BOY NEXT DOOR
Your sunny, summer’s day reading in the garden is interrupted not only by a party next door, but the cheeky, charming boy hosting it.
Mature Content: explicit language, fingering (f receiving), oral sex (f receiving), slight degradation, spit, squirting. For an 18+ audience only.
Word Count: 8.9k words
Summer is without a doubt your favourite season. Rainy days are left behind as much as they are far ahead. Rarely is there ever a cloud to cover up the sun that is almost always shining, or to tarnish the baby blue sky. Sometimes there’s a small breeze, but all that does is refresh scorching skin—yours especially given your love for sunbathing.
It’s also a signal that another year at college has been nicely wrapped up. All exams are done with only the results pending, but you’re not worried. You studied hard and will reap the rewards with A’s like always. You’re certain of it.
Having just finished your third year studying psychology at the University of Berkley, you came back home to your parents’ place in Sherman Oaks yesterday to spend the summer here. The job you have coincides with term-time, so whenever school is on break, you are as well. It works out pretty perfectly, and you feel very fortunate about that.
When you haven’t been working, you’ve mostly had your nose buried in text books—with the exception of a few wild college parties here and there to break up all the studying you’ve done, of course. But now you’re ready to just fully kick back and relax.
Relaxing for you means no partying, but it doesn’t mean stop reading. It just means changing the material, which is exactly what you’ve done—Little Women your current choice. You’ve read it a dozen times, but it never gets old. It’s a comfort of yours, and you’re in your happy place; this summer destined to be a really good one.
Your parents are out for the day, both of them at work that brings them home in the early evening. It’s only a little after noon, but you’ve been sprawled on the sunlounger outside for a couple of hours already, switching every now and then between lying on your front and your back to get an even tan. You’ve gone through a couple glasses of peach iced tea and are a third of the way through your favourite story. Black wayfarers protect your eyes from the sun, the skimpy yellow bikini on your body not quite doing that. You’ve put on sun cream, but you’re due a top up. One more page and you’ll do it.
The most important detail of all, however, is that it’s so peaceful. The neighbourhood is a noiseless one with no main roads nearby. If you listen hard enough, you’re convinced that you can hear the ocean waves at Santa Monica, even if they are a twenty-five minute drive away. That’s how quiet it is here, silence something you value greatly.
But no sooner do you finish thinking about the perfect peace you bask in is it interrupted.
You flinch at the sudden vibrating bassline of music, the sound followed by raucous cheering and several splashes all of which are emanating from the house next door. The illusion of your fictional world is shattered entirely, and what’s happening in the real one infuriates you.
With that in mind, you don’t hesitate to get up from the sunlounger, carefully marking the page you’re on before setting the book down and storming toward the large green hedge and brown wooden partition that separates your large garden from the neighbours’. If you weren’t already hot from the sun, the rage you feel from being disturbed would do the trick.
There are a couple of gaps in the foliage and the fence, so you wedge yourself between one, gripping your hands to the top of the wood for leverage with one foot on an edge in the middle of it. You pull yourself up and peak over, your glaring gaze settling on the worst possible thing.
A pool party.
A frat boy pool party.
You count at least ten guys and maybe twenty girls. There’s skin on show from everyone, with every man shirtless and every woman as bikini clad as you. Booze flows and music booms. There’s a few people in the pool—the source of the splashing—and someone fiddling with a phone connected to the speaker; the party’s DJ. How you didn’t hear this many people pull up to the house before they made their way out into the garden, you don’t know. You must’ve been really absorbed in your book.
The reminder of your happy place being interrupted by the pool party brings you away from assessing the situation, to shouting about it.
“Oi!”
All thirty heads turn in your direction, sixty sets of eyes wide and surprised on you and your head popping up over the top of the fence. You don’t shy away from the attention, but welcome it. It means you can get your point across.
“Turn that shit down! Some of us are trying to relax and read!”
Your words are met with a series of booing before the volume of the music is turned up even louder, to which you growl in frustration before hopping back down to the ground. Those fuckers. You have a good mind to call the cops, even though you know there are no laws being broken aside from underage drinking. It’s barely afternoon, which means you have no grounds to file a noise complaint, and you won’t snitch on students letting loose with some booze. Not when you did it plenty of times yourself before turning twenty-one.
With a heavy and annoyed sigh, you pick up your book from the sunlounger as you pass by it before storming back inside of the house and slamming shut the patio door. You’re met with ice cold A/C, but it does nothing to cool you down. You’re beyond fired up.
Your parents made no mention about having new neighbours. Since you left for college three years ago, the house next door had been vacant for the last half decade, and you’ve haven’t seen any sign of life there whenever you’ve come home for a visit. It’s probably why you had it in your mind that the neighbourhood is so peaceful, which has now been ruined by a goddamn frat party. You can still hear it even from the confines of your parents’ home with now closed doors and windows.
Grumbling to yourself, you push away from the kitchen counter you huffily leaned against, advancing further inside the house in a search for some earphones to drown out the ruckus with something more relaxing.
Within seconds of locating a set from the junk drawer in the living room coffee table, the jack plugged into your phone and buds playing nature sounds about to meet your ears, do you hear the doorbell chime. It’s a rarity that that happens, or at least from what you remember. Visitors aren’t too common, and neither you or your parents have any packages en route, so who could it be?
