The Maiden in Winter // Harry Styles Series #4

THIRTY SEVEN

~A~

He meant what he said about answering questions. As we made dinner, while we ate, during the movie neither of us actually watched. He talked about his childhood, the band, even a few of his girlfriends. Never her, though. Never Olivia. And I didn't ask.

It's amazing what you can learn about someone in a single evening.

"Now it's my turn to ask you a question," he whispered in my ear as we cuddled against one another, cocooned in the giant beanbag up in the loft, the end credits rolling on the screen.

"Go ahead. I have nothing to hide," I answered, nuzzling my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent.

"Did any of it surprise you?"

"Any of what?"

"What I've told you tonight?"

"Not really. The tabloids and internet paint a pretty lurid picture of celebrities' lives, you know that. Much worse than anything you've told me tonight." I nibbled on his earlobe before adding, "Although I might be a tiny bit disappointed by the truth about Larry Stylinson."

He rolled his eyes, "Please tell me you weren't one of those fans..."

"Not at all. I wanted you all to myself." I swung myself up to straddle him, my knees sinking into the beanbag on either side of his hips, my hands lying flat on his chest.

"And now you have me." His fingers traced the lines of my jaw, my neck, the curve of my breasts. "What's that like?"

"What? You touching me? It's nice. Don't stop."

"No, what's it like to have me, after wanting me? How does it feel for the girl who could hardly talk when she sold me a pack of gum back then to be the woman who has me now?"

He wasn't sure what to make of my pause as I gave the question some thought.

"Was that a pompous this to ask? Or embarrassing? I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Don't be silly. It's a good question, and not uncomfortable, I'm thinking."

There was another moment of quiet before I continued. "When I was seventeen years old I wanted the eighteen year old you that I thought I knew. Ten years later I didn't really think about you that way anymore." His pout was adorable. "It's not that I haven't always thought you're hot as hell, believe me, I have. I do. But I'm not seventeen anymore, and you're not eighteen. So it's hard to compare the two."

It was a moment before he spoke.

"I thought about you, after that day. Your eyes when you looked up and saw me, and then when Taylor walked in. They were so big, and that color. I'd never seen eyes like yours before. I should have known Bean was somehow related to you when I met him that first day."

"I couldn't believe you remembered my name."

"If you'd asked me one minute before I walked in what the name of the girl in that store all those years ago was, I couldn't have told you. But the moment I saw your eyes, it was right there coming out of my mouth." He ran his thumbs softly across my cheeks, just beneath my lower lashes, then over my lips. "You're so beautiful... Ah, there it is, the perfect pink bloom on your skin. I love it when you blush."

Of course it flamed higher and deeper at that.

Wanting to move the focus away from myself and my telltale cheeks, I leaned down for a kiss.

It worked.

We'd been doing it for a few months, the kissing, but I still got the same electric thrill deep inside every time. And Harry's style, his needs, changed depending on his mood. He wanted physical contact when he was sad or brooding, moving slowly, staying silent. Frustration seemed to equal speed and a level of detachment, while happiness meant a playful approach and complete attentiveness to me.