Chapter 7 #2
I enlarge the view, allowing it to take up a few screens as I tinker with the trackpad and the keyboard, bringing up the past few weeks of footage.
I brace my palms against the desk, watching closely at a times-ten speed for any signs of my mother.
Or anyone of any importance, for that matter.
God, just a fucking indication of where I can find her.
“Why’d you tie me up anyway?” Harry asks.
I gnaw at my lip, keeping a watchful eye on the CCTV as a dog-walker scurries past. “If you kept out of the way, then I wouldn’t have had to.”
“It’s my house,” he barks a laugh, composing himself quickly. “Seriously, why?”
“I don’t know – shit.” I hit pause, rewinding back a day’s worth of coverage after getting distracted by Harry’s prying. “I guess I just didn’t trust you.”
“I wouldn’t have hurt you. You know that, right?”
The vulnerability in his voice has me peering towards him. His candid behaviour and the truth in that statement forces me to brush off the comment as I return to the computer screen.
“Not like knocking you out with a golf club to the temple, right?” I joke. “Sorry about that.”
“I’m serious, Gigi.” He pauses, repeating with quiet emphasis, “I would never intentionally hurt you.”
“You should have thought of that before lying to me.”
The comment tastes stale on my tongue. I’ve dealt far worse to hurt Harry than a few non-truths, even if the latter hurts so profoundly it feels life-shattering. My discomfort basks in the silence between us, extending to the point I debate whether he heard me at all.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” I admit.
Harry exhales a tortured, “Fuck.”
The vulnerability in his voice forces me to turn towards him.
“Don’t do that.” His long legs are spread out on the floor, arms still tied behind his back, yet he makes no effort to move. “I’m sorry for not telling you.”
My gaze returns to his face. “Are you?”
“Yes … but not for the reasons you might think.”
I clear the lump in my throat with a cough.
The desire to pry holds strong, but the pain that inevitably comes with truth forces me to brush it away.
A few minutes pass of noticeable silence, accompanied by the tape running at speed.
With each passing second offering no sign of my mother, anxiety claws at me.
I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t find her.
I can’t explain it – I just have to.
I need to.
A hiss breaks through my intrusive thoughts, followed by shuffling on the sheeted floor. I ignore the distraction until it comes a second time, and a third.
“Something the matter?” I ask.
“You really worked hard on the restraints.” Harry stops his pursuit, and I practically hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t suppose you can loosen them a little?”
“Hilarious.” I maintain my focus ahead of me. “Any excuse to get me back on your lap.”
“Guilty as charged,” he muses.
A few minutes pass, and though this time they’re subtle, I pick up on the adjustments of Harry’s posture in an attempt to seek a comfortable position.
I pass a subtle glance over my shoulder, watching as he tries to adjust himself.
A wince in his expression as he attempts to sit up straighter has me pausing.
“Is everything oka—”
“Fucking fantastic,” he retorts, his response clipped.
He’s fighting clear discomfort, and I’m already making my way over to him before I can second-guess myself. He lifts his head on my approach.
“It really was just a guilt trip so you’d straddle me,” he says with a slow Cheshire-cat smile, though this time I don’t believe him. “Scout’s honour.”
I gesture towards his lap and crouch to my knees. “May I?”
His head moves sideways in a mocking tilt. “You never have to ask, princess.”
Carefully, I manoeuvre myself until I’m hovering above him, far enough away that I can sit back on his knees rather than whatever is causing him pain.
As my hand draws closer to the bottom of his T-shirt, that teasing expression immediately drops.
He turns his face away just as I lift the fabric to reveal black-and-blue skin.
Fucking hell!
“That’s no guilt trip!”
Jaw rigid, he groans, “Just loosen the cuffs.”
“Harry!”
“Gigi.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“The cuffs,” he announces again, bored.
Aggravated by his lack of answers, I reach around him towards the tape. “Why didn’t you tell me—?”
In one swift movement, he clasps my wrists in his large hands and forces his knees up against my back, pinning me to his chest. My head falls into the crook of his neck, forcing me to inhale his cologne. With nothing between us at all, not even air, Harry comfortably rests his chin on my shoulder.
“If it’s any consolation …” he says, while I’m still pulling myself together, “there’s several things I haven’t told you.”
I twist my wrists, trying to pull myself free, but Harry has the upper hand. Literally. My fingertips just about scrape the remnants of tape on the floor. If his lips weren’t peppering kisses across my jaw, I’d shake my head in disbelief.
