summary: after a late night at the office, harry expects to be the only one left. he’s surprised when he finds a single desk lamp still on—yours. leaving at the same time, the tense silence envelopes you during your elevator ride. but when the elevator breaks down, leaving you stranded with no way out, the tension crackles into something new.
a/n: happy reading you freaks ;) this is my first like…full out smut so lmk what you think. i’m now going to go baptize myself in holy water.
𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹
Groaning as I power down my desktop, my eyelids threaten to shut on their own accord. The darkness that I get basked between is one I relish in. A quiet, still office. No longer bombarded by ringing phones or an influx of emails. It’s done.
At least for today.
My eyes burn from the sting of staring at a screen all day, knowing these stupid blue light glasses my mother recommended can do nothing to save me at this point. I feel achy, as if I’d just finished with an intense workout, not just sat at a desk for 10 hours.
Forcing myself up from my chair, I stretch out my limbs, soothing the ache in my lower back. I don’t even bother to throw my suit jacket back on. There’s no point. I’m the only person who’s crazy enough to still be at the office. But work never ends when you own the company, I guess. Lord knows I’m just going home to lock myself in my home office for 3 more hours.
When I first started this company, I knew it’d be hard work and grueling hours. What I didn’t know is all that it would take from me. If you want a social life, don’t own a business. If you want stress free hours, even off the clock, don’t start a business. Hell, there isn’t even enough time—let alone enough energy in me anymore—to get laid
I think that one has me the most on edge.
Stomping around my spacious office, I gather my things and toss my jacket over my shoulder before cracking open the door. It feels like it’s been hours since I closed it, locked it, and told everyone to fuck off for the rest of the day so I could concentrate.
I guess one could say I’m notorious for being quite…cold in the office. I’m not a boss who’s shoulder is open to cry on when the job gets tough. I want the work done, and done well. Anything other than that is unacceptable. If I’m working hard, my employees have to be working 10x harder just to reach my level. I’m not going to apologize for that. And if they can’t handle that? Onwards and out they go.
Stepping out into the main space seems to calm me. All of the cubicles are left empty and lifeless, deserted hours ago right when the clock struck 5 pm.
Well, all except one.
Off in the far distance of the office floor, one lamp is still on. And it doesn’t surprise me. At least, not anymore. It’s become a constant. Almost a competition. Which one of us can stay later? Endure the back and eye pain, send the most emails, and log off the latest? But only one of us still does it with a smile on their face.
And that is not me.
You’ve been working here in the social media department for almost 3 years now. In fact, you sort of invented the department here. Before you, I couldn’t understand why a sex toy brand like mine needed a social media presence. But when you came in for an interview, for any old position here, you suggested the idea and changed the game. Taking charge, our sales grew an exponential amount from some simple online posts. You follow the trends, keep the business name in the headlines and put so much fucking money in my pockets.
I’m grateful for the work you do, but those words have never been shared with you. Like I said, I have an asshole reputation to uphold.
The minute I see the lamp at your desk flick off, my feet resume their trek toward the elevator. The only sound being my shoes thudding against the marble floors and the sounds of rustling as you pack up. And then it’s your heels, tapping to the same rhythm as my feet, heading in the same direction.
I’ve got no clue why, but I slow my pace.
We reach the elevator at the same time, but you’re the only one kind enough to flash me a smile in greeting. All I do is nod and press the call button for us.
The silence threatens to suffocate me, and I wonder if you’re feeling the tension too. That crackling, pin straight spine, choked out feeling in your chest. It’s consuming me. So much so that I nearly jump when the elevator dings and the doors slide open.
I motion for you to go ahead—I might be an asshole but I’m still a gentleman. Okay, maybe not that much of a gentleman because I’m unable to stop my eyes from dropping to the way your hips sway as you step in.
Starting a company as a man who has a weakness for women in pencil skirts wasn’t a good idea.
Snapping my gaze back up, I step into the elevator with you just before the doors close. A good few feet between us and nothing but the sound of the elevator engine accompanying us. I mentally pray this ride goes fast.
“Long day?” you’re the only one with the balls to break the silence.
“Mm,” I hum, “definitely.”
“Same here.” Your hands clasp together in front of you, an awkward stance to match the awkward energy. “I actually wanted to talk to you about—“
Your words get cut off by a loud screeching sound. It jolts the elevator, rattling us around until I have to hold myself still with the wall, and you catch onto my arm. The spike of adrenaline in my body forces me not to think about the contact. Lights flicker above our heads, but the movement stops. Like, all together. We’re no longer headed down to the parking garage. Hell, the button pad isn’t even lit up anymore! We’re just…stuck.
I instantly break into survival mode.
Wrenching myself from the wall and your hold, I slam my hand against the button pad, hoping anything will make this shit run again. But it’s no use. I press the alarm, hearing it ring out through the throngs of the building I know is empty at this hour. God, why can’t I just leave at 5 like a regular person? I try for the call button, listening to the automated message before it begins to ring. And ring. And ring. And—you get the picture. Not a soul picks up. In fact, the line’s static.
“Are we stuck?” your frail voice pulls me from my tunnel vision. You’ve glued yourself to the back wall of the confined space, fear etched onto your face with no will to leave.
“Please don’t tell me you’re claustrophobic,” is the only thing that comes out of my mouth.
“No, but I do have a fear of plummeting to my death!” In any other circumstance, I would’ve laughed.
“We aren’t going to plunge to our deaths,” I sigh, not even believing my own words. But someone has to keep their head on straight here. “It was storming today, lightning probably struck the power out. We just have to wait for the backup generator to kick in.” I walk over to the closed doors, assessing the possibilities.
“How long until that happens?”
“I don’t know!” My own fear makes me snap accidentally. “I make sex toys for a living!”
“We could be here all night…” you mutter, your voice sounding distant, but I’m too preoccupied to offer comfort or a second thought. “What are you doing?”
“I’m gonna pull the doors open, see if maybe we stalled on a floor, or at least enough floor for us to slip out onto.”
“You can’t possibly pull those doors open! They’re made of steel! And without the engines running, you’ll be pushing against the resistance of—“
With a major ego boost, your words die in your throat when I start to force the doors to separate. It makes an awful squeaking sound, but it’s working. It’s actually working! I mask my excitement easily, acting as if I knew I’d be able to do it all along.
