FORTY-FOUR
Gigi
Panic swarms me quickly, overwhelming my limbs as I pace in the changing room of Pixies. Poppy clearly thought our chemistry was finally sufficient, because it’s mine and Harry’s opening night.
The costume designer, Liv, some personal shopper at Selfridges , spent hours preparing my outfit. I hardly recognise myself in the reflection of the mirror, its edges decorated with LED bulbs. The black Chanel maxi dress is relatively plain with spaghetti straps, yet it’s elegant and easy to slip off to expose black lace. Meanwhile a short blonde wig conceals my long brown locks. Thankfully, the lights are dimmed to such an extent that only our silhouettes and the slight reflection of our skin will be visible. But it doesn’t calm my nerves.
I’m nothing without my pistol, and I feel utterly naked without it.
I want crime.
I want to use my Glock.
Not this.
All the thoughts at the front of my brain disperse as I catch Harry in the reflection. Turning to him slowly, I drink up the sight of him. He’s wearing dark trousers and a crisp black shirt, the top few buttons already undone. His hair is styled to the side, and I fight a frown, missing the lone strand.
“Are you nervous?” he asks .
I shake my head, saying truthfully, “Not if you’re there with me.”
He steps towards me, and I dig my heels into the ground, fighting my instincts to step back from his touch. Yet I look to the closed door to double-check it’s shut as he nears closer.
He fingers a piece of blonde hair. “Have you made a decision?”
He’s asking if I’ll be his.
His eyes find mine, threatening to pull me under. The closeness of his body aches to capture me and never let me leave. Despite the threat of Harry wanting to commit mass murder, I’m riddled with thoughts. If this were a normal life, I’d have him instantly. But the risk of potentially sentencing him to death is potent in my mind no matter how tethered to him I feel.
My words are heavy as I say, “I’m still thinking.”
He nods slowly, disappointment evident in his eyes.
I’m teetering on the border of insisting he kiss me breathless and pushing him to arm’s length in the hope he’ll stay there for eternity. I’ve always insisted Harry should never get in my way, but my restraint falters more with each second I’m around him. With our affection on public display tonight I fear what our audience will see. I don’t doubt my thoughts will come to fruition in the most intense of moments.
Withdrawing his hand, Harry offers it out to me to hold instead. “Come on, princess. Your castle awaits.”
We walk down the backstage halls in silence, so much more than the upcoming performance lingering between us. As we stand on the sidelines waiting for our cue, my nerves threaten to skyrocket and abort mission. Harry grasps my hand, running his thumb over my knuckles, giving me a sense of protection. I accept the welcome distraction.
The crowd hushes, a gentle song passing through the speakers.
As the lights dim, a dusky spotlight is unveiled in the centre of the stand.
Here we go .
Hands clasped, Harry and I step into the centre of the stage, taking our positions.
Our eyes meet, saying all the things words can’t.
Harry’s hand grips my hipbone, pulling me forwards into his embrace. His chest closes the gap, his heart against mine, both organs beating in unison. His hand slowly slips to my lower back, and my hand finds his, intertwining our fingers as I arch my back in the comfort of his strong grip. When I bring my back up straight, our faces are just inches apart. He drops his hand to my cheek, stroking his thumb, and his dark eyes make the entire room fade away.
Darkness swarms our bodies, locking us into a secure cocoon that only exists in the form of me and him. Silence overtakes the music. No one is here – it’s just us.
He spins my body, bringing my back to his chest as he runs his fingers over my front, turning my face to his. As if I’m fuelled with pure instinct, I turn, my hands undoing the buttons of his shirt, exposing his chest. I slip around to his back, pulling the fabric off his arms. My hand runs over his shoulder, down his chest, and over his pecs, soaking up the feel of him under my palm unforgivingly. When the fabric is pulled from his body, I discard it on the floor and step around to his front.
Lifting one hand, Harry slips it under the shoulder strap of my dress. He pauses, sadness shining through the darkness.
“It’s okay,” I mouth. “It’s just us.”
I take his hand, helping him slip the dainty material over my shoulders until it slides off every crevice of my body. The dress falls to the floor at my feet.
His breath hits for a second before his full, warm lips kiss the column of my throat. He fists the hair at the name of my nape distractingly, exposing my neck further. My thighs squeeze and I gasp on air as I reach my arms around him, running my nails over his scalp.
The thumping of a heavy bass picks up momentum, and Harry runs his strong hand over my bare thigh, holding it up against his waist and pressing himself into me. He arches me backwards, and I feel weightless as he presses his face right above my chest.
When he pulls me back up into the comfort of his embrace, the action brings our faces just a hairsbreadth from each other. His lips are a sweet, forbidden torture as they brush against mine, aching to be kissed.
The lights dim.
And then the audience erupts in applause, piercing our ears.
Our performance receives an impeccable reception. A standing ovation and applause fit for royalty as we rush off the stage, keen to escape the fortress and vacate to our own hidden kingdom.
