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national anthem

Harry Castillo x fem!reader

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.

#materialists fic

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#materialists fic