Apprehensively, you walk towards the front door and pull it open slightly, hiding your half-naked body behind the wood. Your wary eyes land on a young tattooed man in knee-length swim shorts smiling brightly at you, nothing else covering his body except for several dozen black ink tattoos, black wayfarers covering his eyes similar to your own that you’ve used to push your hair back, and a backwards black baseball cap that holds away his with the exception of a few rogue chocolate-coloured curls.
“Hi. Y/N, right?” the guy asks through his grin, a thick British accent rolling off of his tongue in a slow drawl that provides you the feeling of even more sudden heat. Right between your legs.
You’re hesitant to acknowledge his question, and also incapable. How he knows your name you don’t know, but you also don't care, because the man before you is obscenely pretty. His charming smile shows off a deep dimple etched in his sun-kissed cheek, with two front teeth slightly and adorably larger than the rest.
He sticks a hand out your way, palm large and middle finger wearing a silver ring. You look between it and the man’s face, feeling apprehensive once more as much as you are slightly aroused.
“I’m Harry,” he tells you, and you simply swoon. No five letters together have ever sounded so good.
You find yourself swallowing hard, your throat as dry as your mouth despite all the iced tea you’ve had today. One hand stays holding the door handle, but the other extends to clasp with Harry’s; a firm and brief handshake exchanged that makes him grin harder and you heat up further.
He pulls his away and shoves it into the pocket of his shorts after using it to push his sunglasses on top of his head. You’re met with sea glass green; his eyes the prettiest shade of it. The prettiest eyes you’ve seen full stop. They sparkle at you, your whole body now suddenly sparkling for him.
“So it was Y/N, right?”
You blink rapidly. Harry’s gorgeous gaze had put you in a dizzied daze, and now his question pulls you back out of it. “Huh?”
Harry laughs lightly, shoulders shaking and ab muscles tightening as he does. “Your name. You never confirmed whether I was right or not.”
“You were. You are,” you rush out, rolling your lips into your mouth before releasing them into a smile as you nod. “I’m Y/N, yes.”
“Pretty name. Pretty lady. Makes sense.” He winks, earning a giddy giggle from you.
Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you shuffle awkwardly on your bare feet while trying your best not to stare at Harry’s toned and tattooed torso. But given how low slung his shorts are thanks to his hand in the pocket of them tugging the material down a little more, the motion revealing a white Calvin’s waistband, a tiny tattoo of words you can’t quite make out, prominent v-lines and a happy trail, you’re struggling. You’re struggling a lot.
A small throat clearing sound from the man you ogle brings your attention back to his face, which is still grinning. It’s in a cocky manner now, though. Your staring has not gone unnoticed by Harry, or unappreciated. He’s looking smug in a way you don't hate. Not one bit.
You snap yourself out of your spiralling state, a quick head shake happening to right yourself before asking, “Sorry, but how do you know my name?”
“Met your folks a few months ago when me and my folks moved in, ‘n they told us all about you. We live next door.” Harry gestures with a point of his index finger to the right—the home hosting the party that had you up a height—while bouncing on the balls of his feet in a nervous sort of way, a tinge of blush tinting his cheeks. “I heard and saw you shouting over the fence. Thought I should come over and apologise for the noise. We’ll try and keep it down. We’re just letting off some steam after finishing freshman year.”
Any anger you once felt dissipates the longer you look into Harry’s twinkling eyes and are blinded by his sweet smile. Annoyance is no longer in your vocabulary. Angel plays on a loop in your mind instead, because you’re convinced you’ve just met one. The only one.
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” You brush off his apology with a wave of your hand, to which Harry’s smile grows some more and his nervous disposition relaxes a great deal. “I’m sorry for interrupting. You’re fine to carry on. Just be mindful later on, yeah? Don’t let it be too loud too late.”
“Absolutely, ma’am.” He winks again, making you giggle again and blush like a schoolgirl with a crush. Harry’s eyes flick over your face, his grin turning into pursed lips of contemplation before he gestures his head toward his house. “You wanna join?”
You shake your head again, quickly this time, and give a breathy laugh. “Oh, no. Thank you, but no. I’ve done enough partying already this year to last a lifetime.”
“You study Psychology, right? At Berkeley?” You nod, impressed. Clearly your parents have spoken about you in depth. Harry lets out a low whistle before sending you another toothy grin. “Clever girl. What year?”
You’re blushing harder thanks to his compliment and pretty green gaze. “Just finished up my third. What and where do you study?”
“History at UCLA. Moved from Manchester to Cali last year on a football scholarship. Sorry- a soccer scholarship.” He beams cheekily, earning another giggle from you while you start to slot together these pieces of information. Athleticism explains his physique. Britishness explains his charm. You’re a sucker for an English gent, especially fit ones with abs and those sexy V-lines.
You want to ask him a million more questions—if he likes it here in California, if he misses home, if he likes his course, if he’d like to take you out some time—but you decide not to. You’ve done the maths on your age difference, and while it might only be three years (provided he’s nineteen years-old, he could be older and just a late college starter), you stay away from younger guys given their usually immature attitudes. You don’t have the time or energy for that, even though Harry’s someone you wouldn’t mind breaking your own rules for.
