Canyon Moon | H.S.

Don't Look in His Eyes (9)

The tiniest gasp escapes my lips.

His soft lips are attached to the sensitive skin just underneath my jaw, and my nerve endings are aflame. He grazes my skin with his teeth and I just can't seem to catch my breath.

The weight of him above me only increases the pounding in my chest.

Calloused fingers are tracing slow circles on my thighs, working their way higher until they're grazing the soft skin of my breasts.

He takes his lips away from my neck and stares down at me, green eyes dark with lust. I reach out to touch his face but he clasps my hand above my head, placing his lips on my collarbone.

His kisses descend lower and lower, my skin blooming in hues of pink and red under his lips. My body shifts against the sheets, every soft touch too much and not enough at the same time.

Strong hands move to grip my thighs, and a soft moan leaves my body involuntarily.

His lips are on my stomach now, and he grins up at me as my muscles clench, his dark eyes shining at me from beneath his lashes. My breath escapes my lips in jagged pants.

I throw my head backwards as he finally reaches the small bundle of nerves between my legs, and my hands frantically grasps at the sheets beneath me.

He is tireless, drinking me in. He plays my body like the piano - and rewards the accompanying music that falls from my lips. He appears to me in flashes as the coil inside me winds tighter. Shining eyes never wavering from mine... strong fingers pulling my skin taut... the soft rumbling of his voice... the heat radiating between us...

It feels like seconds or days pass before I feel the heavy ache in my lower belly build to a breaking point. My breath at this point feels trapped in my throat. My eyelids flutter with the overwhelming sensation.

"God... Harry!"

I jolt myself awake, frantically rubbing at my eyes. My heart is in my mouth and my breathing is laboured, like I've been running for miles. There's a dull ache between my thighs, and images from my dream flash behind my eyes in a torrential slideshow.

Fucking hell.

I lay back and close my eyes, trying ignore the reality of what's just happened, but the throbbing between my legs is undeniable.

I just had a sex dream about Harry...

A really fucking good sex dream.

I can't stop my brain from replaying it over and over again, torn between wanting to forget that it happened and not wanting the vivid images to fade as I move further away from sleep.

I need a shower.

I check the time on my phone and it's barely gone six in the morning, but I definitely won't be getting back to sleep this morning.

I stand under the warm water, hoping it will wash away the phantom touches that I can feel fluttering across my body.

This is because of that kiss last night, I realise, prompting memories of that to come flooding back instead. He held me so intensely, and he tasted like chocolate... and cherries. It was wonderful, but if it gives me dreams like that...

Does that make it better or worse?

I get out of the shower and go about my morning routine as normally as possible, settling down at the kitchen table with a coffee and a book to pass away the time until Zayn comes downstairs, and then the rest of the boys. My brain's a bit all over the place, but I force myself to pay attention to my book, as it's been really good so far and I don't want to get confused.