pairing: harry castillo x fem!reader
warnings: suggestive, enemies to lovers trope so it's a little argumentative
a/n: i had this idea ages ago & only just finished it im actually so embarrassed bc i fell in love with harry
It was hard to argue that a big happy family that also managed over half of New York City's wealth had any kind of flaws; they managed to do the impossible of mixing family with business without a hitch. The parents had long handed off the leading of the firm to their oldest son and business had done nothing but flourish. Old clients stayed, their children grew up to become clients, and Castillo was solidified into a trusted name.
Their CEO was a perfect face to the firm: smart, handsome, charming, and professional. Always. You were the opposition. New, cutting edge, and sharply spiking up in your business' growth with clients that didn't want something rooted in the old ways of managing finances.
It didn't take long after your business' boom to have competition with the Castillo firm, luring away their clients with promises of larger returns on investment given the... riskier and more exciting nature of your investment model. You were just as charming as your competition, only you had something fresh to offer them.
There had been a few disputes between your companies because of it, that much you can't deny. Nothing that escalated to a legal matter, but just a constant tension between the firms trying to take a client away from the other - new or old. Wall Street liked you and the calculated thrill you had to offer them. The old money folks preferred Harry Castillo and the safety of his family name.
So, of course, there was an odd feeling in your stomach when you saw him striding through this networking event and shaking hands with all the well-dressed people. Some of which, were your clients. He was like a goddamn shady politician, save for kissing babies on the head.
You nursed a glass of champagne and watched him like a hawk, as though your stare alone would ward him off of your clients and your vicinity. But he never caught your icy glares in between his schmoozing. You were steaming a bit by the time you were called up to speak. But you didn't let it show.
A professional smile came to your face as you stepped up to the platform and took the microphone in hand, turning on your public persona. The champagne was left out of sight and you cleared your throat, mentally skimming through the points you planned to cover in this brief speech. Your competitor's gaze remained solely fixed on you, without a trace of malice in them.
"Good evening everyone, it's so lovely to see all of you." You began, launching into a monologue about trust, gratitude, and innovation.
It was mostly generic bullshit in alignment with your brand of investment. All the guests seemed to like it, then you concluded with a lighthearted toast in an effort to sound more delighted to be there. The microphone was set down, applause ensued, and you left the little stage to find your champagne again.
Unfortunately, you were left parched as the glass had been taken away by an overly attentive member of the wait staff.
"Can I get you anything to drink?" A too-recognizable voice asked from behind your back.
Taking a moment to steel yourself into a cordial nonchalance, you turned to face your rival, "No, thank you. I had a drink."
"It looks like you had one that's gone missing only halfway finished." He quipped, his brown eyes shining knowingly.
"Yes, but I think I'll be leaving soon anyways."
He offered his hand, "Harry. It's an honor to meet the woman who revolutionized the business, and I'd be happy to get you whatever drink you'd like to replace the one you lost."
One of your brows raised as you crossed your arms diplomatically, "I know who you are, Mr. Castillo. You have a very strong facade, if all the things I've read about your takes on my firm were true."
He went quiet and narrowed his eyes slightly, still lightly smiling, "Water under the bridge. I can respect a successful competitor and envy some of the business they get."
"I'm not sure of how sincere you're being." You prodded. "What are you doing at this event anyways?"
"Oh, didn't you see the schedule?" Harry asked, seeming genuine as his brows drew together. "I'm speaking here too. You were the first guest speaker and I'm scheduled to do the closing remarks."
You scoffed in amusement, "Whoever organized this event has quite a sense of humor..."
"Or they're just trying to get a variety of takes on how to be successful. There isn't just one way, like with everything else."
You gave him a sharp look, "Yes, in our case, nepotism and working from the ground up."
"I know I was lucky to have my family already running a successful business that I inherited, but is it really nepotism if I'm completely qualified for the job?" Harry questioned, still not getting heated with you. "It's not like I could've chosen my family, but I care for what my parents built and I put in the work to keep it going."
You shrugged, "I guess I'm just curious to hear what your speech's big takeaways will be. You know, realistically-speaking."
He smiled, crinkles appearing around his eyes, "Maybe I'll surprise you."
"Doubt it."
"You still haven't answered my question."
"What?"
"Can I get you anything?" He offered oh-so-politely. "I'm hoping you stay at least for the closing remarks."
The expression you gave him was guarded, but considering towards his offer. You took in a breath and sighed, "Cognac."
"Any particular brand?"
"Whatever they've got."
Harry seemed grateful that you finally gave him an answer as he dutifully stated he'd bring your drink right over to you in just a moment, turning on his heels towards the bar. Oddly enough, that was the first proper interaction you had with your biggest competitor.
He wasn't awful, at least as a person. Tough competition but only because he had a generous head start. A few other people spoke to you in passing, clients or business owners or hopefuls in your field. The professional face came right back out as if it had never slipped away.
You presented yourself as intelligent, collected, and confident. Almost clairvoyant at times with your suggestions on investments. People seemed to step back and quiet down, however, when Harry returned and presented your drink to you as though you were friends.
"Thank you." You grinned, really playing up your charm to the audience so they wouldn't catch on to the tension you felt boiling up inside you. "What did you get for yourself, Mr. Castillo?"
"That's way too formal." He laughed, his tone entirely natural. "And I got the same thing you did. Couldn't pick anything else so I thought I'd join you, if you don't mind."
"Of course not, Harry." You answered, making it a point to emphasize his first name in an almost playful tone.
The audience you two had was eating it up, interested in observing the interaction of professional rivalry as it unfolded. Some smiled, whispering to each other. A few parted ways and found others to mingle with. Then a handful seemed to mistrust the scene before them. You were laying it on a bit thick - setting a hand on Harry's arm and all - so, you couldn't exactly blame them.
He made some kind of silly toast for the two of you, as if you were longtime friends. You went along with it for the sake of the public staring at you. On the inside, this felt like another competition: which one of you could keep up with the charade longest? Though you seemed to harbor more resentment towards him, you channeled it well into a false persona when interacting with Harry.
You were both neck-and-neck in the competition of acting naturally by the time that Harry was called up for closing remarks. He smoothly glided through the crowd and up to the microphone, suit pristine and a charming smile over his face. The real killer was the way he delivered his speech, his tone all warm and friendly like these people were at his wedding and not at a business event.
"My family and I sincerely appreciate all of the trust that our clients have put into our business throughout the years, we wouldn't be where we are today without you. We do our best for you every single day, because we know our name carries a reputation.
"The thing about reputations... is that they take a long time to build up into a solid position, but they can be ruined with one wrong move. We don't take risks with our clients unless we would take those risks ourselves. It takes a lot of calculations and a lot of care to make sure that if something isn't a sure thing, we're getting as close to a guaranteed benefit for our clients as we can."
He continued to blather on about trust. Probably because there was nothing else to be said about his business. It was safe. Investing in large corporate names and maybe the occasional start-up that was already past the point of being up-and-coming. Boring. You had always thought so about him and his firm, especially after he called you reckless when you were still fairly new to the field and just starting to challenge his work.
The sound of applause brought you out of your head, though you didn't participate. There was a glass of cognac in your hands, so obviously it wouldn't be comfortable to clap for him. Harry stepped off the stage and walked right back over to you; the game was still on.
"I'd like to hear your thoughts on my speech. Maybe get some advice, since I'm sure you're convinced that I've never been given real feedback at any point in my life." He spoke softly, right beside your ear so no one else could hear the facade slipping away.
You expression remained ice cold, "It sounded like the speech was written for you, all you did was memorize it."
In that moment, you wished you could've smiled broadly at the response you were getting out of him. But that would've given him too much visible satisfaction. So, you remained utterly nonchalant.
"It's something most people in the business do when they've got more important things to do than write a five-minute speech." He explained. "Did you write your own instead of researching the nature of those tech start-ups you help fund?"
"You're being very emotional about this, Harry." You crooned, taking a sip of your drink. "I think you're taking my feedback too personally."
He laughed. Genuinely. For a few moments he was shaking his head to himself with an edge in his dark eyes, then Harry was taking you by the hand and guiding you away from the crowd. You didn't exactly drag your feet, but you did walk stubbornly at your own pace and slowed down his own as he tugged you along behind his back.
"Why are we out here, Harry? Don't want to do something regrettable in front of an audience?"
"Here to reason with you, one on one."
"So, yes."
"So, no." He corrected. "Look, I can tell you don't like me. That's fine. I'm just saying, I have no problem with you or your business. Having rivals at the same level helps drive competition within our market. It's good. But I... I can't do the whole personal rivalry drama."
"You just tried to insult me after I said you didn't write your own speech." You pointed out.
"Because you've been glaring and prodding at me all evening when I haven't done anything to you. I shouldn't have said it, but you were the one who initiated all this."
Your brows raised, "Very childish, saying this is all on me because I started it."
"You did. And if you can, I'd like to put this past us."
"If I can?" You scoffed, setting your glass down over a grand piano in the lobby area of the venue. "Look, Harry, my problem with you is tha- "
Then, all of a sudden, your words all went muffled. They were silenced by something pressing to your mouth. The last thing you expected to happen was Harry kissing you, but he was. Your eyes were wide open as you tried to push him away, though his arms had already circled around your middle.
The sound of footsteps behind you signalled the departure of all the esteemed guests of the event. It only pissed you off further that any one of them could see what was going on and come to the wrong conclusion about you. Especially given the friendly performance you two put on for them before.
His hands roamed across your back and through your hair, easing all the tension away from any place he touched. Like it was a real kiss. You started to lean into it out of instinct, closing your eyes just until this part of the charade was over. Finally, as the bulk of the crowd left the doors, Harry moved away.
"I'm sorry. But I could hear people coming and didn't want them to be suspicious or to make a scene of what was happening here."
"By kissing me?!" You exclaimed. "That's more suspicious than you cursing me out right here in public."
"I... I couldn't think of anything else to do to stop where we were going with that discussion. I am truly sorry, it won't happen again."
"I'm surprised you aren't trying to buy off my silence." You remarked, crossing your arms with a scoff followed by a self-satisfied smile.
"I wouldn't." Harry states plainly. "It was my honest mistake and I shouldn't have done it without asking."
"Shouldn't have- ? Asking, was the problem?" You repeated in disbelief.
"Yes," he smiled slightly, his eyes glancing down to your lips. "Maybe you would've let me."
Your brows raised, a fire burning in your heart as you kept your hardened stare fixed upon Harry and his stupid, nearly smug face.
He took the smallest step closer and set a hand lightly along your arm, lightly enough for you to brush it right off. Rich brown eyes looked into yours, the creases around them deepening as you remained in place. Allowing his actions to continue.
His brows raised lightly and his voice softened, "Would you let me kiss you?"
You took in a breath, "You're crazy, you know that?"
"That wasn't an answer." He pointed out, his voice just as gentle. "Tell me no and I'll stop."
"Fine. Do it. Just so you can get the tension out of your system."
Harry nearly rolled his eyes, "Out of my system? You were the one with all the tension, I think you're projecting y- "
You set one hand at his bicep and the other over the side of his face, pulling yourself in and keeping him still as you connected your lips to his. This time it was you who didn't ask. You were even now. The bastard started smiling and kissing you right back, his hand slipping through your hair to cradle your head.
Harry had you right where he wanted you and you played right into it. The fire that burned in your chest seemed to burst lightly, spreading down to the pit of your stomach. He was kissing you like he was hungry for it, mouth moving to capture and recapture your lips with his own. Your dress heels scuffled across the polished floor until your front was pressed to his.
Things were escalating and you couldn't help but slip down the slippery slope. And Harry seemed to be on that very same path with you, both of his arms moving to circle round your torso with his hands landing just over your tailbone. Your heart beat harder.
Two steps forward from your rival coaxed you to follow along. He was guiding you backward, pressing you between himself and the wall. Sighs fell from between your captured lips, a moan humming low in your throat. If you weren't in the middle of the lobby, you were certain he would've pulled down the zipper of your dress.
"Will you let me take you home?" Harry asked quietly, his nose pressed to your cheek.
You gave him a criticizing look but answered in a taunting tone: "Only because you asked."
how about you are having a nightmare beside you was harry castillo, you tiptop to go to kitchen get some water as you go back to bedroom, saw him sit up as he tells you what’s wrong. you gonna cuddle him as he could give you a big spoon. he makes sure that you’re alright. you don’t wanna talk about it, feel safe with him *fluffiness*
𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 | 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨
pairing harry castillo x reader
summary harry comforts you after a nightmare [wc 900 [fluff].
a/n this was such a lovely request to write. thanks for your patience!
⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂
From amid the darkness of the bedroom, you can make out the city lights just beyond the crack in the curtains. They remind you that you’re still here. Still safe.
Reality bleeds back in slowly—the linen sheets draped over you, the warmth of Harry’s proximity. Your quickened pulse drowns out his steady breaths. It beats like a dull drum in your ears and throat as you get your breaths under control. Part of you fears that if you move, you’ll tumble right back into the dream you’d just escaped.
You weren’t prepared to bear the kind of loss your mind had conjured while you were asleep. The stillness of the room wars against the complicated mix of dread and relief that buzzes beneath your skin.
With shaky arms, you push yourself upright and swing your legs over the side of the bed. Your heart rate has slowed a considerable degree. The faint scent of lemongrass still lingers in the air from when the cleaners came through earlier this morning. Yesterday morning, more like. The glow of the alarm clock reads 2:58 AM.
You’re fine. Harry’s fine. It’s enough consolation for you to rise to your feet and head to the kitchen. The moment you cross into the hallway, Harry shifts beneath the sheets as if he can sense your absence. Though half asleep, his arm drifts to your side of the bed. All he’s met with is the warmth you left behind. His eyes flutter open to the sight of the bedroom door cracked and a sliver of light shining through. He can make out the quiet sound of a glass cup meeting the countertop, then the sound of water being poured.
A few minutes later, he pushes himself upright as you slip back into the room. You startle as he reaches over to turn his bedside lamp on. Light floods the space in time with your guilt. He takes you in with bleary eyes, and you appear more drained than when you’d first fallen asleep.
“Sweetheart?” he murmurs groggily, clearing his throat after. “Everything alright?” He rubs his eyes as he squints. His hair is disheveled, and the sheets rest at his hips to reveal his bare torso. The picture of comfort and ease.
You offer a small nod. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Harry shakes his head as you crawl back into bed and remain upright.
“Bad dream?” he asks softly.
“Yeah. You can turn the light off, I’m sorry for—”
“Hey.” His gaze is so attentive, you can’t help but wonder what you did to deserve a love like this. “We can sit for a minute if you need,” he says. “There’s no rush.”
You’d gotten used to braving the aftermath of nightmares on your own. Part of you can’t help but feel like an inconvenience, but it’s hard with a man as generous and kind as Harry in your life. He’d never complain about being woken up at such a time, and you couldn’t decide whether or not that was better or worse than him possibly saying it out loud.