So instead, you simply offer him a gentle smile. “That’s really cool, best of luck with your degree. Thanks again for coming over with the apology and the invite. I’ll let you get back to your party.”
Harry smiles too, but there’s no mistaking the small hint of sadness in his eyes at you turning down his offer. It’s almost like he doesn’t want to leave.
“And what are you gonna do?” he asks, furthering the point you’ve made in your mind about his hesitancy to go.
You feel your face heating up with another round of blush. “Read.”
“You a bookworm?” You nod and he grins harder, hands in both pockets and body leaning toward you in a sweet and silly way. “Whatcha reading?
You giggle again, this time at the childlike curious cadence of his voice. “Little Women.”
“I’ll try and be what he loves to call me, 'a little woman,' and not be rough and wild; but do my duty here instead of wanting to be somewhere else."
Harry quoting a passage from the book so effortlessly catches your surprise as much as it does your breath, and he knows it. It’s why his grin stretches wider, his dimple popping deeper and eyes sparkling even more.
“Good choice,” he hums, then continues on like he hasn’t just stumped you totally on purpose. “Well, if you change your mind, you’re welcome to come over and join us. Just head through the side gate and it’ll take you into the garden. If not, it was a pleasure to meet you. I’ll hopefully see you around sometime?”
Your head is spinning from his recital and the information he’s thrown your way, so all you can do is offer him another quick nod and tight smile, your face on fire much like the rest of your body is. Harry returns the gesture before spinning on his heel, his bare feet padding across the tiled terrain as he disappears back to the party, whistling to himself as he goes.
You close the door quickly, sliding down the wood until your ass meets the floor with a light thump. You didn’t realise your heartbeat had kicked up a few notches until right now. You can hear it in your ears; the party next door on mute thanks to it.
Chewing your bottom lip, you contemplate the invitation. You didn’t lie to Harry when you said you’d partied hard and that you could use the downtime to relax. It’s also a freshman frat party, something that doesn’t need to be sullied by a junior from a whole other school. You’d probably be the only person there legally allowed to drink. The vibes just aren’t right.
But still, you’d like to hang out with Harry, and you have the feeling that he’d like to hang out with you, too. You declined his offer today, however maybe there’ll be another occasion where you won’t. I’ll hopefully see you around sometime? That’s what he said. Harry hopes, and now, so do you.
With all that in mind, you push yourself up to stand, brushing your butt free from any dust on the floor before picking up where you left off prior to Harry’s arrival, plugging your ears and heading back outside with your phone in hand, excited to get stuck back in your favourite fictional world.
The nature sounds playing through the earphones work their magic to drown out the sound of the ruckus next door, so you’re able to get absorbed within the pages in no time. You lie on your back, legs bent at the knees and arms holding the book up high, blocking the sun from your face. Peace has been restored.
Yet upon the feeling of something light and large hitting your stomach, it shatters again.
A startled you sits up fast from the impact, earphones ripping out of your ears and sunglasses falling off your head from your quick movements. All of the party noise takes over from nature, your book dropping onto your lap from the fright you got.
You look around in a daze, stopping your search of what just made contact with you when your sight lands on a rainbow beach ball rolling across the patio.
“Whoopsie!”
Your head whips to the left, round eyes of surprise landing on a very cheekily smiling Harry. His backwards cap-wearing-head and half of his naked, inked-up torso are on show from the other side of the fence; the same position you were in earlier on.
A smile didn’t grace your face then, but one does now. You can’t help it, all of the shock you felt settled into a bright grin and breathless laugh now that you know the cause of the interruption. An interruption you’d gladly let happen over and over and over again. You feel no anger, only sparks; something only a charmer like Harry can cause.
That charmer doesn’t attempt to hide the fact that he’s staring at your basically bare body. He chews gum as he does, showing the piece that he works between his molars thanks to his Cheshire Cat smile, a raised brow telling you he likes what he sees.
And you like that he likes what he sees, feeling no self-consciousness about the cellulite on your legs or your stomach rolls and pudge like you have been before. You welcome his gorgeous gaze, because it’s making you feel gorgeous.
“I suppose you want me to go and get your ball?”
The sound of the light laugh that accompanied your question visibly perks Harry up, but he looks to be keeping himself cool by shrugging a shoulder in a lazy way, his smile shifting to become just as lazy, too. Both things are undeniably hot. Just like him.
“Or you could let me hop the fence to get it myself…”
“That all depends,” you retort calmly, even though your response is chaos. It’s flirty. You’re flirting, something you don’t much of unless you’ve had a couple of drinks, but you’re stone cold sober right now.
Well, mostly sober. You’re feeling a little drunk on the boy next door.
Harry jerks his chin your way in a cocky manner, much like how he continues to chew his gum. “On what?”
“On whether the ball made its way over here accidentally or intentionally.” You’re testing the waters to see if he’s willing to take a dip, because you are. You’re ready to dive in headfirst, actually.
The feeling seems mutual. Harry doesn’t look like he’s willing to take a dip, his expression screaming that he’s fully plunging. That he already made the jump by being here and hitting you with his ball by ways of getting you to engage in this back and forth.
