Exposure • h.s.

CHAPTER5.

313 days before the deal

"Do I scare you, Mabel?"

Just as he asks me that, blood turns cold in my veins. There's something inexplicably eerie, deep, and serious underlying that question. My heart almost screams in my chest, pounding so loudly that I fear he might hear it.

"Huh? No..."

Perhaps he wants to know if I'm intimidated by his infamous reputation?

Harry takes a step towards me. Then another, and another. I step back to maintain a safe distance from him, but my back meets the door. With our bodies so close, I feel like a violin string stretched to the point of breaking, as if my skin might emit a dissonant screech as his fingers, adorned with large rings, brush against my arm.

"And why are you trembling, then?" he asks rhetorically, cocking his head.

"Why..." he begins, his fingers leaving a trail on my arm as they move, while his eyes seem to seek permission to explore other exposed areas. I hang on his every word, captivated by that subtle contact, and my obedient gaze implores him to continue. He places two fingers on my neck, sensing my tension, and breathes out, "...is your heart racing?"

I stutter something about "high blood pressure," but I can't say anything coherent.

"Do I make you nervous? Is it because of the rumors about me, darling?" he teases.
"Are you afraid that I might do something bad to you?" he asks, amused by his own words.
"That my bad luck might do something bad to you?"

"I don't-... I have no idea what you're talking about," I lie, my lungs desperately trying to take in as much air as possible.

But Harry pins me against the door, trapping me.

"I don't believe in rumors. You've always seemed alright to me."

Harry falls silent, perplexed but pretending to believe what I've told him.

"Interesting," he says, and presses his forehead against mine, his eyes implore me to look at him, to surrender to his feline movements.

"If you say so... then I think I get why you're acting like that. You're all worked up just because you want me to touch you, is that it?"

What the hell...?

"Tell me, is that true?"

What am I supposed to do now?

I can't just bolt away in this situation.
"Whatever it takes": the promise I made to myself earlier today screams in the back of my head.
I decide I should better be playing his game, loosening myself a bit.

I nod.

The surprising throbbing ache between my legs intensifies, and I can't wrap my head around the fact that I'm actually... ready for his touch.

"Alright, baby..." he says, swiftly removing the ring from his middle finger and tossing it into the back pocket of his jeans. He leans in, as if to press his mouth against mine, but he doesn't kiss me, and I breathe in his alcoholic breath, that feels just like pleasant, warm desert wind. Before I can adjust to the intimacy of that proximity, I feel his hand venture down my leg, sliding under my skirt, stopping for a second before reaching my most intimate area.

Quickly, he moves my panties to the side, sliding his middle finger between my folds, and his hand hesitates at the feel of my wetness.

"Oh my God..." he comments, and I immediately understand the reason behind his exclamation, as I feel him slowly, yet smoothly, slip his finger inside me.

I release a relieved moan, his touch easing my pain and making me feel more like a woman.
This is the best sensation I've ever felt.

"You got wet so easy. You're so fucking ready for me, baby."

He moves a little more, using his hand to better feel the shape of my most intimate zone. He gathers some of my arousal and then takes a step away from me, while pressing my lips open, inviting me to suck on it, glazing his finger.

I accept, and Harry watches with amusement as this intimate exchange unfolds between perfect strangers. A deviant smile carves its way onto his face.

"Enjoying the sweet taste of humiliation, aren't we?"

Huh?

Those words shatter my state of ecstasy like a bomb.
I can't even process what he just said as I see Harry reaching into the front pocket of my skirt, and aggressively pulling out something of it. There's violence in his movements.

The recorder.

I'm actually about to faint.

Harry holds my recorder in his hands, twirling it between his fingers, and scans it with his eyes while never losing that wickedly amused expression on his face.

"Imagine pretending to be a groupie to get something out of me and sell it to some shitty online tabloid" he spits resentfully.
"...only to mess everything up because of your need to be fucking fingered. How embarrassing."

A surge of adrenaline, triggered by the perception of immediate danger, gives me the strength to try defending myself against his insults, hoping to save my skin. I stand disheveled and overheated in front of him, my softness still exposed, hurting my pride more than his venomous words.

"I'm mortified-"

"I played along with your stupid game all night, 'cause I wanted to see where you were going with it. And now look at you," he says in disgust, scanning me from head to toe, "it just took me a minute to make you so wet you didn't even notice I was just trying to get my hands on that cheap ass thing. You're so fucking dumb, baby."

His rough manner silences me, his words are sharp blades that contrast with the harmoniousness of his handsome features.

"What a fucking nosy bitch..." he hisses, and my eyes follow the movements of his hands, which persistently take out their frustration on the recorder until it snaps in half.

I stare in disbelief, tears welling up at the sight of the broken recorder, shattering my professional dreams as I start to believe the hurtful words he's saying.

"Here's some friendly advice," he speaks again, "get out of here before I make you regret ever setting foot in this shithole. You don't want to see the worst of me."

Warm tears roll down my cheeks, blurring my sight but easing the heat on my face as I let go of the tension, unable to do anything else.

Harry looks at me calmly, the display of my terror doesn't faze him at all.

"I told you to leave."

I bend down to pick up the broken pieces of what was supposed to be my winning weapon - the recorder - but Harry grabs the door handle, forcefully pushing open the entrance door against which I've flattened myself in these last moments.

"Just fucking leave!" he yells, his voice making me flinch. I rush outside, overwhelmed by the despair of those moments that I already want to forget.

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darkrry! darkrry! darkrry!
poor Mabel... how do you think she's gonna react to this?
Remember: nothing's left to chance here! ;)

⭑ Feel free to vote or comment ! It would mean the world to me! ⭑