But that excitement was too good to be true, a fleeting moment squashed like gum on the bottom of someone's shoe.
A wall. That’s all that’s to be seen. A fucking slab of concrete and no open air in sight. Fuck.
“Oh my god… We’re gonna die in here,” you practically cry.
“We’re not going to die.” Again, I have no idea, but I’m trying to convince myself my words are true. “Emergency services will be here soon.”
“What fucking emergency services?! We didn’t get through to anyone, no one else is in this building this late, and no one is coming to save us!” You sink down onto the floor, your back pressed against the metal wall. I can hear your labored breaths from here.
I might be known as the asshole around the office, but I’m not a completely heartless bastard. I see someone in distress, I offer a hand and support. Well, in some cases. And this is one of them.
I waltz over to you, sinking down in front of you and hesitantly placing my hands on your shaking knees, the ones you’ve pulled up against your chest. Your chin is tucked against your chest, hiding from the situation—hiding from me.
“Hey…” I think that’s the softest I’ve ever spoken. “Listen, we’re going to be just fine. Shit like this happens all the time and the cords hardly ever snap—“
“Hardly?!” Your head whips up, eyes puffy and red from withheld tears.
Shit. “Do you want me to lie to you?” You shake your head. “All I’m saying is that it’s a one in a million chance that we drop. And, hey, you don’t know? We could very well be just 10 feet from the ground floor and the only thing that would happen would be a small stomach drop.”
“I hate drop rides,” you whine, your bottom lip trembling in its pout.
This time, it’s my turn to drop my chin to my chest. “Jesus, you’re impossible.”
I maneuver myself until I’m slumped against the wall beside you, having given up on the whole ‘save the day’ act. Who knows how long we’ll be stuck here, I might as well get comfortable. An idea popping into my head has me mentally cursing myself for my stupidity, reaching into my pocket for my phone.
Of course, my phone! How could I not have thought of it sooner? All we have to do is just call someone to— Oh, and it’s dead. Yep. Dead as can be.
Fuck.
“Do you have your phone?” I grumble, peering over at you as you drag your head back out of its hiding place. “Check if you have service in here.”
“Oh my god, you’re a genius!” you gasp, scrambling to grab your phone from the purse you discarded when you thought we were freefalling. And I wouldn’t say the notion makes me a genius, actually quite the opposite since it took me so long to think of, but I’ll accept the stroke of my ego. When you snatch your phone, the screen illuminates your face in the flickering lighting. “It’s spotty, but it’s something. Oh, shoot, I’m on SOS… Wait! No, it’s ba—it’s gone again.”
Groaning, my head hits the metal wall, staring up at the matching metal ceiling. Damn, this place is cramped. Maybe I’m the one with claustrophobia?
“I can try to call 911 anyway? Isn’t that a thing? Like, your calls go through even without service?” you ask me like I’d have any clue.
“It’s worth a try.”
You sigh a smile as you tap around on your phone and hold it up to your ear. It’s so silent in here without the engines running, I can hear the dial tone.
“Hi! Hi! Yes!” Oh my god, it worked. Your hand juts out to slap against my bicep in your fit of joy. It’s hard to smother the smile growing on my own face. Especially when your hand settles to a stop, still resting on my arm. Now that the initial adrenaline is gone, I do have time to focus on the touch. “We're trapped in an elevator! Yes! No, the engines went down! I don’t know…20 minutes? No, no, none of it…”
I tune out your voice as you drabble on, giving out our location and any other useful information they need to come save us. It’s easy to do it when I’m instead so hyper focused on the contact of your hand on my body.
Like I said, it’s been a while since I’ve gotten laid. Now I’m like a prepubescent teenager who just brushed shoulders with a cute girl in the hall. It’s pathetic.
Somewhere in between my ogling and internal freakout, you had ended the call, and—to my dismay—moved to drop your hand back to your side.
“They said it might be a little, there’s some fire at a restaurant, but they’re coming!”
“Good… That’s really good,” my voice doesn’t even sound like my own, too stalled on the buzzing your touch has leftover on me to care.
This time, when you slump back against the wall, you aren’t on the verge of tears. I guess with just the promise of help on the way your mind has erased all possibilities of this huge metal box unhinging. Because in the time it takes for them to get here, it totally can’t happen, right? Wrong. But I won’t say that out loud. Dealing with you being a nervous wreck would have been worse than dealing with you in relief.
Even if it has you saying, “We should play truth or dare to pass the time.”
“Truth or dare? We aren’t 10.” I grimace at the thought, holding back an intense eyeroll.
“Come on! It’s just something to pass the time!”
“No, I’m not playing that ridiculous game.” I know I’m sounding like a complete ass—to which I’ve accepted I am—but I’ve gotta draw the line somewhere.
“Truth or dare, Harry?” you push.
“I told you, I’m not playing.”
“Truth or dare?” you repeat, pressing further. But if you press anymore, I might just cave in.
“No.”
“Fine, you can ask me first.”
I’m about to snap the elevator cords myself, but then I decide I can have some fun with this. “Truth or dare?”
Your eyes light up when the words leave my mouth, thinking you’ve finally won. “Hmm… Dare.”
“I dare you to not play this game.”
“Hey! That’s not fair!” you whine like a child.
“Life’s not fair. Deal with it,” I retort.
“You can be a real asshole, you know that?” your words surprise me. Not the adjective you’ve used to describe me, but the way you so freely verbalized it.
Still, I find myself replying, “Yeah, I know.”
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you’re quick to apologize, the previous words probably slipping without your consent, “I didn’t mean to say that! That was so uncalled for and— Wait, did you say you know?”
I nod. “Yeah, I know. I know what you all say when you think I don’t hear. I’ve accepted this fact.”
“Harry, I’m—“
“Don’t apologize again. Really, it’s fine,” I cut you off, taking your words and rolling them off my shoulders.
“It’s not fine, it’s not,” you continue, and I can feel the guilt oozing off of you. “No one should be talked about like that, no matter the situation. And while I haven’t personally added to the email chain, I do apologize on everyone’s behalf.”