He cocks his head, smirking. “Which answer would the pretty lady prefer?”
“Whichever one is true, of course.”
“Intentionally.” Harry admits quickly, dragging his gaze down the length of you slowly before locking his eyes with you once more; his grin a mile wide.
Your cheeks are hot with blush, your smile as bright as Harry’s. You scoff a laugh, then nudge your head in silent invitation. “Permission granted. Come get your ball.”
Harry is across the fence in a matter of seconds, pulling himself up and over it before landing on your side as gracefully as a cat. Something tells you that wasn’t his first time hopping fences given his sassy disposition and the skill displayed; a skill that made you hot under the metaphorical collar from watching the way his biceps bulged and tummy tightened as he moved.
Dusting off his hands, Harry faces you with a smirk. You swallow hard, shifting your closed book from your lap to join your phone and sunglasses on the space of the lounger by your hip, and sitting yourself up a little straighter—knees bent up, feet and hands flat against the lounger for support. You need all you can get.
Butterflies swarm your belly and your skin tingles as you watch Harry walk toward the beach ball, your eyes drinking in his tall and lean figure making those casual strides. There’s something magnetic in the way he moves, it’s truly enchanting. It forces you to gulp harshly again and squeeze your legs together tightly; a strong tingle between them desperately needing to be suppressed. Or satisfied.
He bends down and picks up the inflatable, tossing it into the air and catching it before he spins to face you once more. “Got my ball.”
“Yes, you do.” You’re giggling again. You don’t think there’s been a time ever that you’ve giggled so damn much.
Harry tilts his head, smirking as he eyes you up. “Have I got the pretty lady, too?”
His question catches you by surprise, more sparks rushing through your body. You need to keep cool, though. The flirty atmosphere is too fun.
“That all depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you'll help me top up my sun cream or not.” You take your bottom lip behind your two front teeth for a second, giving Harry big doe eyes of desire as you let it pop free again. “I can’t quite reach my back.”
His grin widens even more, hands dropping the quickly-forgotten-about ball as he makes slow but eager steps toward you. “Looks like it’s your lucky day, doll. I love to help.”
“Mhm, I bet you do.”
Pushing yourself up to stand, Harry comes to a towering stop a few inches away from you. He smirks down at you grinning up at him, your surroundings growing hotter by the second, but the sun in the sky is no longer the cause. It doesn’t hold a candle to the feverish glow Harry effortlessly emits.
You don’t miss the way his eyes make another slow journey down your body, nor do you miss another low whistle sounding out from between his sweet, slightly puckered lips. Your confidence only boosts more, any and all self-imposed rules you had before Harry came into your life however long ago now completely out the window.
“I’ll run in and grab the lotion,” you announce, breaking the tense silence. “Can I get you a drink while I’m in there?”
Harry nods, two front teeth biting into his plump bottom lip and eyes on your tits slowly peeling away from the area back to your face. “A drink would be sick, yeah.”
“What d’you fancy?” Your smile shifts into a smirk. “Non-alcoholic, of course.”
“Of course.” He winks, wearing a mischievous half-smile of his own.” Water, please. Ice in it would be fantastic, if it’s not too much trouble. Thank you.”
“No trouble at all, coming right up. Make yourself at home.”
You turn on your heel and saunter back inside the house, feeling Harry’s eyes on your ass the entire time. That doesn’t surprise you. It’s one of the reasons you asked if he wanted a beverage, after all.
Making quick work of filling up two tall glasses with ice cubes and water, you carry one in each hand along with a tube of sunscreen wedged between the crease of your right elbow and ribs back out into the garden. You haven't felt this giddy or excited in a long time. Ever, perhaps.
Harry has followed your instructions, now sitting at the foot of the sunlounger. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, the backs of his bare heels resting on the tile floor and large hands splayed flat against the cushion he sits on. His heart-shaped lips blow a perfect gum bubble.
He pops it with his teeth upon clocking your return, resuming his chewing with a cheeky grin headed your way. “There she is. The hostess with the mostess.”
“It’s the least I could do for you for what you’re gonna do for me.”
Coming to a stop by his feet, Harry smirks up at you with a lifted brow, taking the glass you offer him. “That’s a fair point. Sun protection is very important. Wouldn’t wanna get burned, would you?”
He takes a leisurely sip, your eyes locked throughout. Harry swallows with a hum and a light gasp at his thirst being quenched, plump mouth glossy from the liquid and eyes bright from the lady.
In the small amount of time spent in the kitchen getting drinks and suncream, you wondered about how this whole thing with Harry, the hot next door neighbour, would pan out. You’re not a fool to think that things between you both aren’t flirtatious or sexually charged, and you know he isn’t either. It’s apparent in his gaze, words and actions. In yours, too.
There’s one outcome and you both know it. Both want it. Whether or not you bite the bullet and make the dive into that desire first, that you’re unsure of. That, you’re a little nervous about.
Yet the longer you look at him, the easier it becomes. Harry stares at you with hearts for eyes, and a hard-on in his shorts. You can see the large outline of it straining against the material; a reaction you caused by simply standing in front of him. Flirting with him. Asking for a favour from him.
