Page 57 of Save Me
“Thanks.” Taking a sip of the wine, it’s gorgeous. It’s rich, complex, and it warms me from the inside out. Harry settles beside me on the blanket, his presence a magnetic field that pulls at something deep within my chest.
“Tonight is about simple pleasures,” he says, popping a grape into his mouth. “No complications. No games.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” I agree, watching the way the candlelight dances across his features, casting shadows and light in equal measure. Tonight, it’s just Harry and me and a picnic under the stars, and for once, the darkness feels like a friend rather than a threat.
Harry watches me with an intensity that sets my nerves on edge as I start to eat—in a good way. I chew slowly, buying time because this, whatever this is, feels like uncharted territory.
We’re quiet for a moment, just the sound of the night and the distant hum of the city keeping us company. I pour us more wine, watching the liquid glint in the dim light, and when I meet his eyes again, there’s something like understanding there.
“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone,” he says, and it’s not a command, but an invitation.
“Back in Westfield,” I start, my voice barely above a whisper, “I used to climb onto the roof at night just to watch the stars. Pretended they were points on a map leading me somewhere else, anywhere else.”
“Escape routes,” he muses, and I wonder if he ever needed them too. “Know all about those.”
Silence falls again, but it’s not uncomfortable.
“Look at that view,” I murmur, gesturing toward the panorama before us, trying to steady my breathing, to ignore the heat pooling low in my belly.
“Beautiful,” Harry agrees, but he’s not looking at the skyline—he’s looking at me.
Harry’s hand finds mine, rough and warm. The connection ignites something inside me.
His fingers trace the contour of my jaw, sending shivers across my skin. When his lips finally crash into mine, it’s not gentle. It’s all-consuming, fierce as if he’s pouring every unvoiced promise into this single kiss.
He pulls back suddenly and rises, grabbing my hand and hauling me to my feet. “I want this to be as much just us as possible,” he says with a dark smile, leading me back to the car. He opens the back door, and we slide in. There’s no space left between us; we’re just heat and need, tangled up on the black leather.
“Fuck, Vogue,” he groans against my lips, and I feel his words more than I hear them.
Hands grapple for purchase on clothes, on skin—anything to bring us close and everything else fades away.
Clothes are shed in silent urgency, discarded pieces of who we were before this moment. Harry’s touch is everywhere, setting my nerves alight. My fingers dig into his shoulders, my nails leaving marks I know will linger. I settle on his lap, spreading my legs wide as he reaches for his cock. He pushes itinside me, our moans breaking the silence of the night, our lips never parting. I gasp into his mouth as his length fills my pussy, and then he slides his fingers over my clit. It’s rough and raw, exactly the way I need it, the way I want it with him. There’s no pretence, no hiding in the shadows of what we are—we’re just two people driven by desire and something more, something deeper.
His hands grip my hips, guiding me into a frantic rhythm. The car windows fog up with our heat, our breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. “You feel so fucking good.” He lifts me up and drives into me harder.
I can feel every inch of his cock inside me, stretching me to the brink of madness. The pleasure builds like a monsoon inside me, growing more intense until I can’t hold back any longer. My pussy tightens around his cock, spasms wracking through me as I come around him with his name on my lips.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans.
Harry’s movements become erratic as he chases his own climax. He grunts loudly, thrusting up, deep into me as he unloads, his cock jerking wildly inside me. We collapse against each other, panting and spent in the backseat that now feels like the only place in the world.
After a moment of silence where only our breaths are heard, Harry brushes a strand of hair away from my face and looks into my eyes. “Vogue,” he whispers, voice full of something like wonder or maybe fear. “I need you. Please promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll be safe. I can’t lose you. Not now.”
The sharp vulnerability in his voice pierces through the post-orgasmic haze, and I find myself clinging to him tighter. “I’m not going anywhere, Harry,” I murmur back, my breath hitching with the weight of the moment and the unspoken threats that linger just outside this bubble of carnality we’ve created.
But the seriousness of his plea doesn’t escape me. We’re playing in a world where danger is a constant companion, where every passionate encounter could be undercut by the brutish hands of our reality.
We stay there for a while longer, bodies entwined in the murky shadows of the car’s interior, a sanctuary built on the edge of chaos. Eventually, we muster enough energy to dress in silence which he breaks eventually.
“Better get you back. The other guys will be getting jealous.” He snickers to show he’s joking, but I know it anyway. There is no envy. We are a perfect circle, both together and apart.
After gathering up the remains of the picnic and tossing them in the boot, he drives us back with a possessive hand resting on my thigh, a silent claim that I don’t resist. Back at my home, he walks me to the door with that same protective aura enveloping us like mist.
“This was incredible, Vogue,” he murmurs. “I’m glad we did this.”
“Me too.” I lean over to kiss him, and then the door opens, and the moment is broken.
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