Despite everything, you’re grateful not to be alone. Harry’s features bear no sign of irritation, only an openness, a desire to be let into your troubles so he can help chase them away.
“I’m fine,” you insist, voice still small. “We should probably get back to sleep so we don’t feel this in the morning.”
Harry huffs a tired chuckle, but his warm, knowing eyes remain on you. He’s quiet for a few seconds, and you shift under the gentle weight of his gaze.
“You sure?” he asks.
You nod, offering the most compelling look you can manage.
Darkness refills the room as he turns off the lamp. The two of you resettle under the covers, but this time, one of his strong arms drapes over your waist to pull you close. The warmth of his chest seeps into your back as he gets comfortable behind you.
You lay like that for a while, breaths slowing, but never quite enough to suggest that sleep had pulled you under. Harry presses a gentle kiss to the back of your shoulder because he knows you’re still awake. You let your hand come to rest on top of his, brushing your thumb over his knuckles.
“Whatever it was,” Harry starts in a gentle murmur. “It wasn’t real.”
He squeezes you. “But this is.”
It’s a truth that, sometimes, not even you could believe. It seemed impossible that you’d found each other. It wasn’t even supposed to happen at all, a chance encounter at the MET after you’d decided to treat yourself one fateful Friday night. He’d been standing among a group of distinguished looking men, but not even them, or the Monet piece they were admiring were enough to keep him from straying to you as you stood across the room.
At your silence, Harry noses at the back of your head. Perhaps you were closer to sleep than he initially thought.
“Good night,” he whispers.
At the very same time, you say, “Thank you.”
Smiles ease onto both of your faces.
“Really, though,” you say.
In typical Harry Castillo fashion, he insists that the pleasure is all his. He’d worked hard for everything in his life, but you were the one piece that seamlessly fell into place. Loving you is one of the easiest things he’s ever done. He’d wake up for you at any time of the night so long as he had the privilege to do this life with you.
-
Thank you so much for reading. All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!
What about Harry Castillo wanting attention and therefore, purposefully distracting his wife from reading her book?
𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞, 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨
pairing harry castillo x female reader [established relationship]
summary harry returns home from a night out and charmingly campaigns for the one thing he wants most: your undivided attention [fluff, 1.5k].
a/n thank you so much for this cute request. this is my first harry fic, so i hope you guys enjoy!
⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂
Through the tall windows behind you, Manhattan is a sea of lights. Everything below looks small. Just moments ago, the sun seemed to be descending behind the horizon, and now the city is bathed in the darkness it wears so well. In that time, you’d lost yourself within the pages of a book that told the story of a different time and a different place, with characters who were a little bit of who you were and a little bit of what you dreamed to be.
The click of front lock signals Harry’s return. From the foyer, he catches sight of you curled on one side of the couch with a book, face aglow with warm lamplight. At the sound of his footsteps, you look up to offer a smile. As he smiles back, you can’t help but notice he looks just as handsome as when he’d left earlier that evening—hair gelled back and Tom Ford tailored to his frame.
Harry had been invited to a private event at Bar SixtyFive to celebrate a friend of his brother’s whose film photography series had been accepted into the MoMA. As nice as it would’ve been to have you by his side, he was all too aware of how big social gatherings made you feel. Even after you insisted you could soldier through, he’d seen the repressed apprehension in your eyes. It was okay to pass on this celebration. There’d be many chances to accompany him at others just like it.
“How was it?” you ask.
“Really nice.” He holds up a matte black gift bag. “Brought back some goodies.” He crosses the room to bend down and peck your lips. “They’ll be on your nightstand.”
Evidently, you’re preoccupied.
“Thanks,” you murmur. “I’m in the home stretch.”
Harry chuckles. “You’ll have to tell me all about it when you finish,” he says, and you nod in promise. “I’m gonna shower.”
By the time you say okay, your nose is already buried back in your book.
Harry eventually emerges with damp hair, and a towel around his hips, lovely olive skin on display. He pads to the thermostat and eyes it for a few seconds, before lowering the temperature by one degree. Even if you wanted to, it would’ve been impossible to look away from the muscles in his back, but he disappears back down the hallway to get dressed. He always had moved with a certain grace, a confidence. That’s what drew you to him three years ago on the night you met.
Even if Harry had not the slightest idea of where he was or what he was doing, it’d never show. In the rare case that his confusion was evident, there was no doubt he wouldn’t figure things out in the end. That’s what made it so easy to follow his lead, to hang on to his every move and word. Even in small, weightless moments like these, your intrigue never waned.
When he returns, donned in the loungewear he wears as pajamas, you briefly catch his gaze from over the top of your book, and he chances a small, hopeful smile your way. Any moment now, you’d surely set the book aside and strike up a conversation.
In the kitchen, he pours himself a glass of water and finishes it as he stands in the invisible threshold to the living room. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you until he moves to stand beside your corner of the couch and cast his gaze out at the city.
Within the first few seconds of the new proximity, your mind checks out of the words on the page. Even more so when Harry’s fingers curl around your shoulder in a gentle squeeze before he saunters to the console table to look through the contents of the mail tray. You’d gone to the mailroom while he was away. He makes mental note of who the envelopes are addressed from even though he’s already made up his mind to read through everything more thoroughly tomorrow. The only thing he wants to pay any mind to right now is you.
From the looks of it, you’re miles away.
With a sigh, he plops the small stack of envelopes back in the tray. As he yawns, the unabashed sound is accompanied by a stretch that makes the hem of his shirt rise up and reveal the dark trail of hair low on his belly. If that wasn’t enough, he gingerly scratches through it before smoothing his palm over the area. You close your book and set it on the end table. He’s all out of ideas now, and you’re well aware. His arms fall to his sides.
For someone always so sure of himself, and five steps ahead, he almost looks like a child.
It’s you who finally speaks up, “C’mere, handsome.”
Harry obliges in a heartbeat. The cushions dip as he sits beside you. When you angle your body towards him, he reaches out to squeeze your knee.
“Missed you tonight,” he admits.
You hum. He can’t decide if it’s in acknowledgement, agreement, or both. Instead, he takes your hand and raises it to kiss over your knuckles as you try not to smile. Your lips quirk anyways. He scoots closer, draping his free arm around your shoulders as he kisses up the rest of your arm. His lips are light and plush, and you chuckle as he lets his last kiss linger on your shoulder.
“What?” he murmurs against your skin before lifting up. He can’t feign oblivion, so he ends up looking guilty.
“You know what,” you lilt, running a hand through his damp hair. “You just directed and starred in your own one-act trying to get my attention—”
Harry presses his lips to yours to spare himself any further teasing. You melt into the kiss and relish the warmth that settles beneath your skin. He’s gentle like he always is with you. When he pulls away, he touches his forehead to yours, only to retreat when you lean in to continue kissing him. There’s a challenging glimmer in his eyes as he playfully holds your gaze.
“Guess I’ll continue reading then…” you trail off and pretend like you’re going to grab your book again. He caves in seconds.
“My love,” he sighs regretfully, chuckling. If there wasn’t so much bass in his voice, it would’ve been a whine. “Just wanna be with you. Wanna love on you.” There’s a softness to his tone that gets you.
He takes your chin in his hand and kisses you again, this time slower, like he’s drinking you in.
After parting, you say, “Wasn't nice of me to ignore you like that.”
Harry shakes his head. “I’m so used to getting my way. Someone’s gotta push back every once in a while,” he jokes warmly, crinkles forming by his eyes as he smiles and takes you in.
“I guess so.” You watch as he relaxes back into the cushions and closes his eyes. “Tired?” you ask as you tuck yourself into his side.
Despite the obvious signs that he is, he shakes his head no. You roll your eyes, but rub your hand in soothing passes over his chest as his breaths steady. Just when you think he’s dozed off, he speaks up again, voice low.
“I’m going to hire him to take some pictures for us.”
“Who?” you question. “The guy the party was for? Tim Montgomery?”
Harry nods. “Got to know him a little better and see some of his work. Told him to be expecting a call,” he says. “Really like the way he sees light… he’s not afraid to lean into its presence or absence.”
A small laugh escapes you at that, but not an unkind one. Harry peeks his eyes open. “That’s just a very beautiful and astute compliment,” you assure softly. “You might have to find a way to dip your toes into the photography world with that eye.”
Harry huffs a laugh but doesn’t brush off the idea. He was always drawn to beautiful things.
“I think I just like the idea of how he’d capture you,” he says. Butterflies flutter in your stomach. “I’d order the biggest prints and put them up in every property I own.”
Despite the fact that your cheeks have pleasantly warmed, you shake your head like he’s crazy. And maybe he is, but only about you. Because of you.
“But what about you?” he changes the subject. “What type of astute observations have you taken away from your reading?”
He’s not joking, not entirely. Whether or not you indulge him is totally up to you. But he’d be happy to sit here and listen to the sound of your voice as you rub his chest. No matter what stream of thought you chose to follow, he’d gladly be swept off in it too.
-
Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!
harry needs a date for a company event. you just happen to be there.
rating: explicit
words: 2.2k
warnings: boss/employee relationship
a/n: i literally haven't seen the movie yet bc it doesn't release here until august...
⋆⭑✦⭑⋆
It’s late.
You took your heels off hours ago to try and stop the aching in your feet. You really don’t have to be here; Harry wouldn’t care if you left some things unfinished. But there’s a very good reason you’ve been Harry’s assistant for three years: you get shit done.
You’re in the middle of reserving a table for Harry and a client at some restaurant whose menu has no prices on it when the door to your boss’ office opens. Harry’s forehead is creased, lips pressed tightly together. It’s reached the point in the day where he’s taken off his suit jacket and tie, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows.
“Why are you still here?” He asks when you hang up the phone.
“Why are you still here?” You counter, punching in the reservation details to the online calendar that's shared with Harry.
“You should go home,” Harry says softly, leaning his hip against the edge of your desk.
“How would you be able to meet with…” You squint your eyes to look at your computer screen. “Benjamin Cooper next Thursday at 6:30?”
“Ugh,” Harry says. “I don’t care for that guy. He’s always rude to wait staff.”
You roll your eyes. “I can cancel it if you want…”
“And lose out on 28 million? Not a chance.”
You take a second to confirm the details before turning to face your boss head on. He’s pulling the face he makes when he’s about to ask you to do something at the last minute, almost pouting.
“Do you need something, or are you just here to bother me?” You say, folding your arms across your chest.
“I need a really big favor,” He replies. God, now his eyes are all big and brown and sweet. “Jane’s not coming to the fundraiser tomorrow.”
Jane is the woman Harry’s been seeing recently. She’s come to his office once or twice, never speaking more words to you than absolutely necessary.
“And…” You continue.
“And I need a plus one.” Harry says quickly. “I know you hate those events, but it’s a whole thing and I promise I’ll buy you something as a thank you.”
You cringe internally. Fundraiser is an understatement for this event. Sure, it’s to support the company’s charity, but it’s more for all the rich donors to show off while also proving that they’re good people. Your favorite.
Harry’s rambling now. “I saw Tiffany released a new gold collection—I know you wear gold more than silver, and there’s a necklace that would look really nice on you. Or I can finally get you a nice dress watch, I’m thinking something Swiss—“
“Harry,” You cut him off, but your cheeks are warm from the thought of an expensive gift just because. “It’s fine. I’ll go with you.”
A wave of relief washes over his face.
“Thank you,” he says softly. “Now go home, would you?”
---
You don’t know how to feel hanging off your boss’ arm.
You’re used to being in the background at events like this, wearing a non-descript black dress and watching Harry network from afar. But this time he leads you inside the grand venue doors, holding out his arm like a gentleman. Your dress is floor length, a deep blue color with a plunging neckline. You don’t want to know how much it cost for Harry to get it rushed tailored for you. (Okay, there’s a part of you that does want to know.) You can feel eyes watching every step you take, eyes curious as to the new woman accompanying Harry Castillo.
The venue is impressive. Hundreds of people dressed in expensive fabrics mill about on the chic marble floor.
“I already see Cooper heading this way,” Harry mumbles under his breath. “I need a drink.”
For a moment you expect Harry to send you off to the bar, but he keeps you close to his side. He flags down one of the waitstaff and grabs you a glass of champagne from the tray.
“Cheers, sweetheart,” he says, nearly downing the glass in one sip. You stammer at the name, but before you have time to really think about it, Benjamin Cooper is standing in front of you.
“Mr. Castillo, great to see you again,” he says with too much enthusiasm, shaking Harry’s hand a little too hard. You tune out most of the conversation, taking small sips of your champagne. Your people-watching is interrupted by Cooper clapping Harry on his shoulder.
“And who is this beautiful woman?”
“This is my assistant,” Harry says, jaw clenched and tense. “Who so graciously scheduled our dinner for next week.”
“Sure, whatever you say.” Cooper winks at you before thanking Harry for his time and turning away.
“I’m so sorry,” Harry says, turning his attention towards you.
“Hush. It’s fine,” you reply, reaching out to smooth the lapel of his tux. You can smell his cologne, the soft notes of wood tickling your nose. “All I ask is for a dance later. Okay?”
Harry’s gaze flicks to the open ballroom floor, to the couples laughing and swaying to the music.
“Okay.”
---
You don’t end up getting that dance.
At some point in the night, you end up split from Harry, both of you getting roped into separate conversations. You’ve found a nice spot at the bar, nursing whatever specialty cocktail the bartender recommends. There are a few speeches at some point and Harry says a few words, and then the socialites go back to their conversations. You’re being good by not pulling out your phone.
It’s towards the end of the event when Harry finds you again. The gel in his hair has lost its strength from sweat, and his cheeks are flushed a nice red from the alcohol he's clearly been drinking. Not that you can say anything, you’re feeling a soft buzz yourself.
“I’m so sorry,” Harry rambles as he comes up to you. He reaches out and rests his hand on your bicep, subtly running his thumb over your bare skin. “I’m such an asshole, I got caught up with one of the investors and then I needed to talk with Marleen—“
“Harry!” You laugh, leaning into his touch. “It’s really okay. I promise.”
Harry smiles at you fondly. He doesn’t take his hand away from your arm.
“I never danced with you,” he says quietly. “Will you come back to my apartment? So I can give you that dance?”
Your face feels warm.
“Yeah,” you reply. “I’d like that.”
You’ve been to Harry’s apartment plenty of times before, usually to drop off last-minute dry cleaning or documents he forgot at the office. Harry lives in a beautiful apartment in West Village which you could never even dream of affording. But you usually don’t go to Harry’s apartment late at night, a little bit drunk and dressed like a movie star. Harry leads you into the building with his hand on the small of your back. You smile at the doorman as the two of you walk by; you took your heels off in the car, and now Harry carries them in his free hand. To the doorman, you must look like your boss’ hookup for the night.