So with all of this in mind, you move past the point of just dipping your toe. You’re ready to jump, even if Harry seemingly did so ages ago.
And after exhaling a shaky breath, you do, saying, “I wasn’t just talking about the suncream.”
And with a mile-wide grin after setting the glass of water onto the patio, Harry replies with a strong, sexy and oh so sure, “I know.”
He takes the hand that just held his drink and slowly skims the tips of his fingers up the outside of your thigh. His touch is cold from the glass, but all it does is make you burn up even more; intense and irresistible eye contact maintained all the while.
On either hip lies a bow holding your bikini briefs together. Harry lightly plays with one of them, the very thought of him pulling it undone enough to drive you insane with want and need for him to just undo it. To just undo you. Arousal collects in the material he tauntingly toys. Any longer and he’ll see what a mess he’s making of you, you’re sure of it.
Pulling his hand away pulls a pout from you. Harry simply chuckles, head tilted a tad. “It’s a good place to start, though. The suncream, I mean. Wouldn’t you agree?” You nod, his head nudging toward the lounger barely a second after your agreement. “Gorgeous. Lie down for me, yeah?”
And you do. Without hesitation, you kneel on the sunbed, lowering to rest your front against it until the right side of your face is pressed against the cushion, your heart beating harder than ever against your ribcage and the pillowy surface below your body.
Harry had watched your every move, and now, with you where he wants you, he makes slow ones of his own. He straddles your legs, a knee pressing into the lounger either side of yours. There’s no eye contact made anymore, the skin kind avoided, too. Harry hovers above and behind you. You can sense him skimming his sights across the plains of your back and the rounds of your ass, and also physically feel him delicately trailing his hands up and over your waist, mapping out the curves of you like he’s about to be tested on your body, and he wants an A. He wants it so fucking bad. You sigh at how good it feels, the anticipation of what he’s going to do next driving you as wild as his gaze and touch does.
He moves away from your ribs to the ribbon holding your bikini top together at the middle of your spine. Teasing begins there, the pads of his finger slipping under the knot. Is he going to undo it, or isn’t he? You tingle from head to toe, wriggling a fraction with your breaths now erratic.
Harry leaves the tie alone and shifts until he’s leaning over your back, a hand brushing the hair away from your right ear for his lips to hover by it. His breath is cool and refreshing from the ice cold drink and peppermint gum he chews, tickling in a way that turns you on more than ever; the signs of such a thing shown by your hips moving slightly and your bikini bottoms growing wetter and wetter by the second.
And all of this tormenting, well, it makes those choppy breaths of yours halt; something Harry notes. You can feel him smirk against your lobe, right as you hear the cap of lotion being opened by his hands.
“I heard and saw you when you shouted over the fence before.” The smirk in his tone is as audible as the cream being squeezed onto his palm.
You can’t even bring yourself to feel embarrassed for your angry attitude earlier on or the fact that Harry paid witness to it. That feeling fucked off fast. Now all you can think about is how horny you are. How happy you are that it led him to you, to this moment. To whatever happens next.
“I didn’t hesitate for a second to come knocking on your door. Never moved so quickly in all my life,” Harry admits, sounding as cool as a cucumber while you're burning like a furnace of frisky fire that only he can douse. Or make worse. You don’t really care which. “Found myself a stunning little woman, one I wanted to make feel so good. One I wanted to help relax. I told you, darlin’… I love to help. So lemme get started with that, yeah?”
And with that, Harry brings his lotioned hands to the middle of your back, slowly rubbing them and the cream outwardly across your ribs with the perfect amount of pressure. They venture beneath the part pressed against the cushion before retreating; a staggered breath escaping your lips from how good it feels.
You feel his smirk shift into a grin. “How’s that for you, hm?”
“‘Nice.” A harsh swallow follows your hoarse response. “Really nice.”
He expels a laugh through his nose, a chaste kiss pressed to your lobe that tingles and lingers. “I think we can do better than nice, can’t we?”
Harry pulls away from your ear to sit up straight again, his hands making gentle but firm work of rubbing the product into your skin. His massaging methods are expert, fingertips and the heels of his hands kneading into your skin to work out the knots and kinks in your previously tensed-up shoulder blades and spine. You grow both more relaxed and restless the longer he’s at it, your lids fluttering shut and breaths turning broken again with every passing second; the occasional ‘mm’ sounding out, too.
Harry ends up at it for quite some time. The suncream has long since been rubbed in, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t seem able to. You don’t want him to, either.
At the feeling of his fingers once more moving towards the ribbon tied in the middle of your back, you simultaneously clench and calm. Harry doesn’t make a move to pull it undone, because he’s waiting for you to give the go ahead. What a perfect gentleman.
Opening your eyes, you look at him over your shoulder. He’s smirking again, but so are you. Nothing has ever felt so right.
“Do it.”
And do it, he does. A chuffed-looking, cocky Harry with eyes locked on yours tugs the knot loose, his deft fingers swiping the yellow strings away to the sides. He trails a digit over the newly exposed skin, tongue swiping out across his bottom lip to wetten the plump area. You wish it was your tongue, or his on your lip. God, you’ve never wished for anything more.
“And this one?” he whispers, voice rugged and rife with lust as he gestures to the bow at the nape of your neck. “Can I undo this one, too?”
