Complicated Read online

  I look down at myself and find that I am indeed still wearing my little black dress and reply with a slightly bewildered "Thanks" and watch as she swishes down the hall. I turn in time to see Harry watching her, his eyes roving up her tan legs and scantily clad ass. I gasp slightly, feeling as if something sharp has broken loose inside me. What is going on with me?

  "I should go," I say, feeling strange and lightheaded. I don't want to believe it. I don't want to think that he would...that he would be with her the way that he is with me. But all evidence points to that fact. I mean, why else would she be in his room at this hour, dressed the way she was. And then it makes me wonder if what Harry and I do is completely obvious to everyone on the planet.

  "Why?" he asks coldly. "Got someone waiting for you?"

  "No," I hiss, crossing my arms over my chest. "But maybe I should have taken him up on it, seeing as you've already had your fun for the night."

  "What the fuck does that mean?" he asks, his eyebrows knitting in anger.

  "It means exactly what I said," I shoot back. He snorts.

  "What, are you saying you think I fucked her?" he asks, mimicking my stance, accentuating his chest and I try to ignore it.

  "Well, it certainly looks that way, doesn't it?" I respond hotly and he lets his head fall back, laughing.

  "Oh yeah, Scar. You just think that shit," he says, rolling his eyes and turning to walk back into the room.

  I follow him, cold fury propelling me forward. "Well what the fuck am I supposed to think, Harry?" I yell and he glares at me.

  "Shut the damn door if you're going to yell," he replies and I grab the edge of the door and push hard, relishing in the booming sound, the reverberation of the wall. He winces. "That's mature."

  "You're trying to tell me nothing happened with her?" I say, stepping into the room and narrowing my eyes. "You're telling me that you guys were in here just talking?"

  "Yeah," he says, nodding and raising his eyebrows at me, looking at me as if I was stupid for even asking. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

  "Well, I don't fucking believe you," I spit and he rolls his eyes. "Don't roll your fucking eyes at me, Harry. You're in here, alone, with a girl who practically bends over in front of you every time you're in the room—"

  "She does not!" he exclaims, anger smoldering in his bluish green eyes. "She's a good person!"

  "Oh yeah, I bet she's good," I scoff and he rolls his eyes again.

  "You actually think I fucked her?" he asks me, his eyes searching mine and some of the fury dies down, replaced by fear and a sickness in my stomach that scares me more than anything else.

  "Well did you?" I ask, my voice weak despite my efforts against it. His face softens and I hate myself.

  "No," he says, stepping forward, reaching for me. "No, I..." he trails, his face registering astonishment, and I look at him confused. He leans in and for a minute I think he's going to kiss me but instead he breathes in through his nose and I look at him quizzically as he quickly steps back from me, his eyes hard and cold. "You wanna tell me why you smell like a fucking dude right now?" he asks, and just the way he says it makes me laugh. But the rage that blossoms on his face tells me that this is an improper response.

  "Harry—" I say, the laughter dying in my voice, but he cuts me off.

  "No, I think I should be asking you what happened tonight," he remarks, his voice accusing and I can feel my defenses prickle, guilt and shame washing over me.

  "N-n-nothing happened," I reply, tightening my arms over my chest and he forces out a laugh that is completely devoid of humor.

  "No...no...you see Gigi..." he says, pointing at the door, his eyes hard as ice, "fucking douses herself in perfume." He steps closer to me, his body centimeters from mine and I fight the urge to latch onto him. He's looking down at me, the suppressed fury evident on his face. "Tell me, Scarlett...do I smell like her?"

  I gasp slightly and in doing so I breathe in and all I can smell is him, his skin clean and warm and it's him. It's all him. I want to reach out and touch him. I want to hold him and kiss him and...and...be with him. Right now. But I know, I know by the look on his face that can't happen right now.

  "Harry—" I say again, reaching my arm out to him and he jerks away, hurt and fear painting across his handsome face.

  "Did you fuck him, Scar?" he asks, his voice shaking, and I can't tell if it's from rage or tears but I feel something inside me break a little. I don't want to see him like this.