You try not to linger on that thought when you enter Harry’s apartment.
“Red or white?” He asks after setting your shoes down carefully by the door. He holds two bottles in his hand, looking at you expectantly.
“Red, please,” you say, stepping down into the main living room. “You’ve got a sound system?”
“Under the TV,” Harry calls back. You take a moment to fiddle with the Bluetooth until Etta James starts playing through the apartment.
You jump when you feel Harry’s hands on your shoulders, turning you around so he can suavely take your hand in his, the other resting on your lower back. He begins to sway you softly to the music, gazing down at you with his big brown eyes.
“You looked beautiful tonight,” He hums, pulling you tighter so you’re flush against his chest.
“You flatter me, Mr. Castillo,” You try to tease, but your voice falters into something more sincere. “Send my thanks to the employee who suggested this dress.”
“Thanks received,” Harry says with a grin. “I picked it out—for you.”
His hand is warm against your own.
“Harry…” You breathe. You’re sure he can feel your heartbeat against his chest. “People will think—“
“I don’t care.”
He’s looking at you, pleading. He gently caresses your lower back, grazing his fingers against the fabric. He’s so close, so warm.
I’m screwed, you think, before pulling him down and kissing him.
Immediately, Harry drops his hands to your waist, pulling you flush against his body. His hands are eager, but he kisses you gently, softly, testing the waters. You cup his jaw, feeling the bits of stubble that line it. He mutters your name against your lips before trailing down to your neck. You moan softly as he kisses the skin of your neck, the feeling of his mustache making you shiver. You can only grip the back of his tux jacket as he takes his time, lavishing your skin with his mouth. After a few moments he pulls away, breathing a little bit heavier.
“It’s always been you,” he says, voice hoarse. You run your fingers through his soft curls. “Three years, and all I’ve ever wanted was you.”
“Harry, please…” You have to look away, taking a deep breath. You think of all the women he’d bring back to the office, stuck-up investment bankers and corporate lawyers.
“You’re everything to me,” He whispers, reaching up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.
“This is going to cause a lot of problems,” You reply. A flash of hurt crosses over Harry’s face.
“I’ll do whatever I can to make sure it won’t,” He murmurs.
You want him to stop talking. You don’t want to think about what this will mean tomorrow morning, so you start to unbutton his suit jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and onto the floor. It probably cost thousands of dollars, and now it’s just discarded without a thought. Harry leans in to kiss you again as you work on his bow tie, and then the buttons of his crisp white dress shirt. He gently guides you backwards, shuffling along to where the couch is. You feel his fingers tug on the zipper to your dress.
“Please,” Harry groans, his voice turning into a whine. “Let me see you.”
Fuck. He’s looking at you so eagerly, his brows furrowed as he pleads. You nod; your breath caught in your throat. You feel the zipper of your dress pulled down, and soon the expensive fabric slides off your body and into a pile on the floor. You’re suddenly self-conscious, fighting the urge to curl your arms around your chest. But Harry is looking at you in awe, and you watch as he grazes his palm over the bulge in his dress pants. His gaze makes you feel warm.
“You’re so beautiful,” He breathes before reaching out and cupping your bare breasts in his hands. You murmur his name as he goes back to kissing your neck, your knees going weak as he teases your nipples with his thumbs. His hands move downwards, fingertips grazing the skin of your stomach, and then tracing the waistband of your panties. You cup the back of his head and gently guide his lips back to yours.
“Let me take you to bed,” Harry mumbles between kisses. You can feel how hard he is against you. You nod, breathless, and he guides you by your lower back down the hall.
Stepping into Harry’s bedroom is like crossing a threshold. This side of his personal life has been off limits, hidden from view. The worn throw blanket draped over the edge of the bed, the soft sweatpants and t-shirt that are discarded on the floor. Harry takes your hand and pulls you to the bed–his bed–but your eyes still linger on your surroundings.
Harry is gentle with you. His mouth and hands are passionate but not frenzied. He takes his time with you, touching you everywhere when you beg as he murmurs praises in your ear. You cry out his name as he fucks you, slowly, keeping you pulled close to his chest. He pleads for you to come for him, asks for permission if he can do the same.
You can’t fall asleep, after. There’s a deep pit in your stomach as you stare at the wall. You’ll put in your two weeks on Monday and keep your head down for the rest of your employment. You’ve been out of practice waitressing, but you're sure you can find something…
“I can hear you thinking,” Harry murmurs, his chin tucked in the crook of your neck. He lightly drags his fingertips up and down your arms, intertwining his legs with yours.
“Nothing important,” You reply quietly. You don’t want to talk about this now. You don’t want to think about tomorrow morning, about what heartbreaking conversation you’re going to have. “Just–you can just hold me. Please.”
synopsis: The universe was out to get you. You were certain of it. Why else would you be attending the Senator's Gala if not for Lucy running interference just to set you up with an investment banker? You were supposed to have a relaxing evening visiting your father after taking care of business, but no! You had to go last-minute shopping for a gala where the only appealing thing about it was Harry.
a/n: This took a hot minute to write even though I knew what I wanted to happen. Also, funny little anecdote: I kept forgetting the investment banker guy's name and occupation, isn't that fun? Here's the song that Reader has as her ringtone. It's one of my all time favourite songs from the Fontaine ost. This can be read as a stand-alone if you can't be bothered to read the previous part. I also kinda broke my own heart with this one lol
word count: 9.5k
tags: @glitterspark, @ynfreal
content warnings: 18+ mdni, angst (towards the end), smut, unprotected p in v sex, slight choking, doggy style, hair pulling, delayed orgasm, praise, soft dom!Harry, tied up Harry, aftercare, domesticity once again, allusions to jealous Harry, thinly veiled threats
Your arms wrapped around his pillow, face buried as he held your hips in a vice grip as he thrust into you. Sweat dripped down your spine as he leaned over you, kissing up your back as it bowed for him. A strangled moan fell from your lips as a hand left your hip in favor of your neck. He held you down, a hiss left him as you clench around his length that hit so deep it brushed against your cervix.
You jolted at the feeling. Your eyes rolling back into your head, a staccato of moans leaving you as his voice trapped you in a haze of mindless pleasure. "Doing so good, baby," he says sweetly, his fingers burying itself in your hair as you moved your hips back in time with his. "Just a little more."
You whine as his cock leaves your wet heat for a second. He tugs at your hair, a silent request for you to lift yourself up you've come to learn. Your arms feel jelly-like as you push up, your back resting against his front. Harry's hand returns around your neck, pressing lightly on your pulse.
Your hand reaches up to hold his there, your nails digging into his wrist. He presses a kiss on your temple, your eyes fluttering shut once more as he starts fucking into you again.
The wet sound of your hips colliding rang out in his bedroom, mixing with the sound of his draw out groan and your short moans. His hand reaches down, strumming your clit with practiced ease, knowing exactly how you liked it. "Harry," you gasp. "I'm close."
"I know," he cooed. "I know, baby. Just hold on for a little longer."
His thrusts grew frantic as you tried your best to hold on just like he asked. Tears slipped down your cheeks, as you rested your head against his shoulder, trying to calm your breath in a vain attempt to hold on.
You shake your head with a whimper. "Please, please," you beg. "I can't-" Your pleas cut short as his cock hit your cervix once then twice, your body tensing before spasming as your orgasm rips through you.
You're distantly aware of his hand tightening around your neck as a muffled groan fills your ears. A warm wetness fill your pussy as you're gently brought back down into his soft sheets. You lay there in his arms, his cock still buried inside you as his hand leaves your neck to wrap around your waist.
You twitch as he rubs your clit for a few more seconds before he lifts his hand away, disappearing behind you. A pleased hum sounding behind you. A series of kisses placed against your shoulder.
"Doing okay?" He asks softly. His thumb caressing your stomach in a lazy back and forth.
You hum, too tired for words right now. He pulls out of you gently, his come dripping out you. His hand squeezes your hip once before he gets out of bed. You roll over onto your back, your arms resting on either side of you, spread out.
The sound of water hitting porcelain has you turning your head in the direction of his en-suite bathroom. "Come back to bed," you grumble hoping he heard you, unbothered now by the slow trickle down your thigh.
The pitter patter of his bare feet has a self-satisfied smile pull at your lips. In past two weeks he has proven himself to be quite amenable to your requests, eager to please. That, however, did not mean he wasn't prone to bouts of stubbornness; it was usually for little things like being the typical gentleman.
It was sweet, butterflies erupted in your stomach whenever he lavished you flowers, little trinkets and jewellery whenever you both fell into bed together. He loved giving you things, taking care of you, you realised a week into your fling with him.
His arms slipped under you, lifting you up with ease, carrying you to the bathroom where his clawfoot tub was ready for you. You sigh as you see the bubbles floating about, the scent of lilies and peonies wrapping around you as Harry slowly lowers you into the tub.
Water sloshes over the edge, you rest your head on the rim. Harry gathers your hair, making sure it doesn't get wet, plaiting it in a simple braid for you, clipping it out of the way. "Do you wanna get in?" You ask, voice soft as you relax further.
He chuckles, pressing a kiss on top of your head. "Give me your arm," he grabs the orange net sponge, the most hideous colour he could’ve chosen— an opinion that you made him well aware of. He wets the sponge in the foamy water, pouring a two circles of bodywash and lathering it up before he gently started washing you.
"You can scrub a little harder, you know," you snort, he was always so gentle, using your other hand to flick some bubbles at him.
"Behave," he shakes his head, a smitten smile on his lips. "And don't say make me."
"I wasn't going to say that," you roll your eyes good-naturedly. He lets out an appeasing hum, content to let you be. Harry did not want to start an asinine argument, especially not after he had pulled several oragams from you.
"Do you want me to make you a cup of tea after this?" He reaches a hand into the water, guiding your leg up, bending it at the knee and begins scrubbing up and down your leg.
"No," you drawl. "I just want to go to sleep. Got a busy day tomorrow."
"Oh?" He inquires.
"Finally got a replacemnt for Lucy," you elaborate. "Got to give her a run down on how to do things, make sure she understands that the need for confidentiality. And then I got a bid to finalise."
"Bid for what?" Harry drains the tub, grabbing a towel to wrap you up in as you carefully step out of the tub and onto the mat.
"Government job, so confidential," you say as you gently push him over to the shower. You walk over to the sink, white towel secured around you, as you wet your toothbrush and squeeze some toothpaste on. "I don't even know what sector it's even for. Dad's friend says it's a good gig though. And he literally trusts this man with his life so we threw our hat into the lot."
"Well, I hope it all works out for you, querida," he says with a beaming smile, confident in your father's company.
"Your tea," he presents to you as you enter the kitchen.
You walk around the counter, holding onto his arm as to rise up on you toes a bit despite your heels to press a grateful kiss to his cheek. "Thank you," you say as you settle on a chair, placing your bag on the chair next to you. "What'd do you have planned for today?" You sip your rooibos tea, waiting for his answer as you watch him butter his toast.
"Same as usual," he says with a shrug. "Meeting's with different departments to make sure everything is running smoothly."
"Sound's mind numbing," you say cheerfully.
"It is," he groans. "You want a slice?" He asks, gesturing to his toast.
You shake your head as you always did, you never cared much to eat breakfast preferring a bigger lunch. You set your handbag on a chair next to you, scrolling through your phone checking the different headlines and answering text and emails. "There's all this gala I have to attend," he says off-handedly.
"Oh?" You eyes travel to meet his. "What's it for?"
"It's just the Senator's gala," he shrugs, joining you on the other side of the kitchen counter. His hand pushes your hair over your other shoulder, bending down to press kisses down your neck. You tilt your head, granting him more access.
You intertwine your fingers with his that rested across your middle. A content hum leaves you as his grip tightens. "You should come with me," he suggests in a whisper, his breath fanning the curve of your ear.
"Should I?" You question, pulling away so that you could turn around and face him. Being this close, you could his his pupils blown out, the syrupy brown of his iris disappearing. His hands caressing your thighs, inching higher and higher to your middle.
"You should," he replied almost breathless as he took you in; everyone single twitch, the way your eyelashes fluttered over the top of your cheeks— he could spend every waking moment staring at you, committing every detail of you to memory just in case you were nothing but a mirage that he dreamt up in his growing loneliness.
Everything about you was almost like a dream come true. In truth, he hadn't felt like this since he found his wife and best friend in bed together; the fluttering in his chest taking him by surprise everytime you so much as looked at him. He was fifty for crying out loud and yet he felt like teenage boy with his first crush. This was another issue that lurked in the back of his mind: his age. You were young, over two decades younger than him— something he didn't know how to deal with.
"I would love too," you began, your own hands trailing up his forearms. "But I have to visit my dad today."
You wanted to say yes, you really did but you weren't about to abandon your weekly visit to your father's place just to spend one more evening with a man you've known for two amazing weeks.
"You'll be spending the night at his place?" Harry questioned softly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing it lightly.
"Yeah, he wants to spend more time together that isn’t spent talking about work," you explain, hoping he would understand.
"I've been taking too much of your time," he chuckles.
"It's not like I haven't been having the time of my life," you pull him down by his neck, kissing him slow not wanting to smear your lipstick even if it was inevitable with the way his arm wrapped around your waist and stepped closer to you, settling between your legs.
Harry buried his fingers in your hair, the kiss growing more frenzied as he slipped his tongue past your ruby red lips and tangled with yours. You moaned, your hand clutching at his hair, messing it up— something you didn't feel too bad about— as you dragged him down closer.
His hand rested on the counter behind you, steadying himself as he continued to kiss you senseless, only pulling away for a a quick breath before returned to your lips, seeking it out like a man possessed.
When he pulled away to catch his breath again you stopped him with a hand on his chest, an amused smile pulled at your lips as you caught your breath and took in the lipstick that was smeared on his lips and a little on his moustache. You brought your thumb up to his lips, swiping away the red. His eyes never strayed from yours, completely and utterly entranced.
"If we start now, neither of us is going to be out that door for a couple of hours," you chuckled, as you moved your hand to smooth down his hair.
"If it keeps me from the office, I don't mind much," he replied, his own thumb drawing up to your lips to clean up the lipstick that smeared. "You look good in red."
The comment that he added, almost as an afterthought had your face heating, a pleasant tingling in your cheeks. "So do you," you quipped.
"You say that for everything," he countered.
"Only because it's true," you defend as you press one last kiss to his lips before you grab your mug and finish your tea. You searched your bag some tissue and your lipstick, swiping off the mess and reapplying it with swift ease. You get off the chair, packing your phone and lipstick back into your bag. "I'll see for your lunch, right?"
"Yeah," he confirmed softly, dragging his knuckles over your cheek. "Same place as last time. I'm really craving those spring rolls."
"I told you, I knew you would like it," you said with a prideful smile. "You should try the puri patha this time too."