“Wait, wait—there’s an email chain?”
Even if the flickering lights gave out and basked us in darkness, I’d still be able to see how red your cheeks turn. “Shit,” you mutter.
A small laugh escapes my lips at your embarrassing slip up. The uncommon sound leaving my lips has a tentative smile growing on your lips, and the tension of your early admission slowly leaves your shoulders. Then the silence comes. A question of ‘where do we go from here?’ hangs in the air. It's slightly uncomfortable. After me being an asshole, you calling me out for being an asshole, and an oddly tender moment; there’s not much else to say. But not saying anything is worse.
Just when I’m about to succumb to my worst nightmares and reignite the game of Truth or Dare, your phone buzzes against the carpeted surface beneath us. At least it gives you an out from the suffocating silence, I think. Picking up your phone, I can’t help but study you closely—I’ve got nothing better to do. The screen casts a glow over you, and I watch as your eyebrows furrow. The tiniest of eye rolls and then you’re turning your phone upside down on the floor again. But you can’t escape whatever you were looking at—it buzzes again. The steps repeat five times over until you can’t fight the groan that leaves your lips.
“Everything good?” I can’t help myself from asking. My curiosity is piqued, sue me!
“It’s fine,” you mumble, clearly not fine. That sentiment is only set in stone when your phone buzzes again and you nearly toss it against the wall. It’s my interception that stops you from making the mistake.
My hand grips your wrist midair and yanks your phone from your hand before you can check it again. I don’t need you getting overly agitated and accidentally manifesting our plummet.
“Give me my phone back.” You reach out for it, but I pull it away, out of your reach. And, damn, the thing buzzes about 3 times in just this short time. “Harry, give me my phone.”
“Who’s blowing up your phone?” It’s really none of my business, but I’m a nosy bastard.
Wow, these confines are really making me realize all of my flaws.
“It’s no one,” you grumble, reaching out again. I hold your phone further up and out.
“Oh? So no one has you about to smash your phone against the elevator wall?”
“Harry, I’m serious,” you whine, once again reaching and failing. The repetition of your movements has you suddenly so much closer.
“So am I!” I laugh. “I don’t need your phone cracking against the wall just right and sending this metal box freefalling!”
“You said we weren’t going to die!” you gasp.
“We won’t,” I reply, “if you don’t go all crazy with rage and do something stupid.” You sigh and sit back on your knees, seemingly giving up on your fight. I don’t trust it. Proven right when you toss yourself forward and try to snatch it again—to no avail. “Is it a boyfriend? A girlfriend? A scammer trying to get you to become a princess of some made up country?” Your lack of laughter bruises me. I thought that was funny. “Or maybe it’s a crazy ex?”
Your lack of response is response enough. Shit. The realization that I’ve cracked the code has you flinging yourself again, but you take it a step further this time. Your whole body practically folds over me in your attempt, leaving your legs landing with one on either side of my hips. Instinctively, my hands fly out to stable you. Double shit.
You still. No longer in a rush to grab your phone back, no longer eager to see whatever’s on your screen, and probably no longer even breathing. I know I’m not. I’m too focused on the feel of your hips beneath my hands. I have to physically stop myself from squeezing your flesh.
I guess there’s no point in lying anymore—I find you ridiculously attractive. Always have. The second you walked into my office for an interview, I knew if I hired you, I’d be fucked. So I wasn’t going to. I entertained the interviewer for the sake of staring at a pretty face a little longer. But then you brought up the PR stuff and it all made so much sense and I realized… I was really fucked. So I went against my urges and hired you, forcing myself to delete any previous notions I had.
But now? Now those lines I drew for myself are blurring. Fading right before my eyes.
“I should…” you start, words trailing from the intense burning gaze I’m most likely sending your way.
“No… No, you shouldn’t.” I can only assume you were going to say you should get up, but I can’t let that happen. Not now. Not when I’ve finally got you in my arms.
“Harry…” The way you breathe my name sends a shiver down my spine.
“Don’t,” I warn, my grip on your hips growing tighter, keeping you in place. “You’re not going anywhere now.” Wide eyes stare back down at me, hesitant and confused. But my eyes can’t help but shamelessly roam your body, perched on top of mine like it was made to be. Your chest rises and falls quickly with your nervous breaths, right in front of my face. I feel like I’m hypnotized. “You look good like this,” the words fall from my tongue without a second thought.
“Harry—“ you try again, but I cut you off.
“Don’t… Don’t talk.” I grip you tighter, pulling you down slowly until you’re fully resting your weight against me. I push down the groan that threatens to spill. “Just let me look at you…”
“What are you doing?”
I ignore your question, letting my hands travel from your hips to the tops of your thighs, smoothing over the material of your skirt. This damn pencil skirt. The barely audible sound of your breath hitching in your throat sends a thrill through my bloodstream. “Is this okay?” I peer up at you through my eyelashes, my hands not stopping their actions of smoothing up and down your addictive thighs.
Your eyes connect with mine. Hesitancy, shock and…lust. I’ve got you right where I want you.
And when you nod, slowly and easily unnoticeable, I nearly snap right then and then.
The groan that’s been fighting its way up my throat is finally let free and I pull you flush against me. Your chest hits mine in a rushed movement, and your hands land on my shoulders to stabilize yourself. You’re so close. So close to me. I can smell the notes of your perfume, the scent of your shampoo, and I’m hooked. Releasing one hand from your hip, I grab your chin and angle your head down toward mine. Our noses nearly brush, that’s how close we are.
“This is a mistake,” I whisper, but you can hear each syllable perfectly, nodding in agreement. “You could be fired.” You nod again but don’t make any move to leave. “I could lose my business…”
“But?” you clue in, breath hitting my skin.
“But at least it’ll be worth it.”
And just like that, my lips are on yours. Groaning into the kiss like a man starved, my grip on you tightens to a bruising degree, pulling you impossibly closer. My tongue doesn’t waste any time in demanding entrance, tracing the seam of your lips and forcing its way in when you gasp. Hands. So many hands. Yours planted on my shoulders, slowly smoothing up to hold the sides of my neck. One of mine on your hips, dancing over your frame to press into your lower back and bring you closer, the other tangling in your hair to angle you just right. I can’t get enough. I’m not sure if it’ll ever be enough. Hissing out when your legs spread further, bunching your skirt to the top of your thighs, as your center presses against mine.
