Complicated Read online

  What the fuck was wrong with me? This was just...I was just trying to get him out of my system. This...this was not...it was just sex. Nothing more.

  Then why the hell did I feel so guilty?

  "Harry...go," I had said, turning away from him and curling into myself, hating myself when I heard his shaky sigh as he pulled himself from the bed and gathered his clothes, slipping out without another word.

  Guilt eats at me as the memory replays itself over and over while I look around my hotel room, making sure I have everything I need before I head out for the day. My eyes fall on the bed, the rumpled sheets a testament to the act that was performed in them the night before. I turn away but the soreness in my legs won't let me forget. Nothing can make me forget.

  I close the door gently behind me, walking out into the dimly lit hallway. It isn't even light out yet, and I stagger somewhat sleepily towards the elevator, my mind running rampant. What we did was wrong. It was illegal and wrong and so fucking good. Jesus Christ, the mere memory of it is enough to set my body on fire. And it wasn't even anything that spectacular. I mean, it was amazing—God was it ever amazing—but he didn't, like, hang me from the rafters or anything. It was...simple...probably the only simple thing we are ever going to have. What the fuck am I saying? We aren't going to have anything! This has to stop.

  My entire body tenses when I feel a pair of hands grab my biceps and I nearly scream as my body spins and I'm pressed against the hallway wall. Harry grins down at me, pressing his body to mine and I heave a sigh of relief before slapping at his chest. "What the fuck are you doing? You scared the shit out of me!" I exclaim and his grin widens before he dips his head, pressing his lips to mine.

  I push at his chest a little before eventually giving in, his tongue swiping my bottom lip. I sigh into his mouth, allowing him to massage my tongue with his. I don't know what it is about his lips but he always tastes so fucking good. There's no describing it, it's just him. His hips press into mine and I can feel him stirring in his pants. I wrench my mouth away from his, but he doesn't stop, trailing kisses down my jaw. We can't do this. Not here. Not anywhere. We can't fucking do this.

  "Harry," I sigh, fighting the urge to wrap my arms around him, to feel his body against mine. "Harry...what are we doing?"

  "Nothing," he mumbles, nibbling at the side of my neck and I can feel him smile as he adds, "Yet."

  I gasp, a little shocked at his candor and I feel him chuckle against me. I push at his shoulders and his lips finally detach from my neck and he looks down at me adoringly. God, no man has ever looked at me that way before. I shake my head. "Harry...we can't do this..."

  "Oh save it, Scarlett," he says, cutting me off, and I look up at him slightly bewildered. "You want me. I want you." He shrugs, grinning. "Seems pretty simple to me."

  I look at him, my mouth hanging open. "Are you fucking stupid?" I ask and he pouts a little. "This is the furthest thing from simple—"

  "No," he argues, "No, its not. You're just making it really fucking complicated."

  "Harry, do you know how much trouble I can get in?" I ask him, trying to keep my voice down, suddenly aware we are in a very public place. "What we did was illegal!"

  He hums, his head dipping to kiss me again. He presses his hips harder against mine as he whispers, "So that's why it felt so fucking good."

  I moan a little as that familiar tingle spreads through my body directly to my center. Damn, the things he does to me. I shake my head again, trying to clear it and I push him away. He sighs, annoyed.

  "Scarlett, I don't fucking get it," he says. "I mean, what...what we did last night..." His eyes go soft and I swallow hard. "That was amazing. And not just the orgasm."

  I laugh a little and he looks at me slightly confused for a second before breaking into a grin himself. I place my hands on his shoulders, sighing, trying not to look him in the face because I know the way he's looking at me is going to melt my resolve instantly. I really have no clue what's going on with me. I've never been this affected by sex before. Usually it's just...okay...that was nice...done. But this...this is different. This is almost primal. God, I just wanna rip his clothes off right now and all he's doing is standing there, his hands warm on my hips, lips so close to mine.

  "Scarlett," he says softly and I'm brought back to the moment, looking up into his eyes, which is a really bad idea. "You want this...I want this...Why are you fighting it?"