He acquiesced easily enough, more eager to please you than expand his palate which you didn't mind all that much, it was nice having someone so easily amenable to your suggestions. You distantly wondered for too brief a moment what else he would acquiesce to if you pushed, but you wouldn't— you knew better to do that— because you wanted to see where this would go.
He took your hand in his, holding it gently as he bowed his head to kiss your knuckles then the back of your hand and on the inside of your wrist. "I really wish you come to the gala," he sighed, a longing in his eyes.
"I know," you reply, regret creeping up spine and along your ribs. "If it isn't too late when you get back home, I'll call you."
"Yeah?" His eye's brightened.
Just as you put your handbag on your desk, pulling out your chair to sit, Lucy walks out of her office with a man in tow. He was objectively good-looking, the sort of attractive that was marketable— the sort of attractive that you see in clothing commercials and billboards. His sandy blond hair was perfectly coiffed with too much gel, a smile that veered too close to being greasy and pjercing blue eyes. He was wealthy, by the look of his watch, shoes and suit— that didn't do him too many favours.
"Oh, great!" Lucy's eyes light up as she catches sight of you behind your desk. She walks over with Mister Blue Eyes. "This is her, the woman I was telling you about."
Your brows furrowed, dread seeping in at the edges of your mind. You kept a professional smile plastered on your face, damned if you would be rude. He put his hand forward, a cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I'm Brenton Wilson-Sinclair," he introduced himself.
"Pleasure," you intoned, shaking his proffered hand. He had a strong grip and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes, knowing damn well that he subscribed to the nonsensical strong handshake theorem about it conveying confidence. Perhaps confidence in crushing your hand?
"I'm sure," he replied, the smirk still very much present. You just had to endure the less savoury clientele until noon then you were free from this.
"Brenton is an investment banker," Lucy says, her smile broad and proud as she relays this information to you. "He handles the mergers for Rosby and Co."
That would be impressive if you cared one bit about investment banking and mergers. So, you nodded keeping a polite smile and feigning interest as you extolled his virtues. You only half listened to Lucy and Mister Blue Eyes— you couldn't be bothered to call him by his name, having already written him off.
"I'm going to this gala tonight," he said, resting his arms on your desk as he leaned down. "You should come. A girl like you should have some fun."
"I have prior engagements tonight," you bit out.
"I'm sure your dad won't mind," Lucy interjects. "I'll call him." And she pulls out her phone, calling your father without any care in the world.
You rise from your chair, trying to stop her but she waves you off as your father answer his phone. "Hey, Mister Ansari," she greets him as you stood frozen in disbelief. "Can you spare your daughter tonight? There's this gala happening-"
Lucy continues on, having a good laugh with your father as Blue Eyes looks between you and Lucy, amusement and satisfaction blending together on his stupid face. "You're free tonight," Lucy grins.
"Great," Blue Eyes says, his eyes dragging over the length of your body. "I'll see you tonight, gorgeous." And with that he left, Lucy smiling at you before she turned back to her office.
You followed her in, fury barely contained. "Lucy," you call out as she sits at her desk. "What the hell? Why would you do that?"
"You said you wanted to get married," she replied. "And he fits your list."
"No the fuck he doesn't," you rage.
"He's obscenely rich, handsome, pretty smile, kind eyes and romantic," she lists out, reminding you of your conversation from a couple weeks ago.
"His smile is sleazy at best," you object. "His eye's are unsettling and he really doesn't strike me as the romantic type." Harry was romantic though, he fit the list perfectly; falling into the role effortlessly as if he were made for it. You did wonder if he whisked his ex-wife away on romantic holidays just for the sake of it, or if he bought her favourite flowers and cooked her favourite foods. Before it all went to shit, that is.
You couldn't be too mad about her cheating though, her loss was your gain— fifteen years after the fact, but the point still stood.
"Just him a chance," Lucy urged, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "It's just one date and you'll never have to see him again."
You stare at her, still as a statue, gaze sharp as you look down at her. "No," you say, voice cold and stern.
"C'mon, you said-" A knock sound at her door, you turn around to see the receptionist, Sara, peaking her head in.
"Sorry to interrupt," she begins. "But the newbie, Clara, is here."
"Okay, I'll be out in a minute," I reply. Sara nods and takes her leave. Turning back to Lucy, you fix her with a look at left no room for argument. "Don't do shit like that again, Luce."
She held her hands up in surrender, pressing her lips together, no doubt trying to suppress a smile. You point a finger at her, "I'm serious."
You walk out to greet your replacement, Clara MacMillan; recent graduate of NYU with fiery red hair, the sweetest smile and a southern accent. "Hi," she greets you brightly, excitement oozing out of her. "Thank you so much for this opportunity. I promise I won't disappointment."
"Everyone's pretty easy going here so you don't have anything to worry about," you assure her. "Why don't we start with a tour of the place?"
She nodded eagerly, hitching her handbag higher up her shoulder. Her doe eyes taking in everything with the excitement of a puppy. She listen raptly as you get into the details of the who's who here, who to go to when she's uncertain about one thing or another, all the menial things that it would take a fair bit of time to catch and understand.
You ended the tour at your desk, letting her sit down in your chair as you explain the system to her. And she seems to understand fairly quickly. "Whenever you leave this desk you make sure you log out," you tell her firmly. "Even if you're just going into Lucy's office to hand over some paperwork. You log out. No exceptions."
"Okay," Clara replied with a nod. "But... why? That would take like three seconds."
You're hurrying down the street, weaving effortlessly through the crowds that gathered on the pavement during the lunch rush, wanting to get to the restaurant as quick as you can. Harry had texted you, letting you know that he had already arrived and asked if you wanted him to place an order for you. Agreeing, you had asked him to order the chicken biryani.
The Kahlah welcomed you with a bright smile, reminding you of you Nani when you would visit her when you were just a little kid. "Aao beti," she beckons you. "You've gone so thin."
"Salam, Kahlah," you smile as you bend down to hug her.
She takes your hand, guiding you to an empty seat as she dotes over you. "Teri abba theek hai?" She inquired.
"Jee, abba's fine," you assure her, glancing over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of Harry who had a smile on his lips as he observed you both. "Actually, Kahlah, I'm meeting my friend over there. I'll sit with him."
She turns her head, catching sight of Harry too as he raises raisies his hand in silent greeting. "Does your father know you're seeing someone so old?" she asks in a hushed voice.
"He's just a friend," you scramble to explain, desperately not wanting her to think anything untoward was happening. Though your father, and mother when she was still alive, afforded you a great deal of freedoms when growing up, the one thing they remained adamant about was no boyfriends and definitely no sex— you could do all that when you were grown up and married. "There's that big event going on, so I'm just giving him some tips for the security."
The lie slips out of you easily, a skill you honed in your later years in high school and throughout university. You had gone to the mall several times over those years with your friends only to spilt up and go on dates, your parents none the wiser.
You had your first kiss in the underground parking lot of a mall, it wasn't particularly good but who's first was. Those last two years of high school you had so many of those sneaky dates, kissing in parking lots and in the back seats of cars. You had gotten plenty handsy then, grinding on each other awkwardly as your hands fumbled over each other's clothes. Looking back, you were horrified at how awkward it all was.
You had been too scared then too venture underneath clothes, let alone have actual sex. Terrified that your parents would somehow know. In truth, you still were just a little afraid that your father would find out; just thinking about it you could die of embarrassment.
She nodded in understanding, accepting your explanation. She sends you off in Harry's direction and you settle in the seat opposite him. "If anyone asks I'm giving you tips on how to handle the gala," you whisper to him quickly before anyone passes by.
"So I've stolen your job," he jokes.
"Apparently," you chuckle, crossing your arms on the table as you lean in slightly. "I have some good news."
His lips part again to speak but he stops himself as one of the younger server's walks our way, placing our food on the table. Her eyes lingers on Harry, quiet recognition in them as her darken with a blush. You had to suppress a knowing smirk, her very obvious attraction to him was something you felt everytime you spent more than a few minutes with him; it was like you reverted back into your hopelessly in love high-school self.
Not that you were in love, that would be silly.
Harry thanked her politely, oblivious to the effect he seemed to have on the girl who couldn't be more than twenty. When she excused herself, he parted his lips once more, "Tell me this good news."
You left him in suspense, building up the anticipation purely because you could, as you separated the chicken and potatoes from the rice as you throughly mixed the masala with the plain rice. Harry stared hopelessly, the corner of his lips tugged into a small fond smile. He dipped his chicken springroll into the spicy sauce before biting into it— half of it gone just like that.
"I'll be going to the gala after all," you rush the words out before stuffing your face with your food.
The rest off the springroll hung from his fingers, frozen midway to the sauce. Brows raised in surprise. He tried to speak, promptly choking. You pushed a glass of water to him, he downed two-thirds of it, righting himself. "You okay?" You question, amusement swirling in your voice.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he says, clearing his throat before fixing you with a stern look. "Are you serious?"
You nod, shovelling another spoonful of biryani into your mouth, the spice creating a pleasant burn. He grinned, his eyes lighting up, the sternness melting away and softening his features. He took your hand in his, bringing it up his lips pressing kisses along your knuckles and the back of your hand. "But..." you add, nervousness clawing up your chest, the pressure unbearable like at the top of the Himalayan mountains.
Harry paused his reverent kisses against your hand, looking up at you over your knuckles. "But what?" He questioned, his voice low, brows furrowed.
"But... my date is this Brenton guy," you say slowly, unsure of his reaction. Though he lowers your hand and straightens himself, he is entirely passive. He says nothing and does nothing further. The sickening, creeping feeling of guilt and dread inches closer to your throat, it's icy hot limbs strangling you just as much as his silence.
You fucked up.
That's all you can think of right, those words circling in your mind like vultures, waiting for the inevitable carnage that will the end of your kind-of-relationship with Harry. "Brenton who?" He asks, his tone betraying nothing.
"Brenton Wilson-Sinclair," you answer.
A singular nod is the only indication that he even registered what you said. His hand still held yours, his thumb brushing back and forth on your knuckles. "Is he... nice?" The words sound strained as Harry speaks.
"Only if your type is a sleaze," you try to joke, if only to alleviate the tension settling over the both of you. When you get no response, you shake your head in a poor attempt to clear it. "Lucy introduced me to him when I went into work. I tried to get out of it, but she called my dad and he said that it was fine if I went. And I couldn't refuse because he was my only out."
You rushed to explained, desperate to make sure he doesn't get the wrong idea. The last thing you wanted was for him to think you were some two-timing asshole who didn't care one bit about anyone's feelings. "I see," he replies, his tone lighter, shoulders less tense. "Does your friend always put in situations like that?"
"No," you say quickly, not wanting him to think badly of your closest friend. "Its just that a couple weeks ago I told her that she could set me up if she found someone I would like."
"And you like sleazy guys?" He questioned, an amused little smile on his soft lips.
"I do not," you say, a bit offended that he would think that but you laughed nonetheless, relieved that he wasn't angry or didn't appear to be.
"Are you sure?" He drawled, a teasing edge in his voice.
You both had finished your food with enough tine to spare before your meeting with representatives from the Department of Defense. Harry, in his joy and wisdom, had driven you to a boutique, more than happy to be spending even more money on you.
The attendant, a leggy blonde with a thousand watt smile, pulled the most glitzy evening gowns for you at Harry's behest. There were a dozen jeweled tone gowns for you to try on all of which came in different styles; off the shoulder, a scooped neckline, a sweetheart neckline, a mermaid styled one with a corseted bodice, most of which was either satin or silk.
The attendant, whose name you learned was Penelope, supplied Harry with champagne as he sat on the crème coloured sofa leaned back as you modelled the dresses for him with exaggerated poses and spins. Tossing your hair over your shoulder as you grinned at him, half amused at his glee.
"You look beautiful," he effused, placing the half empty glass of champagne on the side table as he stood up. He approached you with a smile, his hands reaching for your waist, encircling you in his warmth. "The blue is amazing on you."
"You've said that for every colour," you say with a roll of your eyes. Your hand rested on his biceps, tracing up and down as you looked up at him.
"Only because it's true," he drawled, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. It was unhurried as his thumb rubbed back and forth against the curve of your waist. When he pulled away, just as slow as his kiss, "We should just buy them all."
You balked at his words. His frivolity catching you off-guard. You knew that the sum cost of all the dresses would barely be a drop in his overabundant wealth but that it was unseemly to let him pay when you were more than capable of buying a dress or two from this boutique; you didn't purely because you didn't attend events that required such elegant gowns, the only capacity you attended such events were in a working capacity.
"No," you shake your head. "That's insane. It'll just sit in my wardrobe collecting dust."
"Let me spoil you," he insisted, pressing kisses on your cheeks.
"You spoil me enough," you chuckle. "Now, get off, I need to change back."
"Need any help?" He asked, a sly smile pulling at his lips.
"No," you you said firmly, a smile to match his as you languidly pushed him off. Your hips swayed as you walked the few steps to the changing room, the heat of his gaze burning into you.
You changed back into your own clothes, fixing the collar of your shirt as you stepped back out to join Harry who handed over all the dresses you had tried on to the retail assistant. A flash of black catching your eyes as she hurried off. "You're buying all of that aren't you?" You question with a sigh.
His only answer was a smug smile as he wraps his arm around your waist, guiding you over to the checkout where the woman hands over the bag fill of dresses that you were going to have a hard time finding occasions to wear them to.
Harry slips his card back into his wallet, taking the bag from you without a word as he lead you out. "I can't wait to see you all dressed up," he whispers, his breath ghosting the shell of your ear.
"I think you'll like the undressing part far better," you quip quietly, hoping no passerby heard a word.
Your mind was supposed to be laser-focused on this possible contract but all you think of was Harry's hands in your hair, his lips on yours, his delightful little groans that still echoed in your mind.
Taking in a shaky breath, you attempt rather poorly to shake of your arousal if only to not make a fool of yourself. You hastily made your way up the staircase, your shoes clicking satisfyingly against the tiled floor. The room for the meeting should be right— here.
You brushed off imaginary lint from your clothes, that you ensured was not rumpled in any manner that would indicate any salacious activity had happened prior. After taking in a fortifying breath, you raise your hand knocking one, two time.
"Come in," a man's voice sounded from the other side of the door.
Pushing it open your entered with your shoulders rolled back, head held up high and proud. You salute the the man behind the desk, the lapel of his jacket decorated in pins awarded to him for his excellent service through the years. He returned your salute, fighting back a smile. "At ease, soldier," he says as he shakes his way around his desk, meeting you in the middle of his office. He extends his hand for a firm handshake before he pulls you into a hug. "Look at you, all grown up."
"And you've gotten even more grey, Uncle Fred," you retort, a grin forming. He wasn't your actual uncle but with how he and your father grew up together like brothers, served together as well, no other title seemed accurate enough to the role he had in your life.
