PULSE [H.S]

048

FOURTY EIGHT;

"Teasing is like a dance, a playful exchange of words and glances that keeps the rhythm of attraction alive." — Unknown

We are going to be late.

We are supposed to meet everyone at the air strip in less than half an hour, but judging from the way Harry is inside of me on the couch right now, I'm going to say that there's no shot we make it there on time.

Harry grabs both of my wrists, pinning them above my head as he fucks me senseless.

My hands want to touch his body, feel him, or hold onto something, but he keeps them trapped above my head. My body arches as he thrusts into me, but his arm quickly pushes me back down, not letting me move even an inch.

I'm completely at his mercy.

He hums against my skin, "You love when I'm in control of you, don't you, pretty girl?"

His words make a moan leave my mouth. He runs his tongue up my body, moving himself in and out of me forcefully. It's hard to breathe right now.

He flips me over so I'm on my stomach, slamming my body against his. His fingers dig into my sides, controlling my movements.

He breathes, "You love it when I throw you around, hmm?"

I can't form any coherent thoughts. All I manage to do is moan, "Fuck, Harry."

He quickens his pace, at some point turning me over again so I'm on my back. He never lets me finish with my body facing away from him. He grinds his hips, going deeper inside of me.

I grab his shoulder, digging my nails into his skin as the orgasm takes over me. The blissful sensation coats my skin, flooding through me like a tsunami. He keeps going, thrusting into me until he finishes, pulling out to release himself on my stomach.

He leans his face down, pressing his lips to mine gently, before he removes his body from me. He returns with a towel, wiping his sperm off of my stomach, and I now need to shower.

He smirks at me as I stand up, heading upstairs to clean myself off better.

He calls after me, "Hurry up, we are going to be late."

I flip him off as I go up the stairs, making him laugh.

We are over twenty minutes late to the runway, and Zayn is giving us both the death stare as we meet everyone in front of the jet. Everyone looks at us suspiciously about our late arrival since Harry hates when people are late.

The private jet is insane.

It's huge, and it looks even bigger on the inside. There's a bunch of seats, which all look like recliners you would find in a home, not those shitty airplane seats. There's a minibar, and a bedroom in the back.

We file onto the plane, ready for Greece. I wish this was just a fun vacation. I wish we were just a normal group of friends looking forward to exploring another country together. The reality of our situation makes it hard to be excited about traveling.

I take the seat next to Harry, happy to be by the window.

Niall says, "Okay, who's doing a shooter with me? Zayn? Kiz? Louis?"

I shake my head at him, and everyone else refuses too. He shrugs and ends up dumping two shooters into his mouth at once. I don't know why he's getting drunk to sit on this plane for hours.

We are flying in a day early, which Zayn had to pull some strings to be able to manage. It lets us have a night to enjoy Greece before the banquet tomorrow, so at least we have something to look forward to.

Clove and Louis are sitting on the opposite side of the jet, locking their lips together. I laugh when I see Zayn sitting as far away from them as he can, his hood pulled down over his face.

I say, "I guess that's public now. I wonder how Zayn took it."

Harry says, "He punched Louis in the face."

"Oh," I laugh. "Sounds about right."

The plane starts moving ,and Harry scolds me to put my seatbelt on. I smirk at him as he grips his knees, looking straight ahead.

I say, "If you get nervous, I'll hold your hand."

He glares at me. "I'm not scared of heights."

"Really?" I ask, tilting my head. "Then why is your pulse climbing?"

His eyes snap to my hand on his arm, and I smirk at him.

He shakes his head, saying, "Using my own trick against me. I'll get you back for that."

"How are you going to do that, pretty boy?" I challenge him.

"Your mouth won't be so bold when my cock's down your throat," he says lowly, making my insides ignite. He says, "I will take you into that back room right now and fuck your mouth so hard you won't be able to talk afterwards."

I gulp, eyes wide.

I mean, shit, I'm not opposed.

I keep up the game, saying, "Maybe I don't want your dick, Harry. In fact, I was thinking of giving that guy a call. What was his number again? 628-"

His hand grips my thigh tightly, and I smirk at him. I know if we were alone right now, he wouldn't be letting me get away with this. But the fact that he can't do anything makes me feel brave.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he growls in my ear, saying, "This jet won't protect you forever."

I squirm, bursting with anticipation. I say, "I think I distracted you from your fear of heights pretty well. Look, we're already all the way up."

He just glares at me, still fuming.

Zayn announces, "Alright, let's use the flight to go over the plan for tomorrow."

We go over cover stories, plans, routes, and Zayn slides me some floor plans to memorize. He points out the rendezvous points too, and there are a few different ones depending on how the plan plays out.

I take the maps back to my seat when we are done and start looking into them, burning them into my mind. The place is so big. There are so many papers here.

Harry's hand slides to my thigh underneath the outstretched paper I'm holding above me. I look at him, and he's sitting with his head back, eyes closed. But there's a smug look on his face.

He starts rubbing circles on my inner thigh, distracting me. When his hands are on me, nothing else in the world matters. All of my senses focus on him and the places that he touches me.

I elbow him in the side, but he doesn't react, and his hand moves further between my legs, spreading them open a little. Nobody can see his hand with the papers I'm holding, and he fucking knows it.

His fingers rub against me, making me squirm. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, knowing it is absolutely crucial that I do not make even the slightest noise right now.

This motherfucker.

His fingers move against me, the familiar sensation burning underneath his touch. My breathing picks up, and he applies more pressure through my pants.

And then suddenly, his hand is off of me.

I curse at him, and he looks over at me, smirking.

"You okay, Kiz?" he says, acting innocent. "You look a little flushed."