Butterfly Keeper // h.s. au

Chapter Forty Two

The smell of pine still stains my hands when I bring them up to touch my hair. It's uneven and choppy with certain pieces stringing down longer than the rest. It seems that Sutton and Angela had no patience in their haste to rid me of my mane. I sigh to myself and shuffle it around, knowing I'll have to even it out soon but not wanting to take that step.

    I sit with my legs folded together on the edge of Harry's bed, Meshka nestled in the midst of them while I examine myself in his mirror. My jaw and cheeks are very noticeable now, and I hate the way my lack of hair attributes to making my chin look more pointy. I could cry but I won't let myself, I've cried enough. So I sulk instead and stroke the tuff of fur between Meshka's ears because that seems like the healthiest alternative for the time being.

    "I finally got the tree light's working, they were-"

    Harry stops in the doorway only a short space away from me, taking in my harrowing and causing him to narrow his eyes on me. I allow my eyes to space out on myself in the mirror as he walks over to the bed and stands directly in front of it, blocking my view.

    "Stop it." He says sternly, taking my wrists in each of his hands and gently laying me back against his messy sheets. Meshka hastily jumps off my lap, turning to watch us before letting out a whiny meow and sauntering into the living room.

    "It looks so horrible," I mumble up to him, his face looking down on mine and framed with a curtain of curls.

    "Bullshįt," He rumbles out, kissing my nose once. "You're overthinking it."

    He laces our fingers together and doesn't dare break our gaze, knowing the leverage it has over me. I find peace in it now though, in the familiar act of running my eyes over his beautiful features.

    "Do you... Do you still think I'm pretty?" I blush instantly, hating the way the words sound coming out of my mouth. Reminding me too much of that overly innocent schoolgirl cliché.

    He laughs quietly under his breath, regaining his composure after a moment and flicking his hair out of his eyes to look at me with stone serious features.

    "You've never looked more beautiful."

    He leans down and softly presses his lips to mine, just slightly sucking at my bottom lip. I feel my stomach swirl at the gesture but quietly push it aside, humming the word 'bullshįt' into his mouth in a mocking British accent.

    "Charlotte," He breathes, bringing himself up to sit on my torso and keeping my hands pinned above my head on the mattress. "You're a fuçking seraph. If you don't believe me then I'll show you,-"

    He nips lightly at my jaw,

    "-just how beautiful,-"

    His eyes flicker to mine for one vehement second before trailing to my lips,

    "-you really are."

    His lips are slowly attached to mine again, pressing together in warm lustful movements. He releases his left hand from mine only to trail it down my shoulder and onto my hip, squeezing the exposed skin there lightly. My free hand finds his cheek, feeling his stubble under my palm and memorizing the way it it's rough texture catches my skin. I pull him closer, wanting the movements of his lips to match the hunger behind mine. He responds instantly, his movements becoming more driven and less gentle. I want it, and I'm not surprised but more amused at the blossoming of heat deep in the pit of my stomach. I want the rough press of his lips moving and dancing to the beat of mine. I want the aching hunger that fills my finger tips and allows me to twist them in the back of his hair. I want the nervous feeling that hinders and drives me when Harry begins to graze his hands further down my hips.