Summary: Harry and you are forced to marry in order to seal the peace between your mafia clans. But you have long been in love with each other and are utterly thrilled to finally be together. So right after the ceremony, you sneak away back to the mansion to celebrate the marriage.
CW: smut, explicit sexual content, finger sucking, cigarette smoke, swearing, unprotected sex, p in v
Minutes stretched like hours, dragging on in agonizing anticipation of the long-awaited moment. The weather today was supposed to be completely different, but nature had other plans. Somewhere in the distance, a real storm was brewing, causing the water to beat restlessly against the sandy shore. The sun had hidden behind the clouds, creating a rather tragic atmosphere at the celebration.
There was a wedding here today. Dozens of guests were already seated, and Harry stood by the altar, which was decorated with plants. They were all waiting only for you.
This marriage had nothing to do with feelings or love. Only politics. Harry had only recently taken the position of mafia boss, following a tragic plane crash where he lost his father.
It was hard to manage an entire clan, especially when enemies gave you no time to settle in.
The only solution was an alliance. A peace treaty between Harry and your father. And as it so often happens, you became the bargaining chip. A promise that peace between the clans would indeed hold. Every person present knew it, yet they all played their roles, pretending they would witness a wondrous event.
But Harry was not stupid. This whole scheme wasn't for the sake of fragile peace between two clans. No. He wanted you, he wanted to make you his. You had met several years ago at one of the grand social evening held every year to maintain a semblance of connection between the clans.
You were two lonely souls, drowning in a world of cruelty and blood. And you had found each other. Harry still remembers every detail of that evening. Your scarlet dress, hugging your body like a second skin, was seared into his mind for eternity. He even remembers your conversation under the twinkling stars. That evening became the start of something big and forbidden.
Love was a privilege in the world you lived in, an unaffordable luxury. Marriages were arranged by contracts, never born of grand feelings. But Harry had found a way to have you.
He stands by the altar, trying not to betray with a smile what is truly happening. He is wearing a black Italian suit, created specially for this day, polished shoes, and a bow tie. Harry looks perfect, as always.
The musicians begin to play a gentle, slow melody and his heart skips a beat. At the end of the long path, walking towards him, was you, stepping on the wooden planks laid on the sand. So beautiful and innocent, like an angel who descended straight into the devil's hands. The lace of your dress cascaded down, tracing the curves of your body with every step. In your hands was an asymmetrical bouquet, a complete embodiment of chaos.
But the flowers concerned him the least. Not when you were walking straight to him. Just a few moments more and you would belong to him alone, forever.
Your father, as always, is stingy with emotions. His gaze is cold, his lips tightly pressed together as if he is preparing for war. This wedding is utterly absurd and unnatural. For everyone. Except the two of you.
The seconds of waiting stretch like days. Harry's hands are sweating and he hides them behind his back, not to betray the tremor in his chest. You and your father finally close the distance, stopping right before the altar. You turn to face each other and you dutifully lower head as the man leaves a cold, formal kiss on your forehead. The gesture held not a drop of warmth or love, only the last display of the authority he held over you.
Harry clenches his jaw, taking a deep breath. He steps down from the platform he was standing on and reaches out to grasp your elbow. His grip is firm but careful, so as not to hurt you.
He throws a sharp glance at your father and for a second everything around falls silent. Like two lions ready to pounce on each other, they tense. Harry will no longer allow anyone to treat you as if you were merely a thing. You were everything to him and he was ready to lay the world at your feet.
You feel the tension between them, so you place your palm over his and give his fingers an almost imperceptible squeeze. Grip on your elbow weakens and he looks away from your father. From now on, only you hold his attention.
Harry leads you to the altar, where the priest is already waiting to begin the official part of the ceremony. The guests begin to fuss, pretending to be touched by this solemnity. The priest's speech is dry, too formal. It has nothing to do with the love growing between you. But you don't need it. Your eyes speak far more than any vows you could exchange.
The ceremony concludes the moment you utter that cherished "I do." No one expects a kiss or a display of affection from you—they don't care. The guests are already ready to celebrate the peace between the clans, having completely forgotten about you.
