REDAMANCY [h.s. au]

30

*sexual content

"Nights filled with worship,
holding each other
like a prayer unspoken."
- Nikita Gill

⭑Holland⭑

~about a month later~

The Mediterranean sun beats down on us both, beads of sweat from the sheer heat trickle down my chest and my stomach as my skin tingles. Harry's hand sits lazily on my thigh, and I'm pretty sure he's passed out, or close to it, next to me in a lounge chair.

He suggested we go on a little holiday just us two, to which I agreed. I thought we'd maybe be going up to the Lake District or the Cotswolds, I was not expecting fucking Italy. Harry planned all of it—flight, hotel, restaurants, activities. Zoey is convinced he did all of that because he's going to propose, but I told her no way. We've only, officially, been together three and a half months. That's far too soon for that to be happening, even if my mind occasionally drifts to the idea and I don't hate it at all. I haven't even told him that I love him yet. Not because I don't—I fear I grow more and more in love with him every single day—but because there's still those parts of me that are scared. I'm scared I'll tell him and he might leave, even though I have no reason to believe that. It's all in my head, I know that. I know it's the anxiety screaming at me. Sometimes it's louder than the calmness he brings me, penetrating through my head, sticking to it.

I think I might tell him soon. Like today. If the chance reveals itself and the moment feels right.

He drums his fingers on my thigh, alerting me that he's not asleep like I originally thought. He opens one eye, squinting from the yellowy sun that's pounding down on us in the middle of the afternoon.

"Hi, baby," I chirp.

"You wanna head back soon and get ready for dinner?" He asks, looking so tan and glowing and hot.

I'm glad my eyes are shielded by some tortoiseshell sunglasses so he can't see the way my eyes are dragging over his chiseled body that's so prettily decorated by black ink.

And somehow, that's all mine.

"Please," I say, grabbing Harry's button down that I wore over my green swimsuit, "my skin is starting to feel crispy and I desperately need a cold shower."

"Care if I join you in the shower?" He asks, a mischievous grin tugging the left side of his mouth up.

I love showering with him, but the problem is that when we do, actually showering becomes a second priority. It always starts off innocently enough, but roaming hands and running water quickly turns into him fucking me up against the glass. And I really do need to bathe off all the sweat and sunscreen and salty ocean before we go to some nice restaurant he picked.

"You can, but you have to let me actually shower. If you can do that..."

"You act like I'm some sex-crazed teenager, Holl." He feigns being hurt with his hand over his chest.

I give him a look. "Those are your words, not mine," I laugh.

"I promise," he says. "I'll just admire from afar."

"Then yes, you may join me."

We pack up our things, which isn't too much, just a couple towels, our respective books, sunscreen, and tanning oil, and head up the stone stairs from the beach to the bustling town.