Complicated Page 5

  My lips claim his again as I rub the heel of my hand against the bulge in his jeans, feeling him gasp into my mouth. His fingers are fisting my hair as I work him hard, wanting him. His hands grip my wrist suddenly, pulling me away from him and I pull back, looking at him questioningly. I peer around and realize we're back at the hotel. When the hell did that happen?

  He slips out of the car, helping me to the ground and takes my hand, guiding me as we follow Joe into the back entrance. My vision is still a little hazy and I trip over my own feet. He stops, pulling me up to him, his arm going around my waist again, his body warm against mine.

  "You know," I slur a little as we walk through the kitchens, "This is probably a really bad idea."

  He stops briefly, just looking at me.

  "Oh, I don't wanna stop," I continue and he laughs a little, starting up again, making our way to the elevator. Joe presses the button before giving Harry a weary look and walking away into the depths of the kitchen. "No, this is going to be a great end to a shitty week. First you fired Khefren, you're an asshole for that by the way..."

  I can't stop myself. All this stuff just keeps pouring from my mouth as we wait for the elevator to come and he's fidgeting a little, watching the numbers descend on the digital indicator above the elevator doors.

  "And then that thing with my thesis," I laugh as we step onto the elevator. "I mean, I don't know why I care what that asshole professor thinks."

  "Me either," he replies absently, jabbing the 7 button, taking us up to his floor.

  "I mean, he kicked me off the trip, which by the way was total bullshit! Greek art is my fucking concentration. It's all because I wouldn't suck his dick."

  "Yeah," he says and then looks at me. "Wait...what?" he asks, looking slightly alarmed, and I nod animatedly.

  "Oh yeah! He was all 'Scarlett you're not like the other girls' and feeling up on me," I say, shaking my head and Harry eyes me, his face showing slight concern. "I don't know why I care so much about what he thinks." I pause for a moment and the elevator doors ding open. "You know, he kind of reminds me of my dad," I continue as we stumble out of the elevator.

  Shit, I haven't thought about my dad in forever. Why am I saying this shit to him?

  "My dad was a drug rep for some pharmaceutical company. Well, he still is." I'm rambling now and I can't stop the words just bubbling from me as we make our way down the hall, stopping at the door, him fumbling for his key. "He was never around, is never around. When I was a kid I would always wait for him on the porch when Mom said he would be coming home. Like some kind of damn dog or something," I say, laughing as we trip into the room. "I would always beg him to stay." I sigh, falling back onto the bed, stretching a little against the sheets.

  Harry is at the foot of the bed, kicking off his shoes eagerly before plopping down next to me. He's lying on his side, head propped on one hand while the other skims lusciously down my body. But I can't stop, and I just keep jabbering on.

  "He never would...stay I mean. He always had to be somewhere, sell something, meet someone. I always thought that if I was good, if I did well in school, or was president of all these clubs, or if I got into the right school, maybe he would stick around for longer than a couple days. That if I was perfect I could make him stay. But he never did."

  What the hell am I talking about? I open my eyes and Harry is looking down at me, his eyes soft. His hand that had been wandering my body is now brushing the unruly hair away from my face. I shake my head a little, trying to snap out of it and the room spins.

  "We don't have to do this," he says, his voice a little strained but soft, and I look at him.

  "No, I waaaaant to," I moan, throwing my leg over his hip and rolling him to his back. I'm perched on top of him, grinding my hips into his lap but he's not hard anymore. I pout a little as his hands slide up my thighs, around the curve of my waist and goes to cup my face. I lean down to kiss him again, just wanting to taste him. He tastes so fucking good.

  "Scarlett," he whispers, wrenching his mouth from mine. And then with a sigh he grits out, "You're drunk. We shouldn't do this."

  "Noooooo," I whine as he rolls me off him. "I want to. Harry, please," I beg, my eyes heavy.

  "You're tired," he whispers, leaning down to pull my heels from my feet. "Come on, why don't we just sleep."

  "Noooooo," I plead again but it's cut off by a yawn, and I feel him moving to tug the covers back. "I wanna fuck you."