“Yes, you can.”
“Mm, so good to me. Thank you.”
Another shudder wrecks its way through your body, the feeling seemingly never ending as he slowly pulls the second and final knot loose. Along with the thin ribbons, the triangle parts covering your tits fall limply away from your skin and onto the sunbed you lie on; your front still pressed against it and nothing on show. Yet.
The presence of Harry hovering over you disappears. He moves off the sunbed to stand at the foot of it, his eyes darting all over your body. There’s an arrogant smile etched on his face, and an even more prominent bulge in the confines of his shorts.
He meets your gaze again soon enough, jerking his chin forward. “On your back.”
You comply without question, your chest rising and falling with quick breaths, tits exposed with nipples pebbled from arousal, and thighs pressed tightly together to dull the aching throb in your cunt.
The sun in the sky kissing your fully naked torso is no match for the heat in Harry’s now onyx eyes that are honed in on your bare breasts, a third low whistle and a shake of his head heard and seen. “Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, low like he’s talking to himself, but he wasn’t. He wanted you to hear. Wanted you to feel as good as he does from simply looking at you.
And you do. You feel more than good, a fresh coating of blush staining your skin from the compliment. A fresh burst of confidence from it, too.
You bring a hand to your right breast, index finger pointed out to lazily glide back and forth across the valley of it. Harry eyes your movements like a hawk, looking like all of his Christmas’ have come at once as he harshly swallows and shamelessly readjusts himself in his shorts. It’s safe to say all that does is stroke your ego and boost your confidence even more, and your grin shows it.
“So what now?”
A half-smile appears on his face; a sign of trouble in the best kind of way coming. “You’re relaxed, right?”
“I am, yes. Very much so.”
“And you wanted to read?”
“I did.”
Harry’s shrug is as lazy as his smirk. “So read. Out loud.”
His instruction raises your brows, but you don’t disobey. You simply pop your knees and pick your book back up while Harry lowers to a kneeling position, his grinning face on show beneath the bottom of the now open novel and chin resting on folded arms he’s propped up on the cushions, eagerly waiting for you to get started.
You barely read a paragraph of it out loud before Harry’s hands wrapping around the back of your calves and spreading your legs a tad silences you. Giggles replace the quiet in an instant when he tugs you down the bed a little, catching you by surprise as much as it makes you forget all about your favourite story.
Harry simply shakes his head, tutting once before smirking again. “Keep reading, love. You’ve got such a pretty voice, I wanna hear it.”
With a swallow and a nod, you continue, but your recital comes to another stop after Harry sits up straight on his knees, his hands by your hips and fingers once more toying with the knots holding together your bikini bottoms. You’re actually close to moaning, the simple under-his-lashes stare at you the reason for the swallowed lewd sound.
“Don’t make me tell you again,” he warns, the threat sending a flood of more heat and arousal to your core, and heart to pound violently against your ribcage. It almost makes you want to disobey, just to see what will happen. But Harry clearly already has a plan in mind for you, and you’re much too curious to find out what comes next. You, probably.
So you look back to the pages and attempt to blink away your suddenly blurry vision, however that grows harder to do at the feeling of Harry tandemly untying the bows until the ribbons fall away as freely as the ones from your top did. You’re still covered, but it won’t take much to change that. A simple pull on the fabric and you’ll be bare and completely at the mercy of his mouth. Or at least you hope you’ll be.
Concentrating as hard as you possibly can on the words, you power on, however second later you’re stopping again and moaning, “Oh, fuck,”; profanity that wasn’t written but rather something that slipped out of your mouth upon Harry lightly kissing the space beneath your navel.
You feel puffs of laughter expelled through his nose, looking down at him looking up at you while his grin graces your skin. “That last part didn’t sound like the words of Louisa May Alcott to me,” he teases, each tickling brush of his lips turning you on some more. If that’s even possible.
“I’m improvising. Mixing it up,” you taunt his taunt right back, earning yourself another laugh.
“Is that so?” Harry continues to pepper kisses along the elastic edge of your loose bikini briefs. All you can do is pant and nod, your non-verbal response pulling another grin from the man who causes it. “Well, if that’s the case then I’m looking forward to some more ad-libs. I’m sure I can encourage some along.”
You feel dizzy and desperate. You know that in order to get to the next part of what’s to happen with you and Harry, a part which involves him satiating the aching pulse and dripping mess between your legs, you need to get to the next part of the book. Harry wanted you to read, so you’re going to fucking read.
But then, surprise surprise, your voice peeters out, Harry’s hands snaking between your thighs to pry them open further being the reason. The skimpy yellow Lycra covering your soaked cunt is peeled away from your body next, Harry making slow work of revealing your intimate area to him and the hot afternoon you both bask in. You whimper, a noise that harmonises with a hiss from him, who’s glazed-over eyes stare at your soaked centre like it's made of pure gold.
Upon your reaction and lack of reading, again, he flicks his gaze your way. If you thought he looked cheeky before, that was nothing compared to now. His dimple is even deeper, his smile his most mischievous and maddening yet. Harry doesn’t have to audibly tell you to continue reading, again, because his stare does the talking for him. It’s a look that has you blushing and squirming before you turn your focus back to the words.
