Warnings: smut, Harry likes you calling him by his title (kinky lil shit), misogyny, slutshamming, flufffff
A/N: the tags make this seem so much more intense than it is... but this is set in the regency era... have fun!
the bridgerton collection
Summary:
Dearest Reader, as you may know some unions begin with roses and others with thorns. It appears the Duke and Duchess have managed both. Whispers flow like chiffon in the gentle breeze, whether love or ambition binds them together... that is to be seen. Rest assured!
This author has her eyes, ears and ink pots open to every thread that may unravel from their gilded love.
Yours most attentively,
Lady Whistledown
The sun has finally reached that point in the day where everything it hits is perfectly golden. Just before it sets, letting the moon prepare to shine in its dark sky. Another day has passed, and your stay in London is getting shorter by the second. Your husband, the Duke of Redditch, had no interest in staying with the ton in London after your wedding, which has already passed. He knows how everyone views you and your nuptials so he's not keen on staying much longer. He's expressed his frustrations with the men at the club and told them all to correct their nosy wives and jealous daughters. His title aided in how seriously they took his demand but not all men are invited to the club and most women are utterly in love with Lady Whistledown's lies.
You can't win against her or her words. She's tainted your reputation as a pure lady with her previous accusations; that you threw yourself at the Duke to entrap him.
The one thing you do have and what everyone envies you for is a title, not just any title you're a Duchess. It's only a slight advantage that it comes with a very handsome husband, of course. A husband who is utterly obsessed with you. He adores ravishing you, your body, any chance he gets. He spares no expense when it comes to adorning you, opulent jewels around your limbs, expensive fabrics that he sews into the most beautiful gowns for you to wear.
Above all else, he loves to watch you. Much like he is currently; Harry's eyes don't leave your form as you are sitting at your vanity getting ready to join him in bed. Your maid is delicately undoing your hairdo and you wipe your face clean with a damp cloth.
"I'll help her finish up, you may go rest" Harry's soft voice breaks the previous silence. Your maid nods before curtsying and then walking out of your shared chambers.
"Doing a maid's work? How scandalous of you, Duke Styles" You smirk as you watch your husband walk towards you in the large mirror. He only shrugs as an answer as he gently starts to untangle the shiny jewels that were nestled in your updo.
You smile to yourself as you keep washing your face and neck. You like to feel fresh before sleeping... but you have a feeling your husband isn't going to restrain himself, not tonight.
His nightwear or lack thereof is distracting you. He only wears thin cotton trousers, his upper body exposed and oh so pleasant to look at. The sunset's golden rays make his skin glow, his toned arms and torso look carved out of stone - no, marble. You have spent hours deliberately tracing every dip and curve of his body. Memorizing every scar, every freckle, the veins that poke out of his skin... He's oh so gorgeous.
"Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?" You lock gazes with him through the mirror, the honey-yellow glow in the room not hiding the sudden flush that overtakes Harry's skin.
"No, I've never gotten that one" he mutters out quickly as he reaches for your hairbrush.
"What have you gotten then?"
"I usually get mysterious, handsome, dashing... compliments in that style" his more posh composure has taken over again, trying to distract from his original flustered expression.
"Mh... I need to call you pretty more often then, or beautiful, rather, because you are" You nod to yourself, making a mental note to remind him just how much you love his appearance.
"It's not just your physical beauty my lord, you are incredibly smart and kind. You've never treated me lesser than because of my previous title, god, Harry you sew me gowns! From your own hands! There's nothing more beautiful than you" You let out a big breath after speaking, having overthought what to say and letting it out quickly.
Harry's hands stop their careful detangling with your brush and he meets your gaze again. So many thoughts are going through his mind, his eyes soft but his face tight. His eyebrows are furrowed and his lips pursed.
"You are much more beautiful than I, my dear wife" he starts, "Your flattery only proves that..." He places your hairbrush back on the vanity in front of you and bends down to speak into your ear.
"I have yet to show you your newest gown, some of my best work yet" he gently kisses the back of your ear before pulling back.
"Another?" You spin your head around to look at him directly.
"For Lady Danbury's ball, my dear, I want you to shine the brightest", he places both of his hands on your cheeks, "you are my Diamond after all" he smirks in triumph. He never lets you forget that he managed to bag the Diamond of the season, no matter how your relationship began.
"When will you let me see it?" You grab onto his wrist, balancing yourself onto him as you swing the rest of your body around to face him fully.
"Only on the day of, I have not finished it yet" Harry bends down to peck your lips delicately as they form into a pout.
"Mh... don't you want me to try it on? What if it doesn't fit right?" he tsks at your statement.
"I know your measurements perfectly by now, love" he pecks you again before walking back to sit on your shared bed.
You huff in dissatisfaction, he's only recently begun making you wait to show off his works of art and it's infuriating! Your pout deepened making him laugh.
"Such theatrics, my love" he starts, "Tomorrow we will promenade together before going to the foreign stalls they've opened in town. Then, the day after, we will have you all dolled up and ready to dance the night away. In my arms, of course, straight after that will start our journey to our Redditch property" he pats the space next to him, beckoning you over to him.
"You won't even bring me back here to help me out of my gown?" you say in a disappointed tone as you join him.
The plush mattress and covers under you immediately have fatigue wash over you, ready to burrow yourself into them. Harry's very picky when it comes to comfort you've come to realize, not sparing one expense for a softer and fluffier comforter or pillows filled with the rarest feathers.
"If you think the carriage is small enough to prevent me from... enjoying our time together you've greatly underestimated me" he wraps an arm around your waist pulling you against him.
"Maybe I have..." you tease with a bite to your bottom lip.
You used to be shy about desiring him and his touch, having thought that these thoughts were shameful. You remember how embarrassed your mother was when she first spoke about coupling with you but she thought it important to warn you. Harry, however, has made sure to help you discover this part of you. To assure that there is no shame in wanting to touch, to be touched. It's been a grand time for self-discovery.
"I'll just have to keep showing you just how much joy we can bring each other" he smirks before placing a tender kiss on your lips. "What do you want tonight? Whether it be pleasure you however you desire or merely to soothe you into slumber, I am at your service"
You take a moment to look at his face. To take in the last few rays of golden sunlight glimmering in his eyes.
"What's going through your mind, my dear wife?" he trails his fingertips on your cheek, up and down to the back of your ear and to the tip of your chin.
"Will you let me try being on top of you again?" your lips form into a pout, preventing you from biting your lip in embarrassment.
"I would let you do anything to me, you should know that by now" He presses his lips to yours in an instant.
Your hands instinctively bury themselves in his hair, tugging at his curls, desperately pulling him closer to you. His hand leaves your face and grabs onto the back of your neck, somehow deepening the kiss further. His other hand tugs the hem of your sleepwear up, revealing your legs to the room and to his wandering hand. As soon as the fabric is tugged all the way up to your waist Harry wastes no time, immediately spreading you out.
A desperate whine leaves your lips when he makes contact with your core, already damp in anticipation. You break away from the kiss, your head dropping back in pleasure, he always knows exactly how to unravel you.
"Such a gorgeous sight you are my duchess" Harry's voice has deepened in arousal. His lips trail down your neck; gently biting and kissing at your skin.
You push down the fabric covering your breast inviting his attention to them. You feel him smirk against you as he moves down to give them the attention you want. Only placing his lips around your left areola to begin, teasing you as he always does.
"More Harry" you whine as his touch ghosts at your entrance, teasing you even further.
"Tsk, you've lost your manners" he scolds playfully as he moves back up to connect his lips to yours. His teeth grazing your bottom lip slowly, a shudder making its way down your spine.
"Please, My Lord" you manage to finish your plea in a way that pleases him, if the fingers breaching inside you are anything to go by.
One of your hands lets go of his hair and shoots down to grip his wrist. Not stopping him only holding, feeling the way his forearm flexes, the loving thrusts he paces perfectly to ready you properly. Never wanting to pain you, rushing is something foreign to both of you. Why rush this?
You do start to lose patience quickly tonight, ready to try your best once more on top. You know you won't be able to last very long, your legs are not used to holding yourself up as you take him. You softly push Harry back, laying him onto the silk sheets under both of your bodies. His fingers leave you. Trailing up your body slipping the thin fabric of your nightgown up to finally rid you of it.
"So gorgeous" he praises you as his eyes stay locked onto your figure. Your body now straddling his waist, you ache with anticipation as he is still covered by his linen trousers.
"You always look at me so intensely" you gasp out as you gently start rocking your hips, only gently humping him for now.
"How could I not? You are a true blessing from above, an angel sent down for my keeping only" his hands grip your waist as he speaks. As his praises seep into your skin, carving into your heart and soul. His hands don't guide or try to help he knows that you want to truly try, he simply holds you. Holds to steady himself through his own pleasure.
You tug at his trousers, desperately needing to feel him inside you, your neediness only multiplying with every single word that he speaks, with every single touch on your skin. Harry helps you pull them off of him to then carelessly toss them to the floor.
"I want to make you feel good my Lord" you moan as you start rocking on him again. Your bare skin touching his, the maddening feeling only amplifying now that nothing is keeping you from him.
"You always do, I've never been left unsatisfied by you" Harry grabs one of your hands, the one that was grabbing onto his pectoral, and brings it to his lips. Soft kisses, delicate swipes of his tongue on your fingers, on your palm. Hypnotic, arousing, intoxicating.
You lift yourself to, finally, slip him inside of you. Breaching yourself in your most favourite of ways. Allowing yourself to succumb to your deepest desires; the deepest ones you've ever felt. Your hips seem to take control with no regard to your mental pause. The haze that's has installed in your mind as you take in the feeling of your husband. Him fully inside you, around you; his scent through your nose, his mouth still worshiping your hand, his deep breaths and noises slipping from deep within him.
"I beg of you, don't stop" he pleads. His voice is desperate and it only encourages you.
Your thighs strain quickly as you start lifting yourself, bouncing back down with your own desperation. Harry sits up wrapping his strong arms around your waist, only aiding you up when he feels your thoughts shake around his. You don't have time to scold him for his help, you can already feel yourself unravelling.
"My lord, Harry, it feels so good" you mewl out as you bring yourself down rapidly. Your left hand, the one adorned with an impressive shimmering white jewel, tangles into his curls. Your right falls to his shoulder. The strong muscle beneath your fingers is tensing with each bounce.
"Let go for me, please my Lady" Harry's voice sends an instant surge of pleasure through your body. Bringing you that much closer to your climax. What unfurls you is the feeling of his tongue on the tips of our breast. A quick sensation that completely takes over you, your legs lock and your head falls forward onto his. You can barely breathe through the last humps Harry guides you through to finish himself off.
He gently guides your body down onto the silk sheets of your shared bed. He's gone only momentarily from you to find your nightgown and his trousers.
"I did better this time didn't I?" Your voice is soft as you're already slipping into slumber.
"You were perfect my love. Always are" he kisses your forehead as he brings your body into his.
-
Promenading is one of your favourite pastimes among the London ton. Your arm is linked with your husband's, a small satchel of coins at both of your waists and a parasol held in Harry's free hand, ever the gentleman. As you stroll, you take in the gorgeous grounds beyond the markets and shops. A small pond at the center is home to two swans, their graceful necks curved towards each other in a perfect heart. You smile, imagining the two of you just like them; deeply in love and unfazed by the public's scrutiny. Soon, all the whispers and worry will be behind you, once you reach Redditch. Only a few days remain.
Many people surround you but you pay them no attention, it is not worth your energy. You merely offer polite smiles and exchange greetings when needed. You always turn your head back towards Harry and start a new conversation. Are there any willow trees at the Redditch estate? What do you think they have at the foreign stalls? Should we circle back to watch the children fly their kites?
You know these people aren't fond of you, that they see a scandal before they see anything else while looking at you. You truly hoped that after the marriage the whispers would die down or move to someone else but alas... you're still the talk of the town.
"Excuse me, My Lord and Lady Styles" you turn your head towards the voice that's called out to you. A young girl, seemingly around your age, is standing next to you. You see her chaperone gracefully rushing towards her, probably not having expected this interaction.
"Ah! Miss Bridgerton, how are you?" Your husband politely bows his head to her in greeting. You do the same waiting to be introduced, still not confident in your knowledge of the ton.
"I am fantastic, quite literally perfect" You sense a hint of sarcasm in her words, an edge that has a subtle smile grow on your face.
"My lady, this is Miss Eloise Bridgerton. Miss Bridgerton, this is my wife; Y/N Styles Duchess of Redditch" Your husband's voice is clear and polite, a clear sign that she is not one of the least kind members of the London ton.
Her name brings back a conversation you once had with Harry. That she has been shamed and humiliated by Lady Whistledown last year. That she had not left her estate, ignoring all chances to find a proper husband to make her doting mother proud. After all, her older sister has married as well as her eldest brother.
"It is grand to finally make your acquaintance, my Lady" Her smile is genuine but the tone stays the same; cheeky. A bubbly quirk to her words that you welcome, you could use a friend amongst the kill or be killed spirit in the debutante world. You don't quite fit in with the wives yet and you're too high status for the blushing singles.
"And I you Miss Bridgerton" you answer, "I'm assuming you aren't here for small talk. Your chaperonne looks panicked that you're here even just speaking with us" You're already putting walls of defence up, scared that she might turn out to be fooling you. That the other jealous women of the ton put her up to this, humiliation getting ready to strike.
If she dares to do so in front of your husband and not as sly well well-timed whispers with you alone then you might have to pat her on the back. No one has been that ballsy... yet...
"I only wish to sincerely congratulate you both" she nods to herself, "I know how... pitiful the ton can be once that scandal-loving snake writes about you" she adds as she reaches out to grab your free hand. You see her chaperone tense at the physical contact, you may not be a potential suitor but you are a lady of higher status. A quick glance at her chaperone and you see that her eyes are wide like a hawk in her tight bonnet, looking ready to drag Eloise away but the strings of her corset. The physical contact doesn't bother you, rather you welcome her kind touch.
"I have learned quickly that her word is as powerful as the Queens amongst these nobles" you sign out, content to vent to Miss Bridgerton. What's the worst that could happen? Be called a conniving whore? Check. She must find new insults soon, you'll start to think she lacks originality if you're called that again.
"A quick learner! We definitely need more of those" your arm is shaken lightly as Miss Bridgerton answers you.
"I'm glad that you came to speak to us, Miss Bridgerton," you tell her sincerely. Finally finding a friend through the crowds of foes feels better than you could have anticipated.
"Please, my Lady, our tarnished reputations have bonded us! Call me Eloise, it suits me better than a title" she scoffs comically, "believe me" she drags on her last word. You chuckle and nod to her.
"Then please call me Y/N, Eloise. My title has only been mine for a sunset or two" you squeeze her hand in reassurance. Friendship, alliance. Before either of you can keep the conversation going, your husband (still carefully holding the parasol over your head) clears his throat to grab your attention.
"Your title has been yours much longer than that, beloved" he smirks when your face reddens in surprise, "It always has been even before we met on that terrasse" Swoon! This man and his way with words, hypnotizing.
"We were having a moment, my Lord" Eloise playfully rolls her eyes. Already comfortable around you both. Titles be damned.
"Yes, my lord, keep the flattery for when we are only accompanied by the sunlight" You smile at him, already loving the playful expression that grows on his face. Teasing him is your second favourite thing. Only bested by complimenting him to your heart's desire.
"I will leave you now, Mama will lose her head if she learns I've kept you any longer" Eloise straightens herself and nods to her still uncomfortable chaperone.
"Will you be at the ball tonight?" you ask before she goes back to her family.
"Unfortunately" she cringes, "Save a dance for me! It is my duty to show the Duchess a great time" she teases one last time before gracefully excusing herself.
You watch her leave with a smile still on your face. Finally, someone who seems to want to know you. To know more about the diamond that has been locked away so quickly, the untouchable jewel. You want more people to know about your true self not the one on paper and about how adoring your husband is. Why must you only be seen as a polished and sacred diamond?
"That went well" Harry gently kissed the crown of your head. You turn your head towards him, a content expression overtaking your face.
"I think so," you nod "She seems sweet and very lively" You walk forward again, lighter in spirit, ready to face the market's crowds with Harry at your side and Eloise's warm spirit still lingering.
You tell yourself you'll stop caring what they say... and for the first time, you almost believe it.
-
The hustle and bustle of the market is extremely inviting. You want to stop at every shop, linger at each stall, and spend the coins you have too quickly. Silks imported from proud merchants, rare jewels that shimmer in the sunlight, spices so rich they make your mouth water they swirl around together to create an atmosphere perfectly unique to the foreign markets.
"Come, my love. I want you to pick the fabrics for your next gown" Harry speaks softly as he gently guides you with a hand on the small of your back to a particular stall.
"Another? Already, My Lord?" you ask in shock, "I have not yet worn your latest piece"
He smiles, tender and a little amused, "Is planning ahead forbidden? I would make your entire wardrobe if I had the time"
To conceal your embarrassingly smitten expression you turn to the stunning array of fabrics in front of you. You're looking at every colour, every shade with a meticulous eye. You know how serious Harry is about his claim so you want to make sure you pick a stunning fabric. A pale cream silk catches your eye; it's golden shimmer reflecting in the sun's rays that crept throw the makeshift cover above you. You carefully pull your glove off, draping it atop your other arm as you reach out to feel the fabric. It's soft under your fingertips a daydream about it being draped around your form quickly flashing in your mind.
As you turn to ask for Harry's opinion a small boy comes barrelling into the market, "New Whistledown article! 'A stylish fall' and 'How bright the moon' fresh off the prints" his high-pitched voice attracts the focus. Young women and chatty debutants rush to him golden coins handed to him at a rapid pace.
You turn back to the task at hand not interested in reading what the crude Lady has invented this time. You have no interest in lies and fabrication at anyone's expense and you won't support it. Especially after your pleasant chat with Eloise, she too personally understands your distaste.
"How about this one My Lord? It's practically glowing" You turn towards your husband, his focus is already on you.
He smiles, "I think it'll look even better on you, good choice my dear" he nods and waves the merchant over to pay her for the fabric.
An unusual hush takes over the crowd. You don't realize until you turn to look at what other stalls you want to stop at. An uncomfortable number of eyes are on you and Harry, not the usual glances, but strangely analytical eyes. You spot the Brigerton family ushering their youngest debutante, Francesca, away. Eloise stays back a few moments more seemingly undecided on whether she should stay or not. One of her brothers ends up tugging her arms and dragging her with them. She ends up dropping the article at her feet, only a few steps away from you. Curiosity wins.
A Stylish Fall
Every great house bears its secrets. Some are buried in vaults. Others in discreet deals in gentlemen's clubs. Some even wear theirs in velvet stitched with pearls.
The marriage between the Duke of Redditch and his bride (the ever discussed and often envied Duchess) was by all means a swift affair. A courtship practically skipped past for a royally endorsed wedding. Some wonder if affection truly blossomed or was there a connivence to it all? For whom, you ask?
Let us consider: His grace, an undeniably handsome man, has been observed indulging in rather a unusual pastime. Not fencing. Not horse riding. Not even hunting. But, prepare yourselves, gentle readers, fashion design. You may think of tailoring but no, dressmaking. Yes, it is said that the duke sews gowns for his wife. Chooses fabrics. Embroiders lace and with alarming frequency, too. Might you find a glimpse of the Duchess make sure to look at stitches, our dear Madame Delacroix was not the maker.
One must ask... where is the Duke we once knew? The brooding heir, the proud bachelor who commanded attention when walking into any room? Why has he now reduced himself to threading silk and measuring waists?
And let us not forget: those who marry quickly often regret slowly.
Has the new Duchess thrown herself into a convenient position? Her family and title from modest means suddenly become worthy of such a meteoric rise. From a regular lady to a duchess draped in hand-stitched silk. Is she truly enamoured with our overtly abundant Duke, or was the acceptance pure strategy?
Whispers have begun in more exclusive circles, about His Grace. That a man so keen on burying his hands in needles and gemstones may not be entirely focused on matters more fitting for his status. Perhaps he's playing dress-up as a distraction for something deeper...
Time will tell if the stitches are loosening at the seams.
- Yours, Lady Whistledown
Your vision is blurry as you finish reading. The second part is forgotten when her signature stares at you. Provoking you. You want to rip it to shreds, spit on it and throw it in the writer's face. If only you knew who was writing these insulting words. Harry, keeping himself from his "fitting duties"? Ridiculous! He takes pride in his title and in his devotion to you. To have both questioned is blasphemy. Your hands are visibly shaking as you glance back up at the ton. The way they are waiting for a reaction out of you, for you to step out of line.
You can't break here, not now.
You square your shoulders and slip your glove back on. Without meaning to, you harshly stuff the article into your coin pouch. Harry noticed the movement as he handed over the coins to pay for the silk you had chosen. Gesturing for the footman to grab his purchase he turns his full attention to you.
"My love, what's got you so shaken? Are you getting hungry?" he asks gently, grabbing your hand in his.
You gesture to the crowd in front of you, "She's written about us again. about the dresses" you whisper to him. His eyes widen slightly, realizing that they are all scrutinizing. Judging. Not only whispering and laughing but fully unnerved by what's been written.
"Let's head home for the day, I can't wait any longer to see you in my newest piece" he tugs you back to where you walked into the market. Your heart squeezes at his words. He doesn't know it. He doesn't know that one of your favourite things is now being used against him. You follow him, readying yourself for when you'll have to hand him the article.
-
The second you enter Lady Danbury's ballroom, the hush is deafening.
The musicians don't stop but the guests do. The dances and the mingling halted. The glances you receive up and down, to your husband and to your tightly clasped hands make you stand straighter. Your parents, little brother and newborn sister won't be in attendance. They are taking care of your mother who's just given birth, the finale is complete. It feels like you're walking through water as you make your way down the few steps to the dance floor.
And then someone gasps.
Because of your gown, stitched in gold, it catches just perfectly the chandelier's light. You're practically glowing. No one looks away.
Harry is the picture of stoic beside you. His shoulders squared, stood tall and his expression sharp. You think of the sentences written trying to belittle his work. How his hands sewed this masterpiece of a dress. If only they knew how careful his hands were for you, how passionate.
Lady Danbury herself comes to greet you. Mischief and respect in her expression.
"Well, if it isn't London's most scandalous seamstress and his doting chef-d'Ćuvre" her voice is dry, as is most likely her glass of champagne, "You both wear scandal exceptionally well" There is a hint of teasing in her tone. Testing you both most likely.
"I hope it's enough to silence the fiction," you tell her, head held higher. She nods with a smile and gestures to the refreshments, putting an end to your short conversation.
You find Eloise pouring herself a glass of punch as you walk over. She lingers by you when she sees that you're next to her. She has a guilty expression on her face that you can't truly decipher. She turns to you, hesitantly.
"I didn't know she could... twist this the way she did," Eloise says, voice barely above a whisper. "That she would insult the Duke's, um, masculinity"
"I guess she'll hurt whoever the way she pleases..." you reply softly. "We can only control how we react to it"
Before she can answer you, a booming voice is heard.
"Her Majesty the Queen!"
Gasps ripple through the ton and the musicians come to a screeching halt. The Queen's appearance is definitely unexpected tonight. Especially not after the articles that have been published today.
The Queen steps in regal as ever, violet silk with a diamond collar that reflects light into her analyzing gaze. Her eyes scan the crowd and quickly settle on you.
Her descent is graceful, as she always is, she nods politely to Lady Danbury as she walks by her but doesn't stop until she is in front of you and your husband.
"Your Grace," she speaks to you directly (in a tone far louder than necessary) "Beautiful work this gown... French lace?" she speaks purposefully. She wants everyone to hear.
"English stitching, Your Majesty," Harry says, voice calm but clear, pride in his hold around your waist "Every inch"
"Ah, but of course" Her gaze shifts to him, "And what must one do for an exclusive piece?" she asks him. Her expression is unreadable, intimidating.
