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“I need you, Harry,” I pleaded in between kisses, pushing his jacket off his shoulders and tugging at his shirt. “I need to touch you.”
Harry backed me against the wall, and groaned as his hands slipped to my butt, and kneaded. “Whatever you need, Firebird. Anything. Everything.”
I pushed off the wall and spun him around, my hands ripping his shirt out of his jeans, then to his belt buckle.
Harry’s hands flew to my hips as he gathered up my dress, revealing my lacy stay-up stockings.
“These stockings, fuck,” he growled in my ear before kissing down my neck. “I need you naked right now.”
His words should have been a warning, like a klaxon, a deafening siren of imminent danger.
But I was oblivious, focussed on how much I wanted to taste him, to touch him, and how his belt buckle refused to yield.
“Get this off, Firebird,” Harry growled, pulling my dress up over my waist.
The tidal wave of panic, hot and powerful, surged and hit me.
I staggered back, frantically pulling my dress down.
“No!”
I gulped for air. Heat flushed my skin.
Oh god, a panic attack …
I hadn’t had one in years. The shock of it had me staggering like I was drunk.
Fight or flight?I did both.
“Stacey, what’s wrong?” Harry reached out to steady me.
I could barely hear him for the ringing in my ears. I clawed at him, pushing him away. My vision narrowed into a tunnel, with Harry in the distance, his brow creasing in confusion.
I felt sick. And hot. Sweat beaded all over my body.
Shit, I was going to throw up.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to breathe.
“Stacey?” Harry sounded so far away.
My gut was burning. Tears welled up and rolled down my cheeks.
“Stacey, please. Tell me what’s wrong.” Harry’s voice cracked. Stricken, he stepped towards me again and I flinched, moving along the wall away from him.
Harry stopped and held up his hands.
I took several rapid breaths, staring at the bed but not seeing it. My mind screamed on repeat:Calm the fuck down, calm the fuck down …
Harry was open-mouthed, with a look on his face I couldn’t stand.
Pity.
In the midst of the chaos, anger pulsed behind my sternum.
“Has someone—” His voice cracked again. His eyes were glassy, his face desolate. “Has someone hurt you?”
His hands had curled into fists by his side and with effort, he opened them up again.
