under the covers [hs au]

chapter sixteen.

also, i just wanted to say that i try to make this story as realistic as possible, so if you feel that this is cringe-y, that's the point.

have fun :)

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It was late in the night, and Samira still hadn't left his home. Every part of him kept Samira captivated; Harry sparked a fire. She focused on his lips, how they'd gently press together on each syllable when he'd talk. His fingers tightly gripped the bowl on the table and the spatula in his hand.

"Samira?" He called, keeping his eyes away.

"Hmm?" She answered. Her gaze had been burning holes into him.

"What's your favorite kind of cake?"

Samira snorted, annoyed by his indirectness. But he smirked slightly—he knew what he was doing.

"You're acting weird," Samira said.

"I'm not."

"You are."

Harry pursed his lips, taunting her. She rolled her eyes, joining this game he played, and she wasn't going to let him win.

When he turned away, Samira unfastened the first few buttons of her baby pink blouse and removed the hair clip from her dark curls. She propped her elbows on the counter, resting her chin in her palm. Her body did the talking, and she hoped Harry would hear it.

Samira thought quickly, taking the spatula from the bowl and hiding it behind her. When he came back, he furrowed his eyebrows, looking for the missing utensil.

She brought it to her lips, licking the frosting slowly. Harry's eyes roamed the spatula in her hand, then her big curls, then the newly exposed skin of her breast which he'd never before seen. As soon as their eyes met, he swallowed, snapping away immediately.

"What?" Samira questioned. "Need something?"

He cleared his throat: "Why did you take my spatula?"

Samira shrugged, giving the frosting another stroke: "I wanted to try it."

The same lustful murk filled his eyes as he watched her mouth. A subtle smirk crept onto his lips as he kept observing her, curling his hands into fists.

"Give it back," he demanded, darting his hand out.

"No," Samira retorted.

Samira put the spatula in her mouth, dragging it on her tongue until it was clean. He was losing it—she saw by how he closed his eyes slowly, biting his lips.

"Samira," he expressed.

"What if I don't give it back?" Samira replied, ridiculing him.

Samira couldn't anticipate what he was about to do. Harry let out a sigh, tapping his fingers onto the counter. But then he moved—fast.

Samira squealed, running to the other side of the counter. She flaunted the spatula, giggling.

"That's not what I want," Harry replied, gripping the counter tightly.

Samira was too late to escape when Harry stood in front of her, halting her steps. Before she could push him away, he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her over his shoulder.

The spatula in her hand fell to the floor as Harry carried her into the bedroom, tackling her onto the bed. She tittered, continuing her teasing, slapping his hands away every time he tried to touch her.