"It's an honour you ask, Your Majesty, however, I have but one muse" he nods politely and squeezes you against him. Your side now stuck to his.
She looks at you both up and down once, twice before finally smiling.
"I understand now, a man with such talent is inspired by love and love only" She looks around the ballroom with a scrutinized face.
"It's a shame my gold can't inspire you as much" she squints her eyes playfully. "Now, if you'll allow me to have the Duchess's first dance this evening"
Harry nods, kisses the back of your gloved hand and transfers it to the Queen's hold. You curtsy as she takes your hand in hers, deep and respectful.
She gracefully guides you to the center of the dance floor, the musicians quickly start a new song. She guides you skilfully without a hint of hesitation.
"Has the Duke truly done all of this himself or was that simply a poetic branding?" Her voice is low, now wanting this conversation between you.
"Every stitch, Your Majesty" You're quick to defend him, "He pours himself into every inch" She studies you and the delicate embroidery at your neckline.
"Then you have something rare, Duchess. A man bold enough to follow only his own expectations is rare among these people" she sneers at some of the overtly curious onlookers. They flush in embarrassment and turn away.
The Queen's hands and commanding but not harsh. She gently guides you to the next steps, and you feel more like her equal than her subject.
"Lady Whistledown" she starts, her voice now barely above a whisper "is starting to go too far. She must have grown confident. Her pen is growing reckless"
You look around trying to see if she's singling anyone out.
"You must be wondering who she is" she adds. You blink up at her, nodding slightly.
"Would you like to help me find her?"
Your breath catches, she's not teasing or testing you. This is a true question. She is asking if you want to join her hunt for the author.
You see strategy and power in her eyes. She is determined, this woman before you is used to playing the long game and winning.
"I would" you answer her.
She offers you a satisfied hum and a smile in response.
"Your duke better have you dressed ready for the hunt next time" She twirls you effortlessly and curtsies as the last notes are played. Around you, the tonâs eyes watch every inch, every move, every breath you take as she walks away.
You return to Harry with a tight smile but it is not from nerves. From the knowledge that something bigger has shifted tonight. Something important.
Harry pulls you close and hands you a glass of punch. The cool liquid feels great, cooling your overheating body. So much attention does make you grow warm.
"Was anything scandalous discussed, beloved? Or was she asking about the jewels in your hair?" he teases you. You look up at him in a little daze but a smile grows on your face nonetheless.
"She wants to find Lady Whistledown, she's asked for my help" you tell him honestly. No lies needed between you.
Harry let's out a breath. Shocked? Proud? Aroused? You suddenly hold so much power. He looks impressed.
"Then we must find you a dress for battle" he brushed your cheek.
"In gold?" you tease.
"In armour" he answers proudly.
-
You haven't spoken much since leaving Lady Danbury's ball shortly after the Queen's appearance. Well, only after your husband twirled you around the dance floor a few times to show off your glowing gown.
The tons' eyes never left you, the gown bathed in candlelight made you glow more than the sun at full peak. Jealousy and envy rained but all well concealed behind fluttering fans.
"She asked for your first dance" Harry is the one to break the silence in the carriage. His hand clasped in yours, now bare without your golden gloves.
"She did" You turn to look at him. His profile is softly illuminated by the lantern swinging outside the carriage.
"She did it publicly, called my work beautiful" There's a smile in his voice. If you weren't looking at him so attentively you still would have known his smile was there. The smallest laugh escapes you, endeared by his joyful expression.
"She did more than that, My Lord!" You gently turn his face toward you with your free hand. "She silenced the whispers, for a short moment everyone bowed to us" You smiled wildly.
"We owe her our gratitude" he answers softly and leans his head back on the soft cushions behind you both. You hesitate for a moment, not sure if you want to break the light atmosphere. But you have to ask.
"Do you think it will last?"
"No, but now there might be something we can do to keep it" he sighs as he delicately rubs his thumb around your palm.
"Let them talk, let her write" his voice is firm, "So long as we stand together in the face of her scrutiny we will last longer than any scandal she stirs" he brings your hands up and kisses your knuckles.
Silence falls again. Your mind goes back to the dance you had with the Queen, the mission you joined, Eloise's friendship, the crowd parting for you even if just for a moment. You will fight for the man beside you, you will wear his creations born of love and you will win.
"I don't want to leave," you say, "Not yet"
Harry immediately knocks on the roof of the carriage halting it.
He turns to you and places a hand on your cheek, he waits for you to keep going.
"I want to stay, a little longer. This with the Queen is unfinished. I want to drown out the whispers entirely" you finish. He looks at you, scans yo ur expression.
"Then we will stay. I'll send word to Redditch first thing in the morning" he places a kiss on your forehead.
He slides the panel open and tells the footmen to head for your London property. You sign and lean against him when he closes it back up.
"I'm sorry your art, the gowns, are being used against you" you murmur, unsure if it means anything.
"They've never been for them, only for you" he leans his head against yours.
You close your eyes in satisfaction, squeezing his hand.
London can keep watching and whispering. You have no intention of letting them win.
Warnings: smut, Harry likes you calling him by his title (kinky lil shit), misogyny, slutshamming, flufffff
A/N: the tags make this seem so much more intense than it is... but this is set in the regency era... have fun!
the bridgerton collection
Summary:
Dearest Reader, as you may know some unions begin with roses and others with thorns. It appears the Duke and Duchess have managed both. Whispers flow like chiffon in the gentle breeze, whether love or ambition binds them together... that is to be seen. Rest assured!
This author has her eyes, ears and ink pots open to every thread that may unravel from their gilded love.
Yours most attentively,
Lady Whistledown
The sun has finally reached that point in the day where everything it hits is perfectly golden. Just before it sets, letting the moon prepare to shine in its dark sky. Another day has passed, and your stay in London is getting shorter by the second. Your husband, the Duke of Redditch, had no interest in staying with the ton in London after your wedding, which has already passed. He knows how everyone views you and your nuptials so he's not keen on staying much longer. He's expressed his frustrations with the men at the club and told them all to correct their nosy wives and jealous daughters. His title aided in how seriously they took his demand but not all men are invited to the club and most women are utterly in love with Lady Whistledown's lies.
You can't win against her or her words. She's tainted your reputation as a pure lady with her previous accusations; that you threw yourself at the Duke to entrap him.
The one thing you do have and what everyone envies you for is a title, not just any title you're a Duchess. It's only a slight advantage that it comes with a very handsome husband, of course. A husband who is utterly obsessed with you. He adores ravishing you, your body, any chance he gets. He spares no expense when it comes to adorning you, opulent jewels around your limbs, expensive fabrics that he sews into the most beautiful gowns for you to wear.
Above all else, he loves to watch you. Much like he is currently; Harry's eyes don't leave your form as you are sitting at your vanity getting ready to join him in bed. Your maid is delicately undoing your hairdo and you wipe your face clean with a damp cloth.
"I'll help her finish up, you may go rest" Harry's soft voice breaks the previous silence. Your maid nods before curtsying and then walking out of your shared chambers.
"Doing a maid's work? How scandalous of you, Duke Styles" You smirk as you watch your husband walk towards you in the large mirror. He only shrugs as an answer as he gently starts to untangle the shiny jewels that were nestled in your updo.
You smile to yourself as you keep washing your face and neck. You like to feel fresh before sleeping... but you have a feeling your husband isn't going to restrain himself, not tonight.
His nightwear or lack thereof is distracting you. He only wears thin cotton trousers, his upper body exposed and oh so pleasant to look at. The sunset's golden rays make his skin glow, his toned arms and torso look carved out of stone - no, marble. You have spent hours deliberately tracing every dip and curve of his body. Memorizing every scar, every freckle, the veins that poke out of his skin... He's oh so gorgeous.
"Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?" You lock gazes with him through the mirror, the honey-yellow glow in the room not hiding the sudden flush that overtakes Harry's skin.
"No, I've never gotten that one" he mutters out quickly as he reaches for your hairbrush.
"What have you gotten then?"
"I usually get mysterious, handsome, dashing... compliments in that style" his more posh composure has taken over again, trying to distract from his original flustered expression.
"Mh... I need to call you pretty more often then, or beautiful, rather, because you are" You nod to yourself, making a mental note to remind him just how much you love his appearance.
"It's not just your physical beauty my lord, you are incredibly smart and kind. You've never treated me lesser than because of my previous title, god, Harry you sew me gowns! From your own hands! There's nothing more beautiful than you" You let out a big breath after speaking, having overthought what to say and letting it out quickly.
Harry's hands stop their careful detangling with your brush and he meets your gaze again. So many thoughts are going through his mind, his eyes soft but his face tight. His eyebrows are furrowed and his lips pursed.
"You are much more beautiful than I, my dear wife" he starts, "Your flattery only proves that..." He places your hairbrush back on the vanity in front of you and bends down to speak into your ear.
"I have yet to show you your newest gown, some of my best work yet" he gently kisses the back of your ear before pulling back.
"Another?" You spin your head around to look at him directly.
"For Lady Danbury's ball, my dear, I want you to shine the brightest", he places both of his hands on your cheeks, "you are my Diamond after all" he smirks in triumph. He never lets you forget that he managed to bag the Diamond of the season, no matter how your relationship began.
"When will you let me see it?" You grab onto his wrist, balancing yourself onto him as you swing the rest of your body around to face him fully.
"Only on the day of, I have not finished it yet" Harry bends down to peck your lips delicately as they form into a pout.
"Mh... don't you want me to try it on? What if it doesn't fit right?" he tsks at your statement.
"I know your measurements perfectly by now, love" he pecks you again before walking back to sit on your shared bed.
You huff in dissatisfaction, he's only recently begun making you wait to show off his works of art and it's infuriating! Your pout deepened making him laugh.
"Such theatrics, my love" he starts, "Tomorrow we will promenade together before going to the foreign stalls they've opened in town. Then, the day after, we will have you all dolled up and ready to dance the night away. In my arms, of course, straight after that will start our journey to our Redditch property" he pats the space next to him, beckoning you over to him.
"You won't even bring me back here to help me out of my gown?" you say in a disappointed tone as you join him.
The plush mattress and covers under you immediately have fatigue wash over you, ready to burrow yourself into them. Harry's very picky when it comes to comfort you've come to realize, not sparing one expense for a softer and fluffier comforter or pillows filled with the rarest feathers.
"If you think the carriage is small enough to prevent me from... enjoying our time together you've greatly underestimated me" he wraps an arm around your waist pulling you against him.
"Maybe I have..." you tease with a bite to your bottom lip.
You used to be shy about desiring him and his touch, having thought that these thoughts were shameful. You remember how embarrassed your mother was when she first spoke about coupling with you but she thought it important to warn you. Harry, however, has made sure to help you discover this part of you. To assure that there is no shame in wanting to touch, to be touched. It's been a grand time for self-discovery.
"I'll just have to keep showing you just how much joy we can bring each other" he smirks before placing a tender kiss on your lips. "What do you want tonight? Whether it be pleasure you however you desire or merely to soothe you into slumber, I am at your service"
You take a moment to look at his face. To take in the last few rays of golden sunlight glimmering in his eyes.
"What's going through your mind, my dear wife?" he trails his fingertips on your cheek, up and down to the back of your ear and to the tip of your chin.
"Will you let me try being on top of you again?" your lips form into a pout, preventing you from biting your lip in embarrassment.
"I would let you do anything to me, you should know that by now" He presses his lips to yours in an instant.
Your hands instinctively bury themselves in his hair, tugging at his curls, desperately pulling him closer to you. His hand leaves your face and grabs onto the back of your neck, somehow deepening the kiss further. His other hand tugs the hem of your sleepwear up, revealing your legs to the room and to his wandering hand. As soon as the fabric is tugged all the way up to your waist Harry wastes no time, immediately spreading you out.
A desperate whine leaves your lips when he makes contact with your core, already damp in anticipation. You break away from the kiss, your head dropping back in pleasure, he always knows exactly how to unravel you.
"Such a gorgeous sight you are my duchess" Harry's voice has deepened in arousal. His lips trail down your neck; gently biting and kissing at your skin.
You push down the fabric covering your breast inviting his attention to them. You feel him smirk against you as he moves down to give them the attention you want. Only placing his lips around your left areola to begin, teasing you as he always does.
"More Harry" you whine as his touch ghosts at your entrance, teasing you even further.
"Tsk, you've lost your manners" he scolds playfully as he moves back up to connect his lips to yours. His teeth grazing your bottom lip slowly, a shudder making its way down your spine.
"Please, My Lord" you manage to finish your plea in a way that pleases him, if the fingers breaching inside you are anything to go by.
One of your hands lets go of his hair and shoots down to grip his wrist. Not stopping him only holding, feeling the way his forearm flexes, the loving thrusts he paces perfectly to ready you properly. Never wanting to pain you, rushing is something foreign to both of you. Why rush this?
You do start to lose patience quickly tonight, ready to try your best once more on top. You know you won't be able to last very long, your legs are not used to holding yourself up as you take him. You softly push Harry back, laying him onto the silk sheets under both of your bodies. His fingers leave you. Trailing up your body slipping the thin fabric of your nightgown up to finally rid you of it.
"So gorgeous" he praises you as his eyes stay locked onto your figure. Your body now straddling his waist, you ache with anticipation as he is still covered by his linen trousers.
"You always look at me so intensely" you gasp out as you gently start rocking your hips, only gently humping him for now.
"How could I not? You are a true blessing from above, an angel sent down for my keeping only" his hands grip your waist as he speaks. As his praises seep into your skin, carving into your heart and soul. His hands don't guide or try to help he knows that you want to truly try, he simply holds you. Holds to steady himself through his own pleasure.
You tug at his trousers, desperately needing to feel him inside you, your neediness only multiplying with every single word that he speaks, with every single touch on your skin. Harry helps you pull them off of him to then carelessly toss them to the floor.
"I want to make you feel good my Lord" you moan as you start rocking on him again. Your bare skin touching his, the maddening feeling only amplifying now that nothing is keeping you from him.
"You always do, I've never been left unsatisfied by you" Harry grabs one of your hands, the one that was grabbing onto his pectoral, and brings it to his lips. Soft kisses, delicate swipes of his tongue on your fingers, on your palm. Hypnotic, arousing, intoxicating.
You lift yourself to, finally, slip him inside of you. Breaching yourself in your most favourite of ways. Allowing yourself to succumb to your deepest desires; the deepest ones you've ever felt. Your hips seem to take control with no regard to your mental pause. The haze that's has installed in your mind as you take in the feeling of your husband. Him fully inside you, around you; his scent through your nose, his mouth still worshiping your hand, his deep breaths and noises slipping from deep within him.
"I beg of you, don't stop" he pleads. His voice is desperate and it only encourages you.
Your thighs strain quickly as you start lifting yourself, bouncing back down with your own desperation. Harry sits up wrapping his strong arms around your waist, only aiding you up when he feels your thoughts shake around his. You don't have time to scold him for his help, you can already feel yourself unravelling.
"My lord, Harry, it feels so good" you mewl out as you bring yourself down rapidly. Your left hand, the one adorned with an impressive shimmering white jewel, tangles into his curls. Your right falls to his shoulder. The strong muscle beneath your fingers is tensing with each bounce.
"Let go for me, please my Lady" Harry's voice sends an instant surge of pleasure through your body. Bringing you that much closer to your climax. What unfurls you is the feeling of his tongue on the tips of our breast. A quick sensation that completely takes over you, your legs lock and your head falls forward onto his. You can barely breathe through the last humps Harry guides you through to finish himself off.
He gently guides your body down onto the silk sheets of your shared bed. He's gone only momentarily from you to find your nightgown and his trousers.
"I did better this time didn't I?" Your voice is soft as you're already slipping into slumber.
"You were perfect my love. Always are" he kisses your forehead as he brings your body into his.
-
Promenading is one of your favourite pastimes among the London ton. Your arm is linked with your husband's, a small satchel of coins at both of your waists and a parasol held in Harry's free hand, ever the gentleman. As you stroll, you take in the gorgeous grounds beyond the markets and shops. A small pond at the center is home to two swans, their graceful necks curved towards each other in a perfect heart. You smile, imagining the two of you just like them; deeply in love and unfazed by the public's scrutiny. Soon, all the whispers and worry will be behind you, once you reach Redditch. Only a few days remain.
Many people surround you but you pay them no attention, it is not worth your energy. You merely offer polite smiles and exchange greetings when needed. You always turn your head back towards Harry and start a new conversation. Are there any willow trees at the Redditch estate? What do you think they have at the foreign stalls? Should we circle back to watch the children fly their kites?
You know these people aren't fond of you, that they see a scandal before they see anything else while looking at you. You truly hoped that after the marriage the whispers would die down or move to someone else but alas... you're still the talk of the town.
"Excuse me, My Lord and Lady Styles" you turn your head towards the voice that's called out to you. A young girl, seemingly around your age, is standing next to you. You see her chaperone gracefully rushing towards her, probably not having expected this interaction.
"Ah! Miss Bridgerton, how are you?" Your husband politely bows his head to her in greeting. You do the same waiting to be introduced, still not confident in your knowledge of the ton.
"I am fantastic, quite literally perfect" You sense a hint of sarcasm in her words, an edge that has a subtle smile grow on your face.
"My lady, this is Miss Eloise Bridgerton. Miss Bridgerton, this is my wife; Y/N Styles Duchess of Redditch" Your husband's voice is clear and polite, a clear sign that she is not one of the least kind members of the London ton.
Her name brings back a conversation you once had with Harry. That she has been shamed and humiliated by Lady Whistledown last year. That she had not left her estate, ignoring all chances to find a proper husband to make her doting mother proud. After all, her older sister has married as well as her eldest brother.
"It is grand to finally make your acquaintance, my Lady" Her smile is genuine but the tone stays the same; cheeky. A bubbly quirk to her words that you welcome, you could use a friend amongst the kill or be killed spirit in the debutante world. You don't quite fit in with the wives yet and you're too high status for the blushing singles.
"And I you Miss Bridgerton" you answer, "I'm assuming you aren't here for small talk. Your chaperonne looks panicked that you're here even just speaking with us" You're already putting walls of defence up, scared that she might turn out to be fooling you. That the other jealous women of the ton put her up to this, humiliation getting ready to strike.
If she dares to do so in front of your husband and not as sly well well-timed whispers with you alone then you might have to pat her on the back. No one has been that ballsy... yet...
"I only wish to sincerely congratulate you both" she nods to herself, "I know how... pitiful the ton can be once that scandal-loving snake writes about you" she adds as she reaches out to grab your free hand. You see her chaperone tense at the physical contact, you may not be a potential suitor but you are a lady of higher status. A quick glance at her chaperone and you see that her eyes are wide like a hawk in her tight bonnet, looking ready to drag Eloise away but the strings of her corset. The physical contact doesn't bother you, rather you welcome her kind touch.
"I have learned quickly that her word is as powerful as the Queens amongst these nobles" you sign out, content to vent to Miss Bridgerton. What's the worst that could happen? Be called a conniving whore? Check. She must find new insults soon, you'll start to think she lacks originality if you're called that again.
"A quick learner! We definitely need more of those" your arm is shaken lightly as Miss Bridgerton answers you.
"I'm glad that you came to speak to us, Miss Bridgerton," you tell her sincerely. Finally finding a friend through the crowds of foes feels better than you could have anticipated.
"Please, my Lady, our tarnished reputations have bonded us! Call me Eloise, it suits me better than a title" she scoffs comically, "believe me" she drags on her last word. You chuckle and nod to her.
"Then please call me Y/N, Eloise. My title has only been mine for a sunset or two" you squeeze her hand in reassurance. Friendship, alliance. Before either of you can keep the conversation going, your husband (still carefully holding the parasol over your head) clears his throat to grab your attention.
"Your title has been yours much longer than that, beloved" he smirks when your face reddens in surprise, "It always has been even before we met on that terrasse" Swoon! This man and his way with words, hypnotizing.
"We were having a moment, my Lord" Eloise playfully rolls her eyes. Already comfortable around you both. Titles be damned.
"Yes, my lord, keep the flattery for when we are only accompanied by the sunlight" You smile at him, already loving the playful expression that grows on his face. Teasing him is your second favourite thing. Only bested by complimenting him to your heart's desire.
"I will leave you now, Mama will lose her head if she learns I've kept you any longer" Eloise straightens herself and nods to her still uncomfortable chaperone.
"Will you be at the ball tonight?" you ask before she goes back to her family.
"Unfortunately" she cringes, "Save a dance for me! It is my duty to show the Duchess a great time" she teases one last time before gracefully excusing herself.
You watch her leave with a smile still on your face. Finally, someone who seems to want to know you. To know more about the diamond that has been locked away so quickly, the untouchable jewel. You want more people to know about your true self not the one on paper and about how adoring your husband is. Why must you only be seen as a polished and sacred diamond?
"That went well" Harry gently kissed the crown of your head. You turn your head towards him, a content expression overtaking your face.
"I think so," you nod "She seems sweet and very lively" You walk forward again, lighter in spirit, ready to face the market's crowds with Harry at your side and Eloise's warm spirit still lingering.
You tell yourself you'll stop caring what they say... and for the first time, you almost believe it.
-
The hustle and bustle of the market is extremely inviting. You want to stop at every shop, linger at each stall, and spend the coins you have too quickly. Silks imported from proud merchants, rare jewels that shimmer in the sunlight, spices so rich they make your mouth water they swirl around together to create an atmosphere perfectly unique to the foreign markets.
"Come, my love. I want you to pick the fabrics for your next gown" Harry speaks softly as he gently guides you with a hand on the small of your back to a particular stall.
"Another? Already, My Lord?" you ask in shock, "I have not yet worn your latest piece"
He smiles, tender and a little amused, "Is planning ahead forbidden? I would make your entire wardrobe if I had the time"
To conceal your embarrassingly smitten expression you turn to the stunning array of fabrics in front of you. You're looking at every colour, every shade with a meticulous eye. You know how serious Harry is about his claim so you want to make sure you pick a stunning fabric. A pale cream silk catches your eye; it's golden shimmer reflecting in the sun's rays that crept throw the makeshift cover above you. You carefully pull your glove off, draping it atop your other arm as you reach out to feel the fabric. It's soft under your fingertips a daydream about it being draped around your form quickly flashing in your mind.
As you turn to ask for Harry's opinion a small boy comes barrelling into the market, "New Whistledown article! 'A stylish fall' and 'How bright the moon' fresh off the prints" his high-pitched voice attracts the focus. Young women and chatty debutants rush to him golden coins handed to him at a rapid pace.
You turn back to the task at hand not interested in reading what the crude Lady has invented this time. You have no interest in lies and fabrication at anyone's expense and you won't support it. Especially after your pleasant chat with Eloise, she too personally understands your distaste.
"How about this one My Lord? It's practically glowing" You turn towards your husband, his focus is already on you.
He smiles, "I think it'll look even better on you, good choice my dear" he nods and waves the merchant over to pay her for the fabric.
An unusual hush takes over the crowd. You don't realize until you turn to look at what other stalls you want to stop at. An uncomfortable number of eyes are on you and Harry, not the usual glances, but strangely analytical eyes. You spot the Brigerton family ushering their youngest debutante, Francesca, away. Eloise stays back a few moments more seemingly undecided on whether she should stay or not. One of her brothers ends up tugging her arms and dragging her with them. She ends up dropping the article at her feet, only a few steps away from you. Curiosity wins.
A Stylish Fall
Every great house bears its secrets. Some are buried in vaults. Others in discreet deals in gentlemen's clubs. Some even wear theirs in velvet stitched with pearls.
