GET HIM BACK! PART 2
Months had passed since that night in Paris. Three weeks after the breakup had turned into six months, and the sharp edges of missing Harry had dulled into a constant low ache you learned to live with. You’d thrown yourself into work, into nights out with friends who didn’t know him, into pretending the tattoo on your ribs didn’t still burn every time you caught a glimpse of curly hair or heard a slow raspy accent.
He had a girlfriend now.
You’d seen the photos. Some model adjacent girl with perfect teeth and a laugh that looked genuine in the paparazzi shots. Her name was Lila. She wore his clothes in Instagram stories and held his hand at events. The internet loved them together and the tabloids called them “stable.” You hated how much that word twisted in your chest every time you saw it.
You were with Ethan now. He was steady and thoughtful, the kind of man who remembered your coffee order and planned quiet weekends away. He never pushed too hard, never made you feel like you were losing control. Safe. Comfortable. Boring in a way that left you aching for something sharper.
But life moved on. Until it didn’t.
It was a private listening party for a mutual producer in a converted warehouse in East London. You wore a deep burgundy satin slip dress that clung to every curve, thin straps slipping slightly off your shoulders, the hem riding high on your thighs when you moved. Ethan was away on a work trip so you came alone.
The second you walked in, you felt him.
Harry was leaning against the bar, black shirt half unbuttoned, tattoos peeking through. Lila was tucked under his arm, laughing at something someone said. But his eyes, those intense green eyes, snapped to you instantly. They dragged down your body slowly, taking in the dress he used to love peeling off you. His jaw tightened.
You pretended not to notice at first. Circled the room. Let an old friend flirt with you near the makeshift stage. You could feel Harry’s stare burning into your back. When the friend touched your lower back, Harry’s hand flexed around his glass so hard you thought it might shatter.
The tension was already thick.
An hour later, Lila excused herself to the bathroom. Harry moved through the crowd and stopped just behind you.
“Bold choice wearing that dress tonight,” he murmured.
You didn’t turn around immediately. “Ethan likes when I wear this.”
A dark humorless chuckle. “Does he fuck you properly when you do? Or does he just tell you how pretty you look while you fake it?”
Heat flooded between your legs. You finally faced him, keeping your expression neutral even as your pulse raced. “Does Lila know you still think about me when you’re inside her?”
His eyes darkened. For a moment, the rest of the party faded. Just you and him and six months of suppressed need.
His hand brushed your hip, hidden by the crowd. A secret possessive touch. “Don’t leave without talking to me.”
Then he was gone, slipping back into the shadows before Lila returned.
You stayed longer than you should have. Every time your eyes met across the room, it felt like foreplay. By the end of the night, your thighs were slick and your mind was racing.
That was only the beginning.
The texts started innocently enough the next day.
Harry: Left my jacket at the party. You didn’t happen to see it?
You: no but i saw you staring
Harry: Hard not to when you’re dressed like that. Like you want to be ruined again.
You should have blocked him. Instead, you answered.
The messages grew bolder over the following weeks. Late at night, when Ethan was asleep beside you, Harry would send voice notes, voice rough and slightly drunk, telling you how he couldn’t stop thinking about the way your pussy clenched around him. You’d slip into the bathroom, fingers between your legs whispering back filthy confessions while trying not to moan too loudly.
One night he called. You answered on the third ring, heart hammering.
“Tell me what you’re wearing,” he demanded.
You were in bed, Ethan’s arm draped over your waist. “One of your old t-shirts. The one you left at my place.”
He groaned. “Fuck. I miss how you smelled in my clothes. I miss how you sounded when I had my hand around your throat.”
Your free hand slid into your panties. “Harry…”
“Touch yourself and think of me. Not him.”
You did. Quiet shaky breaths as you circled your clit. He stayed on the line, telling you how much he missed burying his face between your legs, how Lila was sweet but she wasn’t you. How she didn’t fight him. Didn’t cry for him. Didn’t beg the way you did.
The calls became a dangerous habit. The slow burn stretched across weeks, stolen coffee shop “run ins,” charged glances at industry events, messages deleted immediately after reading. Both of you had partners. Both of you knew this was wrong. But the pull was stronger than guilt.
You started canceling plans with Ethan. Harry grew distant with Lila. The tension built like a storm.
Then came the rainy night that changed everything.
You were out with friends at a small bar in Shoreditch. Harry was there too with Lila by his side. The eye contact throughout the night was unbearable. Every glance felt like a touch. When Lila stepped outside to answer a call, Harry found you in the narrow dimly lit hallway near the back.