I pull back from the kiss, just barely, letting my lips brush over yours as I speak. “You know,” I strain the words, my voice heavy with lust, “I could think of a few better things we could do to pass the time, other than Truth or Dare.”
I feel your thighs tighten around my hips from my words, and it only serves to heighten my need for you. I drop my hands to your thighs away, feeling the bare skin under my fingertips as one of my hands travels higher and higher, disappearing under the tight material. “Do you want to pass the time with me?”
When my eyes and brain register your small nod, a smirk spreads on my face, giving me the green light to continue. Two hands. One gripping the top of your thigh and the other grabbing the back of your neck to pull you into a searing kiss.
“Good girl,” I mumble against your mouth.
I hold you just where I want you as my lips leave yours and travel down your jaw instead, licking and nipping the skin in my descent to your neck. It’s all so addictive, so sweet. It’s still not enough. But when I find that sweet spot—a patch of skin just below the lobe of your ear—you moan breathlessly, and I think this might be just right. Shivering beneath my touch, my hand that’s under your skirt finds the waistband of your panties, feeling the delicate lace between the pads of my fingers.
“These are coming home with me.” I give the band a small tug, letting it snap back against your skin before pulling my hand away all together. Sliding my hands up your body, I pull your dress shirt from the hem of your skirt and tug on it. “Arms up for me, baby.”
Baby. Don’t know where that came from. But with the way it has you complying without another word, I know I won’t stop saying it. I toss your shirt to the side, my eyes roaming over your newly exposed skin. So much of it. But your chest has me in a daze, hidden behind scrap material you call a bra. I can’t help the low moan that escapes me.
“You’re so beautiful,” I breathe the words, reaching to grip and knead at the skin of your waist. I can’t stop touching you. My hands are everywhere, feeling out your smooth, soft skin like it’s a drug. They eventually slip onto your back, tugging on the clasp that keeps you hidden from me. In one quick snap, the whole thing comes undone. The straps slide down your skin, revealing more and more of that perfect fucking skin. Absolutely perfect. This moment isn’t even one I could dream up. You, sitting bare chested on my lap with that needy yet hesitant look in your eyes. No, not even my dreams could be this good.
Leaving your waist, my hands cup your breasts, feeling their weight and fullness in my hands. My mouth is watering. My thumb runs over one of your nipples, watching it pebble harden under my gaze and touch. I’ve never seen anything so hypnotic. Eyes flicking up to latch onto yours, I watch for your reaction as I pinch the sensitive bud, teasing a shaky breath from you.
“You like that, don’t you?” My voice is low and husky as I continue to roll your nipple between my fingertips, forcing your back to arch. It puts your tits right in my face. I’m physically unable to stop myself from leaning forward and taking your other nipple between my lips. I moan at the taste of you, the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever had gracing my tongue. Or maybe the sweetest thing is the whines that leave your lips when I swirl my tongue around you, hollowing my cheeks with a harsh suck.
I can’t stop. I literally can’t stop. Switching back and forth, showing each of your breasts the same attention until you’re relentlessly squirming on top of me. You are intoxicating. That’s the only way to describe it. I’m a lost man when it comes to you.
“So fucking good,” my words reverberate against your skin as I don’t let up on my attacks. Feeling your hands wind into the hair at the nape of my neck, you hold me close as I explore your body with my tongue.
A hand slides down your hips and thighs again, just to push right back up under your skirt. I yank the material up, forcing it to bunch at your waist, and leaving me with the perfect view of your lace panties. Sitting like this, with the crease of your hips over your thighs, dressed in barely anything; this is heaven. I’m sure of it. My thumb traces the seam, dipping into the crevice between your legs. Growing bolder, my thumb ghosts over your clit through your panties.
“Harry…” you whine, and it’s music to my ears.
“Tell me what you need, baby, and I’ll give it to you. Whatever you need,” the words tumble out of my mouth with no thought behind them, too focused on watching my finger disappear between your legs.
“You…” you breathe the word, shakily, “I need you.”
Well, fuck me.
My thumb presses down on your clit, still over the thin layer separating us, and your hips buck involuntarily. “Yeah? Is this what you need, baby? Need me to touch you?” You nod, helplessly, forcing friction from my unmoving thumb and your twitchy hips. “Words, baby. I need your words.”
“Y-yes! Yes…please.”
They were right when they said that was the magic word.
Finally giving you what you want, my thumb starts a lazy circular rhythm over your sensitive bud. The most delicious cries leave your lips every time I purposely add a bit more pressure. I can feel the heat radiating off your core, like a magic spell dragging my thumb down the seam of you to press against the mess you’ve made. The growing dampness I can feel through the fabric has my hips bucking up toward you. Your wetness seeps through your panties, making a mess on your inner thighs, and—damn—is it a sight to see. I cup you through the material, giving you something to find friction on while pressing against your clothed entrance with the tips of my fingers.
“You’re so wet,” I whisper, amazed, “so wet for me.”
You nod in response, unable to do much else than moan as you find your own pleasure against the skin of my hand. Well, that just won’t do.
I tug your panties to the side, exposing your soaking wet pussy to me. A shuddering moan escapes me as a gasp gets ripped from you. My gaze is burning into the perfect, glistening pink skin, and I think you can feel it too, grinding against the air. Staring up at you, your eyes are half-shut and glazed over, holding yourself stable with a firm grip on my shoulders. But everything in you trembles when I run a single finger through your folds, feeling how deliciously wet you are against my rough skin. Your eyes pinch shut, your hands gripping me like a vice, as a whimper tumbles out of you.
I trace your slit, dragging your mess up and down your core and lightly brushing against your clit. I push at your shoulders lightly, forcing you to lean back and give me a clearer view. Watching my fingers pull your lips apart and your entrance clench around nothing. Holy fuck.
The next time my fingers trace down you, I slip my middle finger inside. Your walls clamp down around the intruder, gripping my finger snugly.
“God, you’re tight,” I rasp, slowly pulling my finger out just to press it right back in. You’re a moaning mess above me, but I’m too focused on watching my finger disappear into you to even pay attention.
