Treat People With Kindness

It took Harry two years. 

He wouldn’t say he was shy, he was just more selective with what and who he put his time into. And that made him a bit of a loner, but he preferred it that way a lot of the time.  

At least until (Y/N) moved in. 

The apartment right beside his had been vacant for almost three months. The previous tenant was an older man who eventually had to be put into a rest home as he wasn’t able to take proper care of himself anymore. Harry was quite close with him and would bring him dinner some nights and always leave his ringer on just in case he needed something. 

The last person Harry was expecting to move in was her. 

He didn’t even know anyone was bringing boxes in. His headphones were over his ears as he lost himself in the book he picked up a few days beforehand. He was curled up on his couch, oblivious to what was happening just next door. 

It wasn’t until there was a very obvious thud behind the wall to his right. He almost let it go, but since that apartment had been empty for months now, he was confused as to why there’d be any noise over there. 

He pulled his headphones off and left his book propped open on the pillow he’d been laying on. He stepped into the hallway in socks, peering around his door frame to see that Fred’s door was open wide and a spread of boxes laid out front where his doormat used to be. 

“Oh, my god. Did you hear that? I was trying to be quiet but that box slipped right out of my hands. I promise I’m not always this loud.” 

His new neighbor stepped in front of him, a regretful smile on her face. Like she really did mean it when she said it was an accident. 

Harry was just about to tell her it was okay so she didn’t think she had to ramble on about apologies when it really didn’t disturb him in the first place. He was just checking on things. But then he met her eyes and that was it for him. 

Any coherent thought he had before had left his mind totally blank. He was at such a loss for how beautiful she was, he had forgotten how to speak. But he couldn’t help it. He’d never been so struck by someone before. 

“It’s, um, it’s yeah.” He shrugged, awkwardly shuffling his socked feet on the hardwood outside his door. He could feel his face heating the longer she looked at him with a much calmer smile. 

“I’m (Y/N),” She stuck out her hand and didn’t even hesitate for a second. She didn’t seem to be bothered by his late reaction but when his hand finally grasped hers, he could’ve melted right there. Her hands were soft and she smelled like cotton candy and her name. Her name was perfect. He’d probably never be able to hear anyone else’s name again. It would only pale in comparison. “And you are…?” She trailed off, but didn’t make him feel weird for not speaking quite yet. She was nice about it and he was grateful. 

“Harry. I’m Harry.” He repeated his name for a reason unknown to him and he’d probably curse himself later, but she nodded as they let their hands drop. 

“Well, I guess that makes us neighbors.” She looked excited by the prospect of that but he knew he’d only disappointed her with how closed off he was. It always happens. Harry wasn’t someone who had friends. It was easier to be on his own. No one to explain himself to when he decided to cancel plans or didn’t respond to a text in a timely manner. He didn’t want to have to worry about friends when telling the barista at his favorite coffee shop down the street that he liked her shirt had sent him into a full panic when she didn’t quite take his compliment the way he intended her to. In his defense, it was a cool shirt. One he’d wear but he could only manage to stutter his way through it so she probably didn’t understand a word he said anyway. 

So, it was easier when Harry didn’t have to deal with people or friends. Because he would only run them off. 

He nodded at her, about the neighbor comment, before shutting himself back in his apartment. No goodbye, no nice to meet you. He just left her there, standing alone in the hallway. And that made him hate himself even more. But she was just so pretty, he couldn’t find his footing around her. 

He wanted to ask her normal things that normal people ask during normal conversations. Like where she was from, how she liked the place. He’d even tell her about Fred if she asked. But instead he shut himself away before any progress could be made. He’s good for that. It’s nothing new. 

Except that (Y/N) didn’t give up on him.

She didn’t write him off when he shut the door in her face. She said hi the next time she saw him in the hall and she even asked him where the best place to get coffee was. 

He wanted to at least speak to her but all he could do was get red in the face and show her the coffee sleeve on the cup he just brought home. 

“Oh, cool. Is this your favorite place?” She asked, patiently. Anyone else would’ve given up by now. 

“Mhm.” Was all he could respond with. Her hair was pulled back from her face and she was in a pair of sweatpants with a band tee from one of his favorite bands. If he were normal, he’d mention that bit to her. Start a conversation. Be friendly. But instead, he said nothing and watched her ramble on about how her wifi hasn’t been connected yet and it had been a week already. 