But Harry hasn't forgotten. His grip on your palm tightens. He turns his head towards his closest allies and nods towards the crowd. A silent signal for his men to handle the celebration, covering your backs. Your husband no longer wishes to waste a single second on this farce.
Three men exchange glances, then head straight into the thick of crowd to guide the guests to the banquet area. One of them turns and winks at you both, clearly understanding what will happen between you next.
"Congratulations. Have fun, we'll take care of these liars," he winks, then hastily disappears into the crowd.
Harry rolls his eyes but says nothing. He doesn't want to draw attention to your absence. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the sea air and the scent of flowers from your bouquet.
"Come on, darling. I want to celebrate with my wife, not with a bunch of clowns," he pulls you closer to his side, wrapping an arm around your waist.
"They'll notice we're gone," you frown, but the protest sounds too weak. You don't actually want to stay here.
Harry tightens his hold on your waist. He quickly turns you to face the crowd, pressing his body against your back. A quiet whisper sounds near your ear, his breath burning your skin.
"Look at those jerks, sweetheart. They don't care. They don't care that this day is special for us," his arms wrap around you, possessively pressing on your stomach to pull you even closer.
The roar of the storm sea and the cool wind send shivers down your spine, adding electricity to the moment.
"Let me take you inside, wife," he lowers his head, peppering your neck with small kisses.
The hands gripping your waist slide lower, to the curve of your hips. You bite your lip from the tension between you and turn your head to the side, catching his gaze.
"Harry..." your voice sounds plaintive, more like a whimper.
"Come on, I want to kiss my baby."
You couldn't suppress a quiet sigh. Harry felt your body relax in his arms, and that was his signal to act. The noise of the crowd didn't subside, people were too busy to notice him pulling you away from the beach.
You fled the ceremony site to the sound of your quiet laughter and his sly smile. The bouquet had long been discarded somewhere along the way, and you were holding up the hem of your dress so as not to step on it.
The door slams shut as Harry pins you against the wooden surface. No more gossip, music, or screeching seagulls. Now only the silence of the house and your ragged breaths remain.
You look at your husband, trying to hold back a happy laugh as he leans his forehead against yours, catching his breath.
"Mine," he whispers softly, leaving kisses on your face. "All mine."
His fingers grip your waist tightly, giving you no chance to pull away or escape from him. He won't let go. Not when you're bound together forever.
"And now the groom may kiss the bride," you whisper softly the cherished phrase that was deliberately omitted during the ceremony.
A hoarse laugh escapes his chest. He cups your cheek with his rough palm. The millimeters between you vanish rapidly and you both dive headlong into the kiss. His grip on your waist tightens, his body leaning closer as if he longs to dissolve into you. You drop your hands to his shoulders, clutching the fabric of his expensive suit.
"No one..." his lips break away from yours as he rasps in a whisper. "No one, damn it, will ever treat you like shit again."
His kisses trail lower, peppering your neck with small love marks. Nips mingle with kisses, making you throw your head back and clutch his jacket in a death grip.
"My queen," he growls against your skin, leaving a large hickey on your neck that you won't be able to hide.
Passion overwhelms you and you are already ready to do anything your husband asks. But the sudden loss of contact makes you blink rapidly.
A sly smile blooms on Harry's lips as he takes a slow, teasing step further away from you.
"Harry?" you frown, stepping further away from the wooden door.
"I brought a bottle of champagne from my private collection. And Niall prepared snacks for us. I can't deprive my wife of a banquet," he turns his head towards the kitchen.
On the counter stood an ice bucket with champagne and next to it a metal tray with a huge selection of appetizers. You laugh quietly, and your eyes take on a mischievous glint.
"Maybe we could take all this to the bedroom, hmm?" you step closer to your husband, lowering your voice.
His hungry gaze follows your hand as you place your palm on his chest and slide it down. The emerald colour of his eyes darkens significantly and his grip on the champagne bottle tightens.
You spun on your heel, gathered the hem of your wedding dress, and hurried up the stairs straight to the bedroom. Heavy, quick footsteps echoed behind you, and you knew precisely that he was following.
You were the first to enter the spacious bedroom with a king-sized bed right in the centre. The tropical interior perfectly harmonized with the sea view from the balcony. The room smelled of saltwater and sand.
