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
When I blinked awake that morning, the world was still quiet, tender with the hush of first light, and for a few suspended moments, I didn't move. My body was slow to wake, nestled in the warmth and stillness that only came when I felt completely and utterly safe.
Every part of me constricted when I realised the way we were laying. Harry was wrapped around me, every inch of him pressed to me like a second skin. His chest fit perfectly along the curve of my back, and his bare arms were looped around me. Firm and protective, but not restrictive. Never restrictive. His skin was warm against mine, his heat sinking deep into my own. I could feel the soft tickle of his breath against the nape of my neck, the slight weight of his face nestled into my shoulder. My hair had probably fallen across his face, yet he'd slept like that anyway. His breathing was slow, steady — a rhythm I began to match, breath for breath, heartbeat for heartbeat. I could feel it all. The rise and fall of his chest against my back, the soft thud of his heart pressing into my spine.
But he wasn't asleep. I knew it by the way his fingers ever so gently reached up and down the length of my arm, from my shoulder to my elbow. The touch was tender, so impossibly gentle that it almost tickled, and every few seconds, he pressed a kiss to my shoulder in between whatever quiet words he was whispering.
With a sleepy sigh, I moved my hands to his, which were resting against the curve of my ribs. My fingers found his and traced over his knuckles, coaxing his hands to loosen slightly so I could thread mine through. He loosened his hold, and when our fingers finally laced together and he realised I was awake, I felt the smile he pressed into my skin.
Another kiss, then another breath.
A few moments later, I shifted around so that I could face him, so we could cuddle. Inhaling sleepily, I rolled over and buried my face into his chest, not yet wanting to fully open my eyes and see the light of day. I wanted to stay buried in the darkness and the comfort of this bed and the sheets and the cloud-like pillows. Harry wrapped himself around me without hesitation, tucking me back into the shape of his body, as if we were made to fit like this. One of his legs slipped between mine, our bodies tangling until we were touching everywhere we could. His hand stroked lazily up and down my spine, while mine rested over his chest where I could feel the steady beat of his heart.
"Morning." he rasped, that morning voice of his sent waves of butterflies through me, a cage of them burst wide open in my stomach.
I burrowed into his chest. "I'm still asleep."
Harry hummed a small noise of amusement, stroking his fingers through my hair, allowing us to be content and silent for a few more moments. I never wanted to wake or face the day. In this moment I swore I could stay like this for every minute of every day for the rest of my life, and I'd be the happiest person on earth.
Eventually, I pulled back. My eyes were still heavy with sleep when I met his soft morning gaze. His voice was thick, low and quiet when he spoke, "Hi."
