fight for us ↠ harry styles [b2] ✓

CHAPTER 35

35—Renleigh Kensington

There was something different about us the moment we got home. Harry was wine drunk and the happiest I've ever seen him. The alcohol made him clumsy and even needier than he usually was. We couldn't stop telling each other how in love we were and we ended up having the messiest sex, ever.

Teeth clicking and hands shuffling, skin clamping together and clothes thrown around the room, it felt new and exciting. There was something unexplainable about the kisses he pressed on my skin, the way he looked at me as he towered over me, nudging his knee between my legs to spread them. He watched with careful yet lustful eyes as he pushed two of his fingers between my lips to wet them before he pulled them from me and teased me with them. I gasped and he caught it in a kiss, touching his tongue to mine and sucking on my bottom lip like he wanted to remember its taste forever. Crumbling into the palm of his hand as he rolled his fingers against me then filled me up with them, was one of the most intoxicating feelings I've ever felt and missed more than anything.

He was the best I've ever had, the easiest to deal with, the most gorgeous to watch fall for the feeling of euphoria over and over again. Filling the air with mumbles, begs of the quietest voice for a while, my heart leaped out of my chest when his body glided against my movements and his breath hitched, ending in the back of his throat as he moaned and refused to hide. I felt him trickle down my throat and I watched him feel the warmth radiating from his tummy, swirling up and through his veins, his blood pumping at an uncontrollable pace, like his chest, falling and collapsing with need before he managed to catch his breath and come back to me.

Time ceased to exist as he moved himself from the mattress and pinned me beneath him, fingers bending around my wrists to cage them above my head. The forest hidden in his eyes was alive, it was burning and I couldn't look away. Losing my breath at the sight, the next thing I knew was the touch of his lips, soft yet courageous, swimming over my skin, leaving burns in its path from the very same forest that burned behind his irises. My lips parted and I gasped, holding onto his side as he teethed my skin, painting the bend of my neck red, knowing it'll turn purple, then green, then yellow later on. He whispered he loved me and I believed him, kissing his mouth over and over again until the words were imprinted.

Waiting a week and three days for him to be with me like this, was worth every second. Days were dreadful without him, but nights like this made up for it. Gentle touches with desperate begs, moans that vibrated through my entire being, sent shivers through my body, goosebumps arising on my skin as I felt him—all of him. He was thick and long, he fit and he fit some more. I felt him between my legs and in my tummy as he breathed in my neck and pecked his way down my stomach. I grasped the pillows behind me and chucked them to the side in anticipation, the bed as messy as it was sweaty and marked by us. My skin was aching for him, begging for his touch and he gave it to me and pleaded for more.

Two years with him was not enough. It felt like five minutes and I realised I wanted more. I needed more. I had to have more time with him to love him like this, to appreciate his beauty and fall in love with him in any and every single way I could. I glanced into his eyes and all I saw was my future, the love he had for me, the love I had for him. He looked at me and I wanted him to look at me forever, to love me like he did in that moment, to keep that feeling locked away eternity.

Never having cried during sex before, it was shocking to feel my tears slide down the side of my face. His hips rolled into mine one last time and he was over the moon, his burning breath fanned my neck as he pushed his face in the bend. He didn't catch my tears but he heard me sniffle once he caught himself, gently pulling out of me to sit up and tug me with him. There was a glint in his eyes that only ever came around post orgasm, his cheeks bright and colourful, a pretty shade of pink. His lips were red and bitten, loved and sucked and soft and his hair was messy and it held traces of my fingertips.