He didn’t mean to do it but he kept stepping closer and closer to his door. And to her it probably looked like he was trying to escape the conversation but in reality, Harry had no idea what he was doing. He wanted to calm the color in his cheeks and maybe take a breath. That would give him a moment to recenter his focus on her and what she was saying. Not fret over how hot he was feeling in his clothes now that he had all of her attention on him. 

“S-Sorry. I better go.” His hand fumbled with his key before he could get it in the lock and he quickly let himself in, not missing the way her expression had dropped the tiniest bit. But she said bye to him anyway. Like he probably hadn’t hurt her feelings with how he always seemed to brush her off. 

“Okay. Nice to see you, Harry.” 

It had been two years since then at this point. And Harry had slowly, very slowly, let his new neighbor peel back his layers and get to know him on a more personal level. But of course, it took a while to get to there. She moved at his pace and invited him to the library with her one day after she caught him in the hall with a stack of books. He had plenty to read but he wasn’t going to pass up on a chance to spend time with (Y/N). 

Not much happened that day. She did most of the talking and he listened to every word she said, remembering every detail down to how she liked her coffee. Her favorite book genre. What shampoo she used. He never asked, but he loved listening to her talk and didn’t mind much what the subject was. 

That turned into seeing each other several times throughout the week. Harry got better at communicating. He didn’t want to scare her away by keeping so quiet. So, he tried to open up. He felt stupid most times he said anything and he’d regret it right away, but (Y/N) never seemed to care if what he said was embarrassing. She just kept right along, even agreeing with him sometimes. 

It didn’t take long for the small crush Harry had to turn into something massive and downright pathetic. He tried to keep things normal. He didn’t want to freak her out by looking at her too long or tell her she was pretty too many times like he often thought of doing. From past experience, whoever Harry likes rarely returns the sentiment. So, he figured he’d do what he’s best at. Not acknowledging things. Because as soon as he determined exactly what his problem was, he’d end up doing something stupid. The only way to stop himself was to deny the feelings wholeheartedly. Even though it killed him deep down. 

“I have a date tonight, I can’t, Harry.” 

For the first time ever, he asked her if she wanted to join him at the farmer’s market. It was later in the day and it was pretty boring but he went out on a limb. He spoke up. Hetried. Only for it to not go his way. 

“Oh. Right. Okay. I’ll see you around.” He left her there in the hallway before she could say anything more and shut the door behind him. 

How embarrassing. She probably just didn’t want to have to tell him no, so she made another excuse. It was nothing different than what he was used to, so he’s not sure why he took it so hard and why his hands were shaking so much as he made himself a cup of tea. 

His heart was racing and he hadn’t even done anything and the collar of his shirt felt like it was suffocating him. His shoes felt like they were tied too tight. He was so irritated with himself. She’d never give him the time of day. Even if he begged for it. She’s too good, out of his league, and the best part is, the stuff she does do with him is probably all out of pity. She can tell that he’s lonely from a mile away. 

It wouldn’t take a genius to figure it out. He’s always home on a Friday night. He works from home. No one other than him is ever coming or going from his apartment. He’d blush if she so much as looked at him for longer than a glance. He’s hopeless and she knows it. 

One of Harry’s favorite things to do is avoid. If he was going out, he’d wait until her door shut and her feet went off down the hallway. He’d take the stairs, just so he wouldn’t accidentally catch the elevator at the same time. He’d do anything but get anywhere near her when he was feeling this way. Like he wasn’t good enough. Like she felt bad for him and that’s the reason for any of her attention. 

“Harry, hey.” 

He’d been stupid. So, so stupid. He’s never done something like this. So forgetful, so irresponsible. And now she’d caught him when he was only seconds from crying his eyes out over a set of forgotten keys. 

He sniffled, keeping his eyes away from hers. It was freezing and dark and he’s actually glad she came when she did. No one else in the building seemed to be out this late. 

“Hi, (Y/N).” He could barely hear himself speak but she smiled anyway, a paper bag in one of her hands. 

“You look cold. How long have you been out here?” It was late. Nearing ten thirty and he didn’t want to admit that he’d been out in the cold for almost two hours. He could’ve gone to a cafe to sit in while he waited to hear back from his landlord but he didn’t. He was sitting on the freezing cement steps leading up to the door so he could punish himself for being so stupid today. For forgetting his keys when he’s never done that before. He was planning to sit out there until someone either came in or out and unfortunately, it had to be (Y/N) coming back from somewhere. 