The marriage between the Duke of Redditch and his bride (the ever discussed and often envied Duchess) was by all means a swift affair. A courtship practically skipped past for a royally endorsed wedding. Some wonder if affection truly blossomed or was there a connivence to it all? For whom, you ask?
Let us consider: His grace, an undeniably handsome man, has been observed indulging in rather a unusual pastime. Not fencing. Not horse riding. Not even hunting. But, prepare yourselves, gentle readers, fashion design. You may think of tailoring but no, dressmaking. Yes, it is said that the duke sews gowns for his wife. Chooses fabrics. Embroiders lace and with alarming frequency, too. Might you find a glimpse of the Duchess make sure to look at stitches, our dear Madame Delacroix was not the maker.
One must ask... where is the Duke we once knew? The brooding heir, the proud bachelor who commanded attention when walking into any room? Why has he now reduced himself to threading silk and measuring waists?
And let us not forget: those who marry quickly often regret slowly.
Has the new Duchess thrown herself into a convenient position? Her family and title from modest means suddenly become worthy of such a meteoric rise. From a regular lady to a duchess draped in hand-stitched silk. Is she truly enamoured with our overtly abundant Duke, or was the acceptance pure strategy?
Whispers have begun in more exclusive circles, about His Grace. That a man so keen on burying his hands in needles and gemstones may not be entirely focused on matters more fitting for his status. Perhaps he's playing dress-up as a distraction for something deeper...
Time will tell if the stitches are loosening at the seams.
- Yours, Lady Whistledown
Your vision is blurry as you finish reading. The second part is forgotten when her signature stares at you. Provoking you. You want to rip it to shreds, spit on it and throw it in the writer's face. If only you knew who was writing these insulting words. Harry, keeping himself from his "fitting duties"? Ridiculous! He takes pride in his title and in his devotion to you. To have both questioned is blasphemy. Your hands are visibly shaking as you glance back up at the ton. The way they are waiting for a reaction out of you, for you to step out of line.
You can't break here, not now.
You square your shoulders and slip your glove back on. Without meaning to, you harshly stuff the article into your coin pouch. Harry noticed the movement as he handed over the coins to pay for the silk you had chosen. Gesturing for the footman to grab his purchase he turns his full attention to you.
"My love, what's got you so shaken? Are you getting hungry?" he asks gently, grabbing your hand in his.
You gesture to the crowd in front of you, "She's written about us again. about the dresses" you whisper to him. His eyes widen slightly, realizing that they are all scrutinizing. Judging. Not only whispering and laughing but fully unnerved by what's been written.
"Let's head home for the day, I can't wait any longer to see you in my newest piece" he tugs you back to where you walked into the market. Your heart squeezes at his words. He doesn't know it. He doesn't know that one of your favourite things is now being used against him. You follow him, readying yourself for when you'll have to hand him the article.
-
The second you enter Lady Danbury's ballroom, the hush is deafening.
The musicians don't stop but the guests do. The dances and the mingling halted. The glances you receive up and down, to your husband and to your tightly clasped hands make you stand straighter. Your parents, little brother and newborn sister won't be in attendance. They are taking care of your mother who's just given birth, the finale is complete. It feels like you're walking through water as you make your way down the few steps to the dance floor.
And then someone gasps.
Because of your gown, stitched in gold, it catches just perfectly the chandelier's light. You're practically glowing. No one looks away.
Harry is the picture of stoic beside you. His shoulders squared, stood tall and his expression sharp. You think of the sentences written trying to belittle his work. How his hands sewed this masterpiece of a dress. If only they knew how careful his hands were for you, how passionate.
Lady Danbury herself comes to greet you. Mischief and respect in her expression.
"Well, if it isn't London's most scandalous seamstress and his doting chef-d'Ćuvre" her voice is dry, as is most likely her glass of champagne, "You both wear scandal exceptionally well" There is a hint of teasing in her tone. Testing you both most likely.
"I hope it's enough to silence the fiction," you tell her, head held higher. She nods with a smile and gestures to the refreshments, putting an end to your short conversation.
You find Eloise pouring herself a glass of punch as you walk over. She lingers by you when she sees that you're next to her. She has a guilty expression on her face that you can't truly decipher. She turns to you, hesitantly.
"I didn't know she could... twist this the way she did," Eloise says, voice barely above a whisper. "That she would insult the Duke's, um, masculinity"
"I guess she'll hurt whoever the way she pleases..." you reply softly. "We can only control how we react to it"
Before she can answer you, a booming voice is heard.
"Her Majesty the Queen!"
Gasps ripple through the ton and the musicians come to a screeching halt. The Queen's appearance is definitely unexpected tonight. Especially not after the articles that have been published today.
The Queen steps in regal as ever, violet silk with a diamond collar that reflects light into her analyzing gaze. Her eyes scan the crowd and quickly settle on you.
Her descent is graceful, as she always is, she nods politely to Lady Danbury as she walks by her but doesn't stop until she is in front of you and your husband.
"Your Grace," she speaks to you directly (in a tone far louder than necessary) "Beautiful work this gown... French lace?" she speaks purposefully. She wants everyone to hear.
"English stitching, Your Majesty," Harry says, voice calm but clear, pride in his hold around your waist "Every inch"
"Ah, but of course" Her gaze shifts to him, "And what must one do for an exclusive piece?" she asks him. Her expression is unreadable, intimidating.
"It's an honour you ask, Your Majesty, however, I have but one muse" he nods politely and squeezes you against him. Your side now stuck to his.
She looks at you both up and down once, twice before finally smiling.
"I understand now, a man with such talent is inspired by love and love only" She looks around the ballroom with a scrutinized face.
"It's a shame my gold can't inspire you as much" she squints her eyes playfully. "Now, if you'll allow me to have the Duchess's first dance this evening"
Harry nods, kisses the back of your gloved hand and transfers it to the Queen's hold. You curtsy as she takes your hand in hers, deep and respectful.
She gracefully guides you to the center of the dance floor, the musicians quickly start a new song. She guides you skilfully without a hint of hesitation.
"Has the Duke truly done all of this himself or was that simply a poetic branding?" Her voice is low, now wanting this conversation between you.
"Every stitch, Your Majesty" You're quick to defend him, "He pours himself into every inch" She studies you and the delicate embroidery at your neckline.
"Then you have something rare, Duchess. A man bold enough to follow only his own expectations is rare among these people" she sneers at some of the overtly curious onlookers. They flush in embarrassment and turn away.
The Queen's hands and commanding but not harsh. She gently guides you to the next steps, and you feel more like her equal than her subject.
"Lady Whistledown" she starts, her voice now barely above a whisper "is starting to go too far. She must have grown confident. Her pen is growing reckless"
You look around trying to see if she's singling anyone out.
"You must be wondering who she is" she adds. You blink up at her, nodding slightly.
"Would you like to help me find her?"
Your breath catches, she's not teasing or testing you. This is a true question. She is asking if you want to join her hunt for the author.
You see strategy and power in her eyes. She is determined, this woman before you is used to playing the long game and winning.
"I would" you answer her.
She offers you a satisfied hum and a smile in response.
"Your duke better have you dressed ready for the hunt next time" She twirls you effortlessly and curtsies as the last notes are played. Around you, the tonâs eyes watch every inch, every move, every breath you take as she walks away.
You return to Harry with a tight smile but it is not from nerves. From the knowledge that something bigger has shifted tonight. Something important.
Harry pulls you close and hands you a glass of punch. The cool liquid feels great, cooling your overheating body. So much attention does make you grow warm.
"Was anything scandalous discussed, beloved? Or was she asking about the jewels in your hair?" he teases you. You look up at him in a little daze but a smile grows on your face nonetheless.
"She wants to find Lady Whistledown, she's asked for my help" you tell him honestly. No lies needed between you.
Harry let's out a breath. Shocked? Proud? Aroused? You suddenly hold so much power. He looks impressed.
"Then we must find you a dress for battle" he brushed your cheek.
"In gold?" you tease.
"In armour" he answers proudly.
-
You haven't spoken much since leaving Lady Danbury's ball shortly after the Queen's appearance. Well, only after your husband twirled you around the dance floor a few times to show off your glowing gown.
The tons' eyes never left you, the gown bathed in candlelight made you glow more than the sun at full peak. Jealousy and envy rained but all well concealed behind fluttering fans.
"She asked for your first dance" Harry is the one to break the silence in the carriage. His hand clasped in yours, now bare without your golden gloves.
"She did" You turn to look at him. His profile is softly illuminated by the lantern swinging outside the carriage.
"She did it publicly, called my work beautiful" There's a smile in his voice. If you weren't looking at him so attentively you still would have known his smile was there. The smallest laugh escapes you, endeared by his joyful expression.
"She did more than that, My Lord!" You gently turn his face toward you with your free hand. "She silenced the whispers, for a short moment everyone bowed to us" You smiled wildly.
"We owe her our gratitude" he answers softly and leans his head back on the soft cushions behind you both. You hesitate for a moment, not sure if you want to break the light atmosphere. But you have to ask.
"Do you think it will last?"
"No, but now there might be something we can do to keep it" he sighs as he delicately rubs his thumb around your palm.
"Let them talk, let her write" his voice is firm, "So long as we stand together in the face of her scrutiny we will last longer than any scandal she stirs" he brings your hands up and kisses your knuckles.
Silence falls again. Your mind goes back to the dance you had with the Queen, the mission you joined, Eloise's friendship, the crowd parting for you even if just for a moment. You will fight for the man beside you, you will wear his creations born of love and you will win.
"I don't want to leave," you say, "Not yet"
Harry immediately knocks on the roof of the carriage halting it.
He turns to you and places a hand on your cheek, he waits for you to keep going.
"I want to stay, a little longer. This with the Queen is unfinished. I want to drown out the whispers entirely" you finish. He looks at you, scans yo ur expression.
"Then we will stay. I'll send word to Redditch first thing in the morning" he places a kiss on your forehead.
He slides the panel open and tells the footmen to head for your London property. You sign and lean against him when he closes it back up.
"I'm sorry your art, the gowns, are being used against you" you murmur, unsure if it means anything.
"They've never been for them, only for you" he leans his head against yours.
You close your eyes in satisfaction, squeezing his hand.
London can keep watching and whispering. You have no intention of letting them win.
Summary: Youâve lost your job and somewhere between online job searches and filling out countless applications you find yourself filling out a profile for âThe Sugar Daddy Networkâ not thinking anything will really come from the silly website. But then almost three weeks later youâre standing inside a coffee shop ready to meet the man youâve been messaging with for nearly two weeks only to be met with a man youâre very familiar with. Harry Styles. The international superstar who also just so happens to be your longtime bestfriend, youâre stunned to find out youâve been messaging each other. Harry is willing to act as if nothing happened but you need a way to pay your bills while you look for a new job. Leaving the two of you to figure out how to keep the delicate balance that keeps friendship from turning into something else as you navigate this new dynamic with a man youâve known for years.đ
Trope: Friends to Lovers with a Sugar Daddy twist.
Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!reader
Story Type: Mini Series (4 parts)
Status: Completed đ
CW: Minor language, smut, slight angst (Iâm a fluff girlie so not a lot of this I promise), jealousy, sugar daddy dynamics, slight obsessive behavior.
Tag List: Open (let me know if youâd like on it)
âHarry? How long do you think you can go without sex?â
Harry's attention is fixed on the TV screen, where some gritty crime drama is playing, one of those shows he claims to watch for the "compelling storytelling," but Y/N suspects he mostly enjoys for the moody cinematography and expensive production design. He's sprawled comfortably on their couch, one arm draped along the back cushions behind her, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles on the coffee table. A half-empty bowl of popcorn sits forgotten between them.
At her unexpected question, his hand pauses midway to his mouth, a piece of popcorn held between his fingers. He turns toward her slowly, one eyebrow arched in amused curiosity, a hint of wariness in his green eyes.
"Sorry, what was that?" he asks, as if he might have misheard her over the sound of the detective on screen delivering his monologue about the darkness inherent in human nature.
Y/N shifts slightly to face him better, tucking one leg underneath her and propping her elbow on the back of the couch. She's wearing one of his old tour t-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts, her hair piled back in a bun that's gradually coming undone. There's something deliberately casual in her posture that doesn't quite match the gleam in her eyes.
"I asked how long you think you could go without sex," she repeats, her tone conversational but with an undercurrent of mischief.
Harry studies her face for a moment, clearly trying to determine if this is a trap of some kind or if there's a specific reason for her inquiry. He reaches for the remote and pauses the show, giving her his full attention now.
"Is this a hypothetical question," he asks carefully, "or are you telling me something I should be worried about?"
A small smile plays at the corners of Y/N's mouth.
"Hypothetical," she assures him. "Just curious."
Harry leans back against the cushions, considering the question with more seriousness than she perhaps expected. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead in that unconscious gesture she's always found endlessly attractive.
"Physically? Probably a while," he finally answers, his voice thoughtful. "Mentally?" A slow, suggestive smile spreads across his face as his eyes travel deliberately down her body and back up again. "About three days before I'd start losing my mind."
He shifts closer to her on the couch, the popcorn bowl now an unwelcome barrier between them.
"Why the sudden interest in my sexual endurance?" he asks, reaching out to twirl a loose strand of her hair around his finger. "Planning to test me or something?"
Y/N shrugs, maintaining her innocent expression despite the way her pulse quickens at his proximity.
"Just thinking about that interview you did last week," she explains. "The one where they asked about your 'self-discipline' and you said you were 'surprisingly good at denying yourself things you want.'"
Harry's eyes narrow slightly as he recalls the interview, a fairly standard press junket for his latest album where the journalist had been fishing for quotes about his fitness regimen and diet.
"Ah," he says, understanding dawning. "And you found that claim...questionable?"
"Not questionable," Y/N corrects him, her fingers absently playing with the hem of her borrowed shirt. "Just...untested. In certain areas."
A dangerous glint appears in Harry's eyes as he moves the popcorn bowl to the coffee table, eliminating the barrier between them. He slides closer until their thighs are touching, his hand coming to rest casually, possessively, on her knee.
"Let me get this straight," he says, his voice dropping to that low, slightly raspy register that never fails to send a shiver down her spine. "You're wondering if I could practice sexual self-restraint for an extended period? If I could deny myself...certain pleasures?"
His fingers trace small, maddening circles on her bare skin just above her knee.
"Something like that," Y/N confirms, fighting to keep her voice steady despite the heat beginning to pool low in her belly at his touch.
Harry's smile turns predatory, dimples appearing in sharp relief against the slight stubble on his cheeks.
"And what brought on this line of questioning?" he asks, his hand sliding up to rest on her thigh, thumb brushing dangerously close to the hem of her shorts. "Academic curiosity? Or did you have something more...practical in mind?"
Y/N tilts her head, enjoying the way his eyes follow the movement, tracking the exposed line of her neck with unmistakable hunger.
"Maybe I was thinking we could make a little wager," she suggests, her tone deliberately light. "Test that famous self-discipline of yours."
Harry's eyebrows shoot up, genuine intrigue replacing some of the playful seduction in his expression.
"A wager?" he repeats, clearly interested. "What kind of stakes are we talking about, love?"
Y/N pretends to consider this, tapping her finger against her chin thoughtfully.
"Well, if you win, if you can go, say, two weeks without sex, then I'll..." she leans forward and whispers something in his ear, something that causes his pupils to dilate noticeably and his hand to tighten on her thigh.
"Jesus," he mutters when she pulls back, swallowing hard. "And if I lose?"
"If you lose," Y/N continues, emboldened by his reaction, "you have to admit publicly, in your next interview, that you have absolutely no self-discipline whatsoever when it comes to certain...appetites."
Harry barks out a laugh, genuinely amused by her suggested terms.
"You want me to tell Rolling Stone or whoever that I can't keep it in my pants?" he asks, shaking his head in disbelief. "My publicist would have a coronary."
"You wouldn't have to be that explicit," Y/N clarifies, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Just say something about how your girlfriend proved your claims of self-restraint were greatly exaggerated."
Harry studies her face, his expression a mixture of amusement, desire, and competitive interest.
"Two weeks, huh?" he muses, his thumb resuming its maddening circles on her thigh. "No sex of any kind?"
"None," Y/N confirms firmly. "No intercourse, no oral, no hands, nothing. Complete abstinence."
Harry's eyes narrow thoughtfully.
"And this starts...?"
"Right now," Y/N declares with a decisive nod.
A slow smile spreads across Harry's face as he considers the challenge. He leans in closer, his breath warm against her ear.
"You realize," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that she feels more than hears, "that you're also denying yourself for two weeks. You sure you can handle that, baby?"
There's a note of challenge in his voice that makes Y/N's competitive spirit flare to match his own.
"Oh, I'll be fine," she assures him with perhaps more confidence than she actually feels. "I'm not the one who claimed to have exceptional self-discipline in a national publication."
Harry laughs, the sound rich and warm in the quiet of their living room.
"Alright then," he agrees, extending his hand for a formal shake. "Two weeks, starting now. No sex of any kind."
Y/N takes his hand, but instead of shaking it, Harry uses the grip to pull her forward suddenly, catching her off guard. In one fluid movement, he has her beneath him on the couch, his body pressing hers into the cushions as he captures her mouth in a kiss that is anything but chaste.
His tongue traces the seam of her lips, demanding entry that she grants without hesitation, heat flaring instantly between them. One of his hands tangles in her hair, the other gripping her hip as he deepens the kiss with a thoroughness that leaves her breathless. When he finally pulls back, they're both breathing heavily, and Y/N can feel the hard evidence of his arousal pressed against her thigh.
"Just wanted one last taste," he explains with a wicked grin, his voice rough with desire. "To remember what I'm missing."
Before she can respond, he pushes himself up and off her completely, returning to his side of the couch with deliberate casualness, though the flush on his cheeks and the darkness of his eyes betray his affected nonchalance.
He picks up the remote, unpausing the show as if nothing had happened, though his smirk gives him away.
"Two weeks starts now," he announces, reaching for the popcorn bowl again. "Hope you know what you've gotten yourself into, love."
Y/N sits up, adjusting her shirt where it's ridden up to expose a strip of her midriff, trying to regulate her breathing and ignore the persistent throb of arousal his kiss has left her with.
"I think the question is whether you know what you've gotten yourself into," she counters, settling back against the cushions with forced composure.
Harry just smiles, his eyes still on the TV screen, though she can tell he's not really watching.
"Game on, baby," he says quietly, and the simple phrase manages to sound like both a promise and a threat.
Y/N turns her attention back to the show, acutely aware of the two weeks stretching ahead of them and the man beside her who has never been good at denying himself, or her, anything they both want. As challenges go, she's beginning to think this one might be harder than she anticipated...for both of them.
But as Harry's hand finds hers on the couch between them, giving it a gentle squeeze that somehow manages to be both affectionate and suggestive, Y/N can't help but think that win or lose, the next two weeks are going to be very interesting indeed.
Day 13 finds Y/N in the master bathroom, carefully applying mascara while silently cursing herself for what has become thirteen days of exquisite torture. The bet that had seemed so amusing, so winnable, thirteen days ago has evolved into a test of willpower that's fraying her last nerve.
She caps the mascara tube with more force than necessary, setting it down on the marble countertop with a sharp click. Her reflection stares back at her: hair styled in loose waves, makeup subtle but enhancing, wearing nothing but a matching set of black lace underwear that Harry hasn't seen yet. She's getting ready for a gala they're attending tonight, a high-profile event that will have photographers, industry executives, and other celebrities, the perfect venue for Harry to be on his best behavior.
Which is precisely why she's chosen tonight to wear her most dangerously low-cut dress.
The past thirteen days have been an escalating game of chicken, with both of them finding increasingly creative ways to test the other's resolve without technically breaking the rules of their agreement. No sex of any kind, but as it turns out, there's a vast territory of torment that falls just short of that definition.
Harry started subtly: walking around shirtless more often than usual, "accidentally" brushing against her in the kitchen, letting his gaze linger a beat too long when she emerged from the shower. But by day five, subtlety had been abandoned. He began describing in explicit detail what he planned to do to her when the two weeks were up, his voice dropping to that gravelly register that never fails to make her thighs clench. He'd taken to sitting unnecessarily close during movies, his fingers tracing innocent-seeming patterns on her arm or leg that somehow felt more erotic than a direct touch ever could.
Y/N had retaliated in kind. She wore his favorite shirts to bed, and nothing else. She made inappropriate noises while eating ice cream. She "stretched" in ways that highlighted her flexibility, reminding him of positions they'd enjoyed in the past. Once, she'd even read passages from an erotic novel aloud, claiming she was "just sharing literature" when he'd nearly broken the arm of the sofa gripping it so hard.
But despite her best efforts, Harry has maintained a maddening level of control. Oh, she's gotten to him, the evidence of his arousal has been impossible to miss on multiple occasions, but he hasn't cracked. Hasn't begged. Hasn't suggested they call the whole thing off. Instead, he's matched her provocation for provocation, escalation for escalation, all while maintaining that infuriating smirk that says he knows exactly what game they're playing and he intends to win.
The most frustrating part is that Y/N is starting to think he might.
She's been climbing the walls for days now, hyperaware of his every movement, his scent, the sound of his voice. Last night, she'd actually woken from an explicit dream about him so worked up that she'd seriously considered waking him to concede defeat. Only pride had stopped her, pride and the knowledge that Harry would be impossibly smug about it for months.
The bathroom door opens, startling her from her thoughts, and Harry appears in the doorway. He's already dressed for the gala, looking devastatingly handsome in a bespoke black suit that fits him so perfectly it might as well be painted on. His hair is styled back from his face, several rings adorn his fingers, and he's wearing a subtle cologne that makes Y/N want to bury her face in his neck.
"Almost ready?" he asks, his eyes traveling over her state of undress with deliberate slowness. "Car will be here in twenty."
Y/N turns to face him fully, leaning back against the counter in a pose that emphasizes her lace-clad curves.
"Almost," she confirms, watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. "Just need to put on my dress."
Harry's eyes darken as they linger on the black lace covering her breasts, the matching underwear that sits low on her hips.
"New?" he asks, his voice slightly rougher than it was a moment ago.
Y/N nods, running her fingers along the lace edge of her bra in a gesture that's obviously adjusting but is actually pure provocation.
"Thought I'd treat myself," she says with affected casualness. "Do you like it?"
Harry's jaw tightens visibly, his knuckles whitening where he grips the doorframe.
"It's nice," he manages, the understatement of the century given the heat in his gaze. "Very...appropriate for a charity event."
Y/N laughs softly, pushing off from the counter and moving toward him, toward the bedroom where her dress is laid out on the bed.
"The dress is appropriate," she corrects him, stopping when she's close enough that he can smell her perfume but not quite touching. "This is just for later."
The implication hangs in the air between them: later, when the bet is over, when the two weeks have passed and all restrictions are lifted. Tomorrow marks the end of their agreement, and they both know it.
Harry's eyes never leave hers as he steps aside to let her pass, but not quite far enough that she can avoid brushing against him. The brief contact sends a jolt through Y/N that's almost embarrassing in its intensity.
In the bedroom, her dress waits on the bed: a floor-length black gown with a slit that reaches mid-thigh and a neckline that plunges daringly low. It's elegant enough for the event but designed specifically to drive Harry to distraction.
She's aware of him watching as she steps into it, pulling it up over her hips and adjusting it over her chest. The fabric clings in all the right places, the cut revealing just enough skin to be tantalizing without crossing into inappropriate territory.
"Zip me?" she asks innocently, turning her back to him and gathering her hair to one side.
There's a pause, just long enough for her to wonder if he'll refuse, before she feels him move behind her. His fingers brush the bare skin of her back as he takes hold of the zipper, and Y/N has to bite her lip to suppress a shiver.
Harry pulls the zipper up with deliberate slowness, his knuckles grazing her spine inch by torturous inch. When he reaches the top, his hands settle briefly on her shoulders, warm and solid.