You hadn't seen him since you enlisted, being in completely different unit and sector will do that. Last you heard, he had gotten a promotion, now working in a fancy office in Washington D.C. "How are the grandkids?" You asked as he led to sit down on the velvet cushioned chair at his desk.
"A menace," he replies. "Running around like little terrors. Lizzy dotes on them, of course." He continues on, regaling you with stories of his two grandkids, Henry and Caroline, he even laments about not being able to keep up with their rowdiness. His wife, Lizzy, only further encouraging their wildness whenever their daughter, Bethany, drops them off on her way to work. The children still too young to be enrolled into school.
"Oh, but enough of that," he waves off, his happy granddad persona melting away into something more befitting a General. "As you're well aware, this is quite the opportunity. Its not often the government contracts third-parties for security purposes, especially ones that are much smaller in size." He slides some papers across the mahogany desk.
With a cursory glance you can tell its a non-disclosure contract. You flipped through it, eyes skimming the contents. Once satisfied you signed it with a quick flourish of the pen.
"Hey Dad," you greet him somberly as you enter his office.
"Back already," he replies, groaning as he rises from his chair. He gestures to the emerald green sofa he had in his office, inviting you to sit with him. "How's Fred?"
"Good," you reply plopping down with a deep sigh as you pushed your hair away from your face, pulling it into a ponytail. "Mostly."
"Good, good," he nodded. "And the contract?"
"Finalised," you pull out your copy of the contract, placing it on the coffee table without a further explanation. "Why'd you change your mind about tonight?"
Your father held the almost two dozen stapled pages, flipping through them, scanning through them with a critical eye. "You need to socialise," was all he said in response.
You roll your eyes. You loved your father, of course you did, but sometimes he infuriated you. You need to socialise, and then he would make some off-handed comment about you not caring about family anymore. It was ridiculous to say the least but you couldn't do much about it, it not being worth the trouble. "I socialise plenty," you drawl.
He hummed in lazy acknowledgement, in that placating way parents often did when their young children would go on an on about one thing or another. "Oh, your cousin's getting married," he said, putting down the papers.
"Which one?" You asked as you got up from the sofa, too much energy bubbling beneath the surface to stay still for long.
"Rukhsana,"
"Really?" You whirl around, surprised at hearing her name out of all your cousins.
"Her parents introduced her to Firat," he relays to you. "He's your uncle's friend's son. Good people."
You nodded, surprise still swirling un your mind. Rukhsana was only a year older than you, fiercely independent and clear about how she did not want to get married unless of course she met someone that checked every requirement off her list. This Firat guy had to have checked every item off her list if she was willing to marry him, her parents setting up the match notwithstanding. "When's the wedding?" You ask, aimlessly walking about his office that will be yours by the time the year's over.
"The last weekend of September," he answers. "Everyone will be flying in throughout the week."
You grab the pale blue envelope from his desk, pulling out the invitation. The golden filigree on the white cardstock sparkled in the light that seeped in through the large windows that overlooking thirty-seventh street. The twenty-seventh of September at six in the evening, the wedding of Rukhsana Ansari and Firat Khan. It seemed so far away and so close at the same time.
It felt like everyone was getting married, which you only knew only seemed that way because it was the wedding season; the blistering heat of summer having faded long ago and the aching cold of the winter still too far out to cause any extreme discomfort for guests and the bride and groom.
"I'll book our tickets," you say, slipping the invitation back into its envelope.
"I'm not going," your father grumbles.
"Why?" You asked, brows pulled together in confusion. Sure, he hated these sort of things, big events with the sometimes too-nosy relatives, but it couldn't be all that bad when he usually just sequesters himself on one side of any given room and keeps to himself— your extended family knowing better than to prod at your father especially after the passing of your mother.
Your father, from you gleaned over the years, was always particularly introverted the complete opposite of your mother's usually outgoing nature. She always brought out the more easy-going side of him without much effort. And whenever he hut his quota for socializing, your mother was more than happy to retreat with him— much to your dismay on several occasions.
"I'll just send them a wedding gift and you can go," he waves off.
The dress itself was simple, the silk hanging off your frame catching the light and erupting in a beautiful pearlescent sheen. The cowled neckline showing off your much more skin than would be sensible for chilly evenings, you would need to remember to bring a jacket along.
Your phone blares, Les Voici! Voici le duo! cutting through your frantic searching. You hurry over to your bed, answering the phone with a tired hello.
"Everything alright, mi amor?" He asks, his voices edged with concern and confusion.
You sigh as you plop down on your bed, idly tracing the floral design on your duvet. "I can't find my pearl earrings," you lament.
Harry is silent on the other side for a few seconds, all you could hear was him shuffling about before he spoke, "The one with the teardrop?"
"Yeah," you say slowly as realisation slowly dawn on you. "It's at your place isn't it?"
A deep chuckle leaves him at your question. "It is, I'll bring it for you. Don't worry your pretty head about it."
"Thank you," you exhale gratefully. "I should finish getting ready or else I'll be late. I'll see you there, jaanu."
You hang up, relieved that you didn't lose one of your favourite pairs of earrings to register Harry's chocked surprise. You stuff your phone, lipstick and a pack of tissues in your champagne coloured handbag with satin and pearl accents.
Languidly, you let your eyes scan through the crowd, searching for Harry. You tentatively make your way through, smiling and nodding in greeting as you pass by some recognisable faces.
A hand slips around your waist as you took in the enormous potted plants lining the hallway. The warmth chased away the chill of the evening, sending rippling goosebumps up your spine. You whip your head to the side, Harry smiling down at you. "Hello, beautiful," he greeted you, grinning blissfully.
You liked it when he smiled like that; so big and soft, unburdened by existence even if just for a moment. It lit a fire in you, heat trickling down and settling low in your stomach. The noise in the lobby growing muffled and distant as he places a kiss on your shoulder; a pleased hum leaving your red velvet lips as you pull his hand forward, intertwining your fingers. "Hi," you say, staring up at him almost dreamily.
"You're a vision in pink," he states, his lips meeting yours.
"And you look far too good in suits," you say, only mildly annoyed at how good he looked; if you weren't in such a public place you would've kissed him senseless, even let him fuck you.
He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out your earrings. "As requested," he says. You let go of his hand, hurriedly putting on your earrings.
"Thank you," you place a chaste kiss on his cheek. Harry tucked your hair behind your ear, his hand lingering— his knuckles caressing your cheek softly before he returns his hand to the small of you back, guiding you to the grand ballroom.
Circular hightables littered the perimeter of the grand ballroom, the centre reserved as a dance floor; some couples were already waltzing around to the quintet orchestral performers. Harry procured himself a glass of champagne and a glass of sprite for you.
Harry lead you around the room, introducing you industry titans and politicians, all whom you did not particularly like for varying degrees of the same reason. Their congratulatory pats on Harry's back for scoring such a 'pretty young thing', their smarmy smiles souring both of your moods.
Just as you and Harry were recovering from their blatant sexism and fakeness, a cloying voice called out your name inserting themselves between you and Harry. "Join me for a dance," Brenton said, taking your hand in his, grabbing your glass and placing it on the table behind you.
He didn't wait for you to say a word, all but dragging your stunned self onto the dance floor. He didn't even greet you. The absolute nerve of him! "You get all dressed up for me?" He questioned, a smirk on his lips. His hand far too low on your back for you to even attempt nonchalance; the tips of his fingers brushing the edge of your dress, no doubt wondering if he could get away with slipping his fingers underneath.
"I was in the middle of a conversation," you say harshly, ignoring his question. "So if you please let go, I would like to return to it."
"Oh, c'mon. I'm pretty sure I'm better company than that old man," he said, his grip on you tightening.
"I doubt it," you mutter lowly, trying to pull your hand out and away from his.
"Don't be like that," he said, a sickeningly sweet smile on his face. "It's just one dan-"
"May I cut in," a gruff voice cuts Brenton off. You glance up at Harry, relief flooding you.
"You may," you grit out as you wrench your hand free from Brenton's. You thanked your lucky stars for Harry interrupting so quickly because if you had to endure that man for a moment longer you were going to cause a scene.
Harry's face, much to your surprise, was twisted with anger— perhaps it was more accurate to say that he was... displeased or even incredibly annoyed. Either way, despite how odd it was to see his face contorted in such a manner you delighted at discomposure. It was a like a flicker of possessiveness had taken hold of him.
His hand rested low on your back, holding you against him, not even a hair's breadth apart. His other other hand glided up your arm and across the expansion of your shoulder, fingers drifting up to caress your cheek. Harry brought his head close to yours, lips a whisper away. "Are you okay?" He asked, voice low and rumbling.
"I am," you confirm, breathless as you stare up into his hardened brown eyes.
He hummed in acknowledgement, his fingers gliding up and down your spine in a feather light touch. "I'll make sure he's dealt with," he promises.
A surprised chuckle bubbles out of you, it sounded so much like a threat that it took you a moment to realise he likely truly meant it. A flurry of heat burst within you, radiating through you. "So long as you don't go committing any crimes," you say wrap an arm around his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
"Of course," he drawls, leaning down to press a quick kiss on your ruby lips. "I book us a room."
"You did?"
"Mhm, I didn't want to wait until we got home," he informs you with an almost proud smile.
Kicking your heels off you push his jacket off, making quick work to unbutton his dress shirt. His lips meeting yours, tongue begging for entry as you undo the button of his trousers. "Slow down, baby," he chuckles. "We got all night."
You push onto the bed, pulling his loosened tie from around his neck. "You sure you can keep up?" You tease.
"Wasn't last night evidence enough?" He asks, his hands resting on the curve of your hips.
"Was it though?" Your head tilts in question, your hand reaching for his, pulling it away from your hip, wrapping his tie around his wrist before reaching for his other hand.
"Is this revenge for edging you?"
"And ruining my orgasms the first few times," you confirm, lifting his arms over his head, tying him to the headboard.
His eye's darkened, a proud smirk at your words. You throw a leg over his hips, settling down on his hard, twitching length— your dress pooling around you. "I wasn't going to do anything about it," you shrug, leaning down over the length of him. "But you getting mad was really fucking hot."
You don't wait for his response, capturing his lips with yours. As your tongues tangle, swallowing each other's moans, you rest your hand over his throat. You set a slow pace as you grind against his still clothed bulge, not stopping as you trail kisses down the length on his neck, biting and sucking— relentless in your pursuit to mark him up like he was wont to do.
"You're killing me here, baby," his voice a few degrees away from a whine.
You ignore him as you reach down to unzip his trousers, pushing it off. He was almost entirely bare for you— quite a nice change of pace as far as you were concerned. Your grips his length, stroking him too slow and too lightly to do much for him.
As you kiss down to his collarbone and then chest, your tongue darts out to lick his nipple, a soft bite for the hell of it. He inhaled sharply, surprise clouding his eyes. With one more lick to soothe the bite, you move on to the other, giving it the same treatment.
"Well, fuck me," he breathes out as his chest heaves.
"We'll get there," you tease. "Promise."
His soft belly contracting as you kiss down it to his cock. You squeeze his base as you drag your tongue along the length of him, the small bead of salty pre-cum counteracting the sweetness from the desserts served at the gala.
Without wasting anymore time, you take in your mouth. He groans at the wet warmth, his hips thrusting up instinctively— too much of him filling you too suddenly. You hum around him in disapproval but not pulling away.
His tip reaches the back of your throat, his eyes screwed shut at the feeling. You glance up at him, his hands tugging at his restraints as his breaths comes out in unsteady puffs mixing with his moans. Your tongue applying a delicious pressure to the underside of his cock as you drag your mouth away from him; your tongue catches on his head as you release him with a pop.
Your hand lazily pumps his length as you sit up, eyes fixed on him— enjoying the view of his desperation to find relief. "You gonna tease me all night, baby?" He ask, his voice hoarse sending a tingle down your spine.
"I should," you reply in kind, your hand leaving him as you crawl up to settle on his lap once again. You reach up and behind your neck, undoing the knot there, your silk dress falling away from you, pooling at your waist.
Harry tries in vain to pull himself up enough to get to you and your bare tits. A knowing smile pulls at smudged ruby lips. You reach for the rest of your dress, pulling it off in one easy move, just as naked as him now.
His eye's, dark pools of melted chocolate, burns against your skin as his lip twitches in almost a snarl; a tortured growl leaving him as his eyes settles between your leg before snapping up to meet yours. "Fucking hell, woman. You're gonna be death of me," he groans.
You were bare, deciding to forgo any underwear for the evening. You meant to tell him when you met him the lobby but when he kissed you all thought of it faded, just glad to be in his arms and have his lips on you. You smile down him, satisfied that you had gotten the intended reaction from him, but a part of you still wondered what he would've done if you had whispered it to him the lobby; would he have whisked you away to this room so early in the evening, would he have found some quiet sequestered spot and fucked you then and there?
"You were just walking around like that?" He asks in disbelief, looking at you like you were half insane.
"Surprise," you say with a cheerful smile.
"Untie me," he ordered.
"No, I don't think I will," you chuckle, his thick cock nestled against your cunt as you languidly rolled your hips.
"Of course you won't," Harry rolls his eyes. "You would think for being a soldier you would know how to listen."
You raise an eyebrow at his words. "A terrible decision in hindsight," you shake your head as you pick up the pace. You lean forward, resting your weight on him, your head nestled against his neck resuming your precious ministrations.
You reach down, taking hold of his cock once more, lifting your hips to align yourself with him, slowly you lower yourself on him. A guttural groan escapes from him as your slick heat clenches around him, your own breath growing ragged. Even after having him in you so many times you still grew a but lightheaded whenever he nestled himself in you like it was the only place he wanted, needed, to be.
As far as Harry was concerned, being near you— in you— was his new life purpose. He'd been searching so long for some meaning or reason for his existence. In vain, he tried to feel that hole in his life with work and numerous charities, hoping endlessly that the chasm in his chest would close even just a little. All work did was keep him distracted from the grief of a ruined marriage, keeping him from stewing in self-pity.
But now... now as you laid atop him, lips kissing him between whimpering moans as you fucked yourself on him, taking whatever you wanted from him a startling realisation dawned on him. That yawning chams didn't seem too big anymore as he spent more time with you.
He knew it wouldn't last though. The universe was never that kind. Sooner or later you would have had you fill of him and you would move on, find a good man to be with, to settle down with, and all he would be was a distant memory as your roaring twenties closed out. And all he would be was a bitter old man desperate to be wanted.
"Untie me," he said again, and this time you listened, feebly reaching over his head and undoing the knot that bound him for you.
Once free, his arms wrapped around your waist, turning you onto your back as he took over, driving into you hard. Your erratic breaths mixing with his as his lips hovered so close to yours but never touching. Harry's hand reached for your face, smoothing your hair away before cupping your face as he brought his lips to yours finally.