I drag my single finger out just to press back in with two. Your hips writhe against the feeling, but I don’t speed up. Keeping my tantalizingly slow pace of pushing in and pulling out.
“Harry, please…” you gasp out the words, forcing my attention to your face. That fucking face. Lips red and bruised, eyebrows scrunched together and jaw slack. You’re a sight for sore eyes.
“Please, what, baby?” I have to force the words to come out without a groan when your pussy clamps down on my fingers again.
You whine at my insistence. “Please… Harder. Faster.”
“Yeah? That’s what you want?” You nod, but this time I don’t beg for you to say it out loud. I’m on the verge of snapping. “Then that’s what you’ll get.”
I wrap an arm around your waist to hold you in place as I finally let my instincts take over. My fingers gain speed, thrusting in and out of you just how you wanted. The sounds of my fingers slamming against your wetness draws a dark moan from the back of my throat. I can’t pull my eyes away from your face. Watching as it screws up with pleasure, your moans filling the confined space.
“You feel so good,” I moan, curling my fingers inside of you. “Can’t wait to have you wrapped around my cock.” I press against the spongy skin inside of you, stimulating it and watching you fall apart in my arms. It makes you grip onto my hair instead of my shoulders, dragging my face closer to your body. I take that as an invitation to wrap my lips around your nipple again, lapping and sucking until I can feel you teetering on the edge. “That’s it, baby. Let me make you come.”
I press my thumb against your clit and you cry out, arching your perfect tits into my face. I have half the mind to motorboat you. Instead, I change the angle. Slowly, I push off against the wall and guide you down to lay flat on your back. My fingers still slamming and twisting and fucking into you without remorse. With one hand to hold myself up by the side of your head, I continue to attack your breasts with my mouth, until you're covered in my marks. My lips travel down your sternum, licking a strip from the underside of your breasts to your belly button. I dip my tongue into the valley and you gasp, eyes snapping open to watch me. The cocky smirk that breaks out on my lips has your eyes threatening to roll back, but you fight it, I can tell. You want to see what I’m going to do next.
Planting hot, wet kisses down your pelvis, I make way between your legs. Meeting my fingers and their brutal pace, I replace my thumb on your clit with my tongue. Rising onto your forearms, you get a front row seat.
My eyes nearly cross at the taste of you, lapping up the sweetness that covers your core. My fingers repeatedly hit your g-spot as my lips suck your clit into my mouth. My unrestrained moan only brings you more pleasure.
“Harry! I’m gonna—ah!” you scream out as I feel your walls clench and tightly.
“Yeah?” I rasp between flicks of my tongue. “You’re gonna come on my fingers? Gonna come for me?”
You don’t have a second to respond between your gasps, moans, and whines. Hips bucking up against my face, I roll my fingers into you and swirl my tongue around your clit. I can pinpoint the exact millisecond your orgasm rips through you.
Screaming out my name, your hands land in my hair and tug, body trembling against the floor. I flatten my tongue against you and let you ride out the waves against it, my fingers slowing their assault before pulling out all together. Tossing your thighs over my shoulders, I finally dive in for a real taste.
You cry from the overstimulation, feeling my tongue lapping up every last drop of your release. I eat you like you’re the last drops of water and I’m stranded in the desert, moaning every time your taste hits my tongue. I can’t stop. Not even to take a breath or give you a second to come down. My tongue plunges into you and I’m certain I could die a happy man right here right now. With you squirming and begging for a second to catch up, and my hands squeezing your flesh anywhere I can get my hands on.
I don’t even notice that I’ve been grinding my hips against the floor until a strained moan hits your core. I need to make you come again. I need it like I need oxygen. And that rubber band holding of restraint that was once holding me back has obliterated into dust.
I nuzzle my face feverishly against your core, rubbing my nose against your clit as my tongue loses sanity against your perfect pussy. My own hardness is so painful, straining against the material of my slacks. I can’t help myself from reaching down to unzip my pants and palming myself over my boxers.
I lift your hips in the air to dive deeper, taking every piece of your resolve with me.
Your orgasm hits you out of nowhere, tensing your frame as your hips grind against my awaiting face. I lap up your juices, my mind failing me at the intensity of it all.
I need more.
Finally getting a breath, I pull my face from between your legs, my lips and chin glistening from you. I don’t plan on ever wiping it off. Your legs flop back onto the floor, like a ragdoll.
“God, you’re perfect,” I speak mindlessly as I sit back on my knees, reaching for the buttons of my shirt. I’m burning up. You lay on your back panting, eyes dazedly watching me. “You okay?” I check.
You nod, a slow, lazy smile growing on your face. You’re completely spent and I’ve barely even begun.
“Good…” I toss my shirt to the side, leaving me bare chested in front of you. I don’t miss the way your eyes trail down my skin, burning a map on your journey. I lean over you, my face hovering over yours just inches away. Close enough for you to feel my breath hit your face when I say, “Because I’m about to bury my cock so deep in your perfect, little pussy.”
One of my fingers sliding through your folds emphasizes my words, making you gasp. I grab your hips and lift them off the ground, making our centers connect. Rubbing my boxer-clad bulge against you, you mewl. “You have no idea how badly I need to be inside of you right now,” I grunt, snapping my hips against yours. “Do you want that, baby? You want me deep inside of you?” You nod, but this time I demand words. I need to hear you say it. “Say it.”
“I want it,” you gasp. “I want it! Please!”
My hips snap again. “What do you want, baby? Tell me.”
“I want you… Deep inside of me,” the words finally break free from your lips, just as a groan leaves mine.
I’m immediately fumbling with my pants, yanking them down my legs and kicking them off not so sexily. You don’t seem to notice though, if anything you’re the opposite of shuddered by my fumbling. You just squirm and writhe, begging for my attention again. Fuck. My boxers are the next to go, joining the heap of clothes we’ve created in the corner of this small space. But when you go to sit up and peel your skirt off your body, I reach out and stop you. Your eyes look up at me, confused.
“That’s staying on,” I murmur, eyes trained on the bunched material covering the tops of your hips and your waist.
Those fucking pencil skirts.
