The slam of the door echoed the fury building inside you. Harry stood there, infuriatingly handsome even in his belligerence. "You need to control your anger, Harry!" you shouted, the words catching in your throat.
He scoffed, his jaw tight. "He was practically stripping you naked with his eyes!"
The heat of your own rage flared. He was deliberately pushing your buttons, and the vein throbbing in his forehead was a signal of his own escalating frustration. It was infuriating. "Fuck you, Harry." Without another word, you spun on your heel, slamming the bedroom door and twisting the lock. The heavy thud of his footsteps followed, then a long, drawn-out sigh.
"(Y/N), baby, open the door," he pleaded, his voice muffled.
But you were beyond furious. The image of his clenched fists, the way he’d practically snarled at the man at the club…it wasn’t about protecting you, it was about possessiveness. A reckless, destructive possessiveness that threatened to consume everything.
You paced, stopping mid-stride. "Harry," you began, forcing a measured tone. "I don’t mind you being protective, but you need to tone it down."
Silence stretched between you, thick with tension. Then, a soft plea. "I promise, baby. Now let me in?"
Slowly, you unlocked the door. The moment it opened, he surged forward, pulling you into a tight embrace. A kiss, urgent and demanding, pressed against your lips. Then, he scooped you up, carrying you to the bed and laying you down gently.
"I’m sorry," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. He trailed kisses down your jawline, each touch sending a shiver through you. The raw intensity of his apology was a current of electricity that ran through your skin. He had a way of turning the world upside down, and tonight, you surrendered to the dizzying spin.