Charcoal Grey [H.S.]

☆CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - DESPERATION☆

The next few weeks flew by filled with rough sex and intimate moments.

It felt so right yet so wrong at the same time. Harry was conflicted. He has known her for a little over two months now and he was falling into a trap, a spell that has been cast on him and he cannot snap out of it.

Another punch.

Harry's movements were that of a predator, his arms flexed, tattoos glistening under the slick layer of perspiration, his harsh grunts filling up the empty room of the gym. This was just another usual workout, except he wanted it to be more painful and physically demanding. The leather punching bag swung violently from side to side, its metal handle on the verge of breaking down, his fists leaving indents on the fabric while he continued to aggressively assault it.

The blood flowed furiously in his veins accompanied by the exhilarating rush of the adrenaline, his heart pounding in his chest. A dim light hung frailly above him, illuminating his naked back. Toned flesh resulted from the years of meticulous and intense boxing he did, black ink sprawled along his wet skin highlighting the scars that he hides from the gruesome battles he has gone through.

Just then, his ringtone disrupted his thoughts and he scowled. Taking a few steps back and deep breaths, forcing himself to walk to the bench and fish his phone out of his duffel bag, his gaze ever so slightly softened when he saw who it was.

Smoothly swiping his thumb on the green icon, he put it on speaker and spoke, "Lennon? What's wrong, baby?"

He heard a shaky breath on the other end, most definitely of hesitation or embarrassment, "H—Harry?"

Her tone sounded desperate and breathless, he heard some shuffling in the background, and wondered what the hell was she doing.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Um...shit, I'm so stupid. Sorry, it's nothing. I'll leave you alone—"

"No, grey. You're gonna tell me what the fuck is wrong. I'm not gonna get mad," Harry said firmly, in a tone that gave no room for doubt and negotiation.

"Um...OK, um...I miss you so I...I know you have a match but...I couldn't help it and began to play with myself and...I couldn't get off. I need you."

A muscle ticked in Harry's jaw. All the adrenaline from bashing that punching bag was replaced by lust, frustration and desire, "What are you doing now, grey?" His voice dropped an octave lower.

"I'm in my underwear only. I tried to touch myself like you do...but I can't get off."

Harry grunted, his phone on the brink of being crushed by his iron grip, "Are you wet?"

"Yes, Harry. All from talking to you," her whisper made his core throb in agony.

"Continue touching yourself. I want to hear you," he ordered.

"H—Harry," she cried out. "I can't do it without you. I wish you were here."

"I'll help you through the phone and remember what I taught you. Keep the call on speaker mode and set it aside on the table."

Harry heard the mattress creaking faintly, concluding that she was adjusting her position to make it more comfortable and then she spoke again. "O—OK...what do I do now?"

"Listen to my voice, grey. Tell me, where are your hands?"

"One is between my thighs and the other is on my chest."

"Good girl. Now, slide it under your panties, stroke yourself. Start slow and gentle, just like how I would."

A beat of silence and then a familiar feminine moan echoed from her end making Harry's blood boil. He grinded his teeth together, hating how he wasn't there right now.