  I eye him skeptically and the way he's looking at me...Jesus, like he's never seen anything like me before. Like he's never going to stop looking at me this way. Like he adores me. Like I'm the only person in the entire fucking world. And God, the way his body is pressed against mine...

  I have a decision to make. Right here, right now. I can do the right thing. I can tell him that what happened last night was a fluke, a mistake, something that can never ever under any circumstances happen again. I can tell him that he is my student and am I am his teacher and we are to maintain a certain degree of decorum with each other. Or...

  "We can't tell anyone," I say shakily and the smile that breaks out over his face is so dazzling I nearly melt into a puddle on the floor. Jesus Christ, there is something seriously wrong with me.

  "Yeah, I get that," he says, nodding his head eagerly, his hands coming up to curl tightly around my arms, tugging me closer to him.

  "I mean not anyone, Harry," I say slowly, my insides turning. Maybe this is a bad idea...

  "I get it," he says, nodding, his head dipping down. I pull back a little, looking at him wide eyed.

  "Seriously, Harry, no one...not the guys, not your little friend from home, what's his name—"

  "Trace."

  "Yeah, him. Not your mom...fuck, especially not your mom...not even your fucking dog—"

  "Scarlett!" he says, and I jump at the loudness of his voice. He grins, laughing a little as he says, "I fucking get it, okay?"

  "Okay..." I say, looking at him skeptically and he just smiles giddily down at me.

  "Okay then," he whispers, his breath fanning my face as he bends down to kiss me again.

  "Harry," I say, placing a hand on his chest, holding him back reluctantly. "Not here..."

  "What?" he asks, cocking his head to the side, grinning innocently at me. "I just wanna kiss you..."

  He nuzzles his nose with mine and I look around uneasily, just waiting for one of the doors around us to open. This is such a bad idea. We really shouldn't be doing this.

  But all thought is cut off when his mouth claims mine, tongue dipping in to taste me briefly and there's no way I can turn back now. Even if this ruins us, I can't quit him. He feels too good and I know that after last night I could never deny him again. As simple as the act was it was probably one of the best I've had. No, I'm in this...right or wrong...

  I'm in this.

  12

  This is not how I planned on spending the day. When the guys invited me to go on yet another "adventure" with them I figured it would be to a record store or something else equally as mediocre to the normal person but a huge ordeal for them. So imagine my surprise when we pulled up to a tattoo parlor in downtown Atlanta, all the members of the group cheering and grinning as they piled out of the car. Well...all except for Louis, who's hesitation was ridiculed by the rest of the group.

  "I have this thing..." he had said, swallowing hard. "I have this thing with needles...they...they just kinda freak me out."

  Harry had offered me his hand as I had climbed out of the car and I had taken it, his fingers clutching at mine, reluctant to let go when I was safely on the ground. It had been three days since our agreement in the hallway, three nights since we...and my mind always stutters there. Saying we 'had sex' sounds so technical, 'made love' implies that it was something intimate, which it was but not that way, and saying we 'fucked' doesn't give it the credit it deserves.

  While my admonitions about secrecy and caution were met with his promise of compliance, he seems to be doing little to conceal his aff
ections. He is constantly touching me, fingers brushing mine, placing a hand on my lower back, or resting his chin on my shoulder. And don't even get me started on the giddy grin he has on his face when he looks at me. I'd roll my eyes if I didn't find it so fucking adorable.

  I hug my stomach as I meander around the parlor, surveying the art on the walls. This is definitely not my scene but I can appreciate the work as an art connoisseur; the colors, the designs, all reminiscent of art from all over the world. I see ghosts of Picasso, Mondrian, Da Vinci, and Van Gogh in all of these works covering these walls, a modern testament to classic art.

  The guys are dispersed around the room, emotions varying from bouncing excitement: Harry practically jumping up and down, to freaking the fuck out; Louis sitting in the corner, white as a sheet, trying not to look at Liam or Niall, both of whom are laying across padded tables; Zayn watching as the artists tattoo the 1D flame around his bandmates' ankles.

  "You okay there, Louis?" I ask, stepping up next to him. He looks at me glassily, swallowing hard.

  "Yeah...yeah, I'm..." He swallows again, wiping the sweat from his upper lip. "I'm cool."

