RUN AWAY || H.S

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟓

Harry's POV.

The cool night air mixed with the lingering buzz of alcohol as we wavered along the sidewalk.

We managed to get into the elevator despite our unsteady steps. The moment the doors closed, the suppressed tension exploded. I was immediately pushed against the wall as Alana's lips found mine again—fervent, desperate, and full of longing. Her hands tangled in my hair, tugging roughly at the roots, drawing a groan from deep within me.

She tugged on my lower lip, and I groaned into her mouth. Without missing a beat, I turned us around so her back was pressed against the cold elevator wall, then lifted her effortlessly, holding both of her legs in my hands. "Fuck, you taste amazing," I murmured, as if in a private prayer. 

Her lips remained locked with mine, and I couldn't stop my wandering hands. I didn't know where to touch; I wanted to explore every inch of her body, to worship it. Even though we were fully clothed, every touch sent an electric thrill through me.

Her hands roamed—first through my hair, then down my neck, across my chest, and back into my hair, tugging at the roots. I squeezed one of her breasts in my large hands as our tongues clashed, mingling in a heated, primal dance.

I trailed my lips along her neck, then back to her jaw, leaving open-mouth kisses and sucking gently, making her moan loudly. I ground my hips against hers, and we both groaned, panting as the elevator's door pinged open. We reluctantly separated, quickly straightening our clothes, our hearts still pounding in sync.

It felt hot.

We rushed to the apartment door. The moment we stepped inside, our lips collided again in a swift, desperate kiss. I scooped her up—her legs wrapped around my waist—and carried her toward her bedroom.

Once inside, I threw her onto the bed, and she let out a surprised squeal. I silenced her with another rough, hungry kiss. Good lord, I couldn't get enough of her.

Every single day, I'd thought about kissing these lips—thought about them so much it should be a crime. I couldn't get her out of my head; she was all I thought about at the office, in bed, even when I ate. And now, tasting her, I was utterly addicted.

I was so hooked that I even arranged for my uncle to interview her for a job. My uncle didn't know my real motive—I just told him she was a friend of a friend. I hadn't told her where the interview was yet, but I hoped she'd do well. It would be fun to work with her, to get closer, to know her better. (Maybe that was part of my ulterior motive, to be nearer to her.)

I trailed my lips along her collarbone, sucking softly to leave my mark—because I wanted the world to know she'd been with me. Her soft whimper—"Harr-ry"—sent an electric jolt through me.