  I hear him gasp a little, all his movements stopping. I roll onto my side and look at him, finding his face pained, indecision painting his boyish features. I crawl up onto my knees and wrap my arms around his shoulders, nuzzling my nose with his.

  "Come on, Harry," I whisper, reaching my tongue out to run along his bottom lip. "Just...just this once. Please. I need it."

  His hands tremble as they reach back to pull my arms from around his neck and I pout at him, watching him heave a shaky sigh. He nuzzles his nose with mine again and he shakes his head. I whine a little, tugging at his shirt, but he just nudges my shoulder and in my inebriated state I tumble backwards. He slips under the covers, fully clothed and a nod of his head beckons me to do the same.

  I scowl a little but oblige, laying there next to him. He turns to me, his hand reaching for my hip, and I scoot close to him, burying my face in his chest. I slide one leg between his thighs, bringing it up to press against him and he hums a little, one hand running through my hair, the other holding me at my lower back for a moment before sliding down to rest on my ass.

  And that is how I fall asleep...lying against him, my ear over his heart.

  8

  My head is fucking killing me. This is the only thought in my mind upon waking. That, and I just want to die. Seriously, who am I? Where am I? What the fuck did I do to make my brain want to scrape its way out of my skull?

  I keep my eyes closed but I can still see the morning light through my lids. I don't dare crack them open. Even though I think the pain can't get worse, I know it will if I even so much as peek from under my eyelashes. I shift my head a little and it's now that I panic as I realize I'm laying against someone, a male someone, my ear resting on his chest.

  I think back to last night and everything is a blurry haze. I remember being at the club. I remember ordering a shit ton of drinks. I remember dancing...dancing with...

  My eyes fly open and I'm completely blinded, my head seeming to split open as I try to sit up. I let out a frustrated moan as I fall back against the blankets, snapping my eyes shut as my stomach lurches.

  "Whoa, slow down there Scarlett." I feel his hands clutch at my shoulders as his voice, low and raspy from lack of use, filters into my pounding brain.

  One of my hands clutch my head, shielding my eyes as the other pushes against his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath my fingers, the thin fabric of his shirt barely masking the heat of his skin. Holy shit, what the fuck did we do?

  "Hang on," he says and I feel his body shift, the bed rising as he pulls away and then dipping again as he leans back in. He's cradling me against him, one arm wrapping around my shoulders, while his other hand is pressing a glass of liquid into mine. I'm panting as the ache in my head intensifies and I squeeze my eyes shut tight, just willing it to go away. I jerk back when I feel something pressing against my lips.

  "Calm down, it's an Advil," he tells me, his voice still soft. "Open your mouth."

  I do as he says. Something about the way he's holding me, the way he's speaking to me, makes my defenses go down. He aides me in bringing the glass to my lips and takes it back from me, pulling away to set it on the bedside table. He sighs as he settles back against the pillows, hugging me to his side. And I wonder...

  What the fuck did we do?

  He's humming to me softly, his long fingers combing through my hair, fingers massaging my scalp and I swear I could fall asleep again. I want to fall asleep again. He's so warm and comforting. His heart is thudding steadily against my cheek, the rhythm hypnotizing
me into a dozy state.

  My eyes fly open as I feel his lips press against my temple, sweet and chaste, just a demonstration of affection. I scramble away from him, forcing my eyes open and the bile from my throat as the pain intensifies. I feel my hip slide off the edge of my bed and I yelp as I collide with the floor. I squint up at the edge of the bed and Harry's worried face comes into view.

  "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice slightly alarmed and I rest my forehead against the side table, willing the room to stop spinning. "Dude," he says, and I take deep breaths, trying not to flip the fuck out.

  What the hell did we do?

  "Dude..." he says again. "You're not gonna barf, are you?"

  "What..." I begin, panting slightly, cracking my eyes open, "What the fuck did we do?"

  The events of last night are quickly coming back to me. My hands on his chest, my ass grinding against him at the club...fuck! My hands massaging him through his pants in the car...shit! Asking him to fuck me...Jesus fucking Christ!

