“Harry…my phone…” Velvet fingertips dance in stealth along the taut skin of your hips, gliding between the cotton fabric of your tee shirt and your jeans. He isn’t listening to you. His searing breath, seceded by the moist smother of rose lips, move hungrily along your jaw, your throat. The muffled humming of your phone resounds in the back pocket of your jeans and you feel your boyfriend clamp a large hand over it. “Ignore it,” he mumbles vaguely against your mouth. You’re already shaking your head, rupturing the comfortable quiet that’s settled over your drowsy limbs. You grin and lock your jaw around his earlobe, your hips swaying rhythmically against his touch. “Mmm…could be important.” His lean form stiffens beneath you and a soft groan escapes his lips, as long fingers tangle in his dark, sweat-dampened curls. “Y/N…” he’s moaning into your lips, and an anxious chill courses through your arched spine at the delicate resonance of your name on his tongue. You swing backwards, though, your sleek, billowing tresses arranging and rearranging themselves about your face. Your flushed lips thicken in a fraught pout, as you stoop to yank your phone free from its snug denim confines. You scan the words blaring on the glossy, white display, your heart sputtering radically in your chest. It’s vile to you—that the mere suggestion of his presence can still send your head into a reeling frenzy, rifle the air from your lungs. “Hello?” you mutter into the receiver, stumbling up and away from the bed, away from Harry. Your bare feet slap the burnished wood of the bedroom floors in desperately blatant thuds. You can feel your boyfriend’s fixed and curious gaze on your pacing form, and a deliberate ruddiness sharpens the fine lines of your cheekbones. Flooding shame surges through your boiling veins, bolting your heart in a fierce, iron grip. Why are you feeling so guilty? For answering an innocent phone call? For leaving Harry in the lurch? “Y/N?” Y/Ex-B/N’s husky voice resonates in dense gusts through your ear; your eyes flicker to Harry instinctively. “Hi, love. How are you doing?” “Good. And you?” You disregard Harry’s inquisitive glare, ducking your head bashfully, fighting the grin that threatens to split your sensitive features. It isn’t as if you have any lingering feelings for your previous boyfriend—there’s no doubt that Harry has a hold on your heart. It’s the lone fact that your current boyfriend isn’t particularly fond of Y/Ex-B/N. And he won’t tread lightly on the idea that his girlfriend has interrupted a heated moment to take his phone call. “Who is it?” he asks, just as Y/Ex-B/N murmurs something along the lines of, “Good. I’ve missed you, Y/N.” Your fingers curl stringently around your phone and you shift from foot to foot repeatedly. Just get it over with. “It’s Y/Ex-B/N,” you mouth across the room before spinning on your heel, mumbling into the receiver. “Yeah, it’s been awhile…” Harry’s reaction is a mystery to you. The sweltering atmosphere is bathed in a stiff silence that you pretend not to notice. Y/Ex-B/N is going on about getting a coffee sometime, but your mind is beginning to drift farther and farther away. You can’t quite recall how or why the two of you eventually end the call. The only thing distinguishable is Harry’s glower when you finally turn back to the bed. Fiery eyes blaze a brilliant green, and plush lips curve downwards in what appears to be a radiant sneer. “I’d love to get coffee with you, Y/Ex-B/N,” he mimics you bitterly, falling backwards into the bloated cushion. “Come on, Harry,” you grumble, sidling up beside him, fingers delving in his thick, matted waves. “I’m just being friendly. It means nothing.” Your boyfriend rolls his eyes dismally, but you can feel him softening to your touch. “Come on,” you grin, nudging his jaw lightly with your nose. He suppresses a coy smile, teeth digging evenly into the supple flesh of his bottom lip. “I don’t like him,” he gripes. You laugh, your hot breath washing over the skin of his neck as your mouth leaves a blistering trail along his throat. You wait for him to grip you tighter to his chest before placing a chaste kiss to his lips. Your eyes twinkle impishly as you pull away. “Well, he doesn’t like you, either.” -MEG
Posted on: Tue, 08 Oct 2013 13:28:37 +0000
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