  "No," I say after a moment, my voice weak. "No, of course not."

  "Of course not," he repeats, nodding his head, his tongue running over his teeth as he settles his hands on his hips, looking at the ground. He peers up at me through narrowed eyes. "You sure about that?"

  "Yes, Harry, I'm sure," I reply, annoyed, giving him a condescending look.

  "Then why..." he trails, biting his lip hard and turning his head to the side, his shoulders tense. "Why do you smell like him?"

  "Harry—"

  "Why do you smell like him?!" he screams and I jump back, startled by his outburst.

  "Because he kissed me!" I exclaim before I even have a chance to think.

  His eyebrows practically disappear into his hairline. "You...you kissed him?" he exclaims, looking at me astonished and hurt.

  "Yes, I did," I say and he balls his fists at his sides, glaring at me angrily, his chest heaving. "I kissed him."

  There, I said it. We kissed. I don't tell him that we drove back to his hotel room. I don't tell him that we had gotten all the way to his room and he had opened the door for me and I hesitated. I hesitated and I couldn't go in there. My mind was screaming at me just do it. Do it and get it over with, get over him. Khefren is a nice guy, he'll be good to you. Just do it. But every fiber of my being was pulling back, pulling away, propelling itself in the opposite direction, back towards the man that's standing in front of me...or the boy, I guess I should say. And once again I hate myself. I hate myself more than I could ever begin to imagine was possible. I hate that I can't give him up. I hate that I had to ask Khefren to bring me back here. I hate that I led him on, I hate that I broke his heart. I hate that I'm breaking Harry's heart. I hate it. I hate it all.

  "So what, just 'fuck me' then? Fuck Harry, is that it?" he asks and I roll my eyes, gritting my teeth..

  "When are you going to get it?" I say harshly, my panic and anger and confusion welling inside me. "We are not dating. We don't belong to each other. I'm not your fucking girlfriend!"

  I watch his face contort and his breathing hitches as if I've just punched him in the gut. He blinks a few times before falling onto the end of the bed, sitting there stoic and quiet, his hands fisted on his knees. He swallows hard, staring at the floor and I feel myself break even more. I don't want to see him like this. I don't want to do this to him anymore. All I'm doing is hurting him. This really needs to stop. I have to stop this right now.

  I close my eyes and I sigh, walking over to him. I place a hand on his shoulder and he jerks away from me, his watery blue eyes shooting daggers at me, his jaw clenched. I sink to my knees in front of him, taking his hands in mine and he looks away.

  "Harry," I say softly, watching his jaw clench tighter. "Harry, look at me."

  I take one of my hands from his and bring it to his cheek, turning his face so that he is forced to look at me, and I almost wish that I hadn't done it. His eyes are deep and clear and he looks so wounded and hurt and I know that it was me that did it to him, and I hate myself for it. I have to end this. I have to tell him it's over and that this is going to stop right now, right here, tonight. I have to do it. I have to...

  "It didn't mean anything," I say with a sigh and he snorts, trying to turn away again but my hand holds steady on his cheek. "Harry, it didn't mean anything."

  "Then why did you do it?" he asks, his voice shaking and sad and I can feel myself breaking still.

  "I...I don't know," I sigh and he scoffs.

  "You don't know?" he asks bi
tterly.

  "I just...God, Harry... I don't know," I say, standing and looking around the room. I hate myself. I hate that I can't do it. That I can't end this. That I have to explain this shit to him. That I can't just tell him to shut the fuck up and do me because this is more to him than that. I hate that this is more to him than that. "He was there... he was... he was easy." I hate that this between he and I isn't easy.

  "I'm sure he was," Harry spits, crossing his arms over his chest.

  "Not like that, you moron," I reply condescendingly, my frustration flaring. "I mean he wasn't complicated. You're complicated, Harry. You and I together is complicated. I wanted to know what uncomplicated felt like."

  And that is the truth. I had been mulling it over in the back of my mind since it happened and that is the only explanation I have. I kissed Khefren because I wanted it to be easy. I wanted to be in a relationship that was normal and simple and real. I wanted to know what it could be like to fall in love with someone good and kind and not off limits. The only thing I got from it was the lesson that you can't kiss someone to find out if you can love them.

