Chapter 40
FORTY
Harry
It’s past midnight and I’m wide awake, one arm behind my head, eyes pinned to the cracked ceiling like it might offer answers. The fan above me spins lazily, the blades groaning with each turn.
Gigi traipsed into her room in silence and hasn’t left it since. I know because I’ve kept my ears strained, darting glances into the hall where her door remains closed. I’m half-tempted to knock it down, but Poppy said we should give her the space she needs.
We searched every floor, every hidden nook, every screwed-up piece of paper, but there was nothing. No answers. It was always a possibility, but Gigi experienced a loss that felt life-altering.
Is she still crying now? Is she sitting there cold and alone, suffering in silence?
I didn’t know what to expect, but I thought we’d find something that’d help us finally be free of Richard. Is that what triggered her meltdown – knowing her father still lives?
I freeze mid-thought, a sound cutting through the walls.
Another one. Louder, sharper, panicked.
A scream.
I bolt upright in bed.
No words. Not at first.
Then Gigi’s voice, strangled and raw. “PLEASE, NO!”
I’m out of bed before I can think. My gun rests on the nightstand, but I don’t think logically enough to reach for it, or to consider the fact I’m only in boxers. I race to her room across the hall. I don’t knock, shoving hard enough for the door to fly open and slam against the wall with a whack.
It’s dark, the curtains pulled, but I see her – on the bed, curled into herself, one hand grabbing at her neck as if she can’t breathe, the other flailing as if she’s fighting something I can’t see. Soaked tank top clinging to her chest, sweat dampening her collarbone.
“Jamie—!”
I try not to flinch at the sound of his name coming out of her mouth like that. Like she needs him now, even when I’m right here.
I place my hand on her shoulder. She jerks, eyes snapping open, wide and unfocused, like she doesn’t recognise me. Her breathing is shallow, as if whatever was in her nightmare followed her out here.
Her voice is hoarse, her throat raw. “Harry?”
“You were screaming,” I say.
She sits up, throat working like she’s trying to force something back down.
Then she lurches out of bed, legs unsteady, hand over her mouth. I don’t even have time to speak before she’s running. The bathroom door slams. The sound of retching follows.
The door isn’t shut all the way. I hesitate for a second before following quietly behind her. She’s on her knees, hunched over the toilet, a hand braced against the wall, spine arched. Her tank top clings to her, soaked through to clammy skin.
I kneel beside her without asking, lowering myself to the cold tile. I rest against the wall, tilt my head back, and wait.
“I’m fine,” she pants. It’s a lie. “You don’t have to—”
“I’m not leaving.”
She doesn’t say anything, just stares at the wall, her hands trembling. I watch every movement, trying to read through the barrier she’s erected round her. She flushes the toilet and leans against the wall opposite me.
“You’re not pregnant, are you?”
She laughs, but it’s more like a scoff. “No,” she finally says.
Thank fuck for that.
Though it doesn’t seem appropriate to be celebrating small wins right now. She curls her fists into the folds of her fabric, avoiding my eye.
“If something was wrong, would you tell me?”
She says nothing, and my jaw pulses.
Here she is, vulnerable in a way she never lets herself be. A T-shirt and underwear, and me opposite her on the bathroom floor, in a pair of fucking boxers. But that wall barricading her emotions is still impenetrable.
She shifts her bare legs, drawing them up to her chest.
“I have nightmares too.”
She looks up. “You do?”
“I dream about losing you,” I say. “Almost every night.”
Her face falls, her focus drifting, as if she’s looking through me. As though life has been sucked out of her.
I clear my throat. “Can I run you a bath?”
Gigi’s eyes don’t stray from my face as I stand. She eventually blinks, as if only just returning to the present, and whispers, “Thank you.”
She rises to her feet, and I lean over the bath, putting in the plug and turning the taps.
Her hip brushes against mine unintentionally as she braces herself over the sink, brushing her teeth and washing her mouth with Listerine.
Somewhere between me fixing the temperature and her wiping herself over with a flannel, she disappears.
“Gigi?” My voice trails off.