Harry entered right after you, leaving the alcohol and food on the dresser by the wall. A quiet click reached your ears and you turned around. In his hand was a cheap black lighter. Harry never cared about the cost or appearance of such trifles.
He took a deep drag, removing the cigarette from his mouth and exhaling smoke to the side, away from you. The features of his face unexpectedly lost all the playfulness that had been there just a second ago. As if that short walk to your bedroom had changed something. His face grew serious and somewhat pensive.
"Harry?" you frown, stepping closer to your husband.
He looks at you, pursing his lips. Harry quickly brings the cigarette to his mouth, inhaling the smoke and holding it there. His free hand rises to your cheek, and he doesn't even give you time to think. He pulls you to his lips, sharing the cigarette smoke with you. The nicotine enters your mouth, descends into your lungs, and settles there. He moves the hand holding the cigarette behind his back so as not to accidentally burn you with the lit end.
"I, Harry Edward Styles, swear on my life to love you till death do us part," his whisper is quiet, and you don't immediately understand what he's saying as he pulls away.
You open your eyes and look at him in bewilderment.
"I swear to protect you. You are my salvation, my home, and my light. I give you myself and my heart. And let my blood be my proof."
Horror washes over your body as you realize what he's doing. His hand falls from your cheek, and he bends to retrieve a small dagger hidden under his trousers. A shudder runs through you and you grab his wrist as he straightens up.
"No..." your voice is too high-pitched. "Don't, Harry. I don't want this. I don't want you to shed blood for me."
He stares intently into your eyes. That darkness and confidence are merely a cover. A cover for something more vulnerable and tender inside.
You carefully take the knife from his hand and place it next to the champagne bottle.
"Come on, I want you. Right now," your hand drops to his neck and you pull him straight towards the huge bed.
Harry lets out a nervous laugh and takes one last drag before tossing the butt into the ashtray on the nightstand.
"Brat," this time he blows a stream of smoke right into your face.
You turn your back to him, the delicate skin seeming to glow in the dim light. Harry raises his hand and runs his fingers along the line of your spine, making you shiver. The sound of a zipper pierces the room as he pulls the fastener of your dress down, revealing more and more skin to his gaze.
Deftly and quickly, he turns you to face him and hooks a finger under the fabric concealing your chest. With one sharp tug, he pulls the dress down, baring you for him.
You bite your lower lip and sway your hips, helping the dress slide lower.
"Fuck..." Harry groans, watching the action. "Angels don't act like this, love."
You were completely bare from the waist up, but still wore too much below. Climbing to the middle of the bed, you lean back slightly, supporting yourself on your elbows, and bend your knees, placing your feet wide apart.
You look utterly sinful. Long legs sheathed in white stockings and heels, lace panties, and that indecent garter belt. Your legs are spread open just for him, like an invitation, and your pink nipples are already hard, though he hasn't even touched you yet.
"I'm going to ruin you, love," Harry practically tears off his tie, and the jacket follows, going to the floor.
He climbs onto the bed, looming over you. With one hand, he pushes your shoulder, pressing your body back onto the mattress. Like a beast, he pins your body to the bed. A quiet sigh escapes you as he lowers his lips to your collarbone and begins to gently suck the thin skin.
"Gonna fuck you right in these stockings and heels until you're screaming my name, kitty," the vibration of his voice travels through your entire body, pulsing between your legs.
You raise your hands, tangling your fingers in his hair. Harry bites you, then immediately soothes the skin with a wet kiss. His lips move lower until they reach a small pink nipple. He runs his rough tongue over the sensitive peak, tasting you. The tremors in your body become more noticeable. You grip his hair, drawing air into your chest.
He only laughs hoarsely, cupping your breast in his palm.
"Look how perfectly you fit in my hand," he raises his gaze to you.
Heat floods your cheeks, and your eyes shine with desire. He feels it. As if your sensations have become his own. With his fingers, he draws a line from your breast down to your stomach, hooking them under the waistband of your panties.
"I don't like these. Shall we get rid of them?" You don't have time to answer before you hear the sound of tearing fabric.
Harry loosens his grip, then pulls again, ripping your panties apart completely. Scraps of fabric go in the same direction as his jacket earlier.