"You look stunning," he murmurs, his breath tickling the sensitive skin just below her ear.
Y/N turns to face him, finding him closer than she expected, close enough that she can see the various shades of green in his irises, the slight dilation of his pupils.
"Thank you," she says, her voice softer than she intended. "So do you."
For a moment, they just stand there, the air between them charged with thirteen days of built-up tension and wanting. Y/N finds herself swaying slightly toward him, drawn by the magnetic pull that's always existed between them but seems exponentially stronger now.
Harry's gaze drops to her lips, and she thinks, hopes, that he might kiss her. It wouldn't break their agreement; kissing wasn't explicitly banned. But before either of them can move, the doorbell chimes downstairs, their driver, right on time.
Harry steps back, clearing his throat and adjusting his jacket.
"We should go," he says, his voice rougher than usual. "Don't want to be late."
Y/N nods, reaching for her clutch on the dresser and taking a moment to compose herself. When she turns back to him, she's wearing a smile that she hopes conceals just how close she was to throwing the entire bet out the window.
"One more day," she reminds him as they head downstairs, her tone deliberately light. "Think you can make it?"
Harry glances at her, a slow smile spreading across his face that's equal parts challenge and promise.
"I'm not the one who needs to worry about making it," he counters, his hand coming to rest on the small of her back as they reach the front door, a touch that's perfectly appropriate but somehow feels like a brand through the thin fabric of her dress. "You've been watching the clock since day ten."
Y/N scoffs, even as she acknowledges the truth of his statement.
"I've been perfectly fine," she lies, stepping outside into the cool evening air. "You're the one who took three cold showers yesterday."
Harry laughs, the sound low and knowing as he guides her toward the waiting car.
"Four, actually," he admits without a trace of embarrassment. "But who's counting?"
As they slide into the backseat of the sleek black car, Y/N is acutely aware of the minimal space between them, of Harry's cologne filling the enclosed space, of the fact that they have an entire evening of public appearances ahead before they can return home.
One more day. Twenty-four more hours. She can do this.
But as Harry's hand finds hers in the darkness of the car, his thumb tracing small circles on her palm in a gesture that's somehow both comforting and maddeningly erotic, Y/N isn't entirely sure which of them is winning anymore, or if either of them is.
What she does know is that tomorrow can't come soon enough.
---
The charity gala is being held at one of London's most prestigious hotels, the grand ballroom transformed into a glittering wonderland of lights, flowers, and champagne. The moment they arrive, they're swept into the social current: photographers calling Harry's name, industry acquaintances stopping to chat, waiters offering flutes of champagne and delicate hors d'oeuvres.
Harry is, as always, the consummate professional, charming, attentive, generous with his time and attention. His hand rarely leaves the small of Y/N's back, a possessive touch that both grounds her in the chaos of the event and serves as a constant reminder of the tension simmering between them.
Two hours in, Y/N excuses herself to visit the ladies' room, needing a moment away from the constant press of bodies and the even more distracting presence of Harry at her side. She's just finished touching up her lipstick when her phone buzzes with a text.
It's from Harry: You've been gone for 7 minutes. Starting to think you're avoiding me.
Y/N smiles despite herself, typing back: Just fixing my makeup. Why, missing me already?
His response comes immediately: Always. But especially when you're wearing that dress.
She's about to reply when another text appears: The things I'm thinking about doing to you right now would definitely get me uninvited from future charity events.
Heat blooms in Y/N's cheeks as she reads his words. She knows she should ignore the bait, continuing this line of conversation will only make the evening more torturous for both of them, but she can't resist.
Care to elaborate? she types back, her heart rate accelerating slightly.
There's a pause before his response appears, long enough that she thinks perhaps he's been pulled into another conversation. Then her phone buzzes three times in quick succession:
I'm thinking about taking you into one of those private rooms upstairs.
Pushing that dress up around your waist.
Seeing if those new black panties taste as good as they look.
Y/N inhales sharply, her fingers tightening around her phone. The crude directness of his words, so at odds with the polished, charming persona he's presenting to the gala attendees, sends a jolt of arousal straight through her.
She takes a moment to compose herself before responding: 13 days and 22 hours. Still think you're going to win this bet?
His reply is immediate: I know I am. You're the one who's going to break, baby. I can see it in your eyes every time I touch you.
The confidence in his text both irritates and excites her. Y/N checks her reflection once more, ensuring her composure is intact, before heading back to the ballroom.
She spots Harry immediately, he's always easy to find in a crowd, his height and presence drawing the eye naturally. He's engaged in conversation with an older couple, but his attention shifts the moment she enters his field of vision. Their eyes lock across the room, and the heat in his gaze makes her breath catch.
Y/N makes her way toward him, accepting a fresh glass of champagne from a passing waiter. As she approaches, Harry excuses himself from his conversation and meets her halfway.
"Everything alright?" he asks, his public voice polite and concerned, though his eyes tell a different story.
"Perfect," Y/N assures him, taking a deliberate sip of her champagne. "Just needed a moment."
Harry nods, his hand finding its customary place at the small of her back.
"They're about to start the speeches," he informs her, guiding her toward their assigned table near the front of the room. "Should only be about forty minutes of people thanking other people for giving them money."
Y/N laughs softly at his irreverent summary, allowing him to pull out her chair before he takes his seat beside her. As they settle in for the speeches, his hand drops casually to her knee beneath the table, a touch that could be interpreted as purely affectionate to anyone watching.
But then his fingers begin to trace small, maddening patterns on her skin just above the knee, occasionally venturing to the sensitive area where her thigh meets the edge of the table. It's not high enough to be inappropriate, but it's distracting enough that Y/N finds it difficult to focus on the speaker who has taken the stage.
Two can play at this game, she decides, placing her hand on Harry's thigh in what appears to be a similar gesture of affection. She feels him tense slightly beside her, but he doesn't remove his hand from her knee.
Slowly, deliberately, Y/N allows her fingers to drift higher on his leg, her touch light but insistent. She keeps her expression neutral, her eyes fixed on the stage as if completely absorbed in the speech about fundraising goals and community impact.
Harry shifts in his chair, his own hand tightening slightly on her knee. When she chances a glance at him, his profile is composed, but there's a muscle working in his jaw that betrays his affected calm.
The speeches drag on, becoming a backdrop to their silent battle of wills beneath the pristine white tablecloth. By the time the final speaker concludes to polite applause, Y/N's skin feels too tight, too sensitive, and she's hyperaware of every point of contact between her body and Harry's.
As the formal portion of the evening transitions to dancing and more socializing, Harry leans close to her ear, his voice low enough that only she can hear.
"Enjoying yourself?" he asks, and the double meaning is unmistakable.
"Immensely," Y/N lies, turning her head so that their faces are inches apart. "The speeches were very...inspiring."
Harry's lips quirk in a knowing half-smile.
"Dance with me," he says, and it's not quite a request.
Before she can respond, he's standing and offering his hand, leaving her little choice but to accept or cause a scene. Y/N places her hand in his, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor where other couples are already swaying to the live band's rendition of a classic ballad.
Harry pulls her close, closer than is strictly necessary for a formal event, but not so close that anyone would raise an eyebrow. One hand settles at her waist while the other clasps hers, his thumb stroking rhythmically across her knuckles as they begin to move to the music.
"You've been driving me crazy all night," he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of her ear in a way that sends shivers down her spine. "That dress should be illegal."
"That was rather the point," Y/N admits, her free hand resting on his shoulder, feeling the solid warmth of him through the expensive fabric of his suit. "Is it working?"
Harry's hand tightens fractionally at her waist, drawing her a centimeter closer.
"What do you think?" he counters, and there's an edge to his voice that wasn't there before. "I've been hard since you walked out of the bathroom at home."
The crude admission, delivered in his smooth, cultured voice while they dance among London's elite, sends a fresh wave of heat through Y/N. She misses a step, and Harry uses the momentary stumble as an excuse to steady her, his hand sliding from her waist to the small of her back, pressing her more firmly against him.
The evidence of his arousal is unmistakable, and Y/N has to bite her lip to suppress a gasp.
"Thirteen days and counting," Harry reminds her, his voice a low rumble that she feels more than hears over the music. "Think you can last one more?"
It's a challenge, one that pride demands she meet, even as every nerve ending in her body screams for relief.
"I'm not the one making confessions on the dance floor," she points out, striving for a lightness she doesn't feel. "Sounds like you might be the one struggling."
Harry's laugh is soft and knowing against her hair.
"Oh, I'm definitely struggling," he admits freely. "But I'm also definitely going to win."
The song ends before Y/N can formulate a suitably cutting response, and they're forced to separate as the band transitions to a more upbeat number. Harry keeps her hand in his as they move off the dance floor, his thumb still tracing those maddening circles against her skin.
"Drink?" he offers, nodding toward the bar.
Y/N nods, using the moment to try to regain some equilibrium. As they wait for their drinks, she becomes aware of someone calling Harry's name, a record executive, she thinks, though she's met so many industry people over the years that they sometimes blur together.
Harry greets the man warmly, introducing Y/N with his customary courtesy. The conversation quickly turns to music, to Harry's latest album, to potential collaborations and tour dates. It's the kind of networking that's essential at events like these, and Harry handles it with practiced ease, keeping Y/N included in the conversation even as he discusses business.
But even as he talks about production schedules and studio time, his hand never leaves her, resting on her back, brushing her arm, finding her hand. Each touch feels deliberate, designed to keep her in a constant state of awareness, of wanting.
By the time they finally extricate themselves from the conversation, it's approaching midnight, and Y/N is at the end of her patience.
"I think I'm ready to go," she says quietly as they move through the now-thinning crowd. "It's been a long night."
Harry studies her face for a moment, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that makes her wonder if he can read the real reason behind her suggestion.
"Of course," he agrees, already reaching for his phone to text their driver. "We've made our appearance. Done our bit for charity."
The wait for their car feels interminable, filled with polite goodbyes to acquaintances and last-minute conversations that Harry can't gracefully avoid. By the time they finally slide into the backseat of their waiting car, Y/N's nerves are stretched to the breaking point.
The privacy partition is up, separating them from the driver, a small mercy for which Y/N is profoundly grateful as Harry's hand immediately finds her thigh, his fingers tracing the edge of the slit in her dress.
"Thirteen days," he says quietly, his voice rough with want. "Thirteen fucking days of watching you, wanting you, not being able to touch you the way I need to."
His hand slides higher, pushing the fabric of her dress aside to expose more of her leg, his fingers warm against her skin.
"Tomorrow," Y/N reminds him, her voice not as steady as she'd like it to be. "Just one more hour."
Harry's eyes are dark in the dimly lit car, his expression intense as he watches her reaction to his touch.
"One more hour," he repeats, his fingers tracing the edge of her underwear where it sits against her thigh. "Think you can make it that long, baby? Because right now, you look like you're about five seconds from begging me fuck you in the backseat of this car."
The crude words, delivered in his smooth voice, make Y/N's breath catch. She's wet, has been for hours, if she's honest, and the ache between her thighs is almost painful in its intensity.
"I'm not the one who's going to break," she insists, even as she shifts slightly, unconsciously seeking more pressure from his teasing fingers. "I've got excellent self-control."
Harry laughs softly, the sound dark and knowing.
"Is that right?" he challenges, his fingers dipping beneath the lace edge of her underwear, not quite touching where she's aching for him but close enough that she can feel the heat of his skin. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're about to come apart just from this."
Y/N swallows hard, fighting against the urge to press herself into his hand, to beg him to touch her properly, bet be damned.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she manages, her voice breathier than she'd prefer. "For me to break first."
"I'd like to make you come," Harry corrects her, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as he leans closer. "I'd like to slide these expensive panties to the side and feel how wet you are for me. I'd like to watch your face when you fall apart around my fingers."
His words paint such a vivid picture that Y/N has to close her eyes briefly, gathering what remains of her willpower.
"Tomorrow," she says again, more firmly this time, placing her hand over his to still his maddening touch. "You've waited this long. What's a few more hours?"
For a moment, she thinks he might ignore her, might continue his delicious torment until she either gives in or pushes him away. But then Harry withdraws his hand, a rueful smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"Tomorrow it is," he agrees, though his eyes still burn with unmistakable desire. "But just so we're clear, the moment it hits midnight, all bets are off."
The promise in his voice sends a fresh wave of heat through Y/N, and she finds herself checking the time on her phone: 11:33 PM. Less than thirty minutes until day fourteen officially begins.
The rest of the drive passes in charged silence, both of them acutely aware of the countdown happening in their heads. When they finally arrive home, it's 11:52 PM, eight minutes to go.
Harry helps her from the car, his hand lingering on hers as they make their way to the front door. Inside, the house is quiet, the only sound the soft click of the door closing behind them and the faint ticking of the antique clock in the hallway.
"Drink?" Harry offers, his voice carefully casual as he shrugs out of his suit jacket, draping it over the back of a chair.
Y/N shakes her head, kicking off her uncomfortable heels with a sigh of relief.
"I think I'll just head up," she says, equally casual. "It's been a long night."
Harry nods, his eyes never leaving hers as she moves toward the stairs. There's a tension in the air between them, thick enough that she could cut it with a knife, the knowledge that in less than seven minutes, their self-imposed restriction will lift, and all the desire they've been suppressing for two weeks will be free to explode.
"I'll be up in a bit," he says, loosening his tie with deliberate slowness, his eyes dark with promise. "Just going to pour myself a nightcap first."
Harry watches Y/N ascend the stairs with predatory intensity, his fingers pausing mid-motion on his tie as she disappears from view. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimes once, marking the time, 11:55 PM. Five minutes until midnight. Five minutes until their agreement officially expires.
He moves to the bar cart in the living room, pouring a finger of whiskey into a crystal tumbler with deliberate slowness. The amber liquid catches the light as he swirls it, mirroring the heat that's been building inside him for thirteen excruciating days.
Taking a small sip, he savors the burn, letting it match the fire in his veins. From upstairs comes the faint sound of movement, and Harry's imagination fills in the blanks: Y/N removing that torturous dress, her skin finally free from the confines of fabric that has been both concealing and accentuating her body all evening.
He checks his watch again, 11:56 PM.
Loosening his tie further, Harry takes another sip of whiskey before setting the glass down on the marble countertop. He's about to head upstairs when he notices something on the first step, a flash of black against the pale carpet.
It's Y/N's dress, discarded carelessly at the foot of the stairs.
A slow smile spreads across Harry's face as he approaches, picking up the expensive garment and draping it over his arm. Looking up, he discovers more items leading up the staircase like breadcrumbs: one of her earrings on the third step, its partner on the fifth, her clutch purse on the landing.
Harry begins to climb, collecting each item as he goes. The trail continues down the hallway, her bracelet here, her necklace there. By the time he reaches their bedroom door, his arms are full of her belongings, and his blood is running hot with anticipation.
Then he sees it, the final piece of her ensemble, hanging provocatively from the doorknob like a flag of surrender: those black lace panties that have been driving him to distraction since he first glimpsed them in the bathroom hours ago.
Harry checks his watch again, 11:57 PM. Three minutes.
He takes the underwear from the doorknob, the delicate fabric warm from her body and still carrying her scent. For a moment, he simply holds them, his control fraying at the edges as he imagines how she looked wearing them, how she looked taking them off.
With a deep breath, he pushes the bedroom door open.
The sight that greets him nearly stops his heart.
Y/N is stretched across their bed, completely naked except for the black lace bra that matches the panties now clutched in his hand. Her hair spills across the pillows, her eyes dark with desire as they meet his. She's positioned herself deliberately, one leg straight, the other bent slightly at the knee, creating a silhouette that emphasizes the curves of her body in the warm glow of the bedside lamps.
For a long moment, Harry simply stands in the doorway, drinking in the vision before him. Thirteen days of restraint, of torturous near-misses and deliberate teasing, have honed his desire to a razor's edge. She's never looked more beautiful to him than she does right now, waiting for him, wanting him, challenging him with the directness of her gaze.
"You've made quite a mess," he finally says, his voice rough as he gestures to the collection of discarded clothing and jewelry in his arms. He sets everything down on the dresser, careful with her dress but less so with the rest, his attention already returning to her. "Leaving your things all over the house."
Y/N shifts slightly on the bed, the movement causing the light to play across her skin in a way that makes Harry's mouth go dry.
"I was in a hurry," she replies, her voice carrying a hint of breathiness that betrays her affected casualness. "Besides, you found them all, didn't you?"
Harry's lips curve into a smile that's equal parts amusement and hunger as he begins to unbutton his shirt, his movements unhurried despite the urgency thrumming through his veins.
"I did," he confirms, shrugging the shirt from his shoulders to reveal the toned expanse of his tattooed chest and abdomen. "Including these."
He holds up her panties, dangling them from one finger before tossing them aside to join the growing pile of discarded clothing.
"It seemed like the most efficient way to get your attention," Y/N admits, her eyes following the movement of his hands as he unfastens his belt, pulling it through the loops of his trousers with a soft hiss of leather against fabric.
"You've had my attention from the moment I met you," Harry counters, his voice dropping lower as he steps closer to the bed, still in his trousers but bare-chested now, the dim light accentuating the definition of his muscles and the dark lines of his tattoos. "You've had my undivided attention for thirteen days and twenty-three hours."
He checks his watch again, 11:58 PM. Two minutes.
Y/N follows his glance, her lips curving into a knowing smile.
"Still counting down?" she asks, sitting up slightly, the movement causing her breasts to shift enticingly beneath the black lace of her bra.
"To the second," Harry confirms, his eyes darkening as they trace over her body. "Two minutes until I can touch you the way I've been dying to for two weeks."
He moves to the edge of the bed, close enough that Y/N can feel the heat radiating from his skin, but he doesn't touch her, not yet. Instead, he stands there, looking down at her with an intensity that makes her breath catch.
"Unless," he continues, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, "you want to admit defeat now."
It's a challenge, one last attempt to win their ridiculous bet, but they both know it doesn't really matter anymore. The anticipation has become its own form of foreplay, the countdown adding an edge to their desire that makes the eventual release all the more explosive.
Y/N laughs softly, the sound slightly breathless as she shakes her head.
"One minute and thirty seconds," she counters, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. "I think I can wait."
Harry's smile is slow and deliberate, a promise of what's to come.
"Can you?" he asks, reaching out to trace one finger along the edge of her bra, not quite touching her skin but close enough that she can feel the heat of him. "Because from here, it looks like you're already desperate for it."
Y/N's breath hitches at the near-touch, her body responding to his proximity with a wave of heat that she couldn't suppress if she tried.
"You're one to talk," she retorts, her eyes dropping pointedly to the visible evidence of his arousal straining against his trousers. "You haven't exactly been the picture of restraint yourself."
Harry chuckles, the sound low and dangerous as he moves onto the bed, positioning himself above her without letting their bodies touch, a feat of control that costs him visibly in the tension of his muscles, the tightness of his jaw.
"One minute," he murmurs, his face inches from hers, close enough that she can feel his breath on her lips. "One minute until I make you forget your own name."
The crude promise sends a fresh wave of arousal through Y/N, and she has to fight the urge to close the distance between them, to pull him down on top of her and end this torturous game once and for all.
"Big talk," she manages, her voice not quite steady as his eyes bore into hers. "Let's see if you can deliver."
Harry's laugh is soft and knowing.
"Oh, baby," he breathes, his lips brushing against her ear in a touch so light it might be imagined, "I've been planning exactly how I'm going to fuck you for thirteen days straight. Trust me, I'll deliver."
The clock on the nightstand shows 11:59 PM. One minute.
They both watch the seconds tick by, the air between them charged with anticipation so thick it's almost difficult to breathe. Harry remains poised above her, their bodies separated by mere inches of electrically charged space, neither willing to be the first to break.
The digital display changes: 12:00 AM.
For a heartbeat, neither moves, and then Harry's control snaps with an almost audible crack.
His mouth crashes down on hers with bruising intensity, thirteen days of pent-up desire unleashed in a kiss that's more claiming than caress. Y/N responds instantly, her arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer, her body arching up to press against his with desperate need.
"Fucking finally," Harry growls against her lips, his hands everywhere at once, tangling in her hair, cupping her breast through the lace of her bra, sliding down to grip her hip with possessive force. "Do you have any idea what you've been doing to me? Two weeks of watching you, wanting you, not being able to touch you..."
His words dissolve into another kiss, this one deeper, wetter, his tongue sliding against hers in a rhythm that mimics what they both desperately want. Y/N moans into his mouth, her nails digging into his shoulders as she pulls him fully on top of her, reveling in the weight of him, the heat of his skin against hers.
"Show me," she gasps when they break apart for air, her eyes dark with challenge and desire. "Show me exactly what I've been doing to you."
Harry's eyes flash dangerously, his hands moving to the clasp of her bra with practiced efficiency.
"Oh, I plan to," he promises, stripping the lace from her body and tossing it aside, his gaze hungry as it rakes over her newly exposed flesh. "I'm going to show you exactly what happens when you tease me for two fucking weeks straight."
His mouth descends to her breast, taking one nipple between his lips and sucking hard enough to make Y/N cry out, her back arching off the bed. His hand finds her other breast, kneading and pinching with just the right amount of pressure to walk the line between pleasure and pain.
"Harry," she gasps, her hands sliding into his hair, holding him to her as he lavishes attention on her sensitive flesh. "Please, "
"Please what?" he murmurs against her skin, his teeth grazing her nipple in a way that sends sparks shooting down her spine. "Tell me what you want, baby. Tell me what you've been thinking about for the past two weeks."
Y/N is beyond pride now, beyond the teasing game they've been playing. Thirteen days of buildup have left her desperate, aching, wet enough that she can feel it on her thighs.
"Your mouth," she admits, her voice breaking as his hand slides down her stomach, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin that edge closer and closer to where she needs him most. "I want your mouth on me."
Harry's smile is wicked as he raises his head to meet her gaze, his eyes dark with desire and triumph.
"Where exactly do you want my mouth, Y/N?" he asks, deliberately obtuse as his fingers dance along the crease where her thigh meets her hip. "Here? Or here?"
He presses a kiss to her collarbone, then lower, to the valley between her breasts.
"Lower," Y/N breathes, beyond embarrassment, beyond anything but the desperate need for release after thirteen days of exquisite torture.
Harry continues his downward path, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her sternum, her ribs, the sensitive skin just below her navel. Each touch of his lips sends fresh waves of heat through her body, building the tension to nearly unbearable levels.
"Here?" he asks, his breath hot against her hip bone as he settles between her thighs, his shoulders pushing her legs wider apart.
"Harry," Y/N groans, frustration and need making her voice sharper than intended. "Stop teasing."
His laugh is dark and satisfied against her skin.
"But teasing is what you do best, isn't it?" he counters, his hands gripping her thighs firmly, holding her open for him. "Isn't that what the past two weeks have been about? Seeing how far you could push me before I snapped?"
Before she can formulate a response, he finally, finally, puts his mouth where she's been aching for it, his tongue flat against her center in a long, deliberate stroke that has her crying out, her hips bucking against his hold.
"Fuck," Harry groans against her, the vibration adding another layer to the sensation. "You're so fucking wet. Have you been like this all night? Sitting next to me at that fancy dinner, your pretty pussy dripping while you pretended everything was fine?"
The crude words, delivered in his cultured voice, send another jolt of arousal through Y/N. She's always been affected by his filthy mouth, the contrast between his public persona and the raw, unfiltered way he speaks to her in bed is intoxicating.
"Yes," she admits, beyond shame, beyond anything but honesty as his tongue circles her clit with deliberate pressure. "All night. All week."
Harry hums his approval, the sound reverberating against her most sensitive flesh as he settles into a rhythm designed to drive her mad, alternating between broad strokes of his tongue and focused attention on her clit, occasionally dipping lower to tease at her entrance without ever giving her what she truly needs.