I watch her return to the bedroom. She’s dressed in an oversized bed shirt now, climbing into bed and pulling the duvet round her, tucking it underneath her chin. She looks lost in the large mattress, projecting how small and fragile she’s become.
I ask softly, “Do you need anything?”
I see the shake of her head as she rests further into the safety of the cushions. My hands flex subconsciously to hold her. I adjust the taps again. When I turn back, there’s a slight shake to her shoulders.
I try again. “Gigi?”
Small cries are muffled by the sheets. I walk closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. The mattress sinks, and her body tumbles into me.
She gasps between broken breaths, “There … there was n-nothing.” She leans into my chest. Cries tumble out of her, and I wrap my arms round her in ways I never thought she’d allow me to again. “I-I really thought …” Tears flood her cheeks, and she gasps, “I thought w-we’d find something.”
“I know, baby.” My lips brush her temple. “I thought so too.”
“How—?” She hiccups, struggling to compose herself. “How can there be nothing?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble into her hair, then I brush it back from her face. Tears blur her vision as I whisper, “But as long as I’m here, no one will hurt you.”
My thumb grazes her cheek, and she leans into my touch, eyes fluttering closed.
We sit like this for ten minutes, maybe more – long enough for her cries to subside and for her to realise she’s not alone. I shift beside her, and her fingers grip my forearm.
“Stay,” she whispers. “Please.” She reaches for my hand. I let her pull me closer, enough for our fingers to intertwine, knuckles pressing. I trace slow circles on her wrist with my thumb, her fingers tightening round mine.
The sheets are a tangled mess, our legs intertwined in a way that feels both comforting and dangerously intimate. I let my hand glide down her arm. Her breath hitches when my fingers graze her hip.
My eyes flick up. I pause, waiting for her to pull away. Instead she tilts her head up, her eyes meeting mine in the darkness, wide and vulnerable.
I should pull away. She should pull away.
She shifts again, and suddenly, she’s closer, the faintest brush of her hair against my cheek.
I press my palm into the dip in her waist, splaying my fingers over her back.
The air between us crackles. Her hands push weakly at my chest – not enough to stop me, but enough to show me she’s fighting it.
My heart hammers loud enough to drown out the world outside the room, and the word arrives as a desperate whisper. “Why?”
“Because you’ve lost me.”
“No, I haven’t.” I lean in, hesitating a breath away. “I just haven’t taken you back yet.”
Her lips part just a little, and she moans against my mouth – a soft, needy sound. Then she slams her mouth against mine.
We kiss, deep and urgent, full of everything we’ve been denying. Her hands find the back of my neck, yanking me closer, soft sighs escaping her throat that make my blood rush south. My tongue slips past her lips, pulling her impossibly close, as if I can erase all the walls between us.
I roll her onto her back, my body hovering over hers, trailing demanding kisses down her neck. She arches her back into me, grinding her crotch against my cock. I mutter a, “Fuck,” into her olive skin, nipping her with my teeth.
I hated her for leaving – more than when she lost her sanity – and that fact hasn’t changed. I hate Gigi, but I long for her simultaneously. Right now, I want to worship her and punish her at the same time.
I should get out of this bed. But instead my hand wanders between her legs, finding her pussy bare. The realisation has my cock straining sore against my boxers. My teeth graze her chin as she tilts her head back into the pillow.
She’s mine, even if the whole fucking world thinks otherwise.
Her breath hitches, a mix of resistance and curiosity, legs parting a fraction more. She tries to speak, but the words evaporate the moment I brush her clit. Her body betrays her, a sharp intake of breath turning into a needy moan.
“I can feel your arousal all the way down your legs,” I whisper against her ear. “You still think I’ve lost you, baby?”
I shift, kissing down her body, my tongue tracing lazy circles over her stomach where her shirt has ridden up. I settle between her thighs as her wet cunt brushes my lips, and I let out a low groan.
She breathes, “Wait—”
Fuck that.
I run my tongue along her slit. Her body stiffens for a heartbeat, then she melts into the mattress, her legs parting to full capacity, her body overriding her mind. Her hands fly into my hair, pulling me closer. My cock pulses at her submission, and I grind my hips deep into the bed.
