Harry threw his head back, straining his neck deliciously as he grunted throatily in pleasure. My glazed eyes flashed greedily over the criss-cross of long, prominent veins along his throat.
As beautiful as his neck was, these veins only ever appeared on two occasions; when he was singing, and when he was fucking.
He drove his hips back and forth relentlessly, and I felt the rush of warmth building fast in my abdomen, my toes and fingers curling in retaliation. I squealed, longing to reach my release, yearning for my orgasm. Harry's tip hit my G-spot perfectly and I cried out breathlessly, my head spinning dizzily as he worked urgently above me. I rolled my hips against his sharp thrusts so his pubic bone ground against my clit, sending me into spasms of untouched, indescribable pleasure, my fingers bunching up in his hair, pulling gently on his soft curls.
"Fuck, Tamara..." he groaned huskily, voice heavy with lust and face buried deep in the crevice of my neck. "You feel so good..."
I sighed an incoherent mutter of agreement, working on simply enjoying the feelings he created inside of me. I just wanted pleasure, I just wanted an orgasm. It would make me feel better, I convinced myself. It would rid me of this empty filling in the pit of my stomach, the one which would not disappear no matter how many sweet nothings he whispered, no matter how fervent his fingers felt on my skin.
It wasn't the same anymore. We weren't the same.
"Gonna come," he moaned into my hair; long, clumsy fingers brushing my blonde waves off my face. I felt a twinge of nausea in my stomach as he touched me so lovingly, as I tried to ignore how it didn't feel the same as usual - he didn't feel the same.
I kept my eyes clamped firmly shut, the same way I had since he'd first entered me.
I couldn't bear to look at him.
"Tammy," he moaned, his voice thick and gravelly, "Tamara, are you close?"
I nodded stiffly, swaying my hips in slow circles, voice catching in my throat due to the marvellous friction on my clit. I could feel myself tipping over the edge, but I didn't want to fall. I gritted my teeth, unable to stop my orgasm any longer, and my whole body arching against him, thighs tensing and tired hands gripping loosely to the moist skin of his taut biceps.
His name didn't leave my lips as he let himself loose, spilling everything he had into me, the warmth of his high seeming to seep through his skin onto me. He said my name, though, as his warm, firm body came inside me. His familiar arms gave way so he collapsed onto of me, foreheads touching softly, though there was no tenderness in the action.
Only guilt, deep in the pit of my stomach.
His lips began attacking my neck, but it was out of habit mostly, as well as a need to reassure himself that we were okay. His kisses didn't work that way for me, and there was none of the usual comfort of having his body pressed to mine - all I felt was disgust at myself.
He rested at last, lying cradled in my arms, head resting on my chest so his curls tickled across my collarbones. I held him even though it made me feel sick; revolted at how I'd failed him, at how his heart was broken because of me.
There was a long, still silence as he lay in my arms, both spent, and both feeling heaviness in the air and seeing the elephant in the corner of the room.
He licked his lips slowly, glistening green eyes glimpsing up at me apprehensively from below long, dark lashes. "How was it for you?" he muttered breathily, his fingers playing in my hair - something which would seem like an idle movement to the untrained eye, but which I saw for what it really was.