He didn’t speak at first. Just crowded you against the wall, one hand beside your head, the other gripping your waist.
“I can’t keep doing this,” he rasped, forehead dropping to yours. Rain dripped from his hair onto your shoulder. “I need you. Come home with me tonight.”
Your hands fisted in his shirt. “We both have people waiting for us, Harry.”
“I know.” His voice cracked with frustration and need. “But I’m losing my fucking mind. I dream about your cunt. About the way you fall apart for me. Tell me you don’t miss it too.”
You did. God, you missed it so much it hurt.
You told your friends you weren’t feeling well. He told Lila he had an early studio session. Lies stacked on lies, but the need won.
The Uber ride to his flat was silent. His hand rested high on your thigh, fingers digging in possessively, but he didn’t slide it higher. The restraint was its own kind of torture. By the time you reached his door, you were trembling with anticipation.
The second the door closed behind you, he kissed you like a man starved. Deep, messy, desperate. Tongues sliding, teeth clashing. His hands framed your face at first, almost gentle, then slid down to grip your ass, lifting you so your legs wrapped around his waist.
He carried you through the dark hallway like you weighed nothing, never breaking the kiss. The rain pounded against the windows, mirroring the storm building between you. When he kicked the bedroom door open, the familiar scent of his space hit you, woody cologne, clean sheets, and that underlying musk that was purely Harry.
He set you down at the edge of the bed but didn’t let go. His hands stayed on your face as he kissed you again, slower this time. Deeper. Like he was trying to memorize the taste of you after six long months apart. His tongue slid against yours coaxing soft whimpers from your throat. You clutched at his half unbuttoned shirt, fingers trembling as you pushed it off his shoulders, revealing the familiar ink across his chest and arms.
“Harry…” you breathed against his mouth.
“Shh,” he murmured, nipping at your bottom lip. “Don’t think about them right now. Just us.”
His hands moved down your body with deliberate slowness. This wasn’t the frantic fuck against the hotel door in Paris. This was months of pent up longing unraveling inch by inch. He hooked his fingers under the thin straps of your dress and dragged them down your arms, exposing your breasts to the cool air. Your nipples hardened instantly. He groaned at the sight, leaning down to capture one between his lips.
You arched into him, a broken moan escaping as he sucked gently, then harder, teeth grazing the sensitive peak. His hand palmed your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers while his mouth worked the first. The wet heat of his tongue sent sparks straight to your core.
“I missed these,” he whispered against your skin, switching sides. “Missed how sensitive you are for me. Does Ethan even know how to make you this desperate?”
The mention of your boyfriend’s name should have stopped you. Instead, it twisted something dark and guilty inside you that only made you wetter. You shook your head, threading your fingers through his hair.
“No… only you.”
Harry dropped to his knees in front of you, hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the dress up to your waist. He pressed open mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, teasingly close to where you needed him. When he finally reached your lace panties, he pressed his face against the soaked fabric and inhaled deeply.
“Fuck, baby. You’re dripping already.” His voice was rough and wrecked. “This pussy still knows who it belongs to.”
He peeled the panties down your legs slowly, helping you step out of them. Then he spread your thighs wider, exposing you completely. For a long moment he just looked, green eyes dark with hunger. You felt vulnerable, exposed, but the way he stared made you feel worshipped.
He leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly through your folds. A long filthy lick from your entrance to your clit. Your hips jerked, and he gripped them firmly, holding you in place as he began to devour you.
His tongue was relentless but unhurried, circling your clit with perfect pressure, then dipping lower to push inside you. Two thick fingers joined soon after, curling upward to stroke that spot that made your vision blur. The wet obscene sounds of him eating you out filled the room, mixing with your gasps and the rain outside.
You were already close. Embarrassingly close. Your hands fisted the sheets as your thighs started to shake around his head.
“Harryyyy- oh god-”
He pulled back just as you were about to tip over the edge, kissing your thigh instead. You whined in frustration, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.
“Not yet,” he said, voice low. “I want you aching for me. Like I’ve been aching for you these past months.”
He stood up, towering over you, and finally shed the rest of his clothes. His cock sprang free, thick, hard, the tip already glistening with precum. You reached for him instinctively, wrapping your hand around his length and stroking slowly. He hissed, hips twitching into your touch.
“On the bed,” he commanded
You scooted back until your head hit the pillows. Harry followed, crawling over you. He kissed you again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His cock rested heavy against your stomach as he ground against you slowly, teasing.
