The Merciless (h.s.)

Chapter Eighteen

Arabella

My weighted and drowsy eyes are forced to shoot open when I feel a bulky arm snake itself underneath my bare ass.

My neck cranks itself upright so sharply that it must look like I am powered by a computer, several cracks popping into the steamy, compressing air. The top of my head would have knocked the corner of Harry's jaw inward if he hadn't jerked himself away from my panicked body fast enough, the flyaways on my scalp tickling the stubble on his jaw line.

"Relax..." Harry exhales the demand out as if it is an inconvenience to him. He sounds like a police officer detaining an intoxicated suspect. In a way, he is.

"What are you doing?" I petition, my hands slipping off of his shoulders and slapping onto my naked thighs that are sprawled across him.

When the sound of the palm of my hands slamming against my exposed legs graces my jaded ears, panic strikes in my bones. I look down at my lap, our laps, to confirm what I heard was not a mere figment of my imagination. I am naked. I am naked and sitting on top of Harry.

I am naked, sitting on top of Harry, and his arm is stretched underneath my ass.

I tug my sweatshirt that is hung like a noose around my neck down so that it covers my chest and torso, barring my breasts from being observed any longer. My bare thighs have remnants of dried up liquid splattered all over them, but that is the least of my concerns. My legs swiftly slap together and produce an obnoxious clap once I realize my panties are not sheltering my most intimate area. Instead, I find my underwear shredded, riddled completely useless in the passengers seat. The smell of sex intoxicates the air, not allowing me to forget every bad decision I just decided to make.

My feeble hands hover over the area between my legs. I pull my eyes to Harry's, hoping he will grace me with a comforting fable that denies everything that just happened.

I could never be that lucky, though.

"I am trying to put a towel underneath you. Sit up..." Harry says.

His hand underneath me becomes even more evident when he nudges me twice, reminding me that he is there.

My eyebrows furrow themselves deep behind my lashes, confusion brewing at the base of my hazy brain.

"A towel?" I question, not moving an inch.

Harry's expression mirrors mine, not entertaining the delusion I so desperately am trying to keep myself in.

"Bella, I am all wet. Sit the fuck up so I can put this towel underneath you," Harry's tone becomes harsher within a snap of a finger, a complete one-eighty in comparison to his tone before.

My eyes laced with murky vision drag to the semi-folded black towel hanging over the center console gripped by Harry's glistening fingers.

I shake my head.

"I'll just move over there..." I nod towards the stained passenger's seat.

"No. I just want you to sit up so I can put this towel underneath you."

"Why?" I can't help but interrogate him, even though I am the one who is detained.

Harry's eyes are stiff on mine. "Because, I said so."

My thighs squeeze together at the response.

"Why can't I just sit on the towel over there?" I push harder.

My eyes don't know whether to settle on Harry inhaling a very deep breath or his knuckles clenching harder onto the folded towel.

"I am begging you not to argue with me right now," Harry draws another deep breath, eyelids sinking over his peeved stare as if that will make my questions disappear along with everything else.