Harry Styles, a secret service agent working for British intelligence is tasked with finding the killer after a series of brutal but calculated murders across Europe. His mind is sharp, he's smart, arrogant and works with a precision that leaves no...
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Winter
We were both covered in blood, dirt, and gunpowder, our clothes were clinging to us with sweat, our skin was buzzing with leftover adrenaline. But none of it mattered. Not the mess, not the bruises, not the weight of everything we'd just been through. The only thing that existed in that moment was the desperate crush of Harry's mouth against mine.
We hadn't even made it inside yet. He'd fumbled with the lock, one hand digging into the pocket of his jeans for the key, the other cradling my lower back as though letting me go for even a second would kill him. His lips never left mine while he tried to fit the key into the door, missing the keyhole three or four times before finally finding it. Once he had, the door swung open and then was kicked closed behind us almost just as quickly.
I peeled his jacket from his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground at our feet as he walked me backwards, further into the living room, towards the stairs, towards the bedroom. His hands were everywhere—my waist, my jaw, my hair before finally settling on my ass, squeezing me there and hauling me flush against him. He walked me backwards into the living room, towards the stairs, towards the promise of the bedroom, kissing me like we were never going to stop.
We'd hardly exchanged a word since arriving at the front door outside. The stolen motorbike had been discarded a few streets down, and we walked hand in hand to his flat... home? Hand in hand had only lasted seconds before Harry gave up and spent most of the walk kissing me instead—my cheek, my temple, my knuckles, his lips brushing against me like he needed the reassurance that I was still here, still alive, still his. I'd laughed breathlessly when he'd almost tripped because he couldn't seem to keep his mouth off me, and he'd only pulled me closer in response.
Now in the flat, I wanted him more than anything. The adrenaline from this night had me painting and gasping, my heart racing. Every drag of his mouth against mine, every grip of his hands left me aching for more. I wanted him more in this moment than I had ever wanted anything in my life.
We'd almost reached the stairs before we were interrupted by a tiny floppy body trying to squish between us. Bean, the little sausage dog stumbled over our feet, trying to jump up to say hello to us both.
Harry groaned into my mouth, forehead pressing against mine, before breaking away just long enough to murmur, "Hi, Bean," his hand had already dropped down to scratch gently behind her ears. His tenderness with her always made my chest ache. She was so tiny, barely a few inches bigger than his hand.
I bent down too, laughter escaping me despite the heat and desperation inside me. My hand stroked down the soft fur of her back, feeling the warmth of her tiny body beneath my palm. "Hi, baby," I cooed, grinning, cheeks flushed, my voice thick with both affection and leftover adrenaline. I giggled harder when Harry's lips immediately found the side of my face, trailing kisses across my cheek, up to my temple, refusing to stop even while I was petting his dog. "Your dad's a bit busy right now,"