Y/N's hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as she tries to guide him where she wants him most, but Harry resists, maintaining control even as he pleasures her.
"Harry, please," she gasps, her thighs trembling with the effort of staying open for him as the pressure builds to almost unbearable levels. "I need, I need, "
"What do you need, baby?" he murmurs against her, his eyes dark with desire as he looks up the length of her body, taking in the flush spreading across her chest, the desperation in her expression. "Tell me."
"Your fingers," Y/N manages, her voice breaking as his tongue flicks against her clit with just enough pressure to make her see stars. "Inside. Please."
Harry's smile is wolfish as he slides one long finger into her, groaning at the way she clenches around him immediately.
"So tight," he murmurs, adding a second finger alongside the first, curling them in a way that makes Y/N's back arch off the bed. "Is this what you wanted? My fingers inside this pretty pussy while I suck on your clit?"
To emphasize his point, he wraps his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking gently as his fingers continue their relentless rhythm inside her.
The dual sensation is overwhelming after so long without release, and Y/N feels herself hurtling toward the edge with embarrassing speed. Her thighs begin to shake, her breathing becoming erratic as the pressure builds to an almost painful intensity.
"That's it," Harry encourages, his voice rough with his own arousal as he watches her come apart beneath him. "Let go, baby. Show me how much you've missed this."
His fingers curl more firmly against that spot inside her that he knows drives her wild, his tongue flicking rapidly against her clit, and Y/N shatters with a cry that might be his name or might be just a wordless sound of release. Her body convulses around his fingers, waves of pleasure washing over her with an intensity that leaves her gasping, her vision momentarily whiting out at the edges.
Harry works her through it, gentling his touch but not stopping completely until her tremors subside and she collapses boneless against the mattress, her chest heaving with exertion.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, pressing one last kiss to her oversensitive flesh before moving up her body, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and barely restrained hunger. "Absolutely fucking beautiful."
Y/N reaches for him with still-trembling hands, pulling him down for a kiss that tastes of herself and desire. She can feel him hard against her thigh, still confined within his trousers but unmistakably ready.
"Your turn," she breathes against his lips, her hands moving between them to unfasten his remaining clothing. "I want to feel you inside me."
Harry groans, helping her push his trousers and underwear down his legs before kicking them off entirely, leaving him finally, gloriously naked against her. The first press of skin against skin is electric, drawing matching gasps from both of them as thirteen days of anticipation culminate in this moment.
"How do you want me?" Y/N asks, her voice husky with lingering pleasure and renewed desire as she wraps her hand around his length, stroking him with deliberate slowness.
Harry's eyes darken at her touch, his hips jerking involuntarily into her grip.
"Every fucking way imaginable," he growls, capturing her wrist to still her movements before he loses what remains of his control. "But right now, I need to be inside you. Need to feel you come around my cock."
He positions himself between her thighs, the blunt head of his erection pressing against her entrance, teasing but not yet pushing inside. His eyes lock with hers, intense and questioning despite the crude directness of his words, always checking, always making sure she's with him.
"Yes," Y/N breathes, wrapping her legs around his waist to pull him closer, urging him on. "Please, Harry, I need you."
It's all the permission he needs. With one smooth thrust, he buries himself inside her, both of them groaning at the sensation of finally, finally being joined after what feels like an eternity of waiting.
"Fuck," Harry gasps, his forehead dropping to rest against hers, his breathing ragged as he fights for control. "You feel so good. So fucking perfect around me."
For a moment, neither moves, both savoring the feeling of completeness, of rightness that comes from being connected this way. Then Y/N shifts her hips slightly, a silent plea for more, and Harry responds with a deep, rolling thrust that makes her gasp.
"Thirteen days," he murmurs against her neck, setting a rhythm that's neither gentle nor rough but somewhere in between, deep, deliberate strokes that hit exactly where she needs them. "Thirteen days of watching you walk around in those little shorts, those tight dresses, knowing I couldn't touch you the way I wanted to."
His pace increases slightly, his hands sliding beneath her to grip her ass, changing the angle in a way that has Y/N seeing stars with every thrust.
"Thirteen days of cold showers and jerking off in the bathroom like a fucking teenager," he continues, his voice rough with exertion and desire. "Thirteen days of imagining this, being inside you, feeling you come apart around me."
Y/N's nails dig into his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks in his skin as she meets him thrust for thrust, her body already building toward another peak despite having just come minutes before.
"Show me," she challenges, her voice breaking as he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside her. "Show me what thirteen days of waiting has done to you."
Something in Harry's expression shifts at her words, a final thread of control snapping as he gives in completely to the desire that's been building for two weeks. His thrusts become harder, deeper, more demanding as he pushes her thighs wider apart, angling her hips to take him even deeper.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he growls, his voice barely recognizable with need. "To push me until I couldn't take it anymore. Until I had to have you, had to be inside you, had to make you feel every second of those thirteen fucking days."
Each word is punctuated with a thrust that drives the breath from Y/N's lungs, pleasure building so intensely that she can barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words. All she can do is hold on, meeting his intensity with her own as they chase release together.
"Tell me you missed this," Harry demands, one hand sliding between them to circle her clit with his thumb, adding another layer to the overwhelming sensations coursing through her. "Tell me you thought about it every day, every night, just like I did."
"I missed it," Y/N gasps, honesty torn from her by pleasure and need. "Missed you, missed this, thought about it constantly, "
Her words dissolve into moans as the combination of his cock inside her and his thumb on her clit pushes her rapidly toward another orgasm, this one building even more intensely than the first.
"That's it," Harry encourages, his rhythm faltering slightly as his own control frays at the edges. "Come for me again, baby. Let me feel you."
His thumb presses more firmly against her clit, circling in time with his thrusts, and Y/N shatters with a cry that might be his name or might be just a primal sound of release. Her inner muscles clench around him in rhythmic pulses, drawing a guttural groan from Harry as he follows her over the edge, his hips jerking erratically as he empties himself inside her.
For long moments afterward, they remain joined, both breathing heavily, bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction. Harry's weight is a comforting pressure on top of her, grounding her as the aftershocks of pleasure gradually subside.
Eventually, he rolls to the side, bringing her with him so that she's sprawled across his chest, their legs still tangled together. One of his hands comes up to stroke her hair, the gesture tender in contrast to the intensity of their lovemaking moments before.
"Worth the wait?" he asks after a while, his voice rough but tinged with amusement.
Y/N laughs softly against his skin, pressing a kiss to the tattoo over his heart.
"Definitely," she admits, raising her head to meet his gaze. "Though I'm not sure I'd want to do it again anytime soon."
Harry's smile is slow and satisfied as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle now that the urgency has passed.
"No?" he teases. "And here I was thinking we could make it a monthly tradition."
Y/N swats at his chest playfully, earning a laugh that rumbles beneath her cheek.
"Absolutely not," she declares firmly. "Two weeks was more than enough abstinence to last me a lifetime."
Harry's expression softens as he looks at her, something warm and tender replacing the heat that had consumed them both minutes earlier.
"Agreed," he murmurs, pulling her closer for a kiss that's gentle but no less passionate for its softness. "Besides, I can think of much more enjoyable ways to spend our time."
His hand slides down her back in a caress that's appreciative rather than demanding, both of them too spent for anything more at the moment but content in the knowledge that they have all the time in the world to explore each other again.
"No more bets," Y/N mumbles against his chest, already feeling the pull of sleep after the emotional and physical intensity of the evening.
Harry chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he pulls the duvet over them both.
"No more bets," he agrees, his voice warm with affection and satisfaction. "At least, not ones that involve keeping my hands off you for any length of time."
Y/N smiles against his skin, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull her toward sleep, secure in the knowledge that the torturous two weeks are finally, blessedly over, and that neither of them is likely to suggest anything similar anytime soon.
As for who won the bet? In the end, it hardly seems to matter anymore.
2. 'I didn't account for the rotation of the planet and how that affects the constalations while my characters stargazed at different times of year, I have failed as a writer, and this entire thing is trash'
General Masterlist
dadrry! x fem!reader pregnant!reader
Summary: Based on this request. A fluffy look into Y/N and Harryâs life as soon-to-be parents of two â snow, cravings, bedtime cuddles, and their curious 5-year-old keeping things interesting.
A/n: Hello my loves, here is a little blurb of a request i had from @harrys-wifeyy (thanks for that! btw) i loved writing this little moments.
Word count: 1.6k
It was past midnight when he heard you shifting.
The soft rustle of the blanket, a few sleepy groans â Harry had always been a heavy sleeper, but ever since becoming a father, he woke at the tiniest sound. That night was no exception. He knew this second pregnancy was hitting you like a wall of bricks, and he had been especially attentive lately. Yes, even at 1 a.m.
You kept moving, trying to find a comfortable position, but it was pointless. You needed to sit up, stretch, maybe drink something warm. The baby inside you was either practicing soccer or training for the Olympics.
With a long sigh, you finally sat up â not even bothering to open your eyes â and within seconds, you felt two warm hands on your back.
âMmm⊠H go to sleep,â you mumbled. But the words didnât match how you felt. You melted instantly at his touch.
âNo, Iâm practicing for the midnight cries,â he said. Only he could make a joke at 3 a.m. while half-asleep.
âYouâre crazy,â you muttered, letting out a tiny moan of comfort as his hands moved gently over your back.
âYouâre pregnant,â he replied simply â no further explanation necessary.
You chuckled softly, one hand rubbing your belly. âI think I need some tea,â you said, starting to shift off the bed.
But before you could fully sit up, his hands were on your shoulders, gently pushing you back down.
âDonât even think about it,â he said, already standing up and heading for the kitchen to turn on the kettle.
Two minutes passed, and you were now cradling a cup of tea with both hands, staring out the window as the snow fell outside. Once again, a pair of warm hands moved gently across your back, soothing and familiar. Everything was quiet, and under his touch, your eyes began to flutter shut again.
Until
âDaddy?â came a tiny voice, sleepy and soft.
You both turned slightly. There she was â one hand rubbing at her eye, the other clutching her little blanket.
âCan I sleep here?â
âCâmere,â he said, patting the bed beside him. âMommy needs to be comfortable tonight, so stay on my side, okay?â
âYes,â she mumbled, half-asleep, and curled up against him without another word.
You finished the last sip of your tea and set the cup down, sliding back into bed with a sigh. Your body relaxed instantly. Everything felt a little better again.
â----
It was snowing heavily, so neither of you could go to work or send Maeve to kindergarten. Naturally, the three of you decided the best way to spend the day was by baking cakes.
âOkay, I think Iâm getting the hang of it,â said Harry, staring at his poorly shaped cake with the kind of determination that didnât quite match the results.
You, of course, were irritatingly good at it. Among your many random talents, making heart-shaped cakes had somehow made the list. Yours looked perfectly neat, like youâd been doing it professionally for years â the way you frosted it so effortlessly only added to the illusion.
Meanwhile, your husband and five-year-old were staring at their âheart-shapedâ creation, trying to figure out why it resembled something closer to a lopsided duck.
âItâs a duck,â said Maeve, pointing at it.
âI think itâs a pig, Maeve,â Harry said, as if he were delivering very serious news.
âItâs a duck,â she repeated, completely unfazed.
Harry melted just a little at the sound of her voice.
âItâs a duck then,â he surrendered instantly, giving in to his little girl without a fight.
âMommy is doing a heart!â Maeve suddenly exclaimed, her eyes wide as she looked at your cake.
âYeah, Mommyâs a show-off, right?â Harry teased, grinning over at you.
âMommy is doing her best,â you said with a chuckle. âAnd actually⊠I have a surprise.â
Harry and Maeve exchanged a confused glance, then looked back at you, and then at the perfectly white, heart-shaped cake sitting on the counter.
âInside this cake, thereâs either blue or pink frosting,â you explained easily. âIf itâs blue, that means Iâm having a boy. If itâs pink, it means Iâm having a girl.â
Harryâs eyes went wide. Maeve giggled, clearly delighted by the sudden twist.
âI got the email this morning,â you added, grinning as you watched Harryâs expression shift from shocked to speechless.
He looked at you, then at the cake again, completely floored.
âYouâre serious?â
You just nodded, your smile growing.
âGo ahead,â you said, handing him the knife. âCut it.â
Harry quickly grabbed the knife and moved to Maeveâs side, gently wrapping her small hand in his. Together, they carefully began to cut into the cake.
You watched them with your heart racing, barely able to contain your excitement. You already knew what was coming â and you couldn't wait to see their reactions.
Harry had been so eager to find out and neither of them had noticed when youâd quickly mixed in the colored frosting for the big reveal. Theyâd been too focused on shaping their cake into something that vaguely resembled a heart.
And now⊠the knife sliced through the soft white frosting, and as Harry lifted the first slice, a soft streak of blue peeked out from the inside.
Maeve gasped. âBlue!â
Harry froze, staring at the slice in disbelief. Then he looked up at you, eyes wide and already a little teary..
âItâs a boy?â he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
You nodded, biting your lip to keep from tearing up. âItâs a boy.â
For a second, he didnât say anything â just stared at the cake, then at Maeve, then back at you. Then he laughed, breathless and amazed, before pulling Maeve into his arms and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
âYouâre gonna have a baby brother, Maeve,â he said, his voice cracking a little.
Maeve blinked. âCan I name him Olaf?â
You let out a small laugh, and Harry groaned, resting his forehead against her curls.
âLetâs⊠put it on the list,â he said, smiling through it all.
Then he turned to you, reaching out with one hand, pulling you into the hug â careful, gentle, warm.
âThank you,â he whispered against your hair. âThank you for this.â
âThank you for building this familyâ
âWe both didâ
â-
It wasnât even late, but the sky outside was already dim and heavy with clouds, and the cold had sunk deep into the walls of the house. You were curled up on the couch under two blankets, hands resting on your belly, when the craving hit â sudden and urgent.
From down the hallway, you heard the unmistakable rustling of layers â coats, scarves, something that sounded like him wrestling with his second pair of socks. He looked absolutely ridiculous â three layers of sweaters, a beanie that barely covered his ears, and his winter coat already half-zipped. âAre you sure you need it?â
You gave him the look.
He sighed dramatically, already reaching for his gloves. âAlright, alright. Youâre growing a human. Iâll go brave the Arctic tundra for some whipped cream and american mini marshmallows.â
âYouâre my hero,â you said sweetly.
He pointed a gloved finger at you. âYou better name this baby after me.â
âYou want to name him Harry Styles?â
He paused at the door. âYou know what? It has a ring to it. Kind, Special, Thatâs a great name, Harryâ he said teasing obviously. You both aughed and as he wrestled with his coat by the door, a little voice piped up from behind the couch.
âI want hot chocolate too,â Maeve said, peeking her head over the backrest, her cheeks pink from the warmth of her blanket fort.
You turned to her with a smile. âYou were supposed to be napping.â
âI was,â she shrugged, crawling out with her favorite stuffed bunny. âBut then I heard chocolate.â
Harry groaned, turning around mid-zip. âSo now Iâm getting two hot chocolates?â
âThree,â Maeve corrected. âBunny wants one too.â
He blinked at the both of you. âThis baby has turned my whole house against me.â
Maeve giggled and ran over to him, holding up her little mittened hands. âCan I come?â
Harry squatted down and looked her seriously in the eye. âMaeve, itâs cold. Like⊠so cold I had to put socks over my other socks.â
Maeve considered this, then looked back at you. âCan we wait by the window and wave when Daddy comes back?â
You nodded. âOf course. Weâll be your hot chocolate welcoming team.â
Harry smiled, kissed the top of her head, then leaned in to kiss your forehead too. âAlright. Operation Cocoa is a go.â
â--
The house was quiet, blanketed in that peaceful hush that only came with a long, snowy day. Maeve had fallen asleep in the big bed, curled up between you and Harry, one tiny hand resting on your belly like she already knew she had a job to do â big sister mode.
Harry was lying on his side, watching you quietly in the dim light, his fingers lazily tracing shapes over your arm beneath the covers.
âYou tired?â you asked, your voice soft.
He shook his head, brushing your hair back gently. âJust happy.â
You smiled, eyes fluttering closed as his hand moved to rest over Maeveâs. âMe too.â
There was a long, quiet beat. Then Harry whispered, âCan we just stay here forever?â
You nodded, sleep tugging at you like a warm tide. âMmhm. Right here. All four of us.â
He kissed your forehead, then Maeveâs, then the curve of your belly.
âPerfect.â
And with the snow falling quietly outside the window, the three of you â almost four â drifted off in a pile of warmth, love, and everything good.
Taglist: @hermionelove
Where Harry wants to blame the cold or the mattress or her gravity, but the truth is, he just sleeps better wrapped up in her.
Word count: 1,357
Every night, they start the same way.
Harry climbs into bed first, flops onto his side with a groan like itâs been the longest day in the worldâeven if it hasnât. Y/N follows a minute later, switching off the lamp, the room going soft and quiet.
He shifts to the far edge of his side. She mirrors him on hers. A whole country between them.
âGânight, love,â he says, muffled into his pillow.
ââNight,â she replies, already halfway to sleep.
Sometimes heâll add something dumb, like âDonât steal the covers,â even though she never does. Or, âDonât kick me,â even though itâs his foot that always ends up on her side.
They face away from each other. No touching. No cuddling. No crossing the invisible line.
Itâs not a cold thingâitâs just how it is. She likes her space. He says he sleeps better without limbs on him. It works.
At least until morning.
Because every single day, without fail, Y/N wakes up with Harry practically glued to her.
This morning, itâs worse than usual. Heâs managed to wedge himself between her arm and chest, face smushed against her collarbone, one leg thrown across her hips like heâs trying to claim territory. His breath is warm and slow against her skin. Peaceful. Way too comfortable for someone who swears he needs âdistance to function.â
She blinks at the ceiling for a second, lips twitching.
âAgain?â she mumbles, mostly to herself.
Harry stirs, groaning like someoneâs just disturbed his royal slumber.
âYou dragged me in,â he mumbles without opening his eyes. âEvery time. Like a bloody magnet.â
She snorts. âSure I did.â
His arms tighten just slightly around her, and then he goes still again, already drifting back off.
Liar, she thinks.
It keeps happening.
The next morning, she wakes up with his nose buried in her neck and his hand resting casually under her shirt, palm flat against her stomach like he belongs there. Heâs snoring lightly, and his leg is hooked around hers in a way that makes it physically impossible to move without waking him.
She lies there for a minute, not quite annoyed, not quite amusedâjust⊠baffled. Again.
âHarry,â she whispers, shifting just enough to make a point.
âMm?â His voice is rough, still half in a dream. âCold. You pulled me in.â
âNo, I didnât.â
âDid too.â
She sighs. Heâs not even trying anymore.
Morning three, she wakes up practically spooning him. His back is to her, but her arm is slung around his waist, his fingers lazily twined with hers, like they fell asleep mid-conversation. Like this is just what they do.
She pulls her hand back slowly, like sheâs dealing with a wild animal, and rolls onto her side. He follows her instinctively, still asleep, reaching for her even as she escapes.
By the time she gets up to brush her teeth, heâs taken over her pillow and curled into the spot where she was like a cat chasing warmth.
âMenace,â she mutters under her breath.
The next day, she wakes up nose-to-nose with him. Full frontal cuddle. His knee between her thighs, his arms around her like theyâve been in the middle of some intense, slow-motion hug all night. His lips are slightly parted, curls a mess, breath hitting her chin in soft little waves.
She doesnât move. Doesnât even try.
âYou okay down there?â she whispers.
His eyes barely crack open. âWould be better if youâd stop yanking me in like a sleep-deprived octopus.â
She just stares at him. âYou seriously think Iâm the one doing this?â
âBabe,â he says, voice low and hoarse, âIâm a victim.â
Then he presses his face back into her neck and falls asleep again.
A smug, snoring victim.
It happens again on a Thursday.
She wakes up with his entire body sprawled on top of hers. His head is tucked beneath her chin, his arms wrapped under her back, and somehow, heâs managed to get one of his feet under her calf like heâs trying to anchor her in place.
Sheâs had enough.
âHarry,â she says, sharp this time.
âMmmph.â
âGet off me.â
He groans, buries his face deeper into her chest like thatâll help. âWhyâre you so loud?â
âBecause you are a liar,â she says, untangling her arm and smacking his shoulder with it. âYou keep blaming me for this. Every morning. Like Iâm the one dragging your six-foot ass across the bed in my sleep.â
He doesnât respond right away. Just exhales, long and dramatic.
âLook at this,â she gestures, even though his eyes are still shut. âYouâre fully on top of me. There is no way I pulled you into this.â
He cracks one eye open. âYouâre warm.â
âOh my god.â
âYouâre warm,â he repeats, like that explains everything. âAnd you smell nice. And sometimes I wake up a little and think, âCuddles would be good,â and then I just⊠do it.â
She gapes at him. âSo you admit it.â
âIâm only human, Y/N.â
She smacks him with a pillow.
He grins into her shirt. Doesnât even pretend to move.
Later that night, she makes a big production out of it.
âIâm putting a pillow wall between us,â she announces, tossing one of the big decorative ones from the couch onto the bed and propping it upright between them. âYou stay on your side. No trespassing. I mean it.â
Harry watches her from his side, already under the covers, biting back a smile.
âAlright,â he says, hands up in surrender. âMessage received. No cuddles. Ever again.â
âExactly,â she says, climbing in. âCuddle embargo. Effective immediately.â
âHarsh but fair.â
âThank you.â
She clicks off the lamp. Silence falls.
For two minutes.
Thenâ
âI just think,â he says quietly, âyouâre being a bit dramatic about how much you love me.â
She groans into her pillow. âHarry.â
âCanât help that youâre clingy in your sleep. Iâm the victim here, remember?â
She tosses a hand over the pillow wall and hits him in the face without looking.
He laughs. âThatâs assault.â
She stays silent. Firm. Unmoving. Sheâs serious this time.
Until morning.
Because, of course, when she wakes up, the pillow wall is goneâmysteriously vanishedâand Harry is back where he always ends up: wrapped around her like he belongs there, like itâs instinct. Like neither of them ever meant the distance in the first place.
She doesnât bother waking him. Just lies there, hand idly brushing through his hair.
Summary: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, they say, but does it really have to be the end if it turns into one of the
deepest connections you've made in a while??
Paring: Long Hair Harry x (Fem)Reader
Tags: Always Open
@sassamanda77
Word Count: 16K
A/N: I've been working on this story on and off for weeks. Didn't like it at first, but I was really craving an LHH fic where he's just really emotional and in his feelings. So there will be lots of angst.
Warnings: Strong Angst/Smut: mentions of Zayn leaving, and the band's hiatus. Implications of fooling around under the influence of alcohol, Size Kink, Talks Of Oral Sex (M/F receiving), Fingering, (M/F) Masturbation, Slight Spit Play (Just barely), Edging, While I don't condone unsafe sex, there is Unprotected Sex, Pull Out Method...on a lighter note there is lots of fluff, Soft Harryx100, Very Emotional.
(If I missed anything PLEASE LET ME KNOW!!)
What was the last thing you remembered? Before the dizzying haze sent the world spinning, a tunnel vision of shadows speeding past you. Maybe there was walking, a stumble, a hand gripping yours, maybe the distant face of a stranger.