  "Oh God," I groan softly, when the movie reel in my head cuts off and I can't remember what happened next. Holy fucking shit, I'm in so much trouble. "Harry, what the fuck did we do?!"

  "Calm down," he whispers urgently as I start to panic, my chest heaving. "We didn't do anything. I mean we made out but we didn't...I mean...we weren't like..."

  "Jesus fucking Christ, I'm going to get fired," I sigh, rubbing my hands over my face. My stomach turns and it's not from the hangover. He says my name but I continue on, ignoring him. "I'm so fucking screwed. God, what we did was illegal!"

  He says my name again but I'm too busy panicking to notice.

  "Shit, you're only seventeen years old!"

  "Scarlett!" he barks and the pain stabbing in my head is enough to shut me up. "Nothing happened. We're both fully clothed."

  I look down at myself and find that I am indeed still wearing my little tank top and jeans from last night. I squint up at him and all I see of him are his face, looking down at me amusedly and his shoulders, clad in the loose graphic tank he was wearing at the club.

  "Oh..." I say quietly and he chuckles a little, my stomach flipping and this time it's not from nausea or nerves.

  Holy shit.

  "So, um...I should go..." I say the words quickly as I clamber to my feet. I nearly lose my balance, the room spinning and I stumble a little, my hand going to my head, trying to stop the jackhammer in my skull. I feel myself teetering forward, my balance gone, and I await my collision with the floor. But I feel strong arms tuck under mine and my face falls into his chest, the scent of his cologne still lingering, but his natural scent dominating my senses.

  "Whoa there," he says softly, and I feel his voice vibrating in his chest, just like his groan did the night before.

  God...

  I push myself off of him and put a few feet of space between us. He's looking at me, a small, shy smile creeping across his face and he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. We both look away at the same time, both of us shifting awkwardly.

  "I'm...I'm gonna go," I say finally, walking forward and he's directly in front of me. I step to the right at the same time he steps left and we're suddenly face to face again. We both let out a nervous chuckle as he steps aside, holding out his arm in a guiding gesture, allowing me to pass. My shoulder brushes his chest a little and I find my mind spinning, his hands suddenly clutching my biceps as he pulls me to him. Before I have a chance to think about it his mouth is crushed to mine and I fucking panic.

  I shove his chest hard, peddling backwards until I run into the small table. He looks at me astonished, his eyes showing confusion and hurt.

  "Don't ever do that again," I say lowly, pointing my finger at him and I watch his face fall, wounded and sad. "Harry, we can never do this again. We can't. Do you know what kind of trouble I can get in?"

  "I won't tell anyone," he says, stepping forward, reaching out for me, his voice eager. I hold up a hand, warding him off. "Scarlett...come on..."

  "No, Harry," I say slowly, and he sighs, eyeing me defeated. "I am your teacher. You are my student. You're seventeen years old. This can never ever happen again."

  And with that I rush past him and out of the room.

  9

  When I get scared, my default emotion is anger. Like when everything just gets to be too much and I can't handle all the thoughts going through my head, I just...I snap. At everyone. Okay, it's a serious character flaw, I get that. I don't know why I'm this way. It's like something inside me just can't deal and I cover up that insecurity with a sour disposition.

  A week and a half after the horrible morning after, sour was a delicate way of describing my disposition. I rarely spoke to anyone and spent most of my time by myself, trying to resurrect the ghost of my thesis and of course doing everything in my power to avoid Harry. Lessons were strained—his sad, pleading eyes looking at me from across the room because I'm sure as hell not sitting anywhere near him, and my nervous fidgeting as I try to avoid his gaze. As I try to forget how soft his lips are...

  Jesus.

  He had come to my room several times, pleading with me, hands reaching out to touch me, but I never let him. I was cold and mean and fuck if I didn't want to just grab him by his shirt and pull him in my room. But I have to say no. I can't do this with him. I can't. He's seventeen years old. God, I'm going to hell.