You comply, laying back down and finally letting your eyes trail over me. From the top of my hair, to the swell of my thighs straining to keep me upright. Though your attention does seem to focus more on my throbbing cock that stands at attention for you.
I grab your legs and wrap them around my waist, forcing your hips to raise and meet mine. Our moans harmonize when my length nestles between your folds. I’m unable to stop my rocking hips. Your own hips meet my lazy strides, causing a ripple of pleasure to shockwave through me.
I pull back slightly and grab the base of my cock, stroking myself a few times as I bring my tip against your folds. I’m leaking precum against you, my jaw slack as I run myself through your drenched core.
“Harry, please,” you beg, your voice needy and desperate.
I don’t tear my eyes away from your center. “Please what, baby?” I slap the head of my cock against your clit, watching you jump and squirm in surprise.
“Please… Fuck me.”
“Yeah?” I drag myself to your entrance, just barely pressing in but already feeling your warmth envelop me. It takes all my strength to hold back. “You want me to fuck this tight, little cunt?”
I push just my tip inside, gnawing down on my bottom lip to keep my composure, but you’re not so slick. “Y-yes! Yes! Please!”
Your walls are so tight around me, I could finish right now. Squeezing me and begging for more. I don’t have the self control to tease you anymore. Not when your body so clearly needs this—needs me.
I don’t waste anymore time, thrusting inside of you and filling you completely in one swift motion. One strangled gasp from you and a guttural moan from me. Nails biting into my shoulders as I stretch you open, unwarranted sounds spilling from me as your pussy flutters around me.
My head falls back in pleasure. “Fuck,” I sigh. “You feel so good.”
I adjust my grip, holding your thighs wrapped around me as I slowly pull back out. You whimper, but it’s cut off with a moan when I slam my hips back against yours. I don’t start slow, there’s no point. Not when my body is screaming at me to just take you. Claim you. With a vice grip on you, I continue my relentless pace, ramming my length into you. Your moans are unrestrained now, bouncing off the steel walls and mixing with the sounds of our skin slapping together.
“So tight,” I grunt, my teeth clenched. “So good.”
My hands are frenzied. Smoothing over your skin and gripping anywhere I can get a handle on. I steady my hips as I latch onto yours, using the leverage to move your hips for you. I drag you on and off my cock, watching it disappear into your wet hold. Using you like a toy for my pleasure, I pick up the pace and force your hips to slam against mine. The small rolls you do on your own have me feeling mental. Nothing has ever felt like this. Nothing will ever feel like this again.
And it’s taken to the next level when you use your abdomen to pull yourself up, sending me back onto my calves. Your hands grip my shoulders as you settle into a perch on my lap, grinding your hips against mine. Taking control. Dammit, you’re sexy.
“Yeah?” I pant. “Taking what’s yours, huh? Using me to get off?”
You don’t respond with words, but you do let your lips do the talking. Bending down, your lips attach to mine in a sloppy kiss. It’s hard when pants and moans are constantly spilling, but I swallow every sound you make. Your hands slip to my chest and push me backwards, landing me flat on my back and mirroring your previous position. My length falls out of you from the change of angle, but you’re quick to fix your mistake.
Wrapping your hand around my cock, it twitches from the contact. As you move to hover over my lap again, you stroke me lazily, and my hands grab your hips. When I feel you dragging me through your dripping folds, my head falls back and my eyes roll. Not giving me a chance to breathe before you sink down onto me again.
You stable yourself with both hands on my chest, burning my skin with your dangerous touch. Hips sliding and grinding against mine, you’re much softer with your movements. But, dammit, if it doesn’t have me losing my mind just the same. I reach behind you, grabbing a handful of that perfect ass I’ve shamelessly stared at far too many times. It feels so much better to have it in my hands. So much so, my other hand has to join it. Groping both of your cheeks, I guide your movements over me, setting a pace that fulfills both of our needs.
When your hips rise and fall over me, I hiss and squeeze your plump skin tighter. So you do it again. And again. And again, until I’m not controlling the pathetic sounds that leave my mouth. You bounce and grind with a practiced ease, taking the pleasure you need from me.
“You like bouncing on my cock, baby?” A sly smile grows on your lips and you speed up. “Damn right you do.” I smack your ass.
To my—very pleasant—surprise, it rips a harsh moan from your lips. Noted. Sitting up straighter, you bounce on me without caring about the burn I’m sure you’re feeling in your thighs. So I slap your ass again. It has your movements faltering.
“Does my baby like to be spanked, huh?” You nod breathlessly as I continue to smack and palm your ass. It fits so nicely in my hands, I can’t resist. But the pleasure you’re finding from it is slowing you down, losing your rhythm.
So I take control again.
Planting my feet on the floor, I push up until my knees are pointed in the air. Grabbing onto your hips, I still your movements and hold you right where I need you. Then I go to town.
I thrust up into you with a brutal force, wrenching a scream from deep in your soul. Your top half falls forward, nearly collapsing on top of me. Grunts and moans leave my lips without permission as you barely hold yourself together. This new angle is deep and rough, hitting all the right places inside of you and making you clamp down onto me with a vice grip.
“Yeah, baby, just like that,” I groan. “You’re taking my cock so well. Fucking perfect… So fucking tight,” I grit the words out. And when your hips start to grind against my thrusts, I stare down at the edge of my pleasure. “Shit! You’re so hot…”
Faces mere inches apart, we swap oxygen between our labored pants and needy moans. I grab the back of your neck and pull your lips to meet mine. A heated kiss, moving hungrily against one another, tasting and devouring each other as we move together. I grip your hip tighter with my hand, snapping my hips up to meet yours. Your movements grow frantic, more wild, as you chase your pleasure down. I can feel your body tensing in my hold, feel you fluttering and squeezing around me, knowing you’re getting closer.
“That’s it…” I encourage, nuzzling my face in your neck and letting my hand fall back to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “Come for me, baby. Come all over my cock.”
I grind my hips up into yours, repeatedly hitting that spot that has you crying out my name over and over again. Your body starts to shake, breathing turning erratic.
“Oh God, oh God—don’t stop!” you whine and pant and make me nearly lose my mind.
