REDAMANCY [h.s. au]

38

*sexual content

"Darling, you are a pleasure to behold,
and a joy to love."
- d.c.

⭑Holland⭑

~about 2 months later~

Harry's chin rests on my shoulder as he presses himself against my backside, sponging a quick kiss to my neck and then watching intently as I stir the white pasta sauce at the stove.

"Oh my god, that smells heavenly," he says and his velvety voice rings through my ears. A mischevious finger dips into the hot sauce and he brings it to his mouth. "Tastes heavenly, too."

"Hey! Let the chef work her magic," I try to push him away, but fail as he grabs a hold of me and we both start laughing.

"Why?" He says, nuzzling into my neck and then kissing it. "Is this distracting?"

His voice is low, full of want. If I gave into him—which is tempting—he'd have me right here, right now in the kitchen. But, I feel like torturing him a bit, having some control tonight, so I nudge him away with a sharp elbow. "Out! Now!" I shout at him.

He pouts, his bottom lip jutting out and I immediately want to kiss it, but I refrain. He knows exactly what he's doing. As much as he says that I've got him wrapped around my finger, he's got me the same way. I'll never admit that to him. I can't give him an even bigger head than he's already got. It''s my job to keep that in check.

"But, Holl—" he whines like a child. I stare at him standing between the kitchen and the living room. His cheeks a bit flushed from the two glasses of wine he's been sipping on. His hair disheveled and falling onto his face—he's in need of a trim.

"If you let me finish cooking, the sooner you get to eat and then have...dessert," I smirk mischievously at him.

He mirrors the smirk I wear, taking a sip of the wine he grips but never taking his eyes off of me. It's the kind of gaze that I can only describe as undressing me with his eyes.

"Baby, you can't say that and just expect me to go sit down and watch TV until dinner is ready," he huffs.

"Harry," I warn, trying to keep my composure under that green-eyed stare that makes me want to cross the floor and attach myself to him.

"Fine, fine," he surrenders and walks solemnly to the couch where he plops himself down on, that pout still on his face as he tries with all his might to focus on the Chelsea game that's on right now.

I throw the fresh pasta I bought at the fancy grocery store into the boiling water now and stir the sauce every once in a while. The faint sound of commentators on the TV and the low sizzling of the food fills my ears. No sounds of Ivy tonight as she's at her grandma's house in Holmes Chapel for the weekend. Anne had been wanting a weekend with her granddaughter and Ivy adores going there and getting even more spoiled than she does at home, so it worked out well. Harry and I haven't had a date night in a while, so the weekend alone is welcome, even though we both miss the loudness, messiness, and liveliness that Ivy creates.

As I cook, I look around. The flat feels so cozy. It's early December and this past week, with Ivy's help, we've been putting up Christmas decorations. No tree, yet, but we put up a wreath and some fake garland with warm fairy lights woven through. A candle always burning that smells like a damn sugar cookie. Some other festive knickknacks here and there.