A/N: Just gonna say that I'm a cold-blooded tease, and I'm not sorry. ;) Please continue voting, I'll update more frequently if you do! Enjoy. ♥
M.
Harry spent the last twenty minutes driving in complete circles, completely clueless as to where to go. I too had no logical idea, but it was finally unanimously decided that we needed to head back to Cal's to freshen up and get our things ready.
"Don't you think we should call the police?" I ask him as we walk into the penthouse, the nostalgic cinnamon aroma engulfing me as I walked through the threshold.
"I don't think it would be best to do that as of right now," he answered, his back to me as he walked towards his room.
I strided behind him, following him inside with disbelief. "As of right now? So what you're saying is that it wouldn't benefit us at this moment?" How the hell were we going to get through this without the police?
He turned around, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he examined my agitated expression. "Listen to me. If we get the cops involved, this will blow up everywhere. Everyone will know. And before you say it, this isn't about keeping my reputation safe. But if this is broadcasted, and it will be since I'm involved, this will get out to individuals you're supposed to be hiding from."
I processed his words, weighing out the pros and cons of his idea. "You're right," I admit, thinking of Rob's pleads for me to stay out of the public eye. Harry's status would only mean way more exposure on my behalf. I was already in danger having him by my side as it is.
"So we can agree to put the police on hiatus?" he asks, placing his hands on my waist and drawing me in. "And can you promise me not to do anything irrational without telling me first?"
Grimly smiling up at him, I push back a fallen curl off his forehead, running my hand through his soft hair as I do so. God, was he beautiful. "I promise."
He leans down and gently presses his lips to mine, his elongated fingers tracing the curve of my jawline.
I couldn't help the surprise that was evident on my face, my eyes opening at his actions; I wasn't quite used to his spur of the moment affections.
Pulling away after a few moments, I shot him another smile and kissed the soft skin of his cheek. "I'm gonna go take a quick shower and get my things ready, alright?"
"Alright angel," he answered warmly, making my smile wider. I loved the sweet, silky tone of his husky voice whenever he wasn't angry or yelling. "Can I join you?"
My heart fluttered as I looked into his playful yet serious emerald gaze, but I suppressed any sort of hormonal spontaneity. "As tempting as your offer sounds," I spoke calmly, walking towards my guestroom. "I can't, as we're on a limited schedule. Maybe next time."
"Baaabe," he groaned like a child, the heavy padding of his boots growing nearer. "Don't be like that!"
I ridiculously grinned to myself at his adorable pleading, thankful that my back was to him and that I had already opened my door. "Next time!"
Closing the door shut, I made sure to twist the lock in case he wanted to try anything smart.
I made my way over to the bathroom, soaking in my disheveled appearance in the mirror. The waves of my hair were in frizzy knots; my eyes were red and swollen from sobbing, and faint, red scratches were scattered among my cheeks.
I traveled my gaze down towards the rough bruising on my neck. Delicately, I ran my fingertips over the fragile, violet blooms in awe.
God, did I look awful.
Shuddering away from the mirror, I stripped off my dirty clothing and hopped inside, determined to scrub away all of the grime and filth I felt from having his hands all over me.
Three sponges and half an hour later, I masked my emotional discontent with a heavy dosage of pomegranate body wash. No matter how hard I ran the sponge over my burning skin, the feeling of pressing nails and rough hands was still there. Taking one more glance in the mirror, I knew I had to do some sort of restoration.
I decided to spare Harry's eyes and dabbed concealer over every physical imperfection, including the heavy bags under my eyes and most of the neck bruising. The evening of my skin tone brought a natural highlight to the strongest areas of my face, so I skipped out on powder and blush. I didn't bother applying anything else, and ultimately decided that blowdrying and straightening my hair would make up for it. Maybe some earrings will help too? Ah, fuck it, I'll put on some skinny, golden hoops.
I knew that worrying over my disastrous appearance shouldn't be a priority right now, but I sincerely looked like a pile of ass.
After spending 15 minutes straightening my naturally wavy hair as best as I could, I let the iron cool down and packed it up in my tiny suitcase.
"I think I'm ready," I said to myself, slowly exhaling as I grabbed my suitcase and shoulder bag.
Harry had said in the car that it was best to bring some of my things, and that he was going to pack and do the same thing. I had no idea where he intended to go, but I didn't question him.
"Harry?" I called out, closing the door to my room and stepped out. The door to his room across the hall was ajar, but the light was off.
"I'm in the kitchen," he answered, his voice distant.
I padded towards the sound of his voice and spotted him against the counter, a beer in hand. "Hi angel."
"Hey," I smiled shyly at him, tucking a bronze strand behind my ear. I felt his eyes taking in my choice of clothing: a tight, brown v-neck sweater, dark skinnies, and an old pair of white converse I bought in like, sophomore year. His intense analyzing would usually make me uncomfortable, but for some reason I welcomed it.
An emotion flickered on his gaze, one I could not quite detect. "You look great, Mo."
I chuckled, looking down at my somewhat tight shoes. "If by great you mean like the bottom of a toilet seat, I agree."
He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he pushed himself off the granite counter. "I'm serious," he pressed. I took advantage of the moment that he looked down to fix the button on his loose, red-plaid shirt to admire him.
His hair was pushed off his forehead per usual, and even though I thought he was cute with the curls lazily hanging across his forehead, he still looked amazing now. It suited him, his new hairstyle; it defined just how sharp his jawline really is, and allowed anyone to truly witness the beauty of his features.
And those jeans, I giggled inwardly, taking a moment to analyze them. They are so tight! He looks damn well in them sure, but how can he...breathe in them?
"Are those comfortable?" I blurt out, pointing to the dark-wash death trap on his legs.
He took me by surprise as the melodic sound of his laughter flooded the room, his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut.
"Like," he breathed, laughing in between his words. "Are you asking if I have a dick made of steel or something? A bionic cock?"
"Harry!" I scold, feeling a familiar heat rise to my cheeks. Jesus, I should have expected that from him.