  "It didn't mean anything?" he asks skeptically, his eyes searching mine hopefully and I sigh, shaking my head.

  "No," I say, crouching in front of him again, thumb brushing along his cheekbone. "It didn't mean anything."

  He sighs, his eyes closing and I take the opportunity to press my lips softly to his. I can't stop myself. I can never stop myself. I have to come to terms with that I guess. This is never going to stop. He jumps a little at the contact but reciprocates slowly, one large hand coming up to cup my cheek while the other pulls me onto his lap.

  His mouth is practically devouring mine, nibbling at my lips, tongue swiping and dipping in, making me dizzy. I moan as he kisses his way across my cheek and then down my neck, licking and sucking the skin gently, careful not to leave a mark. My hips are rocking against him impatiently, feeling him growing against my center, wanting him more and more by the second. There's no way I can quit him. I need him. I need this. He just feels too fucking good.

  I feel one large hand slide up my back, fingers gripping the zipper of my dress and tugging down, the fabric loosening around my chest. He pushes the material from my shoulders, his lips moving to suck on my throat and then down as my breasts are revealed to him. I clutch his shoulders, leaning back so he can drag his lips down the valley between my breasts, his hands spread wide across my back, supporting me so I don't fall.

  We're both panting now, as I slide from his lap, standing to allow my dress to puddle at my feet, standing before him in nothing but a black pair of panties. He gazes up at me, a look of awe and adoration covering his face as he reaches out to rest his hand on my hip, his thumb sliding over the ink of my tattoo that's peeking out of the waistband of my panties.

  Something's different here and I can't place it. He's looked at me this way before. He's certainly touched me this way before. But something about this is different. It quickens my heart and sets butterflies loose in my stomach. I feel a tight nervousness in my chest and it's almost too much, his fingers on my skin, his eyes boring into mine.

  He stands, looking down at me from his height, hands running up and down my arms and I just stare up at him for a moment before I come back to myself, pushing his shorts and boxers to the floor. His mouth captures mine again, and an overwhelming sense of closeness washes over me; the way his mouth is pressed against mine, so much more than physical need, so much more than just a kiss. I push it down as he pulls me close, gripping my ass in his hands before hooking his thumbs in the waistband of my panties and pushing down. He holds me steady as I step out of them and I run my hand along his chest as I walk around him. He grins at me, eyes following me as I sit on the end of the bed, crawling backwards. I crook my finger at him and his smile widens as he climbs onto the bed, settling on his knees and he doesn't move, sitting there watching me.

  "Come here," he says, cocking his head backwards, beckoning me to him. A wave of heat surges through me as I scramble up onto my knees and crawl towards him.

  I want to ravage him. I want him inside me and I want him to fuck me until I can't move. I need that from him. It's gone beyond want. At this point my body needs it. I need to do this. I need to do this with him.

  I straddle his thighs, trapping his length between our bellies, ready to rise and slide onto him. I'm ready. I'm so fucking ready. But I hesitate as he guides my arms back around his shoulders before his hands skim up and down my back, his nose nuzzling against mine. It's too much. We're too close.

  I swallow hard as his lips bump mine, his hands warm and wide against my skin. It's too much. I let my arms loosen, preparing to let my body fall backwards but his mouth presses to mine and I'm lost in the battle of our tongues, his hands moving to my hips, raising me so that he's pressing against my entrance. He lets me slide down on his dick and my mouth opens over his, breathing in his sigh with a gasp of my own.

  He's pressing into me so deep, my clit nestled sweetly against his hipbone and my entire body is trembling. It's too much. I can't take it. We're too close.

  My forehead rests against his and we're breathing each other's breaths, lips brushing slightly. His hands slide smoothly up my back, coming up to pull the clip from my hair, letting the strands tumble down across my shoulders. His fingers delve in, massaging my scalp slowly as his mouth slants over mine, kissing me deeply and I can't breathe. It's too much. But I can't move. I can't think. I can just feel, feel him all around me and inside me, touching me everywhere.