What was his name?Â
And then there were lights? There were so many lights; was the bar really that bright? There was that last shot when the burn of the alcohol was no longer apparent, the sugary finish the only thing washing over your tongue. Kelsey said to take another, so you did; the scene was already blurring around you, and then she said one more, so you did it without hesitation.Â
After that, there was the bathroom, except Kelsey wouldnât leave Bryanâs side, so you had to go alone. Yes, this is where the world started fading because you remember using the bathroom and seeing yourself reflected in the dim lighting of the mirror, but what happened next?Â
âFuuuuuuckââ is all you can say, squeezing your eyes shut, face planted in the pillow.Â
When was the last time you felt this hungover, your ears ringing, the roar of a headache this intense, so painful that it hurt to even move your head? A pang so deep in your temples that thereâs pain with every thud of your racing heart, feeling the throbbing pulse with every beat pounding through your skull--a steady reminder of the many drinks you felt the need to indulge in, now churning in the pit of your stomach.Â
And then there was the ache in your jaw as you gritted your teeth together, willing yourself not to throw up because you didnât know if you could even move another muscle. Had you fallen? Was that it? Fallen and hit your headâŠ
âThat bad, huh?â a deep voice sounds in your ear.Â
At first, you donât think anything of it; maybe it was a figment of your imagination, the demon on your shoulder from last night whispering in your ear, materializing through the pulsing headache ripping through your brain.Â
But there it was again, and this time there was a dip in the bed next to you, âIâll get water?â it says, and maybe youâre still dreaming because every time you move your head, the world still seems to spin, any movement too fast, and thereâs that wave of nausea again and that voiceâthat smooth voice, and is that an accent?Â
You know you need to lift your face from the pillow, but youâre unsure if you have the strength or the will to stir this feeling any further. That voice is familiar, though, and when the blanket rustles, the feeling of the moving sheet awakens your naked body and alerts you. Wait naked? You think, whipping your head toward the movement on the bed, and when you spot the man sitting next to you, your whole body reacts, a sudden jolt jumping through you, and then youâre falling off the edge of the bed, the sheets coming with you as your body hits the ground with a hard thud, agony already taking way.Â
âOh my godâoh my godâ!â you yell, clutching at your chest, your heart slamming against your ribs, every breath coming at a rapid pace. If you thought your head was pounding before, this was a new torture.Â
âI didnât mean to give you a fright,â He says, and you watch his tall figure crouch next to you, grasping the sheets tight around you as you study his features. Itâs like each aspect of his face pulls at your mind like a distant memory.Â
He hands you the bottle of water and comes down to his butt, a small smile playing at his lips, and the longer you stare, the more you think you remember; at least you know you came here willingly, hence your naked body under these sheets, but was there sex?Â
Heâs quiet, only a smile, and when you bring the bottle to your mouth, he laughs, âYou donât remember a thing, do you?â
And when he laughs again, you watch his dimples dip into his handsome face, and you think to yourselfâŠif youâre going to have a one-night stand, this is definitely someone you would want to go home withâŠor to a hotel? Because when you force your eyes away from his face, you peer around, eyes moving around the luxury suite.
âDid we have sex?â you ask, eyes shifting back to him, and he licks his lips, drawing his knees to his chest, a casual demeanor taking way.
His face morphs from playful to serious in a matter of seconds, which makes your heart drop, and even though it was more plausible than not, you kind of hope you didnât because you canât remember a single detail of being in this hotel room, and as you clinch your jaw the ache travels to your temples, bringing tears to your eyes because this has to be the worst headache of your lifeâand fuck this guy is so hot.
What do they say? You canât experience beauty without pain? Then youâre cursing to yourself, thinking the one time you score a decent one-night stand, you would, of course, be too miserable to enjoy it.Â
âThere wasnât sex in the traditional sense, I guessâŠâ He tells you, cutting through your thoughts.
âMmmmâŠâ you mumble, eyes sweeping over his face. Then you find yourself smiling because he looks so earnest, and his answer has you searching the tiny treads of memory you canât seem to conjure no matter how hard you try.
Thereâs a faint grin tugging at the edge of his mouth, and you can tell he remembers everything, but something tells you that youâll have to dig for the details.Â
âWould you mindâŠmaybe elaborating a little?â you push, watching the smile spread on his face. He reaches forward then, stretching past you to the nightstand, the scent of his faded cologne filling your nose, beckoning you as your eyes fall to the inked skin along his ribs, and then itâs like theyâre all coming into view, a sleeve running up and down his armâfuck.
He sits back on his heels, âHere, I tried giving you these last night, but you passed out pretty quickly afterâŠâ
âAfterâŠ?â You try again and look down at his open palm, the ibuprofen resting in the center of his large hand. You grab the pills and toss them back, guzzling the rest of your bottle of water as if your life depended on it.
He laughs again, his deep rasp breaking through, âSo if I can remember correctlyâŠâ He starts with a grin, his British drawl making your heart skip a beat.Â
âYou said, GerryâŠI want you in that bed. Then you led us to the room.â He bursts into laughter then and says, âMy name is Harry, by the way.â
You immediately feel the heat creeping up your neck, your face burning with shame--shame for your bold behavior, which few have ever seen. âMy apologies, but please continue,â you say.
âDonât worry, Darling, it was quite humbling. Very few get my name wrongâŠâ
You shake your head, thinking you would probably believe anything he told you if he said it with that smile. The same smile that probably got you to this hotel room, but now youâre having second thoughts about who was calling the shots, thinking maybe youâre the one that spurred last night onâyou in one of your rare moods, a toss-up of what kind of drunk youâd be, but at least you werenât bent over a toilet crying over your Ex, so that was a win already.
âDo you want to shower?â Harry asks, as your eyes travel down his torso, eyeing the tattoos; not a single one is familiar, except maybe the butterflyâLike perhaps you saw it in a dream, and why is he wearing boxers, and youâre completely naked?
âI would love a showerâŠâ You breathe, watching as he springs to his feet, a little too fast for your current state, and he smiles when he catches the dizzying look on your face.
âMan, youâre in rough shapeâŠâ He laughs, reaching out a hand, and you clutch the sheet to your body, embarrassed by your lack of clothes, suddenly feeling more modest than youâd hope in this kind of situationâBut thereâs nothing a hot shower canât fix, right?
Here is the thing about Harry: He brought you back on a whim. He had no intention of bringing a girl back to his hotel room; in fact, it was never in the cards to even go out. He was here in Vegas with the band, probably even the last time they would play here since there was already talk about their impending hiatus.Â
Harry was minding his own business, passing you in the hallway on your way out of the bathroom, and when you locked eyes, he watched the smile grow on your face. He thoughtâŠfuckâŠanother fan⊠but when you stopped him in his tracks, there wasnât a glimmer of recognition.Â
You planted your hands on his chest, gazing up at him--a bold move on your partâwhich immediately piqued his interest. Harry was just drunk enough to play into it. Maybe see it through and play along to see what your next move might be. When you pushed him against the wall in the shadowy light of the hallway, he nustled his face into your neck, trying to shield his face from all the random people shuffling in and out of the bathrooms.
And this is where maybe he did spur you on just a littleâŠ
The second he drew a breath, breathing in your scent, he felt himself giving in. The warm flesh of your neck was so close to his mouth that he couldnât help but push a soft kissâpress his lips into your skin and listen for the gasp he knew would fill his ear, your hot breath fanning over his neck, sending a shiver down his spine, and what else could he do?
He felt your hands roaming his body, clutching at his shirt, pulling with such want that one of the buttons on his shirt popped open, making him pull away in laughter, excitement surging through him that felt foreign because when was the last time he just got to let loose like the? Tensions had been so high lately that nothing in him wanted to be here in Vegas, but now he could at least have a little fun, and why not?
Harry hated Vegas; it almost felt worse than New York, a dense population, always a sea of faces, a place he could rarely go unnoticed, and here he was letting some stranger fondle him, and when you asked him what his name was, he laughed again, pulling away with curiosity, he wanted to see your face, he wanted to know if you were playing into some kind of bit, but then you noticed the tattoo at the center of his chest, and the look in your eyes told him otherwise.Â
You didnât know who the fuck he was, and this made him even more curiousâYeah, you were drunk, but so was he, and would this be a bad thing? He hadnât had sex in a while, on a sort of cleanse he held himself to for the last six months, and maybe you guys didnât have to have sex; there were other things.Â
But as your hand moved the thin silk of his shirt aside to get a better view, you forced your hand to his chest, pinning him against the wall, his body unmoving as your finger began to trace the outline of one of the butterfly wings. Harry watched as your finger slid down the center of his abdomen, his muscles tightening, forming a straight line to the top of his belly button, sending a rush to his dick.
When you bit down on your lower lip, Harry nearly lost his mind; even then, he wanted to hear your thoughts, wanted you to say them out loud.Â
There you were, standing before him with very few words, and then you called him Gerry, which somehow sealed the deal for him. He knew nothing about you, whether you came there alone, what your name was. He figured he could ask you in the car, but as you guys pushed your way through the bar, Harry made a point to be your guiding light, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you guys past the flashing lights of the cameras, cursing to himself the moment you guys stepped foot outside the barâwhat was supposed to be fun and low-key turned into him moving through a crowd of people, and while Harry didnât regret his choice, he knew that you would bare the sting of this later.
Do you want to shower first? You ask, taking hold of Harryâs outstretched hand. Your eyes are trained on his face, watching a smirk spread on those heart-shaped lips you knew you were lucky enough to kiss last nightâŠbecause there must have been kissing, right? You just wished you could remember.
âYou want to take separate showers?â He grins, pulling you up from the ground, and just as you stand to your feet, the sheet is ripped from your body, but your reaction is too slow, and when you look down at your feet, Harryâs foot is at the edge of the material.
âShit, Iâm sorryâŠâ He blurts, adverting his eyes while you stand there clutching at your breast, trying to cover yourself in any way that you can. âI have already seen you nakedâŠif that means anythingâŠâ
You laugh then, your face burning, âYeahâŠbut it would be different if I actually rememberedâŠâÂ
âSo you really donât remember a thing?â He questions, covering his eyes.
This makes you smile as a bashful look takes Harryâs features--the kindness to cover his eyes is enduring as he crouches back down to feel around for the sheet on the ground blindly, patting his hand across the floor. He grasps the material and holds it out to you, not daring to peek.
âThanksâŠâ you say, your smile stretching wider, and you canât help but laugh as you pull the sheet around your body.Â
You like Harryâs easy energy; nothing about how heâs presented himself has made you uneasy in the slightest, and when you give him the clear to look, his eyes donât even wander. They move straight to your face, making your heart pick up a beat.
You can shower first,â he offers, and as soon as he says the words, you feel this draw, this urge, this want to be close.Â
A want to explore what it is about this guy thatâs conjuring this strange sense of wanting to give your all. Was that what it was last night? A sense of safety? You could have done anythingâŠhe could have done anything, but something tells you he didnât take advantage of the situation.
âWe could shower togetherâŠif youâd likeâŠ?â You ask almost as if it were a question, letting it hang in the silence between you. Harry ponders your words, weighty in the way his brows knit together, his eyes surveying your face, his gaze on the verge of making you backtrack.Â
And then he smiles, and you see that glint in his eye, the look that probably lured you in, and he says:
âA mutual shower, no sex?âÂ
He holds out his hand with a mischievous smirk, turning up the corner of his mouth, and when you grasp his hand, his grip is firm, his green eyes holding you in place, and you wish you remembered what these hands felt like on your body. Did he play into your assertive mood, or was he more gentlemanly? Did this kindness show through the whole time?
You return the smirk, feeling your guard waiver, âDeal--â Then he tugs you toward the bathroom, the sheet falling around your body like a gown, and you wonder if this is what it felt like to be swept off your feetâthat giddy feeling of new wonderment filling the air around you both, and when Harry laughs it makes your stomach flutter, like a crush youâve held secret for years and now youâre finally playing out that fantasy.Â
Because later, when this was all said and done, this is the part youâll look back on and wonder why you did it, why it was so easy because thisâŠhimâŠthat feeling blooming deep in your belly would become as familiar as looking in the mirror, and although his face felt distant right now you knew it, somewhere deep within.Â
âŠ
Harry couldnât believe it worked, getting you here in the shower with him.Â
He could tell you were nervous.Â
The way you kept making small jokes to mask your apprehension, your eyes barely meeting his. When you wrapped the sheet around your body tighter and wiggled yourself up onto the counter, he could see you trying to play it cool, and maybe you would have fooled anyone else, but there was something jerky in your movement, stiff, still guarded, everything understandable, but there was just this tiny piece of him that wanted that girl back from last night.
It didnât have to be sexual. Although that part was pretty amazing, Harry admired your boldness the most. Yes, he knew that alcohol had a lot to contribute to that, but it came from somewhere, right? He wanted to get this part over, you know, get past all the weird stuff because whether or not he wanted to admit it to himself, you guys were complete strangers.Â
So he stood there, patient, his hands tucked behind his back, leaning against the wall as the silence stretched, both of you waiting for the water to warm up, âAre you from Vegas?â he asked.Â
He watched you draw in a deep breath, your posture straightening. âIâm from ColoradoâŠyou?â and when he gave a faint chuckle, he watched the realization dawn on your face as you let out a nervous laugh.
âEnglandâŠâ Harry laughed, running his hand under the water. It was the perfect temperature, but he knew you werenât ready.Â
âStill kind of cold.â He lied.Â
You shrug, âWhat are you doing in Vegas?â He asked next.Â
âIâm supposed to be here with my friend Kelsey. I was actually hanging out with her and her boyfriend last nightâŠdamnâŠI hope sheâs not freaking out right now. I canât remember if I called her.â
âYou did--â Harry confirms, followed by a laugh.
Harry catches your eye for a brief second right before they dart to the ground, your cheeks flushing, and heâs still trying to wrap his brain around you and the person you were last night, feeling himself getting sucked in all over again, but differently something more approachable, less fleeting.Â
âI donât do this a lot,â you finally tell him--a pang of guilt is eating away at Harry, and his mind is trying to piece together why you felt like you had to explain yourself. Was he making you feel weird, he wondered?Â
When Harry heard this bit, a sense of relief washed over him; this he could work with, this he knew, âYeah?â He questions.
âActually⊠Iâve never had a one-night standâŠI ummmâŠ.â He watches you swallow the rest of your words, your eyes searching his face. As you gaze at him, he observes the fear creeping into your features, witnessing it take over.
And when he sees this, heâs quick to speak up, âWe donât have to do anything you donât want to doâŠand last night I didnât do anything that you didnât ask of meâŠI only did what you wantedâŠI swear.â
When your eyes sweep over his face, he feels this need for you to believe him because itâs true, and when you breathe the word âOkayâŠâ You nod, then your face relaxes, and you hop down from the counter and move toward the shower, leaning past him to check the temperature of the water.Â
When your arm grazes over the soft skin of his stomach, he sucks in a breath, his nerves getting the best of him now, and when you turn your head, your eyes move over his belly, and he stills himself, afraid to move, âDid those hurt?â You ask, and he watches your eyes trail along the band of his boxers.
âThey didâŠâ He says, âBut it was more of me wanting to cover up another tattoo there, and then these just happenedâŠâ
You nod your head again, and he feels himself involuntarily sucking in his stomach, suddenly self-conscious, your neutral gaze unreadable.Â
Then your eyes flick to his, smoothing your lips together, âI think itâs readyâŠâ you tell him.Â
âYeah?â He asks, wanting to make sure this is something you want.Â
âYouâve already seen me nakedâŠâ you laugh, then out of his own bewilderment, that damn sheet drops to your feet, and you step into the hot shower, eyes on his the whole time.
OkayâŠso he could definitely work with this, and even though he was fighting back his boner, the half-mass that threatened to give him away. He knew he couldnât help it, and as Harry pulled down his boxers and stepped in behind you, he turned away, not wanting to weird you out.Â
âŠ
âDo you want some of the water?â You ask, your eyes closed, the hot water hitting the top of your head like heavy rain. The humidity of the shower fills your lungs as you reach and smooth your hair back, and its soothing warmth is all-consuming.
You know that youâre on full display, but youâre having one of those âfake it til you make itâ kind of moments, and you figured if he didnât like what he saw last night, maybe he would have asked you to leave. I mean, he was the one offering the shared shower in the first place.Â
You thought the longer you kept your eyes closed, the longer you could keep them from roaming. You knew you were hogging the hot water, but something about the heat washing over your scalp felt like a christening of new life, the ibuprofen starting to kick in. You stood there finally at peace, massaging your scalp as a long sigh slipped past your parted lips, causing Harry to clear his throat.Â
When your eyes flutter open, you blink away the water, the moisture from your eyes blurring your vision. Then, you step away from the downpour, taking care not to look anywhere but at Harryâs face, his focus trained on your eyes, never drifting any lower.
This made you smile, knowing damn well his eyes had plenty of time to survey your body, and a piece of you wanted him to.Â
There was something about him that made you want him. You wanted him to watch you, maybe make the first move so that you wouldnât overthink it, and here you guys were, in the midst of a hot shower, your bodies only inches away as you both played polite, and the thought alone was driving you crazy.Â
Thatâs when you grab hold of his arms, trying to maneuver around him in the tight space, guide him toward the shower head, watching as the water cascades over his dry hair, and when you let go, your gaze falls to his shoulder, the trickle of water floods down his chest as Harry closes his eyes, and he lets his head fall back, an audible sigh escaping as you watch his lips part, his tongue coming out to lap tiny droplets of waterâand fuck you are so turned on, a dull throb pulling between your legs already.
âThis feels so goodâŠâ he mutters, caught up in the tranquil lull of the water.Â
Would it be so bad to take a peek? See what Harry would have been working with? Because if youâre honest, your eyes may or may not have flitted over his mounding bulge stretching out the front of his boxers earlier, so why not confirm and put your curiosity to rest?
But here you are with every opportunityâdo you do it? His eyes had to have roamed, and as your eyes scan down his body, you watch the toned muscles along his torso tighten and relax as he moves his arms above, running his fingers through his long hair, and thereâs those damnâŠwhat are theyâŠleaves?Â
And as you eye them, you canât imagine what he could have possibly covered up; it doesnât even look like anything was thereâŠand oh fuck, you think as his thick dick comes into view, the weight of it hanging heavy and hard between his legs and shit. There was no way that was inside you last night because as you sucked in a deep breath, reeling over his size, Harry asked, âCan you pass me the soap,â and for the second time that day, you jumped, slamming your hand over your mouth to muffle the yelp of surprise rising.Â
When you peel your eyes away from his dick, your eyes meet his, and of course, heâs smiling because your dumbass couldnât stop gawking.
Now youâre blushing, and when you pivot on your feet, you slightly slip, causing Harry to grasp hold of you--your wet hand slides down the wall and comes to a halt as you push the weight of your body into the palm of your hand and holy fuck, Harryâs hands are on your naked body, and as you right yourself, his hard dick pushes against your ass, and youâre trying everything in your power not to provoke it any furtherâpush into him, nudge the idea into his head.
âYou okay, Darlingââ Harry questions, and you donât even have to turn around to know that heâs smiling; you can hear it in the pitch of his voice, the amused tone of someone who just caught you red-handed, but how could you not look, and why are you making this so awkward? Thereâs no reason to freak out, but like the weirdo you know you can be, youâre doubling down, pushing out the first words that come to mind.
âWe didnât have sex--â you force, over-dramatic, of course, and then youâre repeating it. âWe didnât have sexâŠwe for sure--did not--have sex.â
He laughs, âI know sillyâŠI told you that alreadyâŠâ
âYeah, I know--â you tell him, your tone getting pushy, the embarrassment of it all catching up to you.
âOkayâŠâ He says, âIs everything okay?â
âI just accidentally looked at your dickâŠâ you blurt, almost as if youâre waiting to be reprimanded. Harry drags his hand from your waist as his hand finds purchase on the wall next to yours. He releases you then, his breathy laugh filling your ear, and he pulls away, tsking his tongue several times in a row, making you smile.
âWhy would you taking a peek at my dick be more confirmation than me saying? He pokes.
You shake your head, pushing yourself upright, âYou just want me to say it?âÂ
This warrants another laugh, the laugh echoing through the shower, âI havenât a clue what youâre talking aboutâŠI swear?â
Then your head whips in his direction, catching his cocky grin right before it disappears, âYou know whyâŠâ
âCome on, Darling, humor me just a little?â he pleads, and now you look again, your eyes sweeping to his hard dick, your gaze making his cock bounce, and you draw your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to suppress your smile.
âIâm just a shy girlâŠâ you joke.
âYou werenât shy last nightâŠâ he tells you, with that sexy smile again, and you laugh, your nerves getting the best of you as you try and play it cool.
âIt doesnât countâŠI donât rememberâŠâ you say.
âWellâŠIâm just a shy boy⊠Iâm not sure I can repeat your demands out loudâŠâ
You gasp, pushing a hand into his chest, âMy demands?â you ask, and Harry grabs hold of your wrist, holding your hand in place.
âYes, Darling, you were very demanding last nightâŠâ
âStopâŠI might go run and hide.â You threaten him, feeling shy, but thereâs something calming about his energy. You like his playfulness and find yourself wanting to play into it.Â
âLike go hide back under the blankets?â He offers, poking you in the belly, and then your eyes drop to his finger moving away, your boobs coming into view, a reminder that your casually standing here naked with a dude you just met, and itâs starting to shock you how easy this feels.
âIf I get back in that bed⊠Iâm going back to sleepâŠâ You tell Harry, firm, no room for negotiations.
âCan there be cuddling?â Harry suggests, taking a step toward you as you ponder his offer.
You laugh, a nervous flutter growing in your stomach, âSo you want me to stay?â You whisper, your back hitting the wall. You were so focused on Harryâs gaze that you didnât even notice the steps he had taken toward you, caught up in the idea of sharing a bed again.
 Now, there was proof that your body acted on its own accord around this man, that you could be inching backward and have no conscious thought of it until you were staring up at him, watching him plant a hand next to your head, walling you in.
And now youâre holding your breath, contemplating his next move, his inquisitive gaze sweeping over your faceâwhat is he thinking?Â
Then Harry reaches forward and tucks a wet strand of hair behind your ear. Moments later, his finger drags along your jawline as you exhale that weighted breathâHis close proximity dizzyingly affecting you as you fold your hands behind your back and flatten against the hard-tiled surfaceâYour mind is desperate to find something real, something to root you in place.Â
Itâs like suddenly youâve been here a million times with this guy, this stranger thatâs growing strangely familiar by the second, and as you glimpse the smile spreading on his beautiful face, your eyes drop to his mouth just as his tongue comes out to smooth over his bottom lip, and he rubs them together, drawing you in even further.
And as if there were an invisible string tugging at your core, you push your hips from the wall, an urge pulling between your legs as his thumb traces a faint line across your lips, and he presses his body to yours, your lips parting the second his thumb moves away.Â
âWould you like to stay longer?â He whispers, his tone like honey dripping down your spine, and there you go again, arching your hips into his. Then his hand comes up to your waist, softly gripping the skin at your side, driving your hips back until your hands are flat against the wall again, Harryâs hard dick pushing against your thigh, and your willing yourself to stay perfectly still. You stand there compliant, relishing the feeling of his hand moving to your hip.Â
Your throat is tight with every word you want to say, and as you nod, you swallow down hard, trying to force the lump down, âYesâŠâ you push, your voice barely above a whisper, and heâs smiling again, his lips corking into a playful grin, and youâre dying for him to kiss you because he could kiss you right now.
Those lips could be pressed to yours in a matter of seconds because his face is so close, so close that you, yourself, could close the gap, but youâre too scared, and when you watch his gaze flick to your lips, again, you rub them together, preparing for that kiss, because heâs definitely going to kiss you, his head is moving, heâs closing the gap, and as your eyes flit closed, you hold your breath waiting, waitingâŠand then his lips, press into your cheek, delicately lingering until his raspy laugh fills the crook of your neck as Harry moves his mouth to the shell of your ear, âMaybe laterâŠâÂ
Then you grab hold of his hips, pulling them into yours, your arms wrapping around his neck, and then youâre hugging him, and you donât know why youâre doing it. Still, itâs like this primal urge of wanting to be close to him, to feel his body next to yours, this safety that seems to emanate from every fiber of his being. You want him close, to feel that closeness with Harry, because you canât remember the last time you felt this safe, this open vulnerability.Â
Itâs like itâs overtaking you, and when Harryâs arms wrap around your body, his grip tightens, and he returns the gestureâEverything about it feels real.