Your weak arms wrapping around his neck, holding him close— the weight of him warm and grounding. His name falls from your lips in a broken plea and signal, your fingers reaching up to tangle in his hair. "Shh, I know baby," he whispers, his hips stuttering as he thrust into you with relentless force, each drag out of you sending your head spinning with the intolerable need to be filled by him.
Harry did not leave you wanting, he'd be damned if he did; just as he thrust into you again, he hit that fleshy spot in you, a jolt shooting through every nerve in your body as you came with a strangled moan. He fucked you through your orgasm, whispering sweet nothings to you as your high began to ebb away. With two, three more thrusts he came in you, the warmth filling you, it would seem, to the brim.
Your eyes fluttered close as Harry lavoshed you with kisses, holding you close as he moves onto his side. You bury your face in his chest as you twitch from aftershock when he slowly slides out of you.
"You're..." he started softly, pausing to find the right word. "You're incredible." He finally breathes out, a flicker of adoration in his eyes that you couldn't see, too busy snuggling as close as you could physically get to him.
"You're pretty incredible too," you say easily enough, unknowing of the magnitude of your affect on him— the slow mending of all the fractured and crumbled parts of his being.
synopsis: You were a very busy woman, working as a full-time assistant for your best friend, Lucy, and as a part-time CEO for your father's security agency. Both your jobs brought you a wedding contract, coming highly recommended from the couple's close friend and their matchmaker. The night ends up going well for the bride and groom. And especially well for you.
a/n: This was actually an OC (whose name was Layla Ansari, for anyone curious. Layla because I got the idea for this on Laylatul Qadr) fic before I changed my mind after getting like 600 words in lol, and as such, the reader does have a last name and is Indian and coming from an Islamic upbringing even though the reader does not particularly care about religion anymore (can you tell I've become disillusioned with religion?). This is also my first ever published fic!!! I am so excited and so goddamn nervous, I really hope you enjoy it
thanks to: @myownwholewildworld for the Spanish translation, you really came in clutch and I'm forever grateful and @mushgloomz for checking over the smut to make sure it wasn't atrocious and made some modicum of sense, your encouragement really eased my nerves about it 🩵🩵
word count: 9.6k
content warnings: 18+ mdni, brief mentions of death and cheating, brief angst, smut, fluff, domesticity, oral (f!receiving), fingering, begging ??, reader is 28 years old, Harry is 50, reader is part-time assistant and ceo and the head of wedding security, reader is short (in relation to Harry's height but not by much really)
Lucy was at the peak of her career as a matchmaker and you, well, you had been discharged from the military after serving four years in active duty; you had been on the cusp of becoming a Lieutenant when your mother had died. Her sudden death had left your father sick with grief, barely capable of functioning, and so you had elected to serve the next four years in the Reserves to make it easier to take care of him.
It was in those years that you had rekindled your friendship with Lucy, your deployments made keeping the friendship alive a bit difficult, who was making headway in her own career. Lucy had begun to become more busy and as such had needed an assistant to handle the more menial tasks. Lucy and you had been having dinner one night when she had brought it up after complaining about her boyfriend, John. You had always liked being helpful, so you offered to be her assistant until she had a chance to find someone more permanent.
You did the work without payment, not needing the abysmal pay, mostly because your father's private security company had been getting high-end clients from the year before the passing of your mother. You took over most of the operations, mostly replacing your father as CEO. You were glad that most of the duties you had taken over were capable of being run remotely.
Lucy, however, had grown lax in trying to find a permanent primary assistant having become comfortable with your help, who better to assist than a life-long friend.
Now, it's been four years since you became her assistant, and everything was on the up and up for the both of you. "Did you get confirmation from Wesley and Hannah for their meeting?" Lucy asked as she typed away at her phone.
You placed a to-go cup of Lucy's coffee order on her desk. "Yep," She replied. "Hannah was a bit nervous about it though. She said she wasn't sure if she wanted a guy named Wesley."
Lucy had reached over to grab the cup, her eyes never leaving her phone screen. "She'll still show, though, right?" She questioned absentmindedly.
"Yeah, don't worry about it. I talked her through her nerves," you assure her. "Apparently, she went shopping for a new outfit to really impress him."
"That's nice," Lucy replied.
You pressed my lips together in a thin line, shaking your head. You plopped down onto the sofa she had in her office with a tired sigh. "I've been thinking," you start tentatively. "Since I'm turning 28, I might cut back on the hours I work with you."
Lucy's head snapped up, eyes wide in shock. "But why?" She pressed. "We work so well together. I'd probably lose my mind if it weren't for you."
"My dad's thinking of 6 he wants me to take over his position," you explain. "I'll still help you out, obviously. I'm not gonna disappear off the face of the earth." You add with a chuckle.
Lucy remained silent for a moment as she took a sip of her coffee before setting it back down and rising from her chair. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she made her way over to the sofa to sit beside you. "Okay," she said with an accepting nod.
"Okay?" You question slowly.
"Yeah, you can do so much more than just be an assistant," She said, taking my hand into hers. "This will be great for you. And maybe now since you'll be less busy enough for me to set you up with someone."
You shake your head as you smile at her persistence to try to work her matchmaking magic on you. "Sure," you said. "If you can find me someone obscenely rich and handsome."
"Pretty smile, kind eyes and romantic?" She continued with a smile and a raised brow.
"Exactly," you confirm. "You find a man like that, and I might consider going on a date."
In all honesty, you had already met the man of your dreams— unattainable, yes, but a girl can dream. He was sweet, at least that's the overall vibe you got from him on the few occasions that interacting was necessary. You swore his smile could light up a whole room. His warm brown eyes were light and welcoming, pulling you into his spell. Just thinking about him had your face heating up.
But he was strictly off limits. No if's, and's or but's about it. He was a client and almost old enough to be your father. The latter wasn't really all that much of an issue. You've had flings during deployments, with men pushing sixty. The former, however, would certainly be an issue. He was a big client for your father's company; he was always reaching out for security for galas and company parties, he was satisfied with the work and so you really did not want to fuck it all up because you couldn't let a fantasy stay a fantasy.
"I'm going to find you the most perfect man ever in all of New York," Lucy vowed, that determined look in her eyes.
You couldn't help but laugh at her eagerness. It was sweet, certainly, but you couldn't help but feel off. It just didn't feel right. Lucy has tried several times throughout the years to set you up. None were successful, as indicated by your lack of a wedding ring.
As cliché as it sounded, you loved love. Growing up, you would play house with the dolls your parents bought you whenever you all went shopping. All you had to do was point and ask, and they would get it. You never wanted for anything, at least not really. You had the love of both your parents, their unwavering support, a good education, a good home, great vacations, and birthday parties.
The only thing you didn't have was the someone to love you like your parents loved each other.
Maybe it was about time you really took dating seriously. Maybe it was about time you found someone you could settle down with if only to ease your father's worry for you.
"Thank you for considering Ansari Security," I said to the beaming couple sitting opposite my father's mahogany desk. "We're so glad you considered us for your big day."
"Well, you do come highly recommended," the bride says cheerfully, holding onto her fiancé's hand. "Our matchmaker, she pointed us in your direction. His friend as well."
You give them an appreciative smile and mentally make a note to thank Lucy. It is then that you begin detailing the measures you will take to protect their wedding from anything and everything. It takes all of forty-five minutes to go over everything, a record amount of time.
You escorted them out of the building after they signed the necessary paperwork, smiling and once again thanking them for the trust they have put in us. Soon after, you texted Lucy to thank her for pointing the couple to your father's company and inviting her out for dinner this Friday to the new restaurant that opened last week.
It was a really fancy sort of place, open concept with postmodern lighting fixtures and a dark colour palette with exotic foods from all over the world made by artisanal chefs with an excellent wine list, which you couldn’t drink. Normally you wouldn't have bothered with such a thing, making a reservation at some over-priced pseudo-classy place, having always preferred homemade food when you were growing up and then practical and quick nutritional meals when you were in service, and you still did.
The only time you didn't eat a quick meal was when you found yourself missing your mother. She had left you pretty much everything of hers; most of her clothes, her wedding dress, all of her jewellery and books— her recipe book that was passed down to her by her own mother.
It was a great regret of yours for not being there when she passed, unable to perform her ghusl mayyit. Unable to be there for anything, all because you wanted to rebel and join the military, to be just like your parents, to continue that ultimately meaningless legacy.
You drove home that night, mind and heart heavy from remembering your mother, your guilt, your envy. In moments like these, you felt as if you couldn't do anything right, as if no matter the choices you make, you're doomed to make a mess of things.
You drop your apartment and car keys into the crystal bowl as you enter your apartment, toeing off your kitten heels. A heavy sigh leaves you as you drop your handbag on your coffee table, grabbing the TV remote and putting on the news as you head to the kitchen to prepare some yellow potato curry.
"Fortune 500 CEO, Harry Castillo, have released a statement in regards to the rumors circulating the business world about his acquisition plans for Reed and Vine, a publishing house that has seen—," the news anchors voice droning on as you chop your potatoes, onions, green chillies— only because you were in the mood for a bit of spice.
After chopping everything you needed, you toss the cumin seeds with the onions, green chillies, and turmeric into the sunflower oil and let it until the onions are translucent. While you wait, you open a can of your favourite soft drink as you lean on your kitchen counter, lazily listening to the news— more horrible things happening in the States and abroad.
With a shake of your head, you add in your potatoes and water, letting it simmer until the potatoes are cooked, stirring it every so often. You check in your fridge for dhania and retrieve your jar of carrot pickle for when your curry is done.
"Be sure to wear plenty of sunscreen and stay hydrated as the week starts to heat up," the weatherman says cheerfully. You grab the remote to switch the channel now that the news and weather have concluded. You didn't know why you watched the news and weather forecast on your TV when you could easily do so on your phone, but you supposed your parent's habits rubbed off on you.
With the food done you pile a good portion of it onto your favourite white and blue floral plate, pouring yourself a glass of water before you make your way to your living room to sit on your plush pink sofa while you watch an episode of 'House M.D' as you eat.
You did some tidying up before you hopped into the shower. You turned on the hot water, letting it scald your skin before you soaped up your body and loofah before you scrubbed away the day. The vanilla and honey scent wafted through your shower and bathroom. You take a deep breath before exhaling slowly as your eyes fluttered closed for a moment.
After a good twenty-five minutes, you stepped out, towelled yourself off dressing in your favourite champagne coloured silk nightdress with branches blooming from your waist and across your torso. Normally, on such a blistering hot night, you would've just thrown on one of your many linen pyjamas, but you felt tonight deserved something more... sexy, despite your previously dour mood.
Before hopping into your queen sized bed, you made sure to turn on your ceiling fan to mitigate the midnight heat that was sure to descend upon the city. You sighed as you lay on your back for a moment, contemplating if you should read a chapter or two from 'The Count of Monte Cristo'. Dantés had just just been arrested at his on engagement party for heaven's sake, you should continue reading but you weren't certain that your eyes wouldn't droop and you wouldn't fall asleep on your book— you always hated damaging any books, purposefully or not.
You were relieved when the hotel manager allowed you to gallivant up and down its halls to get a feel for the layout, all the possible entry and exit points, the in house security. Everything was fine, up to code. With the clientele that the hotel saw their security was top-notch, designed to put the minds of societies elite at ease.
But you liked going the extra mile, so you had brought it a few more of your own personnel than you had initially intended to. Your guys with pair up with the hotel's guards, much stricter protocols put in place as well. When you did a job, you made sure to do it right— half-assing things wasn't in your nature.
The day of the wedding had arrived sooner than you had liked, just three weeks after your meeting with the happy couple. It was sweet, how eager they were— their faces constantly pulled taut from the smiling.
"Did all the guests arrive?" You question Anton, whom you had placed in charge of checking the arrivals.
"A few missing, likely just stragglers," he replies, his voice gruff from decades of smoking. "No wedding crashers yet."
You nod, patting his back. "Let me know if you need to get off your feet," you remind him before walking away to check with the rest of your staff.
Guests milled about, chattering about anything and everything, taking pictures of the decor and themselves as they sipped their alcohol of choice. Your eyes scanned over the crowd as you moved from one guard to the next. Lucy catching your eye in her blue dress, giving you a thumbs up and a smile. You return the smile with a wave before she's pulled into a conversation with one of the guests just as you bump into someone.
"I'm so sorry," you hurriedly say, instinctively grabbing onto them to steady yourself. "I should've watched where I was going."
Large hands grip you forearm and waist, firm and yet somehow gentle. You glance up at him, your eyes widening in just a fraction. "Mister Castillo," you breathe out, surprised. You knew he was good friend of the groom, that he was on the guest list and yet somehow it felt crazy to see him here in his suit with a calla lily pinned to his lapel.
"Miss Ansari," he drawls in a teasing tone, his lips pulled up in a smile as his eyes shined down at you.
"Sorry," you apologise once more, not really sure you were capable of saying anything more with him close looking so… striking.
"Nothing to apologise for," he dismisses. "How are you?" He asked, his voice dipping into that dizzying baritone register.
Your voice gets trapped in your throat, as you inhaled sharply your lips parted trying your best to get any words out. A second then two passed, feeling more like an infinity, before you pressed your lips closed as you blinked up at him before you nodded.
He raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging a corner of his lips. It's just then that you come back into your mind, regaining some sense as you feel his thumb idly brushing back and forth on the curve of your waist. "I'm fine," you say breathlessly.
"Yeah?" He questioned softly.
You nod, your head tilting as you stare up at him. It was stupid— you were stupid. You shouldn’t be falling quiet every other moment when speaking to him. You shouldn’t be all doe-eyed and breathless as if you were still a teenager with their first full-fledged crush. But here you were. Doing exactly that. Like a fool.
It wasn't your fault that he was attractive with his deep brown soulful eyes, his soft salt and pepper curls, his broad stature, his voice— his everything. It was impossible not to dissolve into a pining, lovesick idiot.
You take a step back, his hands leaving your waist and forearm. Your skin smoldering, aching. Even beneath the fabric of your dress shirt, you skin felt as if it was on fire, setting your nerve-ending on edge.
"And you?" You whisper, despite yourself. "Are you…okay?"
Harry— Mister Castillo, you force yourself to remember. You could not be on a first name basis with him, knowing you would rationalise it by considering him a friend and then read too much into everything— tilts his head just a fraction, his brows furrowing. A soft, thoughtful hum left him before he righted himself. "I'm doing wonderful," he answers, using your given name sending your heart racing.
You had never felt one way or the other about your name. It was just your name, a simple gift given to you by your parents showing their adoration to you. You've heard your name countless times, seen it written just as many. But there was something in the way he said it, a whisper of devotion. Of hunger.
"That's great," you say, the epitome of awkward.
"How's your father?" He inquires, one hand slipping into his trousers pockets as the other fiddles with the button on his jacket.
"He's doing good," you reply. "He's more active nowadays."