  But all that ends today. I decided as we pulled in to Columbus, Ohio that I wasn't going to play this fucking game anymore. I spent all morning going over the next lesson and preparing for it and fuck if I was going to be nervous, or scared, or thinking about how hard his dick was...

  Ugh.

  I'm waiting in the dressing room when I see Joe walk past. I call out to him and he stops, telling me the guys are just getting back from interviews and will be in shortly. I see several members of their staff pass by and a few of the boys pop their head in and say hello, and now my short temper has reached its breaking point. Where the fuck is he?

  I get up and start to make my way out to the parking lot where there are a few people milling around, anger pulsing in my veins. I nearly run smack into Zayn as I walk around a row of cars and he grabs onto my arms to steady me.

  "Whoa there, girl," he says, taking a step back and smiling at me. "Where's the fire?"

  "I'm just looking for Harry," I snap and he looks at me strangely, his face going a little tight.

  "Um...just go inside and wait for him," he says. I just roll my eyes.

  "I've been waiting for him for ten minutes," I respond, trying to keep calm because really it's not his fault that Harry is a fucking brat. "Where is he?"

  Zayn shifts his feet uncomfortably. "Um...he's on the bus, but—"

  I cut him off with a curt "thanks" and stomp off toward the bus.

  "Seriously Scarlett," Zayn calls after me. "Just...just give him a minute!"

  "I'm not giving him anything," I mutter under my breath as I step onto the bus.

  It's relatively quiet as I make my way to the back of the bus, passing the tables and couches and going back into the area with the bunks. The door is closed and I can hear muffled sounds from behind the thin wood. I sigh. He's just fucking screwing around, watching TV back there or something. I grab the knob, not even knocking, and call out, "Harry, we have shit to do. I don't know wha—"

  My flow of words stop and my breathing hitches as I take in the scene in front of me. Harry is sitting back on the couch, a blonde girl kneeling between his open knees. Her head whips back to look at me and she scowls deeply. I gasp as I see it, hard and ready, poking out of the fly of his pants, glistening in the dim lighting from the girl's saliva. My mouth is hanging open and my eyes immediately snap away, looking at the ground, at the television, at anything but Harry's hard dick.

  "Just give us like five minutes." His voice is deep and raspy and my eyes snap to him. His hand is wrapping in the girl's hair, guiding her mouth back to his aching cock, letting his head fall back against the couch. My breathing h
itches again as I hear him hum and I shake my head to clear it, turning away, my face flaming pink. "And close the door behind you."

  His parting words are a breathy, pleasured sigh and I nearly moan as I slam the door behind me, leaning against it on trembling legs. I did not just see that. I did not just walk in on him getting his...

  Shit. I jump when I hear his soft moan wafting through the door, and I press my thighs together as heat coils in my belly and rushes between my legs. Fuck, this is bad. I shake my head again and make my way quickly off the bus, trying to pull air into my lungs and forget that sound...the sound of his pleasure. Holy God, I'm going to hell.

  As I make my way back into the venue, my panic is slowly replaced by another emotion, an emotion that shocks and scares me to no end.

  Hurt.

  Why, I have no idea. Maybe because he'd spent the past week and a half chasing after me, telling me he wanted me, practically begging. I had spent it avoiding him, avoiding the very thought of him, something I hadn't quite accomplished. Okay, I hadn't accomplished it at all in any way, shape, or form.

  I sit dejectedly at the vanity, tapping my pencil against my book, waiting. Waiting like I should have just done in the first place. Why do I have to be so stubborn? Why couldn't I have just let well enough alone? Why in the name of God do I have to want him? I gasp as the thought flits through my brain. I want him. I really, really fucking want—

  "Hey Scarlett."

  I nearly jump out of my chair as he jogs into the room. His face is flushed and he's slightly breathless but I know it's not from running. My stomach trembles slightly as the image of him on the couch passes through my mind. I can't think about this now.

  "Sorry I'm late." He sighs as he falls into a chair and pulls close to me.

  I fight the urge to shut my eyes as the woodsy scent of him surrounds me, him leaning close over the book. I sputter a little, scooting further back and away from him, suddenly nervous and shaky.