Spotlight |h.s|

Twenty Four

Aubrey Hart

My eyes open and I look down at my body tangled in Harry's sheets. No clothes are covering it, only his bedding.

He's asleep next to me, his head facing me as he calmly breathes through his nose while sound asleep on his stomach. He always sleeps on his stomach for some reason. My eyes trail over his face, taking it in while he's in this peaceful state as I think about my night last night.

The marks on my neck and chest are sore, my ass hurting, too. Not from anything like that, though. In the heat of the moment, we forgot about the broken glass around us. When he picked me up after tearing my pants off of me and sat me on the black wood of the desk, I got kind of cut up.

We had to awkwardly pause and get it all off while I made sure I was fine, and then he proceeded to fuck me against it. I'm surprised the thing held up. There's a hole in the wall from the corner bashing into it so many times, but other than that, no harm was done.

That memory makes more flood my mind. The dresser, the wall, his fun little toy drawer in his nightstand I accidentally knocked open when he pushed me onto the bed. If we end up doing this again, I have to remember that damn drawer. All I got was a tiny glimpse at it, but it's deep, so I know there's a lot I didn't see.

His aggression level during sex was at its peak, but not in a bad way. It was hot. He called me names and told me what to do, trying to test my limits as much as possible—consensually, of course—and see just how far he could take me.

I fell asleep right after the third round, barely having the strength to go pee but forcing myself to anyways. I'm not about to get a UTI because of this guy. His cum was dripping out of me onto the floor as I hurried to the bathroom, but he took care of it while I laid like a dead body on his bed.

I still can't believe he just decided to stop doing coke. Did he think that would be some easy thing? Why then? If my timeline is correct, he stopped after that night at my house where he managed to feel an emotion, too guilty to leave me alone after finding me in the midst of an attack. He couldn't take it that night, and he hasn't since. Why?

Addicts don't just stop because they feel like it. It normally takes a lot of motivation and reason, Harry seeming like he has neither of those things. It's all just "because he wanted to". I think that's a load of shit, but his shortened fuse prevents me from poking the bear. I'll just sit back and watch.

I also don't know why I gave so much of a shit about him trying to do it last night. All of that just kind of came out of me before I could think twice about it. All I know is it made me upset to the point where I was willing to sleep with him again to stop him.

Not that sleeping with him is a chore at all. The sex is amazing, I just always wake up full of regret because of the person inside of the body I'm next to.

Speaking of, I feel that body start to stir, the mattress shifting due to his movement. I turn on my other side and face the wall so I don't look like a creep for staring at him like I just was for god knows how long.

I try to think about what I have to do today to seem busy in case he caught me. I feel like I'm forgetting something I had to do, but I can't put my finger on what. It's Sunday, right?

Fuck. We have a photo shoot today, don't we?

Interrupting me from my thoughts, his hand grasps my hip and pulls me to him, my ass hitting his naked bottom half and completely catching me off guard. My eyes widen as his blunt nails dig into the skin on my hip, his teeth lightly biting my ear.

Well, good morning to you, too.

My heartbeat goes at double its normal speed as his hand runs up and down the side of my body while the other takes my chin and turns it to look back at him, his slightly puffy hooded eyes bearing into mine as a smirk curves up on his lips.