Weightless (H.S. BWWM)

It's Yours

Walking into the room, my presence garners silence from Harry which is either very good or very bad. I can feel heat rising up my neck in anticipation of what he has to say.

Stopping in front of him, I shadow my nervousness with false confidence and give him a few poses before asking, "What do you think? Is this okay?"

His eyes light as he looks me up and down - his tongue practically wagging. I know he likes it but I still love to hear it - sue me.

Regaining his composure, he pulls me close, "It's better than okay. In fact, I'd like to see that dress pooled around your feet right now."

I blush at his inappropriate comment, even if my heart does flutter at the idea.

His hands rub my shoulders softly before abandoning their posts and roaming my body.

My eyes close as he leans in for a kiss, something that can only lead to trouble. I'm sure of it when he runs his thumb nail down the center of my chest between my exposed cleavage. The slight pain combined with his kisses and the wandering of his other hand have my panties moist, but I know better, we both do.

Pushing away from him I wag my finger in his direction, scolding playfully, "For shame Harold. Must you become a horny teenage boy every time I dress up?"

Although I'm kidding I know staying in his grips will prove too much so I leave them to walk over to the mirror instead.

"Yes, especially when you keep looking so ravishing. I must say though," he drawls, watching me before stalking behind me, "I think this dress is my favorite."

The lust in his voice makes me grin uncontrollably. "Thank you," I sheepishly reply.

"This back is exceptionally low," he continues, sliding his finger painstakingly slow down my spine.

My breath quickens and I struggle to hold onto enough of it to speak. "Th-Th-There's a cape that goes with it for coverage." As if modesty was his concern in the first place. He never dictates how I dress and I love him for that.

He nods slowly, his middle finger still fascinated with the feel of my back beneath it.

I watch his eyes, they're concentrated on the slick pattern his digit draws up and down my spine as if he's hypnotized.

Suddenly his olive pools connect with mine in the mirror, a secretive smile beginning on his lips. "You know, your back is one of my favorite things about you. Do you know why?"

My mouth is too dry to speak so I shake my head no.

"This," he breathes, as two fingers glide down my backbone to the dip just before my behind, "arch is the sexiest thing I've ever seen. A work of art really."

My breathing is so shallow my consciousness is the only thing assuring me that I'm still inhaling at all. Each of his movements is in high definition and slow motion, prolonging the intense feelings rushing through my body.

"Especially when I'm behind you," he continues, placing his hand at the top of my back and pressing.

A bend comes to my spine from the pressure of his hand, so much so that my fingers sprawl across the mirror in front of me for balance. My breathing picks up and the moisture between my thighs grows.

"Just like this," he grunts as his hands begin mimicking his words, "And the second my hands go to your shoulders you curve up for me, it's almost instinctual."

He's right. It has to be a reflex because my back bowed the second his hands gripped my shoulders. We spend more time in this position than any other being that it's both of our favorites. Especially when he pulls my torso forward with his hands at my shoulders or around my neck. And when he fists my hair in his hand - good Lord.