  "Dude," Niall says, glancing up from the tattoo artist working on his leg. "You are the farthest thing from cool right now."

  Louis just swallows hard, shifting uneasily in his seat. I turn to find Niall shaking his head, laughing a little as he goes back to watching the needle work on his leg.

  "So...Scarlett," Zayn says, sidling up to me, draping an arm around my shoulders. I sigh and try to contain my grin. "What are you getting today?"

  I look at him a little shocked. "Oh, I'm not getting anything," I say, shaking my head, and Zayn flicks his eyes back at Niall, both of them laughing.

  "You should get a little something," Zayn insists and I shake my head at him again, scrunching up my nose.

  "You're getting one too?" Harry asks, stepping up behind me and I have to fight the urge to close my eyes as his scent encloses around me.

  "No," I say, turning a little towards him and then stepping away when I see how close he is to me. He has to stop doing that.

  "Oh come on," Zayn encourages, poking my arm. "Live a little, Scar."

  "I'm living perfectly fine without a tattoo," I say huffily, crossing my arms over my chest defensively and they all laugh. Except for Harry, who looks at the floor, not wanting to be a part of this argument. "And what would I possibly get, anyway?"

  "A textbook," Zayn grins and I purse my lips at him, narrowing my eyes.

  "My name," Harry says, grinning at me cheekily I give him a menacing stare that wipes the smile right off his face.

  "Yeah fucking right, dude," Zayn replies, giving Harry a playful shove, oblivious to Harry and mines silent innuendo.

  "You could get a heart," Harry suggests and I glare at him again. He smiles innocently at me and I crack a smile in return, both of us looking immediately at the floor. We have to stop doing this...

  "You could get five music notes to remember us by," Liam suggests, coming up behind us. "Harry, you're up," he adds, gesturing to the table with a nod of his head.

  "Sweet!" Harry exclaims, bouncing his way over to the table and I peer over at Louis, who is watching apprehensively as Harry settles onto the table.

  "I'm not getting anything!" I exclaim, annoyed. This is ridiculous, but everyone ignores me.

  "You're totally getting something," Zayn insists, poking me in the side. I glare at him a little but his smile is so contagious that I'm smiling back at him in a matter of seconds.

  "You alright, man?" Harry asks as he settles back onto the table, nodding his head at Louis, watching as the tattoo artist pulls on his gloves.

  "Yeah...I'm...I'm fine," Louis responds, and then as if snapping back to himself, "Hey, how are you doing this? There's no way your mom signed a consent form."

  Harry clears his throat and shakes his head. "Don't worry about it, man."

  "But you're only seventeen," Louis says and I wince. I hate it when people mention how old he is.

  "Don't fucking worry about it," Harry says harshly, scowling deeply. He knows this too.

  "Okay, okay," Louis says, eyeing him. "No need to get all hostile."

  I walk over between the two tables, watching as the large tattooed man pulls out a razor and begins to shave halfway up Harry's calf. I giggle a little, crossing my arms over my chest and he gazes up at me, his green eyes dancing happily.

  "What are you laughing at?" he asks, his eyes softening as he looks at me.

  "He's shaving your leg," I chuckle. "That's a really sexy look for you."

  "Oh you think so," he teases back, his eyes darkening slightly. I tense a little, realizing what I've said. "So, what are you gonna get?"

  "I'm not getting anything!" I exclaim again, watching as the tattoo artist applies the stencil to Harry's leg.

  "Oh come on!" he says, smiling. "You know you want something."

  Oh I want something alright, but it's not a tattoo. I sigh, irritated. Why does he have such an effect on me?

  "You ready?" the tattoo artist asks and Harry looks at him, nodding and steeling himself a little.

  "You wanna hold Scarlett's hand, Harry?" Niall teases and Harry looks up at me, trying to conceal his smile by biting his bottom lip. I nearly moan. Damn, the shit he does to me without even knowing it.

  "I'm sure he's fine," I reply stiffly, watching as the artist brings the needle to his skin.

  Harry winces before relaxing a little but I can tell he's on edge. Without really thinking, I reach out and place a hand on his shoulder. His head snaps to mine and he gives me a small smile which fades when I pull back, looking around the room as if nothing happened.