“Uh, not—not long. Just sitting.” He attempted to smile at her but it probably came out more like a grimace, if her reaction was anything to go by. 

“Why haven’t you gone in? Did you lose your keys?” She sat right next to him on the stoop and grabbed his shaky hands in hers. She gasped when she felt them and hurried to cover them with hers. “Let’s get you inside, okay? It’s okay if you lost your keys. You can stay over at mine until we get this sorted.” 

Harry couldn’t say no. Anything to get out of the cold, even if he still felt bad about their last conversation. 

Before long, (Y/N) had him wrapped up on her couch in a blanket and a space heater not too far away, bringing the feeling back into his feet. 

She was working on a cup of tea and had it in his hands in no time. She made it just the way he likes, but he couldn’t thank her with more than a smile at the moment. His heart was racing when she sat next to him on the couch with a concerned look on her face. 

“I locked my keys in.” He said as smoothly as he could manage as another chill had him practically shaking again on her couch. It took (Y/N) one second to move closer, to set her hand over his arm, and squeeze in the most reassuring way. 

“Did you talk to the landlord?” 

“He won’t be able to help until tomorrow.” 

(Y/N) scoffed, pulling her legs up on the couch under her and focusing her full attention back on him. 

“How convenient. That’s alright. You can hang here until he comes tomorrow,” She offered, bringing her own mug of tea to her mouth. “Unless you have somewhere else to stay.” 

With the way that Harry’s heart fluttered in his chest, he considered seeing a cardiologist. It’s probably something that shouldn’t be happening, but whenever (Y/N)’s around he can’t help it. His heart jumps and flutters and squeezes and races so much he might have a serious problem. 

“No, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Sure you could. I’ve got a heated blanket and the pillows that are always cold, no matter what. I promise it’d be no trouble. As long as you don’t mind sleeping next to me.” 

Harry’s heart went wild once more and he tried so hard to keep his expression neutral, maybe even thoughtful, as he tried not to excite himself too much over the idea of sleeping in her bed. Beside her no less. 

“Well, I don’t know. I could call someone—”

“Seriously, I don’t mind unless you do. I’d say the couch could be an option but it kills your back. Take my word for it.” She looked carefree. Genuinely. Like she only wanted to do something neighborly for him with no bad intentions. Who was Harry going to call anyway? There was no one to call. 

“Only if you’re sure.” His hands tightened around the mug. 

“I’m so sure. It’ll be nice to sleep in a warm bed for once.” Her hand rubbed his shoulder soothingly before going back to her lap. 

That night, (Y/N) had given Harry a tee shirt to wear and said she didn’t mind if he only wore underwear. He swore his face has never been so red as he neatly folded his jeans while she was away in the bathroom getting ready for bed. 

The tee shirt he pulled over his head was the band tee he’d seen her wear weeks ago. One of his favorite bands ever. He wondered if he’d ever work up the courage to tell her. 

(Y/N) came back in a tee shirt and a pair of shorts. Her hair was out of her face and she looked completely relaxed as she pulled back her blankets and slid into her bed. She settled and turned to him. 

“Are you coming?” Her hand patted the bed and he didn’t need to be told twice. He laid his head back onto one of her pillows and kept his gaze at the ceiling. He didn’t know what to say. 

“Thank you for doing this. I know it’s not ideal.” Maybe the cold got to Harry and made it so he was able to speak in full sentences. He doesn’t know but he doesn’t think too hard about it because of how sleepy he is. 

“You’re welcome. It’s also really ideal because I’m already so warm here with you. It usually takes forever for me to warm up,” She clicked the lamp off beside her and although Harry kept his eyes to the ceiling, he felt her lay on her side, facing him. “Want to get breakfast with me in the morning before I call Steve and cuss him out for you?” 

“No—I mean. Yes to breakfast but no to talking to Steve. I already sent him a message.” 

“Yeah, but that’s bullshit. Were you just supposed to wait in the cold all night until he got there? That’s not right.” 

“That’s just how he is. I don’t—I don’t want any problems.” He swallowed hard at just the thought of it. He didn’t need Steve thinking he was ungrateful and to pick on him because of it. 

“Okay. I mean, I’m not too upset about it because you’re here right now, but I know how it is to just want to sleep in your own bed sometimes.” 