His mouth moved lower, neck, collarbones, breasts, sucking fresh marks into your skin that you knew you’d have to hide from Ethan later. But right now none of that mattered. Only Harry’s weight on top of you, his scent surrounding you, the way his fingers were sliding back between your legs, pumping slowly.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned, adding a third finger and stretching you open. “This cunt is mine. Say it.”
“It’s yours,” you gasped, back arching. “Always been yours.”
He kissed you through your second almost orgasm, pulling his fingers away again at the last second. You were crying now, soft overwhelmed tears slipping down your temples. The denial was driving you insane.
Harry finally positioned himself between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. He rubbed it up and down your slit, coating himself in your arousal, eyes locked on yours the entire time.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
You did. The intensity in his gaze made your chest tighten with emotion.
He pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, until he was buried to the hilt. Both of you moaned loudly at the feeling. He stayed there, not moving, just letting you adjust to the stretch. His forehead pressed against yours, breaths mingling.
“Fuck… still so perfect,” he breathed. “So tight around me.”
Tears continued falling as the fullness overwhelmed you. He kissed them away gently, hips starting to roll in deep, languid thrusts. Not fast. Not rough. Not yet. This was emotional. Intimate. Every stroke dragged against your walls perfectly, grinding against your clit on every forward motion.
Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in as pleasure built again.
“I missed you so much,” you whispered brokenly, voice cracking. “Harry… I missed you so much it hurt.”
He groaned, thrusts growing slightly deeper, slightly faster. His hands found yours, pinning them above your head, fingers laced tightly together.
Why wasn’t he saying it back?
His thrusts stayed measured and deep, each roll of his hips pressing him impossibly further inside you. The stretch was perfect, almost too much after so many months without him. You could feel every ridge, every vein of his cock dragging along your walls, making your toes curl and your breath hitch. Harry’s fingers remained laced with yours above your head, grounding you as the pleasure built slowly.
“Eyes on me, baby,” he whispered, voice hoarse with restraint. His green eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, but there was something softer underneath the lust. Something vulnerable that made your chest ache.
You held his gaze, tears still slipping down the sides of your face. The rain continued its movement against the windows, but inside this room, the only sounds were your shared breathing, the wet slide of his cock moving in and out of your soaked pussy, and the occasional broken moan that escaped your lips.
“I missed you so much,” you repeated, voice trembling as he ground against that spot deep inside you. “Every night… every time Ethan touched me, I thought about you. I feel so empty without you.”
Harry’s hips stuttered for a moment, a low groan rumbling from his chest. He released your hands only to slide one arm under your back, lifting you slightly so your bodies pressed closer, skin on skin, hearts hammering against each other. His other hand cupped the back of your neck, thumb stroking your jaw tenderly even as his cock continued its slow, devastating rhythm.
“Fuck, don’t say that,” he murmured against your lips before kissing you deeply. The kiss was messy, all tongue and desperation, like he was trying to drink in every confession. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours again.
But he didn’t speed up. Not yet. He wanted this to last. He wanted to feel every flutter of your walls around him, every tremble in your thighs. He pulled out almost completely, just the tip resting inside you, before sliding back in with one smooth thrust that made you cry out.
Your legs tightened around his waist, heels pressing into the firm muscle of his thigh, urging him deeper. Your hands roamed his back, tracing the familiar tattoos, nails digging in whenever he hit that perfect angle.
Harry’s mouth moved to your neck, sucking fresh marks just below your ear. “Does he fuck you like this?” he asked, voice dark with possessiveness. “Does Ethan make you cry on his cock? Make this pretty pussy leak all over the sheets?”
You shook your head quickly, another sob slipping out as another wave of pleasure rolled through you. “Noooo… never. Only you, Harr. Only you make me feel like this.”
He rewarded you with a harder thrust, still controlled but deeper. The wet filthy sound of your bodies connecting echoed louder now. Your arousal coated his cock and dripped down to the sheets beneath you. He reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing slow, firm circles.
Your back arched sharply off the bed, pushing your breasts against his chest. The dual sensation, his thick cock filling you completely and his thumb working your clit, had you spiraling closer to the edge again.
“I missed you so much,” you gasped, repeating it like a prayer. “Missed your cock stretching me… missed the way you own me. God, Harry- I missed you every single day.”
His control started to fray. His thrusts grew slightly faster, hips snapping forward with more force. The hand on your neck slid down to wrap loosely around your throat, not squeezing hard, just enough pressure to make your head feel light and fuzzy, that delicious submissive haze you craved.