  I moan as he shifts to settle more, feeling him press against that spot inside me that makes me shake. His hands slide around my back, holding me close, crushing our chests together as he presses his mouth to mine again and again and again, until I'm dizzy with pleasure, my hips rolling of their own volition. And it's too much. My arms clutch him tighter, fingers gripping at his skin, the closeness overwhelming me but the thought of pulling back panics me. He feels too good and I'm close already, my body shaking and shuddering.

  I gasp, letting my head fall back, nails clawing at his back. He's watching me, his eyes trained on my face as I whimper and whine, flexing my thighs, moving just enough to get a little bit of friction and grind my clit hard against him.

  "Oh...oh, Harry," I pant, my eyes squeezing shut as my body tenses, my orgasm so close to the surface.

  He moans in response, his head falling forward to rest on my shoulder and I can hear him pant as his hips work upward, pressing himself deeper into me. I clutch at him, my mouth opening in a gasp as my muscles clench around him hard. I call out to him, begging him, my nails scratching hard across his back and I know there will be welts there. I whimper his name as another wave hits me, harder than the first and I press my cheek to his neck, his skin searing hot against mine.

  I'm barely breathing, my body trembling hard, my eyes watering as he tips me back and I'm falling. My eyes squeeze shut but his hand is behind my head, cushioning it even from the softness of the pillows. When he pulls out I whine at the loss, so used to the closeness of before, but I groan low when he slides back in, enjoying the strangled moan he emits and his breath panting against my collarbone.

  He presses his hands into the mattress, raising himself on his arms and I whimper, clutching at his back because he's too far away. Before he was too close and it was too much. Now he can't be close enough and it's still too much. But I'm desperate now. I don't know why I'm feeling this way, but I just want him pressed against me, as close as possible.

  He falls to his elbows as I tug him down, his nose bumping my mouth and he winces but moans when I shift my hips, wrapping my legs around him and locking my ankles at his lower back, holding him firmly in place. He struggles for a moment, situating himself between my legs before rocking his hips into mine and I hiss, pressing my face into his neck.

  His hands are resting on either side of my head, laying open palmed, clenching every now and then when I moan or press my lips to that spot und
erneath his ear that makes him hum. His hips are rocking harder against mine and I run my hands up and down his back, relishing in the way his muscles expand and contract as he moves inside of me.

  He feels good. Really good, but I'm nowhere near close. I'm enjoying the little sparks of pleasure that are shooting through me but I'm not chasing another orgasm. I'm just listening to him, taking pleasure in his breathy moans and short pants as he works his way to the edge.

  I hear him gasp and then moan, trying to pull himself up on his hands again but I don't let him, clutching my arms tightly around his back because I can't even fathom letting him go right now. He whines, his hands clenching and unclenching as he tries to rock harder, force himself deeper. He growls in frustration, pulling back just enough to shove his arms under my shoulder blades and our chests are pressed together, his face buried in my neck as he moans and whimpers and I can feel his heart thudding against my skin.

  "Oh God," he groans, pressing his face hard into my neck, and he makes a soft humming sound, his hips smacking into mine. "Sc-Scarlett."

  And then his hips still, pressing hard into mine as he cums violently. His breath stops and then he gasps and then he holds it again as wave after wave washes over him. I hold him close, one hand delving into the curls at the base of his skull, the other clutching at the skin over his shoulder blade, my legs holding tight around his waist. I can hear him gritting his teeth, small whimpers tearing from his throat as he feels every last ounce of pleasure drain from him.

  Finally all his muscles relax and he lets his weight rest on top of me. But I don't mind. He's warm and smooth and there's a part of me that never wants him to let me go. My brain jams at the thought, a slight panic tremoring through me because now that it's over, what we've just done settles in me. He's too close. He feels like he's too close but part of me feels like it will die if he moves. I'm overwhelmed by this strange convexity of emotions and I close my eyes and just try to breathe.

  Try not to think about it, try...

  "I love you." It's heaved breathlessly into my neck, his voice trembling unstably as he speaks the words. My world stops. All thoughts stop. All emotions stop. I think even my heart has stopped beating.