Blind | h.s. [COMPLETE]

Chapter Four

Between the lack of any tangible light, her soft hand stroking his hair over and over, and managing to share the story of his mother's and Gemma's deaths without once coming close to panicking, Harry was almost dizzy with victory. No female had ever gotten so close to him and definitely not as fast as she had. It was all Paisley's doing, and he adored her that much more for it.

Paisley's voice interrupted his thoughts. "You say the sweetest things. I swear."

Harry smiled against the palm of her hand still holding his cheek, and finally chuckled.

"What's so funny?" She grinned.

The two had shifted onto their sides, their bodies now facing each other. Paisley's head rested on her makeshift pillow of bags and a jacket while Harry laid on his right arm folded beneath his head. They had a solid space of two feet between them. Though it didn't seem far, it felt as though they were miles from each other.

He shrugged, then remembered the body language would be lost on her. "Sweet isn't a word usually applied to me."

"Well, then, people must not know you that well."

He nodded. "Maybe that's so." He'd be the first to admit he kept people away. He didn't like the feeling of burdening others with his baggage. Sometimes distance was easier than acting, or explaining.

"Definitely so," she replied.

Harry liked her argumentative nature. She was playful and feisty and had him talking and laughing more in the couple hours he'd known her than probably in the whole last month combined. With her, he'd never given distance a second thought.

Harry almost moaned when she slid her palm up his face and began stroking from his temple, back over his ear, and down to the base of his neck. His mouth dropped open. His breathing picked up. He couldn't help but lean into her surprisingly sensual and cool touch.

He closed his eyes for a moment and just gave in to the feeling of it. He could hear her breathing and didn't think he was imagining her breaths coming quicker, too. The possibility she might be longing for him the way he was longing for her all at once made him hard. He groaned low in his throat before he could stop himself.

"Paisley."

"Harry," she smiled. He could feel it and wished so much that he could see how beautiful it was.

He swallowed thickly and shifted his hips. His button fly was relaxed, but not enough to accommodate his hard-on without discomfort.

At first, he thought he imagined it: her fingers, exerting pressure against the back of his neck. But she continued on with the steady stroking. He just wasn't sure. He concentrated all his focus on the movement of her hand and her fingertips pulling him toward her.

Please let me not be imagining this, he thought.

He licked his lips and moved his head forward just an inch or two. God, he wanted to kiss her. His fingers itched to finally thread their way into all that silky hair. His lips fell open in anticipation of claiming her mouth. He wanted to taste her. He wanted to feel her under him.

"Paisley," he rasped, his jaw tightening and slowly relaxing under her hand.

"Yes, Harry."

It was all the confirmation he needed.

He pushed himself across the carpet until his chest encountered her. He slowly lowered his head so he didn't hurt her in his blind impatience. His mouth found her right cheek first and he pressed his lips against the soft apple of it. She moaned and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. His left hand landed in a pile of silky smooth waves, and the satisfaction he felt at finally touching her hair made him swallow hard.