The conversation goes on for a few minutes; though it's mostly idle chatter, Harry listens intently as he guides you over to the open bar ordering a whiskey for himself and cranberry juice for you, which you take with soft thanks.
It blew your mind how easy it was to talk to him, it was one of the easiest conversations you've had with another person in a long time. You didn't have to think, didn't have to pretend to be easy-going and fun. You didn't have to pick and choose your words or soften your voice and past.
Despite being in a room full of people, you were at ease. Your mind wasn't racing to solve what-if's, over-analyzing every single blink and twitch. Your mind was at ease and you wondered why. Why with him? What was so special or different about that put you at ease? Why was it that the one person you shouldn’t want made you feel so tranquil?
Why, why why?
One thing you didn't expect was for him to be such a melancholic drunk. Well, tipsy, but the point still stood. After you had been pulled away from him to do your job, you had spotted him sitting on his own in the farthest corner of the room sipping listlessly on his whiskey as music blared and people laughed and danced.
You were being brainless as you hurried through your check-ins, desperate to speak to him again knowing after tonight you wouldn't see much of him for a long time. So, in your infatuated state you had excused yourself and beelined to him. You were nearly to him when—
"John's here," Lucy whisper yelled, gripping your upper arm. Your laser focused eyes left his form and settled on her with a sigh.
"I know," you say plainly, there wasn't anything else you could say and you weren't about to act surprised.
"You know?" She questioned, her lips pulled down in a frown.
"Yeah, I had to vet everyone," you shrug.
Lucy linked her arm with yours, all but dragging you to the open bar, settling onto on one of the stools while you remained standing. You're farther away from him now and throughly annoyed. "A rum and coke for me and a," she said to the bartender before turning to me. "What sort of cocktail do you want?"
You grimaced at her question, which served only to aggravate you further. "Just a cranberry juice," you tell the bartender with a forced smile.
"Right," she shakes her head, seeming to remember you don't drink. "Anyways, why didn't you tell me he would be here?"
"Because, I didn't think it would matter," you say with a sigh as you take your juice, give the bartender a nod of thanks. "I figured he would have enough sense to not bother you. Seems like I was wrong."
You take a deep sip, unbuttoning your suit jacket as you lean on the bar counter. You tuck the few strands of her that escaped you plait behind your ear, glancing across the room for a glimpse of Harry who was now in a conversation with one of the groomsmen who was gesticulating wildly as he spoke.
"A heads up would have been nice," Lucy reasoned.
"You're right, I should have told you," you acquiesced, not wanting this to become an issue and then an argument.
"He looked good though," she said as she sipped her rum and coke, a thoughtful looked in her eyes.
"No," you say immediately.
"What?" She chuckled. "I was just making an observation."
"You weren't," you say sternly. "You said you were done with him. You can't entertain this musing. You're gonna get hurt. Again."
"I'm not," she insists. " I just… it was just nice seeming him again. He looked like he got it together. Mostly, at least."
You level her with a knowing look. This happened just about every year like clockwork since university. They get together, have a wonderful few months before they both start seeing cracks and every tiny issue begin to pile up and then they're arguing day in and day out before they call it quits. That is, until they cross paths again.
It was a cosmic pain in your ass.
And you did not want to be consoling her, yet again, after the fallout. After you've told her it was a monumentally bad idea. You loved her, of course you did, she was your friend. But you've had enough with Lucy and John's childish on-again off-again whatever-the-hell-ship.
"Lucy," you begin, hoping your voice carried the same seriousness you felt. "If you pursue things again with John, I'm not going to be there to pick up the pieces again."
You hated having to say that, having to draw the line, but it needed to be done. There needed to be some consequence, no matter how farcical it seemed.
"I know," she said, heaving a sigh. "I'm not going to pursue things with him again. I learnt my lesson last time."
You didn't believe her, not one bit, but you nodded in acceptance anyway because there wasn’t much else you could do. Lucy downed the rest of her rum and coke before taking her leave, claiming to want to get in early.
After you watched her leave you turned back to the bartender ordering a whiskey neat and water. Nervousness bubbled up in you as you gripped both glasses making your way to the table he sat at, alone once again.
"Hi," you say softly, placing the whiskey it front of him. "You looked like you could use another drink."
He looked up at you, a wry smile tugging at his lips. He takes the glass, tilting it in a toast before taking a sip. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to get me drunk," he quips.
"I can't take credit for that," you say as you pull out the chair opposite him and sitting down, crossing one leg over the other and resting an arm on the table, your finger tracing idle patterns onto the table cloth. "You were doing so good on your own."
He laughed at that, you were certain it was most likely because his whiskey-addled mind found just about anything amusing. It was a pretty sound, nevertheless. Low and rumbling, sending a shiver down your spine and setting your cheeks ablaze.
Harry's perfectly slicked back hair was now a mess, soft curls falling over his forehead. He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing it back but the graying curls have a mind of their own. You down the rest of your water, your mouth feeling too dry, too empty.
You let out an unsteady breath as you glance down at his hand gripping his glass, his finger tapping absentmindedly against it, and you couldn't help your straying thoughts; curious what his hands would feel like holding your wrists together, pressing down between your shoulders, or what his fingers would feel like digging into your hips, maybe even around your throat. You wonder if he would be rough, taking whatever he pleased with little regard for you.
"Why are you here?" He asks, his voice pulling you back to reality.
You clear your throat, sitting just a little straighter. "What do you mean?" Your brows furrowing in confusion.
"I mean, why are you here talking to me?" He elaborates. "The wedding's over. Most of the guests have left, so has your friend. And yet you're here with me. Why?"
A second, then two, passes before you answer him in the only way you know you can. "I don't know," you lie with a nonchalant shrug.
His eyes narrows as he stares at you intently, much longer than what would be considered polite. His gaze flickers across your face, examing every little detail— committing it to memory. He sighs muttering something in Spanish that you don't understand but you do your best to remember the few words you catch.
Ubícate, es demasiado joven para ti.
Harry downs the last bit of his whiskey, reaching to take your glass from you as well before rising from his seat. He inclines his head to the bar, silently asking you to follow him. He places the glasses in the counter, a bill under it, thanking the bartender before turning back to you.
"Come on, I'll walk out with you," he says, his hand carding through his hair once again.
"You don't need to do that," you protest.
"It's dark out," he shrugs. "At least let me do this one thing."
You bit your lip in a moment of hesitation before your nod, letting him lead you out of the hotel. You dig out your ticket for the valet who takes it from you, retrieving your keys to bring out your car.
Harry waits with you, his hands tucked away in his pockets. He looks up at the night sky, the new moon peeking out from behind the clouds. He remained quiet, almost reticent, as he looked on, eyeing everything in your vicinity except you.
Just as you turn to question him your car pulls up, the valet getting out and handing you the keys as you give a twenty dollar bill. You walk to your car, pausing before you get in. You turn around, your breath getting tucked out of you as you find him staring at you.
His heated gaze dragging across your face, from your eyes down your nose before getting stuck on your lips. His eyes fixates on your lips, it's cupid bow and it's plumpness. You compulsively lick your lips, your tongue darting out no more than a second and an almost pained looked flashed through his eyes before he drags them back up to your eyes.
"Do you-" you start, taking in a sharp breath as a shiver racks through your body. "Do you need a ride home?"
Say yes. Please, say yes. Your mind begged silently and stupidly. But despite your rationalisation you hoped he would say yes. You wanted to see what would happen if he did, to satisfy your endless curiosity and need to know all possible outcomes if nothing else.
Your fingers curled over the top of the driver's side door, willing your desired response from him into existence.
His lips parted to something before he pressed them together again and nodded. "Yeah," he replied after a moment. "Yeah, that would be nice. Thanks."
You smile at his answer, relief and a sense of victory flooding you. You jerk your head to car, telling him to get in.
The drive to his apartment was a silent one except for the radio you turned on half way through, your radio connecting to your Bluetooth and you played your most recent playlist. You left the volume low as Harry gave you the directions to his apartment.
It wasn't all that out of the way, ten minutes from the hotel and fifteen minutes from yours you realised as you pulled up to his apartment complex. A tired steel and glass skyscraper marring the navy sky. Harry lingered in the passenger seat as you awkwardly tapped on the steering wheel.
"Do you want to come up?" He asked, his voice soft.
"Sure," you reply impulsively, wanting to do something stupid. You drive into the building's underground parking, turning off your car and joining him as you both walk to the elevator.
The elevator ride up was much like the drive there, silent and tense. It was clear to you that he didn't know what he was doing, but you couldn't truly claim to know either. The elevator dinged, opeening up into a hallway made up of dark wood and protuding light fixtures.
He dug into the inner pocket of his jacket, retrieving his keys, swiftly unlocking the door allowing you through first. As he entered behind you he flicked the light switch on, revealing the expanse of his place. You looked around, taking it all in.
The minimalist appearance of it all wasn't something you would have expected from him, though you didn't really know what to expect. It felt too clinical in a way, too cold for someone so warm. It didn't feel right for someone as old as him to have such a bare residence.
"Nice place," you comment lightly, standing in the middle of his living room.
"Thanks," he says, gesturing to you to follow him. "Can I get anything? Water, coffee, tea?"
"No, I'm good," you reply, leaning against the kitchen counter watching him put on the kettle before grabbing a bottle of water from his fridge.
"Can I make you something to eat?" He asks next, retrieving a mug and all the things he would need for tea. "You're probably starving."
You raise an eyebrow at that, almost amused. "Why would I be starving?" You ask with a smile.
"You didn't eat anything at the wedding," he explained, his eyes not meeting yours. "Figured you would be hungry."
"I had some canapés," you shrug.
He paused at that, a spoonful of sugar frozen hovering over his mug as he looked at you. He dropped the spoon into the mug before he spoke, "That hardly seems enough."
"I ate before work," you wave it off, unbothered.
"Right," he said slowly before turning back to his fridge and rummaging through it. "I could make you a grilled cheese sandwich."
"You don't have to," you say quickly, not wanting to be a bother but you found his offer sweet nonetheless.
As he was grabbing the cheeses and biutter from the fridge, the kettle began to whistle on the stove. You moved around the counter to it, grabbing a dish towel to remove the kettle, pouring the boiling water into his mug. You placed the kettle on the cold stove plate before mixing his tea for him. Harry placed the carton of milk next to you as he moved about to prepare the grilled cheese.
"How much milk do you take?" You asked, unscrewing the cap.
"Just don't let it spill over," he replied. "Is sliced cheese okay for you?"
You scrunched your nose at that but elected to not comment on how much milk he took with his tea. "No sliced cheese," you say, mixing the milk in before putting it away. "Tea's ready."
You watched as he placed the first sandwich on the frying pan. He had removed his jacket and bowtie while your back was turned, throwing it on one of the chairs in his kitchen. His sleeves were rolled up to just below his elbows, his lips pouting just a bit as he arranged the cheese on the second sandwich. You couldn't help the little giggle that escaped you.
You had never seen someone look so serious over a grilled cheese before. It was just as cute as it was amusing. You grabbed his tea and walked over to where he stood, half hunched over, and presented the mug to him. "Drink your tea before it gets cold," you said firmly.
"Right," he blinked as he corrected his posture before taking the mug from you, taking a healthy sip. "Sorry."
You smiled up at him. "I'll finish this up," you say as you take over finishing up the second sandwich before flipping the first one to toast the other side. Harry's hand had reached out to tuck your hair that had come loose, yet again, behind your ear.
You freeze at the gesture, not having expected it. The action was so tender that you brain misfired, short circuiting itself for a bit longer than a singular moment. It was a soft, fleeting thing that felt all to familiar, a wave of nostalgia hitting you rather unexpectedly.
Your parents were just like this, seemlessly moving about the kitchen as you sat at the counter, your feet swinging from the chair that was too high for you as a kid. Your father would do all the prep work for all the meals when he was at home, never letting your mother touch a single utensil that he deemed too dangerous. Your mother promptly hitting him upside the head before taking over some of the work.
Harry gently moved you aside and took over. He removed the first sandwich cutting it in half and handing the plate to you before toasting the second one. You sat at the end of the counter, eating in silence mostly because you didn't know what to say to fill the silence.
You were half way through your first slice when he reached into one of the upper cabinets to retrieve a glass. "Do you want water or some strawberry juice?" He asked.
"Water's fine," you reply, your voice softer than you intended. In fact, you had not intended it to sound soft at all. You mentally cursed yourself for sounding almost airy. You needed to act normal but that seemed to be such a far away concept to you then, nothing about this situation was normal; you sitting in his kitchen eating a grilled cheese sandwich at past eleven in the night no less was not normal, you fantasing about him before driving him home was not normal, this almost wistful domesticity was not normal.
He got you the glass of water before removing his own sandwich and joing you at the counter. "This is crazy," you mumbled to yourself.
"Why?" He asked, biting into his grilled cheese.
You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, chewing languidly as you thought up a response. "You're a client," you say, your voice rising in uncertainty as if you didn't believe the words you said. "It's not standard practice to be eating at your place so late in the night."
"You could consider it a business dinner," he shrugged, entirely unbothered by the situation.
"Speaking of business," you started, swiftly changing the topic. "I heard you acquired a publishing house."
"I did," he said plainly, rolling his shoulder back in discomfort.
"Why?" You take a sip of water, waiting for his answer patiently.
"They weren't doing so well so I bought them out," he say quietly, finishing off his sandwich.
You hummed in acknowledgement, accepting his answer. You both promptly fell back into silence, though this time around it wasn't nearly as awkward bordering on stifling.
Harry had taken your plate and glass along with his and deposited it in the sink, turning on the tap and began washing the dishes even though he had a dish washer. You joined him by the sink, a dish towel in hand ready to wipe down the dishes. He handed them to you without protest.
Once you both were done, you and Harry stood there, the silence stretched on. Now though, you couldn't stand it. It was too quiet, too still, reminding you of the times you had to lie in wait for your targets.
Your tongue darted out, wetting your lips, in contemplation. Weighing the risks of a rash decision, would whatever choice you make right then irreparably damage your working relationship with 'Mister Castillo' should you pursue a hare-brained moment of lust with 'Harry'? And that was if he was not only okay with this but wanted it just as much as you did.
You took in a fortifying breath before you spoke, hoping that you didn't monstrously fuck this up. "I really want to kiss you," you say, boldly, instantly wanting to run away from this if only to escape the embarrassment of what you had said.
His eye's widened a fraction, lips parting in shock as he took an unconscious step fback. He didn't reach for you, didn't say anything either for the longest time. And you weren't a fool, you knew when you were being rejected. You nod once in acceptance, taking a step then two back. "Right, well, I'm going to go," you say quietly, your voice small. "Thanks for the grilled cheese."
You turn away, making your way out of the kitchen. You were disappointed but not surprised, most everything you saw tonight was unexpected but his silent rejection made sense. Everything you knew about him from the fleeting moments you ran into him at your father's office over the past four years told you that he wasn't the sort to seek out women significantly younger than him.