Little did (Y/N) know, Harry wasn’t missing his bed at all. Not in the slightest. Because here, under (Y/N)’s heated blanket with her knees pressed gently against the side of his leg, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else if he had the choice. 

It got quiet because Harry had not a clue what to say back. He was happy to be where he was too but he didn’t know how to properly express that without sounding so shy.

“How was your date?” He asked instead. It was a bold question for Harry. He’s not entirely sure where it came from, just that he’d been thinking about it day and night. He didn’t hear her leave ever because he had his headphones over his ears for several hours that evening. He didn’t want to hear anything. Especially if she brought someone home. That would crush him in an incomprehensible way. He wouldn’t be able to leave his bed for weeks. 

“Don’t remind me,” She huffed, moving to lay on her back, but somehow shifting closer to him. “He was the worst. I thought about going to the bathroom and ditching him but I’m not that mean,” 

He hummed, saying nothing more. He didn’t know what to say because he felt this tiny bit of relief that it didn’t go well and that sent him on a spiral. Why would he find that relieving? 

“He wasn’t my type. Didn’t read any of the books I do or watch the same movies. He didn’t listen, you know? Not a word I said. He just kept talking about his job and I was so bored.” 

If that’s the only criteria (Y/N) wanted, Harry would be perfect. But as soon as that thought crossed his mind, he was shooing it away. He really does have quite the imagination. 

“I’m sorry.” He’s not, but he doesn’t like that she feels like she wasted her time. Even though it makes him feel like he might have more of a chance. That’s just one more guy out of the way. He’s closer than ever before even though it feels like he couldn’t be further away. 

“Don’t be. I should’ve known. I would much rather have gone to the farmer’s market with you. Remind me when the next one is, yeah?” 

Harry’s face is ablaze when he hums back, so glad that she can’t see him right now.

Then, (Y/N) fell asleep. He could tell by her breathing. He wanted to sleep too but he was feeling too giddy inside and couldn’t even think about sleep. 

It took him two years, although he can’t take all the credit. (Y/N)’s the one that actually asked. 

“Do you want to go to dinner with me tomorrow night?” Valentine’s Day. Not a normal Friday night. Not a normal Friday night at all. The day oflove. Harry has never spent Valentine’s Day with another living soul in his life. All except for grade school when everyone was forced to bring in signed valentines for the class and all the important people got candy grams. He never did but he never minded much either. He became good at having no expectations whatsoever. He was never disappointed that way. 

(Y/N) showed up to his door with a glass of wine in her hand and a bag of pretzels. He let her in like he was used to doing now and she dragged him to his couch with her before she sat down, taking a long drink from her glass. 

“Rough day?” Harry was much better now. He could tease (Y/N) and not feel like he actually pissed her off when he did. Even when she rolled her eyes, she’d still shoot him a smile and tease him right back. 

“You’re telling me. I’m not meant for working. I don’t deserve this.” (Y/N) could be dramatic at times but it only made Harry’s crush (which was much more than that, two years down the line) grow. 

“Go ahead.” He always let her vent about her day because he cared to know how it went. He cared to know what upset her, what frustrated her, what excited her. He wanted to know all there was to know about (Y/N). And every new fact he turned over had him falling deeper. 

“I don’t want to bore you,” She held out the pretzels to him and he reached in to grab a few. “I’m way more interested in knowing what you’re doing tomorrow night.” 

She raised her eyebrows, almost tauntingly, and set her wine down on his coffee table, turning to give him her full attention. 

If this were two years ago, he’d think she was going to poke fun at him for having absolutely nothing to do for Valentine’s Day and absolutely no one to spend it with. But this was now, and their friendship had grown into something that he’d always wanted to have with another person. She cared about him. And while he wished it was in another sense she still did and that’s all that mattered to him. (Y/N) was a true friend. 

“The usual. I got a new game actually, so I was going—”

“Let’s do something.” She cut him off, looking as if she really liked the sound of spending Valentine’s Day with him. 

“Don’t you have anything else to do?” Harry knew he was selling himself short. He always did but it was built into him. He honestly couldn’t understand why (Y/N) wanted to be around him on a normal day. Much less such a significant day like this one. If she truly didn’t have anyone to spend it with, he’s sure she could find someone other than him. 

But then, his instinctual response to things like this kicks in. She’s only offering because she feels bad. (Y/N) had corrected him several times when he insinuated that she pitied him at all. So, it couldn’t be that. Maybe it was so that she just wanted to spend time with him. His poor heart. 