You pay him no mind as best as you possibly can, opting to hide his face from view by bringing the book down and using it as a blocking device, but you can still feel him and every move he makes—the lean forward and down, fingers gripping your hips, backwards cap-covered head grazing the insides of your trembling thighs. You have to persevere through your pants, wanting nothing more than to behave and reap the rewards of your good behaviour. You need it. You need him.
“Jesus fuck!” Your speech is replaced with another expletive and a guttural groan thanks to Harry’s tongue licking up through your drenched slit, your juices lapped up in one stroke, jittering legs jittering some more upon his well-pleased smile and the vibrating, satisfied ‘mmm’ against your skin, mind spinning and need for more, well, more. You need all of what Harry can give you, and you need it right fucking now.
You stammer your way through the rest of the paragraph, missing out words here as Harry’s wet and warm muscular organ lazily and lushly glides through your equally wet and warm folds. He’s purposefully ignoring your throbbing clit, only lightly nudging it with the tip of his nose like he’s showing you he knows where it’s at and he knows it’s where you need to be touched the most, but you’re not getting it yet. When he’s ready then you will. You can’t help but love and loathe that cockiness in equal measure, and also worry about the noise you might make when he finally does pay your swollen pearl some attention. You're so worked up and have been for ages now. You’re bound to sound demonic.
You’re settled into the incredible feeling he provides for you, therefore your recital is somewhat coherent now. But yet again, that changes fast; Harry’s hands slipping from your hips to lift your legs up over his shoulders while he takes a deep and shaky breath in. Before long, you’re stopping to swear again, “Holy fucking shit, yes!” and for good fucking reason.
Upon Harry finally sucking your pulsing bud into his mouth after too many teasing licks to count spent avoiding it, the book falls from your limp hands and onto the tiled floor with a thud. You look down at him looking up at you, your moan louder than ever at the pleasure you get from not only his expert mouth working your pussy, but how fucking good he looks while doing it.
Obscenely pretty as your earlier description for Harry has never been more appropriate. With your legs over his shoulders and his face wedged between your thighs that are tight against his backwards-cap-covered head, he has his nose flush against the light patch of hair above where his lips are latched, like he doesn’t want the ability to breathe. His arms are hooked under your thighs, his elbows bent at your hips and hands linked together against your stomach, pinning you down to the bed as he feasts like a man starved.
And he hums more satisfied hums as he works, alternating between sucking your throbbing clit while nuzzling his head left and right, the occasional light nibble broken up by fast flicks of his tongue, and the more salacious licks like he’s in a serious make out session with your cunt. All in all, you can barely see, your vision once more blurry with tears upon the boy next door eating you out like his life depends on it.
“Oh, fuck me…” you moan, eyes screwed shut and head tossed back. “Just like that. Good boy.”
The pet name slipped out before you could stop it from happening, too worked up and wet to care what you’re saying. You can’t think. You can barely fucking breathe.
But from the reaction of Harry, a raspy whine vibrating off of his tongue felt against your pussy, you smile. He liked it.
Just when you think you’ve got the upper hand, the somewhat submissive term for Harry having garnered a positive response, he reminds you just who’s in control by pulling away, your mouth immediately opening to protest.
Yet any words you might’ve said snuff out fast, replaced with a yelp upon him slapping your clit.
That earns you a cocky grin and a throaty laugh from Harry, his lips and chin saturated with your arousal. He looks as possessed from you as you are for him, eyes wild and as black as night.
“That’s for stopping reading.” He surprises you further by spitting directly onto your cunt, both of you watching the thick glob of saliva cover your clit and drip down to your hole; a gasp from you and a groan from him at the filthy sight.
Your eyes meet again a moment later, an arrogant smirk on his lips. “And that’s just because I fucking wanted to.”
Before you can even register it happening, Harry is stuffing you full, two fingers sliding knuckle deep into your entrance. Your warm and wet walls welcome him in, body trembling upon him firmly pressing the pads against that spongy sweet spot and the cool metal of his ring kissing your skin.
You stutter on your breath, seeing stars behind your eyes as he slowly strokes the sensitive area, a gorgeous grin stretching his smug face. “You’ve drenched my fingers, baby. Got you dripping all over my palm, too. You gonna be a good girl and come for me, hm?”
You feel the need to pay him back for the slap, even though you liked it a whole fucking lot. What better way than to bruise his ego in a way that will make him rush to heal it fast?
So with that in mind, you murmur, “That all depends,” a sentiment you’ve spoken for now the third time since knowing Harry.
And for the third time since knowing you, he grins upon hearing the challenge. “On what?”
You sit up and lean forward until your lips are brushing, lips that are yet to properly meet and be feasted upon through the act of a frantic kiss. You can smell your arousal all over his breath, the scent mixing divinely with the minty gum he still chews.
“On if you’re capable of making it happen.”
Harry laughs, the cadence of it letting you know he’s fallen for the bait; hook line and sinker. You can tell he knows he has too, he just doesn’t give a fuck. Not when showing you he can get you off by actually getting you off is way more important.
