he's sworn to secrecy or something of that kind.

I've been thinking about him a lot recently, to be frank. Ever since he spent the night at my place, I can't seem to get him out of my head. The thought of him sleeping with a single towel wrapped around his waist in my bed is not helping at all.

Would it make me look crazy if I said I hadn't changed the sheets he slept in for another week? And it wasn't because of my laziness. I was addicted to his manly scent, his perfume tattooed into the sheets.

I've never been this way. I've always seen where the line was, not wanting to overstep it. But the simple thought of Harry sleeping naked in those sheets did things to me, and my sexual abstinence wasn't helping. I haven't been in a relationship for years, and I've never missed the intimacy of it until now. When Harry left for London the following morning after having eaten breakfast together, I was craving to be touched. The butterflies in my stomach were flying as if they were competing in the Olympics, and my underwear was ruined the minute I realised he slept without pyjamas in my bed, thinking about the way the white towel certainly unwrapped during his sleep, unless he already took the towel off the moment he was alone in my room.

The moment we waved goodbye and he left with his black Rover, driving away with ease, my shaky legs climbed up the stairs, sprinting to my room. I jumped into the freshly made bed, not having enough time to appreciate the state Harry left the room in. I touched myself to the thought of Harry until I saw white, my knees trembling and my legs struggling to remain open.

I've never felt so weak in my life, not being used to the feeling of vulnerability. I've never felt so ashamed, remembering how I touched myself imagining it was Harry's hands instead of my shaky ones. I've never been one of those women who get affected by a man so easily. I was disappointed with myself, and with the new woman I've become, letting my horny hormones forget about my dignity. The pleasure of a long-awaited orgasm was short-lived, while the anxiety has been haunting me ever since.

I've been avoiding Harry ever since, hence why we haven't seen each other for three weeks. I don't think I'll be able to look into his green eyes after I imagined them burning into mine from in between my legs. I was mad at myself for sexualising Harry this way for my own pleasure, when he clearly sees me just as a friend who has great knowledge of law.

I value the rare friendship of ours way too much to ruin it, not wanting to risk disappointing Poppy. I've grown fond of the little girl who has stolen a piece of my heart by her wittiness. I've decided to accept what happened that day, and blame it on my up-coming period, hence why my body was overflowed with hormones. I can't change what happened, and the only way I can deal with it is by trying to forget about it.

When I came back home from a meeting yesterday night, my phone rang, the source of my anxiety trying to reach me. I took a deep breath before answering the phone.