His absence was hard enough on it’s own. The cold of my sheets. The stiffness in my bones. The burn in my palm without his there. The paleness of my lips without his there to mark them. Leave them red with his want for me, his love for me. I couldn’t smell him anywhere. I couldn’t feel him. He’d never felt more gone. Even though he called me every night even when he was exhausted just to hear my voice and tell me he loved me. Even though I saw the sparkle in his eyes and the smile on his face in interviews when he shot his hand in the air to announce, finally, that he was taken. Everything felt horrible.
I didn’t want to leave my house. I couldn’t face the magazines, the cameras, the shouts, the anger. I wasn’t doing anything wrong and I knew that. But it didn’t change the fact that I was being made to believe I had. That taking him from these girls who’d never even known the contentment of falling asleep beside him was somehow a crime punishable by threats of harm. I just felt empty.
When his hands wrapped around my arms and his chest pressed to my wet back, his nose burying itself in the back of my drenched hair, I finally began to relax. Lifting my face from my palms and keeping my eyes closed as I tilted my head back against his shoulder. Reaching behind me to tangle my wet hand in his hair and feel his palms smooth across my stomach, over my hips and under the crescent of my breasts.
"I missed you baby," I sigh into the steamed air of the shower, feeling his lips press to my neck and his hand ghost down my slick abdomen to the warm pillowy flesh between my thighs. Cupping his hand there just to give me his heat.
"Are you okay, love?"
I shake my head, feeling tears building behind my lids. “I need you.”
"I’m here. I’m right here."
I heard his words, felt him against me. The rise of his body at the small of my back. The pressure of his fingers against my core. He was home. He was with me now. That’s all that mattered.
Moving my hand down his forearm, I scratched my nails against the back of his hand, urging him to part my folds and glide his middle finger over my clit, pressing the pad of his finger against my opening. Slipping inside me effortlessly and making me gasp in the heated air. The water scorched my skin as his hand lit a fire inside of me. His hand pumped slow, allowing the base of his palm to graze against my clit as I breathed in the skin at his neck.
He bit his lip and watched through his curtain of dripping wet hair at the work of his hand inside and against me. I brushed my hand up the tension in his forearm to the strength and curve of his bicep to curl behind his shoulder and hold to him. A second finger joining his middle to stretch me further, to prepare me for the fullness of his body that I knew I would get. I waved my hips against his hand and he pushed me against his body, holding me there with the strength of his hand that was still unraveling me. Pressing me tight to him as his fingers beckoned inside me and his thumb circled against my clit.
"Oh God, Harry," I gasped, my thighs trembling with pleasure that was stacking against me.
"Do you wanna come for me, love?" God, I missed the deep smoky tone of his voice in my ear. How much thicker the gravel would get when he was turned on.
"You know I wanna wait for you. But God, you feel so good," I exhaled and gripped tighter to his skin as he pushed in deep, letting my body overtake his knuckles.