Slipping out of your cunt, he gently squeezes your clit with a finger either side of it until you’re whimpering and writhing and close to begging for more. “Put your arms around my neck,” Harry demands, and who are you to deny him and yourself what’s to be even more earth-shattering bliss?
So you comply quickly again, your hands sliding beneath the peak of his cap until your fingers grip his nape. Your legs are still over his shoulders, your body practically folded in half, with Harry’s glossy fingers now back to slowly running up and down your soaked slit. You shudder and moan, his forehead dropping against your own slightly sweaty one, eyes meeting and grinning mouths mirroring one another’s.
But they both fall slack upon Harry sliding his long digits back in your tight cunt, a hitched breath from you while a groan rumbles in his throat. You’re so slick, sucking him in, the sounds of your mess loud and lewd with every withdrawal and re-enter.
“Such a messy thing, aren’t you?” His words send you further into a spiral you never want to straighten yourself out from, quick and desperate nods your response that earn you another teasing tut. “Can’t believe you’d ever doubt me when this is what I do to your body. Got you dripping down to your asshole, babe. Got your cunt clinging to my fingers, showing off what a needy, greedy little slut you are.”
“Fucking hell…”
A few more minutes of pure fucking euphoria pass by, more degrading words spoken by Harry, profanities by you, pants and groans and hums of happiness from you both. The wet sounds of your pussy being finger-fucked could be considered embarrassing, but this feels too good and Harry’s getting off on it as much as you are. Plus, it’s making for filthy background noise that only adds to the already existing filthiness. You love it.
A flick of Harry’s tongue felt against your plump lips has you falling apart even more, his fingers that once worked you slowly and teasingly now going at a jackhammer speed. The heel of his hand connects with your swollen clit upon every harsh thrust, the sounds of your arousal louder and louder.
Your nails bite into Harry’s skin as you pant heavy breaths against one another’s open mouths, the pair of you alternating between looking down to where his fingers screw into you and the saliva he occasionally spits onto your clit and hole, and directly at each other. Your toes curl until they’re agony, legs cramping from how hard they tense, and stomach tingles. The moans you make are hardly moans at all. You’ve had plenty of orgasms in your life, but none are going to feel like this one. The build up is felt deep within your goddamn soul, your body reacting to Harry in a way you’ve never experienced before either solo or with someone else. Maybe you never will again; a thought that should be terrifying, but it isn’t. You’re happy to have this memory. More than happy. Elated.
Harry’s grinning mouth is back against your slack one, a groan pouring from him that has you clenching. “Fuck, I can feel it. You’re so close, baby. Give it to me. Make a mess of me. Be a good girl and come for me?”
A tsunami of heat rushes through and out of you, the gushing sound of your climax that his fingers still fuck you through as loud as your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re an oasis—mind, body and soul—and Harry’s gasp at the sight he sees.
“Holy shit, that’s it.” He looks as lost in ecstasy as you feel. “Fucking hell, you’re incredible.”
More praise punctuated by cheek kisses leaks from his lips as arousal leaks from your body until you slump, spent, satisfied and smiley. Your face would hurt from how wide your mouth is stretched, but there’s no room for pain right now. Only pleasure.
You’re not sure how much time has passed by when you finally come back to Earth, but by that point Harry has unfolded your legs from his shoulders and laid you down flat again. He’s still between your thighs, though it’s his chest, not his mouth. That’s pulled into a wide smile, eyes on your face and chin on your stomach as his hands soothe your still-trembling legs; his expression one of complete awe.
Your hands clinging onto the back of his neck now drift to pull his cap from his head, fingers desperate to stroke through his curls. They’re as angelic as his face, as soft as he’s being with you right now, his eyes fluttering at the pleasure you give him.
“I don’t wanna keep you from your party,” you murmur a little while later, the silence the pair of you basked in broken. You didn’t want to disturb it, end this moment, but you’re also aware that he’s the host. Surely his friends are wondering where he is.
If they are, Harry doesn’t care. He doesn’t look to care about anything that isn’t you. “You’re not. And even if you were, I’d much rather chill here for a bit. If that’s okay with you, of course.”
You nod, because of course it’s okay with you. But then something crosses your mind, your smile shifting into a smirk as you ask, “Waiting for your turn?”
Harry laughs, dimple deep and eyes bright as he shakes his head, understanding exactly what you meant by that. “Trust me, that was my turn as much as it was yours. I’m more than satisfied. I died and went to heaven watching you make such a mess. That was amazing. You’re amazing. So fucking amazing.”
The mess he talks of can be felt beneath you, the sunlounger’s cushions soaked. They’ll dry in no time, though; the day is still young and the sun is still burning hot. Plus, you’re too dizzy from his sweet compliments, awestruck aura and the aftershocks of pure pleasure coursing through you to really care.
And while you believe Harry when he says he’s good, you also don’t. It’s not a common thing for guys to get off only by getting someone else off. They always want their own end away, too.
But before you can say a thing about it, you’re beat to the punchline, and all your doubt fades away.
“Besides…” Harry murmurs, pressing a kiss to your stomach before landing another on your sternum, his grinning mouth soon hovering over a breast like he’s about to kiss it as well. Like he’s about to do so much more.
Given his next words, you know that’s true. You know you’re excited, too. “…summer’s only just getting started.”