“Uh, really? You’re not busy?” 

“No. Are you?” 

“I mean, my games—”

“Harry. Do you want to get dinner with me?” 

And it went from there. He asked her to clarify about eight times before he finally understood that yes, she did want to see him on that specific day, during a very symbolic holiday that was all about love and admiration. Two things he’s been secretly dabbling in himself. 

“If you have nothing else to do.” He shrugged, trying not to make it seem like a big deal. 

“Hush,” She swatted at his chest and he tried not to crack a smile. “You can pick me up at eight. I’ll send the reservation through.” 

She left him on his couch with the bag of pretzels in his lap after pressing a searing kiss to his cheek and thanking him (him) for wanting to go with her. 

She really didn’t know that she was a dream come true. 

Harry’s Thursday night into Friday was spent trying to decide what he should wear. The restaurant (Y/N) made a reservation at was classy, and while he didn’t have many clothes that would help him fit in, he decided on something simple. Nice pants and a button down. He couldn’t go wrong there, could he? 

Eight rolled around and he’d already sprayed himself up with the cologne of his that she complimented weeks back and wore the ring that she gifted him last Christmas. It was a beautiful emerald stone seated in a gold band. It wasn’t anywhere near as bulky as some of his others so it stood out and he loved that part the most. It had been her grandmother’s and she wasn’t one for rings and knew he was so she passed it off to him. 

At first, he couldn’t accept it. It was her grandmother’s that passed away just the year before. But with some convincing on (Y/N)’s part, he finally did twist it onto his finger and ever since then, he wore it every day, snug on his pinky finger because that’s the only knuckle it could get past. 

He knocked on her door promptly at eight and she opened the door before he could gather his bearings and prepare himself for her presence. 

Harry has seen (Y/N) in a variety of dresses. So, he shouldn’t have been so shocked at the red long sleeved dress that showed off her cleavage and her thighs but he was honestly so in a daze at the sight of her and her sparkly eyeshadow that he couldn’t quite move his mouth. 

“Nice to see you too.” Her red lips pulled into a smile as she stepped into the hall to shut the door behind her. When she faced him again, they were considerably closer and he could feel his hands start to tremble. 

“Uh, you look—wow. Pretty and nice.” He stopped there before he embarrassed himself further. She only smiled at him, her hand reaching up to rub over his shoulder. 

“You too. Pretty and nice.” 

His cheeks burned but she didn’t mention it. She just grabbed a hold of his hand and walked him toward the elevator. 

(Y/N) was glued to his side at the table. She asked specifically for a booth and followed in right after him when they were seated. 

Her arm was wound around his and the toe of her heel kept circling his ankle but he tried to remain calm. There was no reason to take this where it wasn’t meant to go. 

“Do you want wine? I think we should get wine.” Her eyes skimmed over the menu before she pointed one out. He didn’t even read it before nodding. 

“Why not?” 

They kept up conversation the whole time. Harry was impressed with himself. He was able to keep up with her and her million thoughts per second. But there was just one thing that was confusing him. 

The way she was looking at him. Maybe she always does. Maybe she’s in a different mood tonight. He’s not sure, but she keeps looking at his mouth when he talks. And in turn, she’ll bite her lip, making him look at hers. But it never goes further. And then, she’ll put her hand on his knee. She’s done it before but she’s never quite squeezed the way she is now. 

He’d do the same back if he was brave enough. He doesn’t want to be clueless about this. If he knows anything about women (he doesn’t), he’d say that she’s flirting with him. And in quite an adult way. 

“Try some,” She held her fork out to him with the pasta she ordered. It looked and smelled delicious so he didn’t mind opening his mouth for the fork. It was the fact that she was the one holding the fork. But he did so anyway. And their eyes locked as she slowly slid the fork past his lips. “Good?” 

“Mhm.” His mouth was full but he could still tell very clearly in what way she was looking at him. 

“Good. What do you think about the triple chocolate cheesecake?” 

(Y/N) and Harry shared the cheesecake and she even ended up swiping her thumb over his lip where he seemed to have left a mess. And then she sucked her thumb into her mouth and hummed in approval. 

“That’s so good, isn’t it?” He barely nodded at her, stuck on what she just did. This couldn’t all be for nothing. He’s clueless, he really is, but not that damn much. 