  "Alright, you're done," the other tattoo artist behind me says and I turn to look at Niall, who's examining his leg.

  "Nice, huh?" Niall asks me and I nod. "So..." he says, swinging his legs over the side and standing, moving out of the way so Zayn can have his turn. "What are you getting?"

  "I'm not getting anything," I practically yell for the hundredth time, shaking my head adamantly.

  "Oh come on, Scar!" Zayn exclaims again. "Don't be such a pussy."

  "I am not a pussy," I say defensively and I try to ignore the way Harry shivers. "I'm just not getting a tattoo on a whim. Its tacky," I state and then, looking at the heavily tattooed man working on Harry's leg, I add, "No offense."

  "None taken," the guy says, grinning up at me and Harry eyes him, his bottom lip protruding a little, moving his hand from his lap to the edge of the table, the back of his hand brushing my thigh. I ignore it, continuing on my rant.

  "And it's so permanent."

  "You've never even thought about what you would get if you ever got one?" Liam asks, sitting next to Louis, who's eyeing his tattooed leg.

  "They...they wrap it in saran wrap?" Louis asks, still looking at Liam's leg, and Liam nods.

  "Yeah, he said it was to fight infection," Liam replies, stretching out. "Its still kinda bloody."

  Louis's face blanches and he jumps to his feet. "I'm gonna get some air."

  "You have to have thought about it a little," Zayn continues, watching as Louis makes his way hastily to the door.

  "Well..." I say, looking from one handsome boy to the next. The truth is I had thought about it, but not seriously.

  "So you have thought about it?" Niall asks. "And what would it be, Scarlett? The Mona Lisa down your arm? Water Lillies across your stomach?"

  "The Last Supper across your ass?" Zayn adds and the rest of the guys snicker.

  "No!" I say defensively. And finally giving in a little I add, "I've thought about getting something in ancient Greek..."

  "Get it!" Zayn says and his exclamation is echoed in various ways from the rest of the group.

  "I don't know," I say noncommittally, my stomach tying in knots. This is not me. I am not the kind of person that just decides to get a tattoo.

  "You got time for one more?" Harry asks, looking at the man working on h
is leg. The guy looks up at me, his piercing dark eyes roving over me.

  "Harry...seriously," I say, shaking my head at him.

  "Where do you want it?" the guy asks, his tongue snaking out to lick his lips and Harry looks from me to him, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

  "I don't want it anywhere! I am not getting a tattoo!"

  "Okay," the man says, smiling. "If you were to get one...where would it be?"

  I shift uncomfortably. All eyes are on me now and I really, really don't want to say it. "Um..." I trail and I know my response is going to get catcalls from the rest of the group. "Here," I sigh, pointing to where my hipbone dips to my stomach.

  "Scar!" Zayn exclaims, and my cheeks redden as laughter fills the room. "You little vixen you!"

  "It was hypothetical!" I exclaim, feeling my ears burn. "I'm not doing it!"

  "You have to do it," Liam insists matter of factly, the lowness of his voice giving his words a certain finality that melts my reserve. I can't believe I'm about to do this.

  "Yeah," the man says, grinning, looking back at Harry's leg. "I definitely got time for that."

  Harry is glaring at him and I'm pretty sure if the guy hadn't been putting something permanent on his body, he would have said something to him. Instead he sits back, pouting slightly, never taking his eyes off the buff tattoo artist who keeps glancing at me every once and awhile.

  I feel Harry's hand slide around the edge of the table, knuckles brushing against my hipbone and I lean forward a little, trapping his hand against the table for a second, pressing hard, and then pulling back. His eyes flick to mine and I give him an inconspicuous shake of my head. He can't keep doing this. He pulls his hand back, watching the tattoo artist moodily.

  "Does it hurt?" I ask after a moment and Harry looks up at me.

  "Not really," he says nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders and then wincing, the tattoo guy moving around the back of his leg.

  "Oh you're such a badass," I chuckle and he scowls at me, shifting a little.

  "You're almost done, kid," the guy tells him and Harry's face pinkens a little.