"Harry!" You rise on your elbows to look at the remains of the lingerie.
"Shh, I'll buy you ten more of these rags," he gently pushes you back again.
You are already bare for him, but he is in no hurry, pulling away from you. You frown, puffing out your lips in offence.
"Oh, my little kitty wants attention?" he chuckles softly. "Come here and help your man undress."
You don't need to be told twice. As soon as the words leave his lips, you're already sitting up and reaching for his shirt. With quick movements, you undo the buttons, removing the white fabric from him. The tattoos on his body drive you crazy, making your gaze linger on the black designs.
With two fingers, he lifts your chin, leaving a kiss at the corner of your mouth.
You reach for his belt without breaking eye contact. The metal makes a characteristic sound as you undo the buckle. Harry releases your chin and grips your hips.
"I'll handle the rest," he turns you and presses on the small of your back.
You arch, landing on your elbows. Your ass is right in front of him, and he takes advantage of the position, running his palms over the curves of your hips. A playful smack lands on your skin, not causing pain but stirring you up.
Harry unzips his trousers, pulling them down slightly but not removing them. He doesn't want to waste time on unnecessary actions, so his boxers also remain hanging on his hips. His cock is fully ready, but again, he is in no hurry.
With his thumb, Harry traces the delicate folds, spreading the moisture up to your clit. You tremble, clutching the silk sheets in your hands. He doesn't torment you longer than necessary. Harry makes a few lazy strokes, then guides the head of his cock to your hot entrance.
"My good girl," his hand strokes your back as he enters you with one slow thrust.
You arch your back, closing your eyes. A moan leaves your lips with a gasp as you clench around him. Harry's grip on your hip tightens. He needs just a couple of seconds to adjust to this tightness.
"Jesus Christ... I can barely move inside..."
Finally, he snaps his hips forward, setting a rhythmic but quite slow pace. Each thrust is a declaration of love. Tenderness merges with pleasure. The space of the room fills with your moans and his quiet growls. He guides you, penetrating deeper with each push. You feel the touch of love and warmth everywhere his hands have roamed.
Harry leans over, pressing his chest to your bare back. His lips find your earlobe, sucking skin there.
"Fuck, angel..." he groans softly into your ear. He penetrates you agonizingly slowly, yet so deeply. His cock stretches you.
"Harry, more..." you whimper, trying to move your hips faster on your own.
He growls, squeezing the flesh of your hips. A sharp thrust knocks the air out of you. He no longer holds back, no longer restrains himself. The pace rapidly increases. Flesh slams against flesh with loud smacks, filling the room with new sounds. You grow louder. The sounds you make now are more like sobs. Your knuckles turn white from your grip on the sheets.
"You feel good, angel?" As if emphasizing his question, he slams into you sharply.
You nod, your body on fire, beads of sweat breaking out on your skin. The air temperature rises from your breathing and heated bodies. The movements of his hips become more animalistic. Sharp, deep thrusts that give you not a second to catch your breath.
He reaches a hand toward your mouth: "Open," a simple command you obey without protest.
He slips two fingers into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. You close your lips around his fingers, tongue immediately swirling over them.
"Suck, angel. Imagine it's my cock in that sweet little mouth," Harry leaves a kiss behind your ear, continuing to pound into you with a wild rhythm.
Your eyes roll back with pleasure as you begin to suck on his fingers. Your moans are muffled but no less frequent.
Your walls clench uncontrollably around him. You're close. And Harry feels it.
With his free hand, he reaches down to where your bodies merge. His fingers press against your clit, circling the sensitive nub.
You jerk, and your hips begin to twitch with spasms. Your orgasm has nothing to do with sweet bliss. It's shattering, turbulent. Your legs tremble; a volcano seems to erupt in your chest. You buck forward, eyelids squeeze tightly shut, and muffled sounds don't cease.
Harry doesn't stop. On the contrary. His thrusts lose their rhythm, becoming chaotic as he chases his own release. Your body goes limp as you come down from the peak. Harry isn't far behind. He gives one last thrust, spilling inside you.
He collapses onto the mattress, pulling his fingers from your mouth and drawing you onto his chest.
"My incredible girl," his lips seek yours, joining you in a tender kiss.
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