I grunt with a particular deep thrust. “I’m not gonna stop, baby.”
Whines and whimpers are your only form of communication at this point, a silent plea. Your body tenses, coils up so tight it might just send me over the edge too. And when a long, low moan falls from your lips, your body stills as you peak. I hold you tight, feeling your body tremble in my arms. Your pussy clenches so hard around me, threatening to push me out all together. I don’t let up on my thrusts, seeing the bright white light of pleasure coming for me. Your whines or sensitivity only spur me on.
“Fuck, yes, baby… So good. Come all over me. You’re perfect. So fucking good and tight. Gonna make me come so hard in that perfect cunt of yours,” the thoughtless mumbles pour out of my mouth.
“Harry, please…” I know that you’re begging for my release, feeling me slide in and out of your core.
“Almost there, baby, just—fuck!” I gasp when your walls clench around me again. “God, do that again.”
So you do. You do it over and over until my hips grow sloppy and my uneven breaths threaten to make me pass out. I’m gritting my teeth, gripping your hips, and desperately reaching for the climax that I know will ruin anyone else for me.
“Fuck! I’m gonna come! I’m gonna fill you up, baby!” I scream out the words, hips snapping uncoordinatedly up into yours. “Shit! Fuck! Yes!”
With one sensitive roll of your hips, it’s game over for me.
I gasp and choke out a moan as my hips come to an abrupt halt. My jaw hangs like it’s detached from my body all together, panting into the open air. Feeling myself spilling into you, you whimper in encouragement. And then we both go limp.
My hands fall from your hips and down to my sides and you essentially collapse onto my chest. Rising with every heavy inhale I take, I welcome your weight on me, bringing me back down to earth.
Back down to this broken elevator.
Shit, I almost forgot the situation we were in.
I reach up and run a hand through your sweat lined hair, basking in the stillness of this moment. You hum against me, the sound rattling the blood in my veins, and pushing me to continue.
This right here is peace.
“Fire Department! We’re gonna work on getting you guys out of there!”
summary: paparazzi take pictures of your son, while you try to protect him
masterlist || part 1:
Harry’s POV:
“Then maybe we could just grab takeout,” I say softly, not to wake up our two-year-old son who is safely sleeping on your shoulder, his little fingers gripping your shirt. I keep my hand on the small of your back as we walk. We just got back from Italy, where our son spent most of his life—a decision we made together.
Our house in Italy was practically in the middle of nowhere, which gave us privacy and security. Who wants to deal with paparazzi, stalkers, and thousands of fans while taking care of a newborn? I also recognized that you needed time to heal and rest, away from all the buzz, so that decision was really a no-brainer. When we would go out in Rome or Florence, my fans were surprisingly understanding when I said “no pictures.” There wasn’t even one sneaky photo of Dorian, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I could actually breathe.
Today, we were taking a stroll around London, enjoying the sunny weather. Dorian perhaps had too much fun on the playground. You picked him up when you noticed how he was rubbing his eyes—a sign that he was sleepy. The warmth of your body and the familiar scent of your perfume lulled our little one to sleep pretty fast. He was resting safely in your arms.
“Yeah, I think it’s a good idea. Dorian loves their pasta, so we…” You don’t even get to finish your sentence as we both snap our heads at the sound of a camera shutter going off along with a flash. I can feel your body tense as you cover Dorian’s head with your palm, hiding his face.
“What the fuck did you just do?” I dart to the paparazzo across the street, and you don’t even attempt to stop me. Usually, you would be the one to calm me down, but this time I know we both need those pictures deleted.
“Delete them or I will fuck you up and you’ll have to deal with my whole legal team,” I practically bark at him.
The man lowers his camera slightly, startled but not apologetic. He’s one of the cocky ones, the kind who think a public sidewalk gives him the right to anything. I can feel the rage blooming hot under my skin as I close the distance.
“I said delete them.” My voice is low now, deadly. Controlled in that way I only get when I’m past the point of losing it.
He smirks. “It’s just a photo, mate. You’re in public. You of all people should know that.”
“That’s my son you photographed.” I jab a finger toward his chest. “He’s two. He didn’t sign up for this shit. You take pictures of me, fine. But him? That’s off-limits. Always.”
He shrugs, eyes flicking down to his camera screen. “Could’ve blurred his face later—”
“I don’t care what you could do. Delete it. Now. You don’t fucking understand that one picture of him online—face blurred or not—can put him in danger?”
There’s a shift in his expression, the faintest flicker of discomfort, of realizing maybe this wasn’t worth it. Then, a few taps on his camera. I watch the screen. He deletes not just the photo, but the whole damn set.
“Happy?” he mutters.
“No. But that’s a start.” I step closer, my voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Next time you even think about pointing a lens at my family, I will make sure you can’t sell a picture to a tabloid ever again.”
He swallows. Good.
I turn away, my pulse still pounding, and jog back across the street.
You’re standing where I left you, arms wrapped protectively around Dorian, your cheek resting on his head. You don’t say anything when I reach you, but your eyes are darker than usual—with fury. The kind of fury that comes from watching someone threaten the peace we fought so hard to build.
“He deleted them,” I say, breath still ragged.
“I’ll have the lawyers put pressure on the outlet he works for. Just in case.” I reach out, brushing a hand down Dorian’s back as he shifts slightly, still asleep.
“He didn’t even stir.”
“He trusts us,” you murmur. “He knows he’s safe.”
And he is. Because we made damn sure of it.
We start walking again, slower now, and my hand finds your side.
“Still up for takeout?” I ask, trying to soften the weight between us.
You glance up at me, a faint smile forming. “Only if we eat it in bed.”
I laugh quietly. “Deal.”
“You ever think about just… vanishing? Not permanently. Just… renting a cabin in Iceland or something,” you say after a long pause.
“Every time someone points a lens at you or him,” I sigh.
“You’ve always been the one to protect us. But I’ve never asked—who protects you?”
“You do. When you make things simple again. When you look at me like I’m not some headline.”
You stop in your tracks. “You’re not. You’re just—ours.”
I reach for your hand, threading our fingers together. “And that’s more than enough.”
“I hate that we have to think like this,” you say finally. “Always ten steps ahead. Always defensive. Even here, in a random corner of London, just walking with our kid.”