Itâs like this surreal calm takes over your body, and suddenly youâre crying, a few tears drifting because this feels so good, this hug, and you think you wouldnât need anything else, that this is perfect, and heâs not letting go. Then he pushes his face into the crook of your neck, his body trembling in yours, his weight slightly shifting. Thatâs when you realize heâs crying, huffing a hot sob into your neck, and you hold him--You hold him tight because maybe he might just need this more than you.Â
âŠ
Harry didnât think he would cry, but there he was, crying into the neck of a total stranger, not even second-guessing himself because once he heard your soft sniffle brush past his ear, he knew he was a goner.Â
Harry felt his edges crack them crumble into a sob like the weight of days, months, the years were coming down on him--All the days that had vanished slipping past him, and while Harry had the world at his fingertips, there had been a hollow opening up, one big question mark, marking his life with no plan for his future becauseÂ
Harry knew that things with the band couldnât last forever, that the shelf life of a boy band was short. It wasnât just the band; they were all getting tired, especially Zayn, who was already on his way out the door. Harry could feel it, see it there in his features, ZaynÂ
withering away right before their eyes.
Another collective weight, the foundation of their legacy, splitting beneath their feet.
So when you stumbled into his world, he wasnât necessarily looking for you, but here you were, wrapped in his arms, both of you tucked beneath the blankets as Harry listened to your slow breaths, your body growing heavy as you drifted off to sleep, feeling a world of safety crashing into him.
At first, he told himself he would wait until you fell asleep and then sneak out of the bedroom, hang out in the living space, watch a movie, or write in his journal. But the second he opened his eyes, you were still in his arms, your face inches away from his. He watched as you stirred awake, your eyes lazily flitting open, a slow smile waking on your face.Â
âSo it wasnât a dreamâŠâ you whispered, making his heart flutter, and without thought, his lips moved to your forehead, and Pressed a soft kiss to your skin.Â
As the kiss lingered, he breathed you in, thinking how was it that you both used the same soap, but somehow you smelled more inviting, the soap taking on a whole new aroma, one he wanted to savor, and when he pulled away, you brought your hand up to his cheek, stroking your thumb back and forth. Then, your hand drifted to the nape of his neck.Â
And as you drew in a breath, you pulled his face to your mouth, your lips moving to his temple, and ever so gently, he felt your lips meld to the tiny hairs along his hairline, whispering the words, âIâm so hungryâŠâ and when you laugh, a puff of warm air ghosts over his ear, sending a slow hum down his spine.Â
This is the feeling he had been longing for. That feeling of ease, of comfort.Â
It had been months since he had three consecutive days off in a row; it had been even longer since he had felt this building notion, this anticipation of feelingsâthe beginning of a crushâthose silly flutters in the depth of your belly every time you look at them, and you were merely a stranger. There could be nothing else from here. He didnât even know if you knew who he was.Â
âLetâs order room serviceâŠâ he whispered, trying to keep his voice even as he bit back tears. Your eyes wandered over his face. He wondered if he had asked what you were thinking if you would tell him, and then he did, his heart starting to pick up.
âWhat are you thinking?â he forces the words tight in his throat.Â
And to his surprise, you donât even hesitate, âThat for some reason you look familiar, but I swear I canât figure out whyâŠlike maybe itâs just my brain recalling your face from last nightâŠâ
Then Harry is holding his breath, watching, waiting for you to figure it out, and when you say, âI donât think I could forget a face like thisââ he lets out a quiet breath, pressing your hand into his cheek.
Just then, a rapid tap drums from the other room, and Harry lifts his head, his eyes flicking to the open door of the ensuite. âI think someoneâs knocking,â he hears you say through the onset of panic.Â
His heart races, and he tries to remember if they had anything planned as a band, but today and tomorrow were free days. Why the hell would anyone be bothering him?Â
The knocking stops, but then the sound of clicking fills the silence of the room, and just as Harry is piecing together whatâs happening, the hotel door opens; a soft glow from the hotel hallway bleeds into the main room, and Harry springs to his feet as a man calls out his name.Â
âShitâbe right backâŠâ he told you, fidgeting with his boxers, now sitting low on his hips, âItâs just Paul⊠probably checking inââÂ
And when Harry catches the worry streaking your features, he bends down and kisses you on the cheek, âDonât worry, love, itâs just a friendâŠâ Then he watches your brows knit together, mulling over this bit as Paul calls Harryâs name again, his voice drawing closer to the bedroom.
âŠ
Lights began to beam through the dark doorway as you watched Harry step out, closing the door behind him just as you caught sight of a man leaning down to click on a lamp next to the sofa just beyond the door.Â
You lay there for a beat, wondering if you should feel fear, but the feeling never stirs, then your thinking why did Harry need all this space, and what does he do for a living to afford such a luxury hotel room.
As soon as Harry closed the door, the room was swallowed in darkness, and you bound off the bed to search for the curtains, opening a small section until you realized that the sun was setting, the twilight of the evening just settling over the bright lights of Vegas and holy shit, what a view.Â
You had to have money to get this kind of view, so you opened the curtains wide, sinking into the comfy chair next to the window, crossing your legs underneath you, mesmerized by the hustle and bustle far below, the room so high that you could barely see the people moving around, or maybe your eyesight was shit, either way, it was the perfect view.
Bored, you turned on lights, trying to breathe life into the room.Â
When Harry took longer than you expected, you shut yourself in the bathroom, taking this moment to spruce up. As you gazed at yourself in the mirror, your eyes darted to the oversized t-shirt Harry let you borrow.
Your eyes scanned over the faces, filling five boxes, the last box spelling out â1D,â and you laughed, thinking, what the hell is this? The faces of these little boys stretched across the shirt, blue, pink, and purple, repeating the pattern, and at the very bottom of the shirt, it read, âUp All Night Tour 2012,â which was two years ago. Harry seemed too old to be repping this; how old was Harry anyway?
The more you look at the shirt, the more you want to make jokes, like, of course, it says âUp All Nightâ They looked just on the cusp of no longer having a set bedtime, and with any boy band, you find yourself surveying their attractiveness, your eyes only lingering on the dark-haired boy with the earrings who probably grew up to be really hot, with those dark eyes and dark lashesâthe others werenât your vibe, but then you felt weird thinking that, like how old were they anyway.
Then it dawned on you that they were the reason you were here, that Kelsey arranged this whole trip to Vegas around this concert, the only way she wanted to bring in her 21st birthday, at the iHeart Music Festival.
Thatâs when you made a mental note to ask him about this band, see if it was worth it, see if your friend was crazy for dragging you guys here because you could barely afford it as it was, and when she brought her stupid boyfriend, it ruined the whole tripâŠmaybe hooking up with Harry will be the only highlight of the trip after all.
Eventually, you returned to bed after searching for your phone. You found it under the bed, but it was dead. Now you had to wait for Harry and Jeez. What was taking so long?
When the door finally opens, Harry is running a hand down his belly, a sweet grin, peeking at the corner of his mouth, âIâm starvingâŠâ He drawls his British accent heavier when the words are lazy.
âI think food is the last step to curing this hangover.â You tell him, sitting up on the bed.
âSorry that took so longâŠwe were going over plans for the next couple of days.â
âGotchaâŠâ you nod, âIs that good or bad?â
âItâs whateverâŠâ He pushes, shrugging his shoulders as he puffs out a breath of frustration.
âI think for like the first time in a while, I just need a vacationâŠâ He continues.
âVacations are niceâŠâ you agree.
âDo you get to at least enjoy Vegas while youâre here? Did your friend want to go out? I could always ditch. I donât want to impede on any of your plansââ
He laughs, âIâm technically not old enough to hit the town just yet. It wouldnât be a good lookâŠâ
âWait, what? Werenât you out last night?âÂ
âWell yesâŠbut that was 18 plusâŠâ
âAre you telling me youâre 18?â you blurt, surprised because you thought you guys were at least the same age.
âDarling, Iâm 20⊠donât worry⊠youâre not robbing any cradles trust meâŠâ and you watch as a faint blush creeps into his cheeks, and when he runs a hand through his long hair, he scrunches his nose, making you laugh because shit, this dude is hot, like probably the hottest guy youâve ever scored as far as hook upâs go.Â
âWhat?â He asks, eyes searching your face. You push yourself off the bed, coming to stand in front of him, feeling a sudden urge of confidence, and when you bring your hands up to cup his face, you ask:
âMay I kiss you?â and he lets out a nervous laugh, grabs your face in his hands, and matches your stance.
âMay I kiss youâŠâ he jokes, and you drop your hands, wanting him to take the lead.
âYesâŠâ and just as heâs leaning in, you say, âBut let the record showâŠI did ask you first.â
His breathy laugh fans over your lips as he presses his mouth to yours. Your smile slowly fades as your lips begin to move together. When Harry deepens the kiss, you release a chaste breath. Your lips part, and you swipe the tip of your tongue over his top lip. Then Harry groans, and the vibration hums across your lips.
Your hands come up to his waist, gliding up his torso until they wrap around his neck, your hands threading through the curls at the nape of his neck. You couldnât believe you were kissing him. It was like everything that you had imagined in the shower, except his touch was a lot more gentle, his pace slow, meaningful in the way his thumb caressed your cheek back and forth, kissing you the way youâve always dreamed of being kissed, like cue the night sky and all the stars above you and this would be absolutely perfect, but fuck the stars if you had this mouth kissing yours.
Because what were the stars if you had his hand gripping the back of your neck, holding you in place, anchoring you there, because suddenly it feels like youâre floating, this kiss dizzying you, a heady sense of giddiness coursing through your entire body and all you can think is thisâŠthis is what I want right now.
And youâre acting on it, greedy for it, a soft moan slipping past your lips, and you want this, you want this right now, and Harry seems to be picking up your cues, and as your breath picks up, so does the kiss, and itâs breath after breath, this urge growing, and as you begin to move the kiss, taking a slow step back, Harry breaks away.
âMmmmâŠâ He breathes, swiping a thumb over his bottom lip, a grin spreading across his mouth, and thereâs that urge again, and you take a step forward, your mouths crashing together.
Then youâre picking up on that same rhythm, and then youâre pulling him toward the bed, youâre mouths move with hunger--desperation in each step that you take backward, Harry moving with you until the backs of your legs bump the bed, and your pulling at his waist, needy for him to crawl into this bed with you, and then he laughs, halting your hands, and you open your eyes just as heâs pulling away from the kiss, his eyes trained on you.
âWhat?â You ask, âIs this not okay?âÂ
His hands smooth down your forearms and grasp your hands, âIf this is what you wantâŠI hate to say itâŠbut I really need foodâŠâ He suggests, dropping one of your hands to pat his hungry belly.
âFood?â you repeat, almost dazed because you literally almost had him in this bed.
âYes, love, I need fuel to take you on againâŠâ he rasps out with a laugh.
âAgainâŠ?â you ask, licking your lips, the taste of his mouth still on yours keeping you in the moment.
âYes⊠youâre a feisty oneâŠâ Harry tells you, bringing his mouth to your ear, âMmhmmmâŠ.â is all you can say when you feel his lips press into your neck, revving you back up, and you squeeze his hand hard, gasping out a breath of desperation as you tug his hand toward the ache between your legs.
Harry releases a weighted breath as he pulls away, his eyes locking with yours. You pressed his hand to the fabric of your panties and unclenched your tight hold on his hand. When you bite your lower lip, you watch the contemplation crease between his brows.Â
Then ever so slightly, he drags his fingers over the warm center of your underwear, your mouth rounding into an âOâ as the pressure of his touch deepens over your clit, and he begins to draw a small circle with his fingers, and you whimper a low, âMmmmâŠâ just as his hand draws away slowly, a small smile playing at his lips, and your hips move in the direction of his hand, not wanting the touch to end.
Then youâre on the tips of your toes, pressing your lips to his again, and this time his hands are on your hips, forcing them back until youâre seated on the bed, and he breaks away from the kiss, pushing his weight into his hands, planting your ass to the bed, âFood first. Then thisâŠâ He reiterates, this time a little more firmly, and all you can do is smile, him nodding his head until youâre following along.
âFineââ you puff out, sexually frustrated, to say the least. You laugh as you fall back onto the bed, ready to pout about it, as you swing your legs back and forth over the side of the bed, suddenly feeling a fit rising, and you exhale a loud dramatic sigh bubbling up from within, and when your eyes sweep to Harry. Heâs standing there with a huge grin, stretching from ear to ear, and you cover your face, embarrassed maybe, but more overwhelmed by what this dude was doing to you, your resolve crumbling with every passing hour.
âSeeâŠI told youâŠfeistyâŠâ He chuckles out, running a hand through his hair.
âŠ
Harry knew he was in for it the second his fingers slid over the soft cotton of your underwear as he watched you unfurrow, your jaw going slack, mouth curving into the perfect shape. He knew exactly what those perfect lips felt like wrapped around his cock, and had you put up more of a fight; he would have given in, fallen mercilessly into the greed that was overtaking him.
And when you fell back onto the bed, his fingers twitched at his sides, a whole vision of him falling to his knees to pry those delicious thighs open. The only thing between his mouth and your pussy was the weightless material of your panties. All he would have to do was slide them to the side, bring his mouth to your warm center, and taste you. Drag his tongue up your slit till he was spreading you open, the salty-sweet slick of your pussy coating his tastebuds because you were already wet, the fabric damp under his touchâyou needed him like he needed youâand now as you both sat there taking your last bites of food, the T.V. droning on in the background, he was smitten.
âOkayâthatâs fair, but whatâs like the most embarrassing thing thatâs ever happened to you? You asked Harry, a broad smile stretched across your face as both of you enjoyed each otherâs company, and he couldnât believe how much fun he was having just sitting there talking to you.
Harry had to think this question through; he knew what he wanted to say, but how could he tell you without giving his identity away or not spurr on more questions to lead you there because Harry had decided back in the bedroom what this would have to ultimately beâa hook upâthatâs all it could be because once you figured out who he was, it would scare you away.Â
How could something like this work when itâs so clear that you both lead two very different lives?Â
âUmmmâŠI guessâŠone time I fell in front of a room full of peopleâŠI mean, like a massive fall, a ridiculously stupid fall, and not only did I fall in front of all these people, but my family and friends were there tooâŠ.and I just laid there for a second, not wanting to get back up.â
You laughed and asked, âWas it like a presentation or something?â and Harry studied your face, readying himself for the lie.
âYeah, back at Uni, it was pretty silly, reallyâŠI had a nasty bruise down my hip later, but that didnât hurt half as much as my ego.â He laughed out, stuffing his last bite into his mouth.
He liked the way that last line made you laugh as you took a drink of your water, your eyes darting to his mouth, lingering, making his dick tingle, and he wished he could hear your thoughts out loud, and then you surprise him:
âWhat are you thinking?âÂ
Harry is thinking a lot of things, and he knows that if he tells you the truth, it will shift the mood, switch gears from light and easy to possibly where you guys had left off in the bedroom.Â
He could feel the tension floating at the surface of every thoughtâfeel it in the way your gaze lingered, the way your lips smoothed together every time he licked his lips or ran a hand through his hair. The way he felt himself flirting, witty with a purpose just to make you smile, laugh that cute laugh of yoursâyou taking any excuse to touch his arm, his hand, he liked you loose like this, a girlish playfulness that sent a flutter to his stomach, his dick anxious to please you.
But that was the problem. Harry didnât know if he could do it. He had gone so long without sex already, and he wasnât prepared.Â
There wasnât a single condom in the room, and yes, you guys could fool around like last night, but he knew he would want more. Ever since you touched his face in that shower, held him while tears streamed down his face, he wanted to bury himself deep inside you, make you feel the way you made him feelâwarm, safe, secure in his touch, your bodies pressed together in a haven that only you two could build because couldnât this last longer?Â
Did it have to end at this? All of it was so confusing, these feelings circling inside him.
âWhat am I thinking?â He finds himself repeating, trying to stay in the moment.
âYeahâŠâ You answer, your tone soft and inviting.
âIâm thinking that Iâm really glad youâre hereâŠand that this has been the best time Iâve had in a really long time.â And when Harry says it. He knows it wasnât what he planned on saying, but the words tumble out of his mouth with intention.
Harry wanted you to feel precisely what he was feeling right now, and that was fulfillment because even if you didnât move any further than this, this would be just enough, you being here, the presence that youâre bringing to his life in this very momentâthis joyâHarry hasnât felt this kind of happiness in so long that all he wants to do is bask in it, savor every second.
âŠ
There it was again. That soul-deep kindness thatâs been chipping away at your guarded facade all day, casting away doubt from the moment you opened your eyes this morning.Â
Who was this person, this man sitting next to you on this couch?Â
Where had someone like him been when all the other failed before him--his presence alone was the biggest mindfuck you have had in a long time because what the fuck are you doing here? Where was this going? It was starting to feel like more than a hook up; the time you both were putting in said otherwise.
Technically, you guys had already hooked up, even if you didnât remember, he did, so you both had already gotten what you wanted, so your staying longer was a choice on both of your parts, and here you knew nothing about him, but feeling a draw so intense that you canât even put a finger on the feeling, itâs like your soul already knew himâalready knows himâhis eyes as familiar as looking in the mirror, but what was the catch? How was this going to end? Could this be more?
âHarry, should I go?â You ask him, needing to know where he stands in all of this; hear the words that he wants you to stay.
Heâs in the middle of gulping down his water, and as soon as he hears the question, he chokes the water down with a cough, eyes darting to you, and you wait for his cough to settle.
Harry takes a beat, taking you in, his eyes sweeping over your face, âDo you want to leave?â he finally says, making your heart pick up a few paces.
âI just want to make sure Iâm not overstaying my welcomeâŠâ you answer, studying his face.
He shakes his head. âAm I making you feel that way?â Harry scoots closer to you on the couch, your body shifting toward his, and places both hands on the tops of your thighs, bringing his eyes level with yours.
Thereâs a plea rising in his features, a worry furrowing his brow as his hair falls into his face, and you reach to sweep the tuff of hair behind his ear, âNoâI just feel likeââ
âI donât knowâŠâ And you canât even look at him, his gaze too much, that look sucking you in, making you weak for this manâyou want to fulfill every silent want that he has, every want thatâs filling the air because you can feel it, the breath heavy in your lungs. You want him just as much as he wants you because youâre aching with it, pleading from the depth of your belly for itâan unspoken want so desperate it hurts.
âI want you to stayâŠâ he whispers, cupping your cheek in his hand. The warmth seeps into your skin, and you close your eyes, wanting to savor the feeling.
Then there are tears, and you donât know why youâre crying, but when the pad of his thumb swipes over your cheek, you grab hold of his wrist, your eyes shuddering open. His face is blurry until the tears spill over, and heâs wiping them away, âIâm scaredâŠâ you choke, barely able to get the words out.
âIâm scared tooâŠâ He manages, as his face begins to break, then you spring forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, and when he falls back into the pillows of the couch, you crawl into his lap as he draws you into his body, Harry holding you tighter than heâs had this whole time.
âI think I really like youâŠâ He murmurs, pushing the words into your neck, and you feel your whole body heat with the thought; your feelings mutual, but all you can muster is a âYeah?â
And as you relax into his lap, Harryâs grip loosens enough for him to rub a slow hand up and down your back, your body going slack, and your head nestles into his shoulder as the tears continue to fall, and you close your eyes, getting lost in the feeling of the rhythmic stroke of his hand.
Itâs not until he scoots his hips forward on the cushion that you stir from your trance, his arms a fortress from whatever was plaguing you before, and you shift your hips until youâre realigned with his body, your hand absentmindedly twirling a lock of his hair around your finger.Â
You listen as Harry draws in a slow breath through his nose, one of his hands traveling lower, moving over the curve of your hip, skimming under the back of your thigh, and he grabs your flesh, pulling you further into him, your center now pressed against the mound of his boxers as your legs spread just enough to make it known, your body waking, the path his hand took now alive with his touch.Â
Without thinking, you press a delicate kiss to the skin of his neck, your lips slightly sticking to the damp aftermath of your hot breath, which came and went as your emotions slowed. Harryâs shoulder slick with your tears. When you lift your head, your hair is glued to the side of your face, and you brush it back, forcing it behind your ear.Â
The blush of his lips is the first thing you see, more predominate in the trace of his tears now glistening on his flushed cheeks, and when your eyes meet his, a tear spills over, and your throat seizes with the sight. You have no idea why heâs crying, but somehow you feel the pain of it settling in your bones, the pain fitting to your flesh as if it was your pain to carry.Â
Will a kiss make it better, make it all go away?Â
Because the way heâs looking at you with those green eyes, so green, islands in a sea of pain, the whites of his eyes red, giving it all away. You reach for the hem of your shirt, bringing it up to his nose, and wipe it clean, making Harry laugh. Itâs a start, and when he grabs hold of the shirt, he silently nudges his chin upward, a quick nod, signaling for you to take it off, and he helps you lift it over your head, your bare breasts coming into view, and youâre straightening your spine ready for him to take you in.
His head falls back against the cushion of the couch, his body slumping as the tears continue to come, like the sight of you is too much to bear, a pained look as he bites his lip, and everything in you wants to ask, just ask, thatâs all, but it doesnât feel like the right time, like whatever Harry feels he needs to release, let it go, so he can move on from it.
He scoots himself further down on the cushion, his ass nearly toward the edge, and you shift your weight into your knee, pushing into the sofa, your outstretched hand coming down next to his head.Â
The sudden jolt of your arm falling into the pillow makes your boobs bounce up, only inches from Harryâs face, and the two of you lock eyes as you adjust yourself in his lap, a chill running down your spine when his warm breath fans over your skin, bringing awareness to your hard nipplesâthe unspoken need for him rising as the air grows thick around you, all your focus closing in on Harry.
His long legs become the perfect chair, enough space between you and the tenting bulge forming in his briefs, and he drags a hand down his torso, dipping into the band to readjust the growing boner that has your mouth watering because thereâs no way that dick hasnât already filled your mouth, that your jaw hasnât stretched around it, tried to fit as much of him into your mouth as you could, was that it?Â
Was that the pain in your jaw this morning? So stiff you could barely open it.Â
Did he fuck into your mouth until he came, shot his warm load down your throat? Did you both go to sleep satisfied because now youâre thinking the only way you could leave this hotel satisfied is if that dick had been deep inside you, a memory for later when all else fails when you have to say goodbye because youâll have to say goodbye, right?
The head of his long penis peeks out of the top of his boxers, and the material settles over his girth, and all you can do is stare, his fingers grazing up and down the fabric as he comes to full mass, the movements slow and steady like a sunset opening up to the night, taunting you, knowing that darkness brings all the things you hide in the light, and these are the things you want to give him, the things you want to share.
âŠ
Itâs an unspoken want, but this is what Harry needs, he thinks while he watches your body lengthen, your posture righting itself as you cup both of your breasts in your hands, your gaze moving from his dick to his face, your mouth smoothing together, stirring a hunger in him when you pinch the tips of your nipples with your fingertips, arousing yourself, and your rock hard nipples even further.Â
And what a fucking sight to see, the pleasure it brings when you clamp down on the tips, just hard enough to release that soft gasp slipping past your parted lips, and he wants more. He wants to see it all, and when Harry reaches for your wrist, he pulls your hand between your thighs--he wants to see you touch yourself--he wants to see you plead for more than just your fingers.Â
The gesture is silent; no words needed because your fingers are already moving, a palm pressed into his knee as he watches you steady yourself, the other hand moving over the center of your panties, a slow, gradual pace as your hips jut forward.Â
He sees your need growing as you find your rhythm, your gaze focused on him, right where he wants it, making him even more turned on as he watches the slow circles, your legs widening when you press a foot to the ground, rising slightly, your body secure.Â
Thatâs when you slip your hand into your underwear, the need more pressing, your breath picking up, and when you roll your hips into your touch, your head falls back as you unleash a gentle moan, your eyes flitting shut, ready to get lost in it.
