His Roommate

It's my roommate," Harry whispered softly, his words aimed squarely at dispelling the nascent unease blossoming within Bianca's expression. His gaze lingered briefly upon hers, offering what little solace could be gleaned from such simple reassurances, even as his ears strained attentively to pinpoint the exact location – and intentions – of the approaching individual.

Meanwhile, Bianca's grip involuntarily tensed, her slender fingers digging reflexively deeper into the supple flesh covering Harry's shoulders. It wasn't fear per se that animated these instinctual motions, rather an insidious blend of surprise, uncertainty, and perhaps something approximating embarrassment given their current compromising position.

With a delicate motion, Bianca extricated herself from Harry's embrace, carefully withdrawing from the tender grasp of his body. A soft gasp escaped her parted lips as she settled onto the mattress beside him, her cheeks flushing with a subtle mix of emotions. One of her slender hands absently smoothed the tangled locks of her dark hair, while the other hovered near the base of her throat, as though attempting to calm the flutterings of her heart.

"I didn't know you had a roommate..." Bianca murmured, her emerald-green eyes darting nervously toward the doorway, beyond which lay the unseen intruder. An unsettling notion began to germinate within her mind: What if they'd been... audible?

A sly smirk spread across Harry's lips as he settled onto his back, his gaze drifting toward the doorway, where the sound of approaching footsteps had grown louder. "Don't worry, nothing Liam hasn't heard before," he whispered, his voice laced with a mixture of amusement and reassurance. The words, though intended to calm Bianca's nerves, only seemed to heighten her anxiety, her emerald eyes darting toward the doorway with renewed trepidation.

As if sensing her unease, Harry reached out, his hand brushing against Bianca's thigh in a gentle, soothing gesture.

Bianca's glance flickered back to Harry, her emerald eyes sparkling with a hint of playful reproach as she uttered, "Way to make a girl feel special." Though spoken lightly, the remark betrayed a thread of genuine concern beneath its surface, her brow furrowing slightly as she awaited Harry's reaction.

His laughter, low-pitched and husky, caressed the tense silence, coaxing a **** smile from Bianca's lips despite her lingering misgivings. With an easy movement, Harry leaned forward, bridging the distance between them once again, until his breath danced tantalizingly across her earlobe.

As Harry's laughter subsided, he deftly fastened the buttons of his jeans, the metallic clicks punctuating the otherwise heavy silence. His eyes sparkled with mirth as he turned to Bianca, whose flush had begun to recede, replaced by a tentative smile. Leaning in, Harry pressed a light, reassuring kiss against her cheekbone, sending a scattering of gooseflesh dancing down her neck.

"You're adorable when flustered," he teased, drawing back far enough to regard her rosy hue with evident satisfaction. His chuckle was accompanied by the silky rasp of denim shifting against fabric as he adjusted his zipper.

As the last wisps of Harry's chuckle dissipated, Bianca's gaze drifted toward the doorway, her emerald eyes narrowing slightly as she strained to discern any signs of movement from beyond the threshold. The soft creak of a door in the hallway, faint but unmistakable, caught her attention, and she turned to Harry with a whispered, "I think your roommate just went into his room." A flicker of relief danced across her features, accompanied by a subtle relaxation of her tense posture.

With the immediate crisis averted, Bianca's thoughts turned to the practicalities of her situation. She glanced down at her disheveled attire, her dark hair tangled and her dress rumpled from their earlier passion.

Harry nodded his head, "Yeah, he spends a lot of his time in there. He sells some weed on the side, so if you ever want some, I can hook you up." His words were laced with a casual nonchalance, as if the notion of procuring illicit substances was an everyday occurrence. Bianca's gaze lingered on his face, her emerald eyes narrowing slightly as she processed the information. A faint furrow creased her brow, betraying a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

As Bianca slid off the mattress, the sudden absence of Harry's body heat left her feeling bereft, yet driven by a desire to restore order to her appearance. Her slender fingers fluttered over the crumpled folds of her sundress, smoothing out wrinkles and rearranging the delicate straps that had slipped during their passionate encounter. Meanwhile, her free hand discreetly delved under the hemline, seeking the fragile lace of her panties, which had been displaced by Harry's ardent lovemaking.

The tender flesh between her thighs felt sensitive, swollen, and slick with residue – evidence of their recent intimacy.

As Bianca delicately restored order to her disheveled attire, Harry swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, planting his feet firmly on the floorboards. The wooden slats creaked softly beneath his weight, releasing a faint sigh that harmonized with the gentle rustle of Bianca's clothing adjustments. With fluid motion, Harry stood upright, towering briefly over Bianca before padding silently toward her. His bare toes curled gently upon contact with the cool wood flooring, imbuing his steps with quiet deliberateness.

"Hey," Harry said softly, halting inches away from Bianca, "can I get your number?"