She’s so tight, so responsive, her juices coating my tongue. I growl into her, my eyes near rolling into the back of my head, even the lightest pressure making her whimper. I circle her clit with the tip of my tongue, feeling it swell under my attention, and her protests dissipate completely.
“Oh … oh God,” she moans, her voice breaking.
I slide a finger into her, her wetness making it easy to move. I pump into her, sucking her clit to draw out those delicious whimpers. She grinds against my face, her thighs quivering on either side of my head, pulling so hard at my hair it’s borderline painful.
I work her harder, adding a second finger to stretch her.
“That’s it, baby,” I murmur against her, voice rough.
Her walls grip me even tighter as I fuck her with my hand and my mouth. I peer up from her thighs, watching as something washes over her. Something hypnotic. As though it’s been months since she’s experienced pleasure with this kind of intent.
Oh, fuck no.
With a swift motion, I flip her over, guiding her so she’s straddling my face, knees either side of my head. She gasps in surprise, her hands braced against the headboard, dark hair falling in messy waves round her. She hovers over me, her pussy just inches from my mouth.
“Use me. Ride my face.” I look up at her through the dim light. “I won’t touch you, but fuck, I want to.”
I pat the sides of the mattress to show her I’ll stay put despite every fibre of me screaming to reach up and pull her down. She hovers above me, her pussy glistening with arousal. My cock is leaking pre-cum, and I fight the urge to shift my hips with the need for friction.
“Ride me. Did I tell you to sit still?” My eyes darken. “No. I told you to ride my fucking tongue.”
I see the shift in her expression, her breath quickening. Slowly, Gigi lowers herself onto me. I let out a growl of approval as her weight presses down. I flatten my tongue, letting her grind against it, hands firmly at my sides.
She sets the pace, and I feel the slight bulge of her clit rubbing against me with each grind. Her eyes are closed, but she’s getting bolder, her movements more insistent.
My mind a mess, I yearn to grab her hips, flip her over, and bury myself inside her, mark her as mine. I want to feel her skin under my palms; to erase every trace of other men from her body.
I dig my fingers into the mattress, fighting the temptation.
She’s breathing heavier now, moans slipping out that make my cock throb, gripping the headboard so tight her knuckles are white.
“I want to grab you and pull you down harder.” The admission slips out. “You’re killing me, Gigi. Please.”
She opens her eyes, her gaze meeting mine as she dips her chin. She takes her palm, guiding my hands to her hips, one at a time. My fingers sink into her flesh as I pull her against my mouth.
“Like this?” I rasp, my voice muffled.
She nods.
I devour her now, sucking and licking with abandon, my tongue delving deep inside her before flicking back to her clit. She gasps, her head thrown back, maintaining that eye contact. She’s close – I feel it in the way her thighs quiver and her moans turn into desperate cries.
I feel her getter wetter, her thighs squeezing round my head as she chases that release, pulling her closer to the edge with every second our stare holds.
Her body trembles, her clit pulsing against my tongue. My cock is rock-hard now, straining for attention and super fucking sore, but this is about Gigi. About making her remember what it’s like to be truly desired.
“I’m— I’m going to—” she stammers, but she doesn’t finish the sentence.
She cries out, her body shuddering as the orgasm rips through her. I keep my tongue on her, drawing it out, the sudden rush of wetness flooding me.
Body quivering with aftershocks, Gigi takes a minute to pull herself together. Hands still on her hips, I guide her down until her knees are bracketing my waist, pushing my forehead against hers. Her eyes lift to mine, and the crushing reality cuts my breath short.
What are we doing?
She’s engaged. Engaged. And I’m here, exploiting her in a moment of weakness, toying with my fucked-up emotions.
How will I cope when we return to London – when she walks into the arms of her fiancé, who’s awaiting her at home?
Is he longing for her return as desperately as I am?
My hand slips from her cheek.
She grasps my wrist mid-air. “Don’t leave.” Her eyes flick back to mine, shimmering with unshed tears. “Stay.”
And despite myself, I do.