Just wanted to send my prayers to all the families who lost a loved one, a friend, a neighbor, a colleague for these awful attacks. #prayfortheworld
Harry's lips were soft against mine as he made no movements to deepen the kiss. I certainly wouldn't do it, my inexperience would make me look even clumsier than how I already was. He shifted his head to the left, so that he could have more access as he opened his mouth breathing against my own and reconnecting them once more.
He brought his hand that was previously resting on the pillow to my face, caressing my cheek gently as the other one remained on my hip. My arms were still on my sides as my eyes were shut closed, enjoying the moment.
Harry slowly backed down as I tried to hide my nervousness and shyness.
"Is everything alright?" He asked confused, his hand still on my face.
"Yeah, why?"
"You aren't kissing me back," he said. I instantly felt my cheeks heating.
"I'm that bad of a kisser?" He asked, removing his warm hand from my cheek.
"No no, it's not that..." I mumbled, fiercely shaking my head.
"Then what is it, Connie?"
"I—"
"You don't have boyfriend, do you? You told me earlier that you didn't," he said in a rush, concern written all over the place.
"No I do not, I already told you," I reassured him, "I don't want one."
What I said was half true. Yes, I did not want a boyfriend, not now, nor in the future. Every couple I got to know, not married or married always ended up separating, destroying each other lives, or not even managing to function correctly because you think one part of you is missing if the partner is not there on your side. I did not want that. I did not want to feel anything but friendship for Harry, or for anyone else, for all that mattered.
But my other part of me knew that I wanted him to kiss me. Harry seemed like a guy who kissed a lot of girl. And, by the way he was swinging his lips against mine, I could tell he was used to do so. And that freaked me out; my little — non existed — knowledge of kissing, or do any intimate gesture freaked me out.
"Oh," was everything that came out from his mouth as he laid on his side.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled, climbing off the bed, "I'll leave."
"You don't have to," he said as I made my way to the hallway.
"It's fine," I replied opening the front door.
"Please," he whispered. In no time he was behind me, one hand on my shoulder as to turn me around to face him but I quickly shoved it off by stepping ahead.
"No, I—"
I stopped myself as I noticed a figure standing right in front of my door. Both of the man's hands were on the doorknob, moving it up and down, and knocking a few times before giving up and turning around, his face to Harry and me now. I could only see his face was focused on us but I could recognize him. Damn, I forgot my glasses back in Harry's bedroom. He nonchalantly walked towards us, as I was trying to identify the mysterious man in a grey sweatshirt and black jeans.
"Oh, sweet Connie," he said, "there you are."
The voice didn't sound familiar but neither was it unknown. I then gulped as he stopped just a few feet from me and took in his features.
