Sleepyhead

Sweetcheeks

I scared the living daylights out of him.

With my hands on his shoulders and my lips pressed tightly against his, Harry was absolutely and utterly shocked.

To be honest, if a half drunk, leggy blonde who had been ignoring my advances for a month now busted into my hotel room in the odd hours of the night looking positively mental, I’d probably be scared shitless too.

But that’s just me, at least. I wouldn’t be used to girls throwing themselves at me.

Harry was frozen. His hands were stuck at his sides as if someone had shot him with one of those fancy ray guns in superhero films that cause the hero to be unable to move. Or that one pretentious spell that the curly haired annoying chick used in the first Harry Potter film. Something like that. Harry was unable to move. It was like he was in full on catatonic shock.

And frankly, it was starting to make me go mental.

A girl does not like to be not kissed back. Trust me. Ask anyone. Survey the world. Us girls like the pair of lips we are connected to, to you know, move. Or attack us back. That’s just a universal truth and all.

“Kiss me back,” I urged, sliding my lips just barely over his and wrapping my arms around his neck. “Please.”

His skin was warm and soft as a baby’s bottom. I rubbed my thumbs against it, imagining what it would be like to do it all the time, to hold Harry Styles in my arms every single morning and every single night.

He didn’t need to hear anymore. Harry quickly complied, moving his lips against mine and reaching one hand over my shoulder to slam the door closed. And suddenly we were at it. His tongue plunged into my mouth and his hands slid around my waist. Before I knew it, he’d cupped my bum, squeezing tightly and groaning slightly against my lips.

I collapsed a little in his arms, running my fingers down his bare back and sending shivers quite literally down his spine. Harry was so tall, so long and skinny that kissing me made him have to arch his back down to me. He was hunched over and I couldn’t imagine kissing me this low was very comfortable.

Harry seemed to agree, because he slid his hands down just under my bum and hoisted me up. I looped my legs around his waist as he brought me up to his level. I peeked an eye open to find his eyes closed, fluttering just so as he bit down on my bottom lip.

I moaned, reaching up and tangling my fingers into his curly locks. His lips moved away from mine, pressing soft kisses against my cheeks and my jawline and sliding down to my neck. He slowly backed up and spun me around until my back hit the closed door softly. Everything with Harry was gentle. Not reserved, just deliberately chosen. He didn’t want to slam me against the door and bite down on my collarbone and rip into me.

My mind was spinning, my heart was racing. I couldn’t think. It was Harry and his lips against mine and his hands all over me.

“I’ve been waiting so long for this,” he whispered against my neck, suckling lightly on the skin just above his t-shirt that I wore. I was suddenly aware that I was dressed in a ridiculous outfit. There was just too much clothes. Too much fabric. Too much. I wanted to be as naked as him.

I wanted to feel my skin against his. I wanted it more than anything.

“Take my shirt off,” I moaned, tipping my head back as he slid one of his hands underneath the t-shirt.

But he didn’t.

“Take my shirt off,” I repeated, tugging at the nape of his neck and opening my eyes.

Harry still had his eyes closed. His lips were already swollen and pink and beautiful. And I didn’t want to look at him right now. I wanted him to take my shirt off and I wanted to feel him and I wanted him to take me away from my own head. I just wanted him.