“I know, baby. I know,” he rasped, eyes locked on yours. His thumb pressed firmer on your clit. “I missed you too. Missed this tight cunt. Missed the way you look at me when you’re falling apart.”
The emotion thickened between you. This wasn’t just sex. It was months of denial, guilt, and longing crashing together. Your walls started to flutter around him, the orgasm building deep in your core like a tidal wave.
Harry could feel it. He leaned down, capturing your lips again in a searing kiss before pulling back just enough to speak against your mouth.
“I love you,” he breathed, the words slipping out like he couldn’t hold them back any longer. “I love you. I love you.”
Your eyes widened, fresh tears spilling over as the confession hit you straight in the chest. His thrusts continued, deep and steady, never faltering as he repeated the words like a mantra.
“I love you,” he groaned, pressing his forehead harder against yours. “I love you so fucking much. Even when I tried to move on. Even with her. It was always you.”
The combination of his cock dragging perfectly inside you, his thumb on your clit, and those repeated declarations pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you violently, walls clenching rhythmically around his thick length, thighs shaking uncontrollably, a loud cry tearing from your throat as pleasure blinded you.
“Harry- fuck- I’m coming-”
He didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, hips rolling to draw out every pulse, every aftershock. His own breathing grew ragged, but he kept chanting softly against your ear, voice cracking with emotion.
“I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Even as your climax began to fade, he stayed buried deep inside you, grinding slowly, letting you feel every inch of him. His hand loosened around your throat, moving to wipe the tears from your cheeks with surprising gentleness.
You were still trembling beneath him, pussy pulsing around his cock, when he kissed you again, slow and deep and full of everything neither of you had been able to say for six months.
Your walls were still fluttering around him from the aftershocks, slick and sensitive, every tiny shift of his hips sending fresh sparks up your spine. He didn’t speak for a long moment. Just held your gaze, green eyes intense and glassy, breathing ragged against your lips.
The weight of everything hung between you, the stolen night, the partners waiting for you both outside this room, the six months of pretending you could live without this connection. It made your throat tighten. A fresh wave of tears slipped down your temples, not from overwhelming pleasure this time, but from the raw ache of how right it felt to have him like this again.
The kiss tasted like salt from your tears. Harry’s hips gave one final, lazy roll, pushing his cum deeper inside you as if trying to mark you permanently. You clung to him, arms wrapped tight around his neck, legs still locked around his waist like you could stop time if you held on hard enough. But time didn’t stop.
He stayed inside you for a long time, soft kisses turning heavier, more urgent. His cock twitched back to life gradually, still buried in your slick cum filled heat. Without a word, he started moving again, slow deep thrusts that made you whimper into his mouth. The wet sound of his cum being pushed in and out of you was obscene in the quiet room.
You cried harder. Not from pleasure this time, but from the crushing sadness that had settled heavy in your chest. This was goodbye. You both knew it, even if neither of you would say it.
Harry’s hand slid down to grip your thigh, spreading you wider as he fucked you with that same devastating slowness. Every stroke dragged against your sensitive walls, pulling soft broken sounds from your throat. Your tears wouldn’t stop. They slipped down your temples, into your hair, onto his pillow.
He kissed them away without speaking. No reassurances. No promises. Just the heavy silence of two people who knew they were destroying each other and couldn’t stop.
You reached up, cupping his face, forcing him to look at you. His green eyes were glassy, jaw tight. You whispered, voice cracking, “I don’t want to leave.”
He didn’t answer. His eyes flickered with something painful, but he just leaned down and kissed you harder, hips snapping forward with more force. The sudden roughness made you gasp against his lips. He fucked you like that, deeper and faster, almost angry, as if punishing you both for needing this so badly.
Your hands slid down his back, nails digging into his skin hard enough to leave marks. Marks Lila would see. Marks Ethan would never know about. The thought made a fresh sob tear from your chest.
Harry buried his face in your neck, sucking harsh bruises into your skin while his cock drove into you relentlessly. The wet slap of skin filled the room again. Your pussy clenched around him, still so full of his earlier release, making everything messier and filthier.
“You feel so good,” you choked out through tears. “I hate how good you feel.”
Still he said nothing. Just a low groan against your throat as he shifted angles, hitting that spot that made stars explode behind your eyes. One hand came up to wrap around your throat again, not tight, just holding. Claiming. Reminding you who you really belonged to, even if you’d go back to someone else in a few hours.