I don’t answer right away. You’re not asking for solutions—you’re naming the truth, the life we carved out and the cost that comes with being visible.
“I know,” I say quietly. “And I hate it too. But we knew this wasn’t forever. Italy was… a pause. A beautiful one. But we always said we’d come back when it felt right.”
You nod slowly. “Do you still think it was the right time?”
I look at you—really look. The way your free hand rests over Dorian’s back. The way your jaw is tight, but your shoulders are starting to ease.
“I think the right time doesn’t mean the easy time,” I say. “It means when we’re strong enough to face it again. And we are. You are.”
That earns me a sideways glance and a faint, skeptical smile. “You’re getting very philosophical for someone who was threatening legal apocalypse three minutes ago.”
“I contain multitudes.”
You snort, but your smile softens. I can feel you letting go of the tension, piece by piece.
“I’m glad he slept through this,” you sigh softly, stroking his back gently.
“Me too. He’s too young to understand it.” I brush the curls away from his face. “Are you okay?” My eyes meet yours.
“It’ll take some time for the anger to wear off, but I’m glad he’s safe.”
I wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “I’ll make sure nothing like this happens again.”
We walk in silence for a bit, the tension from the encounter still clinging to us. Finally, I speak again.
“I hate that we can’t just enjoy a simple walk without worrying about a paparazzo. It’s not fair.”
“I’m okay with them sneaking a picture of us, but he’s just a child. He should be able to have a normal childhood.” You lean into me, softly stroking Dorian’s back.
I sigh, feeling the tension in my shoulders melt away a bit as you lean into me. “You’re right. He deserves a normal life, not one where we have to constantly look over our shoulders.”
I look down at Dorian, his little face still peaceful in sleep. “I don’t want him growing up feeling like he’s under constant scrutiny. It’s not right.”
We reach a quiet spot, away from any crowds, and I stop, turning to face you.
“Promise me something?” I cup your face in my hand, looking into your eyes. “Promise me that, no matter what happens, we keep fighting for our family. Promise me that nothing will break us or come between us.”
I lean in closer, my voice softening. “I love you. And I love that little boy more than anything. We won’t let anything shatter this.”
Your expression softens as you lean into my touch. “Baby, I know that none of this is your fault. It’s a part of your job, and it’s something I knew came with you. I would never let them win.”
I exhale, the weight on my shoulders lightening a bit at your understanding.
“I know you get it. But sometimes it feels like I’m not doing enough to protect you and Dorian. Like I’m failing you both.” I run a hand through my hair, frustration and guilt mixing in my words. “It’s just… I hate feeling so powerless.”
“Hey.” You reach to gently stroke my cheek. “I feel safe and protected when you’re around. So does Dorian. Remember, cats don’t sleep with their bellies up if they don’t feel safe.”
I smile weakly at the metaphor. “Always with the animal facts.” I look down at the little one in your arms. “You and Dorian are everything to me. I just… I wish I could shield you from everything.”
“You are, love. You are our shield and our rock.” Your eyes hold nothing but sincerity in them.
“Promise me you’ll never doubt that. No matter what storms come our way.”
“I’m planning to grow old with you and watch him get married, together.” You smile softly.
I chuckle, picturing our future together. The thought warms my heart, though there’s a hint of worry too.
“Sounds like an ideal plan to me. But growing old together requires us to stay sane through all this chaos.”
I place a tender kiss on your forehead, holding you close.
“Together, right?”
“Always.” You smile.
I return your smile, feeling a bit lighter. “Good, because I can’t imagine going through any of this without you.”
We stand there for a moment, just holding each other in quiet solidarity. The city around us keeps buzzing, and the paparazzi incident is still on my mind. But right now, all I care about is you and our little family.
Dorian shifts a little in your arms. “Let’s get that takeout and go home.”
I nod, reluctantly letting go of you. “Yeah, let’s go.”
I take your hand, and we start walking again, this time a little quicker. I keep my eyes peeled for any sign of paparazzi, though it seems like the incident outside the playground has scared them off for now.
“How’s our little sleepyhead doing?” I ask, peeking over to look at Dorian.
“Still sleeping,” you smile softly.
I smile at the sight, my heart swelling with love. “He looks so peaceful.”
We grab pasta for Dorian from one of those fancy Italian restaurants and finally reach the Chinese takeout place—a little hole in the wall that we’ve grown to love. The smell of sizzling kung pao chicken and fried rice fills the air as we step inside.
I order our usual: a couple of beef teriyaki dishes and some crab rangoons. The owner, an old lady named Mrs. Liu, smiles warmly at us.
“Haven’t seen you two in a while.”
“We took a little vacation in Italy to grow this one,” you chuckle softly. “We did miss your cooking.”
Mrs. Liu beams at you. “Italy, eh? Sounds romantic.”
I nod, grinning. “It was. But nothing quite compares to your kung pao chicken.”
She chuckles, handing us our order in a brown paper bag. “You young folks and your lovey-dovey vacations. You’re making me miss my younger years.” She looks at Dorian with admiration in her eyes. “Ah, they grow up so fast. One day you’re changing diapers, and the next they’re off to university.”
I smile softly. “That’s why we try to cherish every moment with him.”
Mrs. Liu smiles. “Smart. I’m sure you two are great parents for a little one.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Liu,” your voice is soft. “We’ll be coming more often.”
“You’re always welcome here, my dear, you know that,” she beams. “And the little one too—he’s too adorable to say no to.”
Our house is dimly lit, takeout spread out on the bed, Dorian nestled safely between both of us, fast asleep, some movie playing in the background.
You’re picking at your food, quiet again—but this time, it’s the good kind of quiet. The kind that feels full.
I glance over. “You still thinking about it? The photo?”
You nod. “Not because of what he saw. But because he didn’t. He just slept through it all. Like he knew we had him.”
“We do,” I say simply.
You look over at me, eyes soft now, almost shimmering. “Can we keep doing this? Building something real, even in the middle of all the chaos?”
I lean over and press a kiss to your lips—slow and certain.
“We already are.”
And outside, the city keeps moving. But here, in this little pocket of stillness, we’re exactly where we need to be.
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