“You got out the cuffs.”
“Mmm.” His smirk ghosts my skin. “I did.”
“How—? Never mind,” I cut myself short, sagging against his chest in defeat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it’s nothing.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.” He draws his head back just enough that I can see the attention in his gaze. “In the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing compared to the lengths I’d go to for you.”
Oh God.
And I just knocked this man unconscious with a fucking golf club.
I twist as far as I can from my locked position on his lap, studying his face and the way his eyes hold mine. I watch him intently, knowing that whatever we are, whatever this is between us, it’s something only we’ll ever understand. It’s toxic, dangerous, and fucking complicated. But it’s us.
Harry leans closer ever so slightly as the truth barrels through me.
I would undertake just as harsh a punishment, if not infinitely worse, for him.
“I would have—”
“I know,” he says softly.
He leans so far forwards his mouth leaves a trail of hot air against my throat.
His nose brushes the spot between my neck and my shoulder, followed by a passing graze of his lips.
I could shove him away. Should shove him away.
Instead I let my head drop against Harry’s shoulder as heat floods through me.
A near-silent growl reverberates through his chest as I lean more against him, widening my thighs a little. Harry shifts his hips, rubbing against my backside with enough pressure that I’m quickly reminded of the length of him.
“You feel that?” he whispers low. “You were made for me.”
The part of me screaming, “Traitor!” dissipates. I’m already starting to move against him. He hisses at the contact and swears, “Gigi—”
I bring my hips further down, deeper, pressing far enough against him that I feel the pressure of his cock pressing exactly against my—
“R-right there,” I breathe.
I inch closer, arching my back, until I can feel every inch of him through our layers of clothing.
He pushes himself harder until there’s no room left between us at all, the friction against my clit nearly unbearable.
Harry swears again in a long exhale, releasing my hands and tangling his fingers into the back of my hair, wrapping the strands around his wrist. He keeps me on him as we move breathlessly against each other.
“I’m going to tie you up next,” he vows against the shell of my ear. “Make you scream my name until your throat’s raw—” He cuts himself off, pressing his lips against my neck, where his moan reverberates against me. His other hand splays out against the blood on the floor. “Baby, fuck.”
The friction of my nipples against my bra and the tops of my breasts against my T-shirt has me bowing further into his touch, silently begging for more. My arm wraps around the back of Harry’s neck, clutching onto him and dragging a groan from deep in his throat.
His curses and filthy words sound like whispers through the heartbeat pounding in my ears. Heat builds at the base of my spine, and I arch my back, my breathing uneven. The tip of his tongue slides up my neck, bringing me close to breaking point.
“Please,” I beg.
“Gigi,” Harry grits out, strained, the words hot on my neck. “I’ve got you.”
He tangles his fists tighter in my hair, moving my head back so he can bring me forwards to rest my temple against his. I buck my hips, my head fully against his now, as I feel the build-up in my core. He’s staring at me so intently I let out a moan.
I can’t think. Can’t breathe.
I palm the back of his head, bringing him closer, and debate slamming my mouth against his. My eyes zero in on his lips and how he trails his tongue over the bottom one.
“Fuck, I want to kiss you so badly—” He cuts himself off with a growl.
Release barrels down my spine, and I break apart. Whimpers escape me, and my eyes screw closed, but I can feel the weight of Harry’s intense gaze through it all. His legs jerk, and he swears again, breathing hard, until I collapse in his arms, limp and trembling.
Breathless, his forehead falls against mine again as if I’m keeping him together. But truthfully, he’s the one preventing me from collapsing in a heap on the floor beside him. I close my eyes, selfishly basking in the moment, wanting to stay here.
Needing him to be holding me.
“Gigi?” Harry breathes.
Short of breath, I gasp, “Yes?”
“Last Tuesday.” He clears his throat. “3 p.m.”
“What?”
A raspy exhale of breath. “Your mum was seen at home last Tuesday, heading to the airport. She’s due to return tomorrow.”
My eyes flutter open, and as his words settle, I slowly withdraw my head. I pull myself back far enough that I’m able to look into his eyes properly. His hand untangles from my hair, dropping to my side. A mixture of scepticism and relief curls inside of me, leaving a lingering feeling of doubt.
“Why would you tell me that?”
“I’m not here to make decisions for you. I just hope you make the right ones.” The calmness with which he says it, and the strength of his words, is incredibly convincing. “Your mum is not the enemy here. Trust me.”
I almost believe him.
“Well, she can answer that for herself, can’t she?”