The sadness was suffocating. You loved him. You hated him. You needed him like air, but he was poison. And you kept letting him kill you.
Why is it we love what’s bad for us?
Your next orgasm built slowly like your body was fighting it. When it finally hit, it ripped through you with a shattered cry. Your walls pulsed hard around his cock, milking him as fresh tears streamed down your face. Harry fucked you through it, hips stuttering but never stopping, drawing out every wave until you were shaking and oversensitive.
Only then did he pull out. You whimpered at the loss, feeling his cum leak out of you onto the sheets. He flipped you onto your stomach without gentleness this time. Strong hands yanked your hips up, and he pushed back inside you in one brutal thrust. The new position let him go even deeper. You buried your face in the pillow, sobbing quietly as he railed you from behind.
His hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to arch your back. Still no words. Just the sound of his ragged breathing and the relentless slap of his hips against your ass. Every thrust felt like a goodbye. Every moan you let out felt like mourning.
You came again but smaller this time, more like an aftershock that left you limp and exhausted. Harry followed soon after, groaning low as he spilled inside you once more, filling you until you were overflowing with him.
For several long minutes, the only sound was your quiet crying and the rain tapping against the window. He stayed buried deep, chest pressed to your back, arms caging you in. You whispered again, voice barely audible, broken
“I don’t want to leave, Harry.”
He ignored it. Again.
Eventually, he pulled out and rolled off you. The sudden cold air on your skin made you feel emptier than ever. You curled into yourself, tears soaking the pillow as he got up and disappeared into the bathroom.
When he returned, he carried a small glass of water and a warm, damp cloth. He sat on the edge of the bed first, gently helping you sit up just enough to take a few slow sips of water. His hand stayed supporting the back of your neck, careful and steady, even as his own fingers trembled slightly. You drank obediently, eyes never leaving his face.
Once you’d had enough, he laid you back down carefully. Then he began cleaning you with the warm cloth. He started at your thighs, wiping away the sticky mix of his cum and your arousal. His free hand moved to your tummy, palm flat and warm as he stroked gentle circles over your skin, soothing the muscles that had been tensed and trembling for so long. The touch was tender as if he was trying to apologize with his hands for everything he couldn’t say with words.
He took his time, carefully wiping between your legs, over your swollen folds, and down to the mess that had dripped onto the sheets beneath you. Every movement was soft. The warm cloth felt comforting against your overused skin, but the silence between you made the care feel bittersweet. His jaw stayed clenched the entire time, glossy green eyes focused on his task rather than on your tear streaked face.
When he was finally done, he set the cloth aside and stroked your tummy one last time, a slow lingering pass of his palm from your ribs down to your lower belly, as if memorizing the feel of you. Then he lay back beside you without pulling you into his arms like he had earlier. He simply stared up at the ceiling, the space between your bodies feeling wider and colder than ever.
The silence was unbearable.
You wanted to scream at him. To beg him to fight for you. To tell him that Ethan meant nothing and Lila meant nothing and that you were both ruining your lives for nothing. But the words died in your throat. He had already shut down. The wall was back up.
After what felt like hours, but was probably only thirty minutes, you forced yourself to move. Your body ached as you sat up. Cum dripped down your thighs. You dressed slowly in the dark, slipping the dress back on with shaking hands. Harry watched you the entire time but didn’t speak. Didn’t reach for you. Didn’t ask you to stay.
At the bedroom door, you paused, looking back at him one last time. He was still lying there, naked, staring at the ceiling like it held answers he didn’t want.
“I don’t want to leave,” you whispered for the third time, voice cracking completely.
He closed his eyes. No response.
You turned and walked out.
The Uber ride home was blurred with tears. Your phone lit up with missed texts from Ethan, sweet concerned messages asking if you got home safe. You didn’t answer. You just stared out the window, feeling Harry’s cum still leaking out of you, his marks burning on your neck and thighs.
By the time you got home, the sun was starting to rise. You showered quickly, washing away as much of him as you could, but the ache between your legs and in your chest remained. When Ethan called later that morning, you answered with a voice still hoarse from crying.
You told him you loved him. You lied.
Harry never texted. Never called. The silence stretched into days, then weeks. You went back to your safe comfortable life with Ethan. He went back to Lila. Leaving only ashes and the devastating knowledge that some loves were never meant to survive the morning light.
You carried him with you anyway, his touch, his silence, his absence.
A permanent scar
And every night, when you closed your eyes, you still felt him moving inside you, ignoring your tears, pretending this was enough.
It never was.
