Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Grace's POV.
Harry's wearing only a pair of boxers, black ones with the white border. I raise my eyes and feel my cheeks flush. I gulp unable to do anything else but stare at his body covered in tattoos. There are too many to count, some are just random little things such as a lock and a key, a star (like I imagine it to be); However, there are really big ones too, like the mockingbirds he has on his chest. They are simply beautiful, so little and free from everything. They are different but you have to pay attention to notice the differences. I can't stop staring because every second that I spend watching his skin, I find new things.
"You have tattoos." I whisper to myself and he comes closer. I instantly tilt my head up to look at him, he's taller than me so I have to raise my chin to look into his deep green eyes. He's breathing heavily and the emerald in his eyes has almost disappeared. I reach for the bathtub and place both of my hands on the edge, trying to hold myself up and as far away from him as possible.
He's only an inch away from me. I can smell his cologne and his minty breath. His hair is pushed back, and the only curls of hair left are the ones behind his ears, the wild ones. He leans over so his eyes are the only thing I can see.
"Yes. You don't like them?" I glance down to his chest and to his right arm. He's expecting an answer like his life could depend on it. I think for a little while losing myself in that labyrinth made of ink. This is not a side of Harry that I'm used to. It's so strange, so rebel.
"It's just strange. You look like a sexy nerd, probably the sexiest walking on this planet, but not exactly the type of guy I imagine having so many tattoos." I explain staring at the beautiful triangle he has on his upper arm.
"They are my secrets," he says caressing his tattooed arm with his hand. Like a father would do with his children. I find it kind of funny and sweet. Everyone has scars and secrets, some of them are just more noticeable than others.
"Do they mean anything special to you?" I ask forcing my hands down. I just want to touch them, they all look so beautiful and painful. What would force a person to get a tattoo though? Maybe the need of having something permanent in a life that never stops, or maybe the need to remember. I don't actually know.
"You look like the type who would like having a lot of them but you have none." He argues and I bite my lip. I hope he doesn't ask why. He has a point tough.
"Don't you like tattoos?" I smile slightly at his question.
"I've always liked them, when I was thirteen I spent like hours looking at different designs inside tattoos shops." Harry reaches his hand out and touches my shoulder, going down slowly. His touch is gentle and he leaves goose bumps all over my tainted skin. I can barely sense his fingertips. He's caressing me like he always does.
"Why didn't you get one then?" I'm so lost in his movements that I almost don't hear his question. I look to him and watch how his eyes eat my figure, as he becomes distant but I know for a fact that he's listening. I can tell by the small dimple on his right cheek waiting for my answer. I spit the truth without even thinking.