When your father returned home from the few times he had joined Harry on an actual business dinner he told you about how the pretty young waitresses had blushed and paid extra attention to him. You didn't entirely believe your father, he was prone to exaggeration, but there had to be some truth to it and so when your father told you how he always politely turned those women down. A small part of you was glad at the time that he was an upstanding man who seemingly didn't use his wealth and prominence to be a creep, it settled a part of you that desperate to believe that there were still good people— good men— in higher up positions. Though now you were a bit saddened by it.
You were half out of the living room when a hand grabbed your's, bringing you to a stop. You turn, confusion creasing the space between your brows as you stare up at him. He stepped in closer, your hand encapsulated in the warmth of his. His face contorted into something between pain and lust.
"You know we shouldn't," he whispered with a shake of his head.
"I know," you whispered back, not having the strength to speak any louder.
"We can't," he replied, insistent while desperation undercut his words. You weren't entirely sure who he was trying to convince, you or himself because regardless, his body drifted closer to you.
You stood toe to toe, your neck craning back ever so slightly to meet his eyes. You were trapped in this moment with him until he made a decision. His eyes flickered between yours before settling on your lips, his own parted, his head inching closer before stopping. You willed him to make a decision, there were limits to your patience and it was beginning to wear thin. If he didn't decide then you would.
Your lifted your free hand to cup his face, the scruff from his patchy beard tickling your palm, you were about to lean in when he let out breath than sat the fence between a sigh and a moan as his eyes fluttered closed. The only sign of any inner turmoil was the deep furrow of his brows.
"I'm going to kiss you," you say, giving him a moment to pull away if he truly did not want this. You leaned in, your breath brushing his lips, another opportunity for him to pull away. You glanced at his closed eyes, admiring his face, committing this moment to memory before you captured his lips in yours.
A pleased hum escaping you as you slowly kiss him, your thumb stroking his cheek before your hand trailed down his jaw and neck. Your nails dragging gently across his sensitive skin eliciting a suplicating hum from him. You smile against his lips as his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in impossibly close.
You pulled your hand from his to guide his hand to join his other around your waist. Now with your other hand free, you card your fingers through his soft salt and pepper hair, tugging gently as you nipped at his bottom lip.
His grip tightened around you as he groan. Pressed so close to him you couldn't help but feel him hardening in trousers.
Just a kiss.
A slow a gentle kiss was all it took to get him hard. You weren't expecting him to sprout an erection, you were content with just a kiss but now you could hardly walk away. It would plague your mind for days, if not weeks, as you toss and turned in bed wanting nothing more than to have his cock.
When you pulled back, desperate for air, Harry whined following after your lips. He was the needy sort, you realised. "We shouldn't," you repeat his words with a smirk, your hand running down his arm.
"Fuck," he cursed, closing his eyes tightly. He loosened his grip on you, shaking his head as took a step back. "I shouldn't have done that."
You tilt your head, observing him and the guilt that was marring his beautiful face. "I kissed you," you remind him firmly, taking a step towards him. "Because I wanted to."
He shook his head, guilt-ridden and in denial. His hands making a mess of his hair. "I should've stopped you," he reasoned. "You're half my age. You're technically my employee. I shouldn't have done that, I'm so sorry."
You roll your eyes, letting out a deep sigh. "I'm not your employee, I'm a contractor," he point out. "Whatever working relationship we have ends the moment a contract is fulfilled. And just because I'm half your age doesn't mean I'm somehow too stupid to realise how fucked this is. If you don't want to kiss me or fuck me, you're going to have to say that."
It was a miracle that you hadn't yelled, knowing that would've likely made you seem petulant. He said nothing in return, just stared down at his hands looking throughly berated. You couldn't help your crooked smile, enjoying how he looked repentant. You step closer to him, getting in his line of sight, covering his hands with yours. "If you really don't want this, then I'll go," you say softly. "And we can forget this ever happened."
His hands left yours, settling on your hips as he whispered, "Don't go."
You were relieved, to say the least. You didn't want to go, didn't want to forget the kiss or the collage of moments leading up to it. "You won't regret this?" You question him softly.
A shake of his head was all you needed before you leaned in once more, kissing him soundly and fiercely. He was going to regret it come morning, it was a simple fact, he was too tender-hearted not to. And so, you resolved to make this good for him, hoping the memory of pleasure would override his guilty conscious.
"Bedroom," you instruct him between kisses. He pulled away from the kiss, taken your hand in his, leading you to his bedroom that was just as minimalistic as the rest of his apartment. His lack of knick-knacks had your brows furrowing, his place seeming more like a showroom than an actual home.
You guide him to down on the edge of the bed, moving to stand between his legs. Your kisses turn gentle once more as his hands tentatively curve around your thighs. You let out a pleased hum, pushing his hair back, peppering his face with kisses.
"I'm going to take my shirt off, don't panic," you whisper with a chuckle. You undo your tie, pulling it out from under your collar and tossing it aside. His eyes flickered from yours to your hands as you unbutton you lazily unbutton your shirt.
"Now you," you say, as you push your dress shirt off your shoulders, standing in front of him in just your bra and trousers. He does as told, eyes fixated on your tit's and the lace edge of your bra.
He hurriedly took off his shirt, chucking it away from him. His hands where back on you in an instant, caressing your waist as he pulled back in for a kiss. It was desperate, forsaking his need for air as begged for entrance.
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you parted your lips granting him the entrance he wanted, a grateful moan leaving him as his tongue tangled with yours. He was gentle in his exploration of your mouth. You played with the ends of his hair at his nape.
He pulled away suddenly, taking in deep breaths as he stared at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling you down and turning you over so that you were lying on your back in his bed. A surprised yelp escaping you.
Without a word, he dipped his head into the crook of your neck, trailing kisses there. You held his head there as he nipped at the spot just below your ear, earning him a gasping moan as your eyes fluttered shut. He did it again, a bit harder this time. A shudder wracked through you as you dragged his tongue over it to soothe the pain.
Your breath grew unsteady as he lavished your neck with kisses and little nips, trailing down to your collarbone giving it the same attention. He slid his arm beneath your body, tracing the edge of bra, silently asking permission to take it off. You lifted your body up a few inches, making it easier for him to unhook the black fabric.
His hands pulling the straps from your shoulder as he sought out your lips. As soon as he divested you if your bra his hands covered them, fondling them for a moment before his thumb and index finger pinched your nipples.
"Fuck," you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut, tossing your head back.
He kissed his way down your throat, squeezing your tit's before lips met the swell of them. He wasted no time in taking a pebbled nipple into his mouth. It didn't do much for you, having never had sensitive nipples but his wet tongue laving at it felt pleasant enough that you didn't stop him.
As he lost himself in your tit's, you felt his erection pressing into your hip, twitching in the confines of his trousers. You drag your fingers through his hair, gripping it and pulling him off. He resisted, a low growl escaping him.
"Your pants, take it off," you say, your voice breathy, pushing him off you as you unbutton and push yours off as well, only your panty still on.
In that moment, you regret not having worn your fancier undergarments but the feeling quickly leaves as Harry crawled back to you, with every inch of skin bared for you, settling between your legs. Your eyes travel down the length of his body, your cheeks heating up as it catches the trail of hair leading to his rather sizable cock. At least in comparison to the ones you've had before.
You but your lip in anticipation. Harry runs his hands up your calf, stopping at the bend of your knees to pull you a bit closer. You gasp in pleasant surprise, glad to see his inhibitions about this leaving him as confidence filled him. You sigh as he presses a kiss to the side of your knee, his eyes never one leaving yours.
You reach above you, searching blindly for a pillow to support you lower back as ravished your thigh with reverent kisses as his other hand ran up and on your other leg leaving behind a trail of goosebumps.
As he neared your apex of your thigh, he paused, glancing up at you with hooded eyes, resting his head at your hip. His fingers toyed with the edge of your panty, his touch was light, a whisper in the dimness of his bedroom.
You caressed his cheek, a content sigh leaving you as you see how serene he looked. You bit your lip as a familiar heat ignited between your thighs, the feeling of a bead of wetness dripping out of you. "Harry," you began, voice soft— idyllic— as you moved your hand to cup his jaw. "Do you plan on fucking me tonight or not?" You asked with a raised brow, unbothered if you you sounded a bit too forward or harsh, you just wanted to get fucked.
It had been too long since you had gotten your pussy ate out, almost a year now if you remembered right. And it had been months since you last had sex with anyone, too tired to hook up with some guy off a dating app.
With renewed vigour, Harry hooked his arms under your thighs, burying his face in your core. His tongue darting out, dragging over your clothed heat. You exhaled in relief, glad for the stimulation; if he had denied you this you would have fingered yourself right then just for the sake of being petulant.
You gave him an approving hum, your hand in his hair keeping him there. "I'm not made of glass," you comment. "No need to be so gentle."
He pulled his head away, much to your frustration, a questioning look in his dark brown eyes. "You sure?" He voiced.
"Yes, goddammit," you say. "I don't want gentle."
He nodded once in acceptance, promptly burying his head back between your thighs, pulling your panties to the side wasting no time in licking a long strip up your slit stopping at your clit, sucking at it gently.
You shudder at the feeling, closing your eyes to let everything that wasn't him fade out of existence. You distantly heard the hum of the fridge, the ticking of a clock, the late night wind howling outside. You heard him hum against your pussy as he reached over your thigh, his thumb rubbing your clit slow circles as his tongue dipped between your lips.
He pace quickly grew relentless, unforgiving, as you tugged at his hair as the vibrations from his moans had you squirming. You whimper at the sudden intrusion of his fingers, you hadn't even noticed him removing his other from your thigh.
Your pussy had to stretch to accommodate just two of his fingers, the thought of what his cock would feel like left you feeling dizzy. Your hips rolled to meet the thrusts of his fingers, one hand keeping a firm grip in his hair— if you weren't so desperate to come you would feel bad for the headache you were giving him.
A chorus of moans and whimpers left you as his fingers hit the spongy little spot in your pussy with a steady rhythm, his mouth never once leaving your clit. "Harry," you moan, breathless as you tensed up feeling the familiar coil of your impending orgasm. "Don't stop." You command.
He hummed in acknowledgement, keeping the same pace as you tossed a leg over his shoulder, your calf holding his head in place leaving no chance for him to pull back.
His thrusts became shorter, more insistent. Just as your moans became more whiny, desperate for a release. "Please," you beg. "Please, baby, I'm so close."
The wet squelch of your pussy was deafening as you begged for your orgasm, wanting— needing— it more than anything else in that moment. You could feel the slow drip of sweat down your spine, the mix of his spit and your juice on your skin.
You shut eyes, mindlessly rolling your hips in tone with his thrusts. You were so close you wanted to cry, the coil pulled so taut that it was bound it snap any minute.
A groan escape you as your body shook with a mind melting orgasm. Every muscle in your body feeling too tight and loose at the same time. You whimpered as you felt Harry slowly pull his fingers out, dragging his tongue over your quivering slit as his thumb stroked your clit slowly, working you through the after shocks of your orgasm as you whined, too sensitive for even the barest of touches.
You removed your leg from over his shoulder, tiredly tugging him up by his hair. He stopped intermittently to pepper kisses up your body, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. When he was face to face with you, you cradle his face in both hands as you fought to catch your breath. You look at him, eyes half lidded, taking in his almost pussy drunk expression.
You pulled him down, pressing you lips to his that were still glistening with your slick. You licked at his lips, seeking entrance which he gladly granted, wrapping an arm around you as he turned you over so that you laid on top of him.
You braced yourself with your forearm, your lips never leaving his. You enjoyed the taste of yourself on him too much to pull away. The twitch of his cock against your ass slowly brought you out of your post-orgasm delirium. You let out a soft hum, lifting your hips to let his cock settle between the both of you.
His arms, wrapped around your waist, held you still against him as he pulled his lips away from yours. "You don't have to do that," he said, his voice husky.
You smile down at him, as you dragged your drenched pussy against his length, the movement was too little to really do much for him. A disapproving groan left him as his hands moved to grip your hips, effectively stopping you. "Don't, querida," he drawled without elaboration.
"Why not?" You question, resting both hands over his chest and placing your chin on the back of you hand.
"Because, I would like to not embarrass myself," he sighs, loosening his grip on your hips.
You let out an amused huff as you kiss his cheek. "It's completely normal to come too fast at your age," you tease, kissing and sucking at his neck.
"Very funny," he said flatly, letting his hand trace your spine unconsciously. "But you're not entirely off." He concedes.
Your curiosity was piqued, wanting to know more, swiftly forgetting about getting him to properly fuck you. He closed his eyes with a deep sigh, indicative about the possible sensitivity of his explanation. "You don't have to tell me," you give him an out, not wanting to sour the moment.
"I haven't been with anyone for a long time," his hand stopping it's journey up and down your spine. "Not since my divorce."
Divorce? You were speechless, stunned beyond belief. How had you not known that? He was practically everywhere, on the covers of business magazines and tabloids that recounted every moment from his life, speculating about everything even if it were unfounded.
"You were married?" You asked dumbly.
The look on your face must've been ridiculous if his chuckle was anything to go by. "Yeah, for fifteen years," he divulged. "Married my high school sweetheart when we were twenty. She was eveything to me."
His eye's grew distant, no doubt recalling every moment they spent together. You wondered what could possibly have caused the divorce. Did one of them want kids but the other didn't? Did he work too much? Or did the love just disappear? You didn't know the answers to those question and you were sure as hell not going to ask, but you did know that sombreness did not suit him.
"You want to know why, don't you?" He guessed. Your face heating up in embarrassment, you used to not be so transparent with your thoughts, never letting anything show unless it served a purpose.
"Am I that obvious?" you shake your head, resting your forehead against his chest.
He let out a laugh, his hand coming up to stroke your head, smoothing down your hair in the process. "I'm just good at guessing," he comforted you. "And everyone's curious."
"If you loved her why get divorced?" You wondered.
He took in a fortifying breath before he spoke. "I," he started, his voice faltering for a second. "I came home early from a business trip, wanted to surprise her for out anniversary. She… she was in bed with my cousin."
"Oh,"
"Yeah," he chuckled sardonically. "She said he was the love of her life."
That was a pain you were glad you did not know, but your heart broke nonetheless for him. You never understood why people cheated, if you had fallen in love with someone else just break up. If it was about sex just say that, speak to them about your desires. It was a cruelty that you saw no logical reason for.
Harry turned on his side, taking you with him. His arms never left you, keeping you enveloped in his warmth, his head rested above yours. Your neck was cradle by his arm as you buried your face in his chest. You snuggled closer to him, enjoying the softness of his body. "At least I get to be here with you now," you whisper, your eyes beginning to feel heavy and your breaths grow shallow as the quiet and his warmth lulls you to sleep.