Harry decides to join in on the fun, stroke his hard throbbing cock, while he takes you in--The idea of him being inside you was only a fantasy at this point, but maybe he could make it real.
Harry knew he couldnât be as graceful as you. What started as slow and delicate for you was already sloppy and pressing for him. He couldnât help the groan rippling from his throat as he cast it with a slowing stroke, forcing himself to stay in rhythm with you as your eyes fell to his, then his hand, and you both shared a smile, and he locked his knees together to give you more stability, your weight sinking into your hips as you slowed down.
âTell me what we did last night?â you asked with a smile, and Harry couldnât help but laugh as he forced his dick completely out of his boxers, his cock resting in his hand.
Thatâs when Harry felt the power shifting in his favor, âTake your panties offâŠI want to seeâŠâ He tells you, glimpsing the smile widening on your face as you come to standing, and when you swing your leg over his, he spots the wet center of your undies, and he has to let go of his dick, or else he might come.Â
âFuuuuckâŠâ He breathes, âThose are mine now,â He forces as his gaze follows the motion of you stepping out of your underwear.
He loves the playful smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as you swipe them from the ground and toss them on his chest.Â
âHereâŠâ he tells you, patting the space beside him.
You laugh then, Harryâs chest tightening in anticipation, but you comply, gracefully taking your seat next to him. What was bold before slips into a timid smile, your eyes darting to your hands clasped together in your lap, and this is what Harry was waiting for: the vulnerability you were giving so freely.
âŠ
Was this it, you thought? Was this going to be the moment youâve been waiting for?Â
The undressing was easy. You had already done that part; this part was new, and the rest was still a mystery, every event from last night.Â
Harry places a hand on your thigh, and you grab hold of it, nervous, too nervous to look at him, suddenly scared because suddenly sex with him was a real possibility, not just a passing thought that had flitted in and out of your mind all day.Â
When he leans in and whispers, âYou okay?â his rasp catches in the shell of your ear, and you nod, shooting him a quick glance, and he presses a soft kiss to your cheek, chills running down your arms.
âLay back,â he asks, your eyes on his face as his eyes flick to the arm of the couch. You turn and look, pausing to take in the empty space beside you and picture yourself lying there.Â
When you turn back to Harry, heâs watching you, his eyes glancing over your face, and he sits back, lifting his hips to push down his boxers. When he leans forward to push them past his knees, he kisses your lips, soft and brief, and when he pulls away, you crawl toward the end of the couch, doing as youâre told, a giddy sense of pride swelling in your chest, that you guys have made it this far.
Once your head is resting against the armrest, you bring your knees up, pressing your feet flat to the cushion, your knees slamming together when you catch sight of Harry rising, his face serious, unreadable, sending a pulse between your legs, and my god, you want him so bad, you want him to shove that fucking dick so deep inside you that youâre yelling his name at the top of your lungs, so loud that your voice fills every vacant space in this room.
âThis may come as a surprise,â he starts, his penis in his hand again as he stands before you, âBut I donât have any condomsâŠâ and he laughs, your eyes trained solely on his hand, now gliding down his hard dick, his words barely registering.Â
You tear your eyes from his moving hand just in time to catch the cocky smirk rising on his face, âGood thing we didnât have sex last night. Iâm not on birth control anymoreâŠâ
ââMmmmmâŠâ he hums, watching you lick your lips, and you swallow hard, your mind in overdrive, already contemplating what you would say if he asked to fuck without one, and when your eyes sweep down his body, you think, fuck it, letâs risk it all!Â
This thought makes you laugh, âYeahâŠâ you say, meeting his eye again, âSo⊠thatâs bad, rightâŠ?â you ask, your clit throbbing, and you bite down on your lower lip, praying heâll make the decision for you both.
âI thinkâŠ?â He answers with a curious smile, the words coming out more of a question, and you squeeze your thighs together, trying to find relief from the pressing thought of you guys fucking, raw, and nasty; no holding back because thatâs what it would be if he stuck that warm, supple dick inside youâŠand your almost begging that those are his next words, the tension building between your legs, your gaze, and Jesus Christ, just say yes or fucking no you plead internally.Â
Your legs fall open at the sight of him continuing to stroke himself, your fingers already rubbing slow circles, enough to satiate the ache, and then Harry smiles, that fucking smile, so cute, and so sweet, his dimples dipping, âSit!â you force out through a wave of pleasureâa single word humming through your body enough to take you to the edge and you have to stop touching yourself or else youâll come right then and there and itâs too soon.Â
Harry doesnât even question you. He drops into the cushions, one of the decorative pillows in his way, and he thrusts his hips forward, his dick still in his hand, and when he falls back into the couch, his hard cock stands tall, ready for you, and he scoots his hips back down the cushion, opening up space for you to climb on top.Â
âSo weâre doing this?â he asks, and he definitely thinks sex is about to happen. Thereâs not a single trace of question on his face as his hand glides down, hitting the base of his dick, and damn it, he wouldnât even care if you shoved him inside you right now, and should you just do it, just fuck him now, and worry later because this is the first time in your life that you would, that youâve ever wanted to.Â
Without a word, you climb into his lap, leaving a space between you and his moving hand. When Harry drops his penis to reach for your face, it hits your inner thigh with a thud, heavy and hard, and maybe in another lifetime, you would ask him to smack that fucking hard dick across your lips, tap your cheeks, feel the thickness down your throat, and maybe he already has, youâll never know, but thereâs no time because you have to find relief.Â
Harryâs kiss is sloppy, his mouth moving against yours with force, with hunger, his tongue coming out to wet your lips, and you follow up by shoving your tongue into his mouth, greedy to taste him.Â
When your tongues clash, Harry pushes a groan into your mouth. The tremble runs over your tongue, sparking a cooling chill down your spine that sends a quiver to your clit, âGod dammit!â you yell into the air with a laugh, and your head falls back, your eyes fluttering shut as Harry, presses a wet kiss to your neck.Â
âI want itâŠI want you,â Harry pleas, his woody voice filling your neck, and youâll do it, you really will, but that little voice in the back of your head is telling you that youâll regret it.Â
âI just want to feel you for a second,â he gravels, forcing you back in his lap, creating enough distance for you to take hold of his dick, now hot in your hand, and itâs so fucking tempting, the thrill filling your chest, the thought swirling something deep in your gut, and your fucking pussy beats with it.
Your mouth is already watering, and you work a glob of spit against the roof of your mouth, thick, and you spit down onto his cock, Harry laughing out a breathy, âShit, babyââ as you both watch it drip over his pulsing head, the saliva working down his sensitive cock.Â
You spit again for good measure, working it down his dick. When you bring your hand back up to the head of his penis, Harry sucks in a sharp breath, stopping your hand the second you smooth over the tip; a smile stretches across both of your faces, a knowing stareâyour whole world as you know it, right now, in this very second is getting lost in those green eyes peering back at you, and youâre captivated, his eyes moving to your lips and you draw yourself forward in his lap.
With his dick in your hand, you lift your hips, pressing a hand into his knee, finding stability as you press the head of his penis between the lips of your pussy, your wetness dragging down his shaft until you hit the base of his cock, a moan leaving your mouth as you push against his dick with more pressure, your hand starting to work the tip.
âYouâre teasing meâŠâ he breathes, letting his head fall into the pillow, and he closes his eyes, his lips parting, a slight twitching in his hips, and he hooks both arms over the back of the couch, letting you take control.Â
His dick is warm against your pussy, your slickness marking a glossy streak down his thick dick, and you follow the wet path back up to the tip, rolling your hips once you reach the top, giving the head of his cock a little more attention, and when you press him into your cunt, needing more pressure, his tip dips past your entrance, a quick stretch as his dick snags on your opening. You both groan out in unison, Harryâs head whipping up to meet your eyes, a throaty laugh feeling his chest, and his dick pulses against your clit.
Your strokes get more aggressive, up and down, stroking down with your hand in tandem with your movements, his dick getting more and more wet and sloppy as you tease your entrance again. Then, Harry grabs hold of your thighs, his fingers digging into flesh as he bucks his hips up, and you yell out a pained âAhhhâŠfuckâŠâ as your hand wraps around his dick, pulling it away, and your body shudders, the overwhelming sensation edging you.
Harry drags your hips forward as you move through the wave. Your head falls to his shoulder as warmth rises from his body, your hot breath filling the space between you, and you close the gap by pressing a kiss to his inked skin. âWe can if you want toâŠâ This time, his words hang between your stare as you bring your face up to his.Â
âHarryâŠâ
âI knowâŠâ He coos, his soft lips hitting the lobe of your ear, and his breath splays over your neck, sending a hum down your spine, between your legs, and he grips you tighter.Â
His arms wrap around the small of your waist, bringing you flush to him, his hard dick pushed to his belly, now tall between you.
Heâs so fucking ready for you, but you like the way he begs.
The heat of him pressed between your thighs is making you crazy, your clit swelling for it, and you want it so bad. âJust for a second,â he begs, his voice straining as you begin to move against him, each movement short and precise.Â
You circle your arms around his neck, feeling the tension build, the urge for him growing deeper, tugging at you from within, every spot you know he could hit, whispering from inside you, begging, pleading. You press your forehead to his, each breath growing shorter and faster as you work against him, trying to fulfill that pressing need for him as he stares back at you, waiting for you to say anything.
âJust for a secondâŠ?â you force out, your fucking pussy aching, the friction on the verge of pain and pleasure as he pulls you down harder, forcing your cunt against him, and you can barely move your hips, Harry strangling your movements, making you desperate for relief.
âJust for a secondâŠâ he whispers with more control, and he lifts his chin to push a kiss to your mouth while your hips are fighting for more.
âJustâa secondâŠâ you say into his mouth, already pushing a knee into the couch, and lift your hips, breaking Harryâs hold.Â
He grabs hold of his dick, both of you gazing down as he guides his dick to your opening, and you spread yourself, making it easier, your hand shaking as adrenaline surges between you both.Â
Harry nudges the tip in, your pussy opening for him as you grab hold of his neck, and you slowly sink with a loud, âMmmmmâŠ.â pushing past his ear, filling the space, but all you hear is, âOh, fuck, baby⊠thatâs so goodâŠâ as your walls stretch around him, the pain sharp, and foreign, but as his dick pushes past the spots that need him, that were calling out for more, thereâs pleasureâpure fucking pleasure.
And just as you hit the hilt of his dick, your breath hitches, the entire expanse of him now inside you, and you tense up as your mouth moves against his. Harry slows you both down, and you gasp into his mouth as soon as your hips ease to a standstill.Â
The sudden pause magnifies the intensity of the stretch--his length stretching past anything youâve ever felt before, his girth widening you beyond any measures youâve ever experienced because they were nearly warm-ups, lead-ups to this very moment because it is so fucking good, so good, and then your hips are moving, Harry scraping out a sharp groan into your mouth as you continue to kiss.
Each time you lift and lower back down, the walls clenching around his dick loosen.Â
His dick is wet with your juices, nice and slick, the fit better with every movement, and it sends a flutter of excitement to the pit of your stomach, âSo goodââ you breathe out, âThat dick is so goodâŠ,â and Harry laughs, grabbing hold of your face, not wanting to break the kiss.
Heâs more romantic than you pictured.
Heâs gentle and lets you move at your own pace. When you swivel your hips on the way back down, he nips your lower lip, bringing you with him as he falls back into the cushions. âPlay niceâŠâ he laughs as you guys hit the pillows with a soft thud.Â
âI donât want to play niceâŠâ you tell him, taking his bottom lip into your mouth, and you gently tug, grabbing hold of the back of the couch.Â
Thatâs when you slam down on his dick hard, releasing his lip. His eyes roll back as his body relaxes into the couch, his hands twitching on your hips, then sinking into your skin to grab hold of you, and he lifts his hips, drawing you forward, then back. The first time itâs slow, but he does it again with more force, and you cry out a moan, his cock deep in the pit of your stomach, and you squeeze the firm surface under your palm to ground you.
âTell me how good it isâŠâ he pushes out, between a moan, âMoreââ you shout, and he juts you up with a raise of his hips, and you yell out his name, letting your head fall back as the force runs through you.
Your entire body heats with the growing pressure, and when you look back at him, heâs securing his hands on your waist, bucking into you again, and as soon as you hit the base of his dick, he does it again, and again, until your bouncing up and down, losing your grip on the couchâlosing control, each thrust up a welcoming embrace, tipping you closer to your threshold, and itâs hot, and heavy, your hands slipping on his chest as you try to steady yourself.
âOh my godââ
âYouâre going toââ you choke out.Â
âSay it!â he says as you fall into his chest, your resolve etching away, and his grip tightens; Harry gaining more control, his pace consistent, his strokes shortening, deeper, as he holds you in place.
Your gaze is trained on his chest, your hand smoothing over the butterfly--transformative thatâs what this will be because youâve never gotten this close, this fast, without the extra work of your hand, and itâs a completely different feeling, a feeling you have to let go and let happen, every breath in and out, pulls deep in your belly.
âComeâI thinkââ you blurt, your mind becoming a jumbled mess, every sense entirely overwhelmed, and when he smiles at you, the knot building tightens, and you feel your walls beginning to clamp around his dick, like a fist, as Harry slows his thrusts.
âIâm going to comeâIâm comingâIâm coming,â you stretch out with a long moan.Â
And Itâs that quick, the feeling sneaking up, and just as youâre coming undone, he yanks his dick from inside you with enough force that you collapse onto his chest, leaving you hollow, a sliver of emptying space closing as your walls continue to pulse, and you rub your pussy against his lower abdomen, riding out your orgasm, with that last bit of friction.Â
âŠ
Harry hadnât intended sex, but here you guys were in the aftermath, his hand wrapped around the head of his dick, cum spilling out into his hand as you rode out your orgasm, his body the object of your desire, and he fucking loved it. He wanted this feeling with you for as long as you allowed him.Â
âThat wasââ you huffed out, trying to catch your breath as every harsh puff pushed into Harryâs neck, and he was takenâthe start of obsession creeping in because that was--amazing.
âAmazingââ he laughed between a quick inhale, finishing your sentence.
He felt your lips press into his skin, chills running through his whole body, every touch electric, heightened by the energy you guys shared, a connection he hadnât felt in so long that he forgot what it felt like to actually let goâto get so caught up in the moment that nothing else matteredâand yes, using the risky âpull out methodâ isnât the best decision but maybe you guys could cross that bridge later. He didnât want to think about it; he wasnât ready for the reality that it would bring, the reality that you would be leaving.Â
âStay another nightâŠI promise Iâll make it worth your whileâŠâ he told you.Â
Thatâs when you laughed, a breathy sigh leaving your mouth. Content, your gaze was starry-eyed, beaming up at him. Your body was totally relaxed against his. âAs long as there are pancakesâŠâÂ
Harry couldnât decipher his feelings, what this was turning into for him, the way he was catching feelings.
When was the last time he had stayed up all night just talking about anything and everything with someone? He wanted to run his fingers through your brain like you ran your fingers through his hair, everything light, a delicate touch, a mindless gesture, comfortable and charismatic, your walls completely down.
What made you tick? Was it something he could figure out in one night, or would he spend months dwelling on the what-ifs because he felt hopeless for you, desperate for the idea of trying to make this work?
All night had been a fever dream, a kiss, a stare, a laugh; you filled every inch of this spaceâof his being. When he was inside you because, yes, he was inside you again, you took it slow, no rush, your bodies melding together in a slow rhythm, your mouths moving easy, light, a carefree laugh, a hand intertwined, a giddy clinginess that neither one of you could shake, and when the morning sun sliced through the edges of the curtains Harry was the first to wake.
He lay there as still as he could, not daring to stir you as his gaze lingered on your face, memorizing the details, your head resting on his chest. Your breaths were slow and rhythmic, in and out of your nose, a faint warmth beating down on his skin, almost humming him back to sleep.Â
He knew this would be all the time that he had left with you, so Harry savored the seconds, meditating on the thoughts that circled his mindâdwelling on the questions that tugged and ground deep in his gut, the longing to be something else, knowing Harry could never lead a normal life, that love could never be this simple because, after all, you didnât even know who Harry was, what he did for a livingâhow in hindsight you were still strangers.
How he was barely his own person anymore, and how could he ask you to share when this was all he could give? Hell, youâve had him more than anyone else lately, more time than heâs had by himself.
Harry knew that when you woke, there would be no pancakes because he had a gnawing feeling that you wouldnât want to stick around, that maybe you were the type that just ripped the bandaid off, and he was right.
As soon as you opened your eyes, goodbye had stolen the night and cast light to the inevitableâthe endâand as your eyes lingered on his face, your lazy gaze taking him in, still half asleep, the corner of your mouth dropped just enough for Harry to peep the frown you were fighting, the still sadness in your eyes, that didnât want to leave his.
Then your eyes dropped to his chest, your arm still draped over his torso. You lifted your head and pressed the softest, most delicate kiss into his flesh, your lips pushing into his skin, lingering, and when your mouth moved away, he watched you press your cheek into the warm spot you left behind, closing your eyes to savor the fleeting moment.
Because thatâs what this all was, one fleeting moment after the other, and when you rest your chin on his chest, eyes meeting his, the knot burning his throat tightens.
All of his words are lost. Harry biting them back, pressing down on his lip that heâs trying to keep from quivering because youâve just become the longest goodbye heâs ever had to make, and the grief of it is already taking him.
âI donât think Iâll have time for pancakes,â you tell him, only furthering the pain building in his chest.
His heart sinks as the words leave your mouth, and you donât even look at him, your voice still thick with sleep, and you clear your throat, Harry watching the effort it takes to swallow, and he knows you feel it too, the weight of the goodbye.
One more timeâŠ
He just needs you one last time.Â
âŠ
When Harry gently nudges you onto your back, you know what he wants, and so do you; your body moving with his movements as your eyes fill with tears. When Harry hums out a small sob, hovering over you, his face falls to your neck, and you reach between your bodies, feeling for the hard mass resting against your thigh.
You know what this is; you know this is goodbye.
What you didnât tell Harry was that you knew, that you had figured it out, who he wasâafter you showered and slipped back into his t-shirt.Â
The two of you stood in front of the mirror brushing your teeth, all laughs, flirty gestures. You stood there thinking this has never been so easy. You felt something wild stirring, the thought creeping into your head with the glimpse of his smile, and you thought maybe love, like maybe you could fall in love with a guy like him, like you could make it work.Â
When Harry turned away to reset the bathroom, you stood there brushing your teeth, and you honed in on your reflection, thinking you hadnât looked this happy in so long, so long that it overwhelmed you, and you stood there, your heart already longing.Â
Already mourning this girl you got to be with him, trying to hold it together, trying to hold onto all your pieces because you wanted to give them all away, tell him how you felt, and maybe he would say the same.Â
There wouldnât have to be an ending, at least not now.Â
That smile, that kindness could be yours, those lips, those hands could have you any time he wanted.
You were so caught up in this idea, and as your eyes lazily flit over yourself in the mirror. You half-heartedly glanced over the five faces reflected back at you, your eyes taking them in again, remembering you were going to ask Harry about the shirt.Â
As you silently studied their faces. You found yourself focusing in on the boy with the playful smile, the boyish grin stretched across his face, familiar, his dimples giving him away and how had you not noticed before?
Then terror took way.Â
It was like lightning striking your body, the realization like an earthquake ripping down your spine as your mind fought to keep up. The feeling was almost dizzying as your eyes flicked to Harry, now standing next to you, your toothbrush stopped mid-brush.Â
You knew you couldnât react.
Thatâs when you had to make the decision, and you knew in that split second that if you said a word, it would change everything. A sacrifice because this is what you wanted, this guy standing before you, just like this, how youâve had him all night.Â
So you bury it deep, a tunnel of grief already splitting inside you because itâs in those flashing moments you know he could never be yours, so you let him go and force the idea from your brain, letting him be exactly who he was, and will be until the time comes to say goodbye, because what heâs given has been so much bigger--bigger than all the fleeting moments--and even if it hurts, and it will hurt later, maybe itâs a gift you thought, and you ran with it.
So now, as he pushed inside you, the pain is sharp, and your body tenses, and you gasp in a breath and let it take way because there was already pain the moment you opened your eyes, the longing that never left your body.Â
And as your mouths move together, the tears begin to fall from his closed eyes, your heart aching with it, and you close your eyes, getting lost in it, falling until thereâs nothing else but this.Â
Itâs pain and pleasure all over again, and when he groans, you spread yourself wider, giving yourself completely as tears spill down the sides of your face, goodbye at the edge of each breath that pulls in and out of your mouths.Â
Then itâs a whimper, a moan, a ragged hand dragging down his back as his strokes deepen, your nails digging as he rasps out a grunt of satisfaction.
Deeper and deeper, he pushes like heâs trying to merge your bodies together as one. The weight of him forcing against you until you donât know where your skin begins and his ends--each stroke persistent and measured, like Harry is savoring the feel of you, memorizing it for later, your name falling off his tongue as if heâll forget and maybe he will, but you donât want to think of it.
And itâs right there.Â
The look in his eyes, the words heâs holding back, but youâre close, and so is he, and the tears havenât left, and you nod your head, Harry following suitâa shared sense of recognition.Â
Harry lets you go first, and seconds later, heâs pulling out, and like every time before, leaving an empty void, but the satisfaction is in the pleasure youâre bringing him.Â
Something tells you that very few get him like this, and this notion, this waking realization, is what youâll walk away with.Â
When your back is pressed against the door frame, readying yourself to leave, his arm perched above your head, and itâs all smiles, him putting your number in his phone.Â
Maybe heâll call, or maybe he wonât; it doesnât matter because what he gave you was the gift of a lifetimeâthe gift that will keep giving every time you glimpse a picture of him in a magazine or a song comes on the radio years from now, youâll know it, youâll know the moments he sings of, the tiny details hidden in his words.
He sends you off with a parting kiss, your mouth moving until he pulls away, and you wrap your arms around his neck, your bodies coming together in one last deep embrace, and you both get lost in it, not sure who will pull away first.
Thatâs when a voice sounds behind you, Harryâs face lifting to see who it is. When he loosens his grip, you turn your head to see the dark-eyed boy with the pierced ears, and you look at Harry and push away, forcing yourself to leave.
The dark-eyed guy moves aside and gives you space. You move past him, walking a few paces down the hall, the elevator in view. You stop then, looking down at the shirt, pulling it away from your body to glimpse the faces, and when you turn back around, Harry is leaning against the door frame, hands pinned behind his back.Â
That boyish grin is in full swing, âYou finally figured it out, huh?â he laughs. You turn away and shake your head, a smile never leaving your face, and as the elevator door opens, you walk in and push the button for the lobby. Harry is still watching, and when the doors begin to close, you lean forward to stop them and yell:
âI figured it out last nightââ
He brings his hands to his face, fainting embarrassed, and maybe he is. You canât tell from this far away, but his smile never falters, and you take that as a good sign, âWhen?â he shouts back.
You step back into the elevator and shrug your shoulders, a cunning smile taking over as you shake your head. Harry pushes away from the doorway and starts walking toward you. The doors begin to close, and thatâs when Harry starts to run. His tall figure becomes a sliver as the doors seal shut, Harry disappears, and you look down at your feet and wonder what the hell you just got yourself into.
A/N: This baby was long, but I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think of it here<-
ellievsbear
janainaart
jbbartram-illu
pixelskylines
origamiaround
annaxmalina
titsay
