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.
In a dimly lit cocktail bar, I was sitting opposite Harry. I felt like we were the only two people in the room. He wore black from head to toe— a black blazer, a loose silk shirt so sheer that I could see his tattoos through the fabric, and black trousers. And nestled in the pocket of his blazer was a single pink flower, delicate. He looked like something out of a dream. Insane enough that I'd yet to take my eyes off him.
I couldn't stop staring, I hadn't since we left the hotel. We'd taken a taxi into the city, leaving Bean with her grandparents. We booked A hotel for the night to save us the journey of traveling back to his home, one we might not even sleep in. I didn't want to. I hoped we wouldn't. Sitting across from him like this, watching the way his eyes moved across me, shamelessly. I didn't want the night to end. I wanted hours with him. I wanted to drag this out until morning, and even then, I might not be satisfied. I wanted to kiss him until my lips ached.
I wanted him until I forgot where he ended and I began.
I matched him. It hadn't been planned. A black, strapless, sleek dress that fit me like it was made for me, hugging me in all the right places. And behind my ear, tucked into my hair by his hand before we left the hotel—a pink flower. The same flower as the one in his blazer.
Hand in hand, we walked into the bar. His fingers were warm even against the cold of the night, and had been grounding, secure. It wasn't my kind of place, I'd been nervous, and he knew it. This was the sort of place I'd go with a weapon tucked against my thigh, somewhere I'd be for the purpose of stalking, hunting, killing. Not the place I'd go to enjoy myself. But that was all I did with Harry— I got to enjoy myself, I got to experience things I never thought I could. Yes, I'd scanned for exits, it was a habit I'd never get out of. And yes, I had a weapon strapped to my thigh, I wasn't going anywhere without one. But I wasn't here for that. I was here to stare at my extremely gorgeous boyfriend and think about all the filthy things I wanted to do to him the second we stepped foot inside the hotel room.
This feeling, whatever it was, was new. It was terrifying and the most incredible thing in the world. I felt weightless, like I was floating. I felt unrecognisable and more myself than I'd ever been, this was who I was meant to be. Like my whole life had been leading to this moment, to him. I wasn't running anymore. This was what I'd been chasing my entire life, and I didn't have to run anymore.
We spoke, we laughed softly but sometimes I found myself barely listening to his words. And I knew he wasn't really listening to me either. Instead, I focused on how his thumb brushed the stem of his glass, how his lips pressed against the glass each time he took a drink. How his eye lingered a little too long on my mouth. The space between us was unbearable. It was only a few feet, but it was too much.
We were opposite each other, but beneath the table our ankles brushed, as if the table between us was too much space. I didn't even want to go a few hours without touching him, even if he was only a foot or two away. It was too much. Because we had to be touching each other somehow. I wanted his hands on my hips, in my hair, his mouth against the shell of my ear as he whispered all the things I knew were running through his mind.