Heart lurching, I sit in the changing room in silence, clear of the costume wig and music vibrating in my ears. I lounge into the back of the settee with a glass of wine in hand. It’s tasteless on my tongue, as if my occupied thoughts have turned the liquid to poison.
Something stronger overrides its place.
Lust so intense it’s sinister.
The bathroom door attached to the dressing room is ajar, allowing me a view of Harry as he steps out of the shower, his naked body on full display. Breath catching, my eyes fixate on beads of water rolling down his body, lower and lower.
He wipes the condensation free from the mirror, and our eyes clash in the reflection as he wraps a white towel low on his hips. The silence between us is piercing, but my ears ring with demand as he watches me with his dark, intimidating stare.
The hunger is unmistakable.
And bad.
Very, very bad.
Rather than acting on the forces stringing our bodies together, he takes his time slowly, torturously, and carefully using a fresh towel to dry his hair. He shakes the strands dry, and as if he can sense my desperation his feet lead him forwards, out of the bathroom and straight to me, like he’s being pulled by an invisible force to my side.
I slump further into the sofa underneath his gaze, and he takes the glass from my hands, placing it down on the dressing table. He places two hands on either side of my head, his forearms straining as he watches me in silence, the tension thick between us.
“What do you want?” he asks, his voice incredibly quiet and full of meaning.
Memories overwhelm me. Memories I need to forget to live a successful life within the Circle. But it’s impossible around Harry. When I look at him I’m drowning. I will never be able to shake myself free of him. Tonight proved that. The part of me I’ve been refusing to admit exists shone through like a beacon of light.
“What do you want?” he asks again, bringing me back down to earth.
“You,” I say, my voice shaky.
His teeth clench, and he asks, “Where?”
“Everywhere.”
“You know that if you submit yourself to me now, you’re mine. There’s no going back from here, princess. You will only ever be mine – do you understand?”
I nod slowly, afraid of what the future could entail.
But the worry of tomorrow slips my mind as Harry lowers his head and delivers a line of delicate kisses across the side of my throat. I gasp at the sweet gesture, arching my back from the sofa as he continues with the gentle caress. I barely recognise this side of him, the touches that are as light as a feather. My thighs squeeze shut and my core intensifies with need.
“Touch yourself,” he demands against my skin.
I slip my hand underneath the waistband of my underwear and tilt my head against the back of the sofa as Harry assaults my neck with his mouth. My fingers circle my clit before I brush over my entrance, nudging in a finger. My thighs squeeze around my hand as his teeth graze across the skin of my throat.
“H-Harry,” I plead.
I reach my other hand out, freeing him of the towel around his waist. His cock springs free, sitting flat and hard against his stomach, the tip red and aching for release. As I reach my hand out to take hold of him, he laces our fingers and puts the hand beside my head.
“This is about you.”
“But if I’m yours, then that makes you mine,” I say, blinking up at him.
A low groan vibrates off his chest. “Fuck, you’re everything.”
He brings his hand down, slipping the underwear down my legs and discarding them to the floor like trash. Pushing my thighs apart with his heavy palm, he struggles to blink as he watches me thrust my finger into my entrance. Lowering himself to his knees, he releases my hand and wraps his strong arms around my thighs, wrenching them apart so his tongue can lap at my clit.
I cry out with pleasure, running my nails through his hair and gasping, stuttering his name like a broken record as he brings me close to release with his mouth. His lips purse around my clit, and he sucks softly, causing my limbs to tremble. He pushes a finger into my entrance, next to mine, and I see galaxies as he thrusts it in with unison.
He pulls back, his lips wet with my arousal. “I’m going to devour you.”
My back arches at his depraved promise. “Then do it.”
He laps at my clit, running his tongue from our joint fingers and back up again in a vicious cycle that leaves my body bowing and shaking. As my walls start to clench around our digits, he pulls our hands free and lines his cock up against my entrance. He pushes inside me with one long thrust, reaching the hilt.
My eyes screw shut, crying out at the intrusion, at the fullness and the slight pain of taking something so big. I barely have time to adjust to him before he hooks his forearm under my knees and thrusts into me, slamming my G-spot. I feel him everywhere. Inside of me. In my body. In my soul. And I never want him to leave. My fingers rake over his shoulders, his skin, and all his tattoos as he watches me with such raw intensity I almost crumble. His eyes find mine through the chaos, and I clutch onto them like a totem, the intensity of his gaze carnal as he takes me at my mercy.
I grip the back of his head, fisting his hair between my fingers and bringing him down desperately against my lips. Our mouths clash, lips parting as we swallow up each other’s moans.
And in this moment I know.
I know he’ll be the death of me.
His love will kill me.
Harry thrusts into me, and my nails claw into his shoulders as he picks up momentum. My core tightens with his increased pace, and I fall apart completely, stars bursting across my vision and euphoria overwhelming me as he says, “Let’s paint this fucking town red, baby.”
He finishes inside me, his body shuddering with the release. I reach my hand up to his face and push his hair off his forehead.
Breathless, against his lips I say, “I have something better … let’s paint it silver and gold.”