He figured he’d come out and say it. Right as the check got set down so he could give himself a starting point. A push to speak up and ask what this night meant. It felt so romantic even though he’d never experienced anything of the sort. 

The check was set down and (Y/N) went to reach for it but he stopped her with a hand on her wrist. 

“Can I ask you something?” It was going to ruin the night, that he knew, but it was worth it to him to get some answers. 

“Anything.” Her attention turned to him and she looked a bit…nervous. Like she was afraid of what he might ask her. 

“Is this all you had to do tonight?” 

“What?” 

“I mean. If you’re doing this just to give me something to do, just tell me that. I’ll understand. I know you do like to hang out with me but not like this. Not on a day like today, right?” 

“What are you talking about? We’re on a date right now,” The confusion on her face dropped to something more sad. “Unless you don’t want it to be. I’ll get it.” 

Those two sentences right there sent Harry over the edge. This was a date and he had no idea. He must really be that inexperienced if he missed all the cues pointing to this being a date. When he looks back, it is a date and he doesn’t know why he didn’t see it for what it was. And he’s not sure how she thinks he could possibly not want this to be a date when he’s been dreaming about it since he met her. But of course, he had to ruin it. For her to even think that he wouldn’t want this to be a date is insane. And he fully intends on telling her that. 

“It is?” He started with the most shocking part of it all. A date.

“Well, yeah. I thought…maybe I was reading it all wrong.” She turned her gaze away from him and to the table in front of her. 

“No, no. I didn’t know that it was a date at all. I thought you were just really bored or something.” He was almost ashamed to say it to her face. Because he knew better than that. She’d never do anything purposely to give him false hope.  

“It’s dinner on Valentine’s Day, Harry. What did you think it was?” She laughed, resting her chin in her hand.

“Well, I didn’t want to assume anything.” 

“It’s a date, yeah. But if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I was just so nervous to ask you right out on a date. So, I’m sorry I wasn’t clear on that part.” Her other hand rubbed over his shoulder before trailing down his arm to take his hand. His hands are probably sweating and she’s probably very aware but she doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. Thankfully

“You wanted to ask me on a date?” 

“Is that so hard to believe?” He stared at her, just blinking until she shook her head at him. “I like you, Harry. That’s why I show up at your door every night and drag you places with me. Because I want to spend time with you.” 

“You do?” Harry really hoped this wasn’t some sort of prank. Or a dream. Any second now, (Y/N) could just start laughing, saying how she tricked him into thinking she actually liked him. But she didn’t.

“You couldn’t tell?” 

“I just thought you were being nice to me. I never would’ve thought you…” He stopped there, not sure if he even wanted to say it out loud. She could change her mind and take it back. 

“I do. And this is a date. If you want it to be. You can let me down easy if this is too much.” She still smiled like if he did choose that, she’d still like him anyway. 

“No, that’s not—I just don’t know what to say, really.” Like it always does around (Y/N), his heart is hammering and he’s almost sick to his stomach with how nervous he is of saying the wrong thing. 

“Do you want this to be a date?” She asked, making it so easy for him to just say yes. 

“Yes. I do. I really do. I mean, I’d love it if it was.” 

“Then, it’s a date.” She patted his chest gently, smiling at him the way she always does. Bright and full of something that he knows now is his reciprocated affection. That he was apparently really, really terrible at showing. 

Harry drove them back to their shared apartment building and dreaded pulling into the parking lot. He doesn’t want to let her go. Especially when he knows what he knows now. He wants to ask her a million questions. Ask her why. What it is about him that she likes so much. But he thinks that is better suited for another time. He’s still surprised that it even happened in the first place. If she started listing off reasons why she thinks he’s cute or whatever, he might just die. 

He shut off the car and pulled the keys from the ignition. (Y/N) didn’t move, like she had no intention of leaving the car yet. Instead, she looked at him with her eyebrows raised. 

“Um,” He reached from the back of his neck where his skin was now blazing with something he had no explanation for. “Are we going to, like, go in or—”

“Don’t you want to kiss me?” 

Harry truly is stunned. In all his years. He never, ever expected this. Yes, she likes him, that’s what she said. But kissing? She wants to do that with him? He’s so out of his element that he feels every part of his body warm. His cheeks, his ears, the back of his neck again. His skin feels like it’s on fire and he has no idea why. 

Well. He has a tiny idea why. 

“Kiss you?” He sputtered out, still not believing it. She nodded. “Of course, I want to kiss you, (Y/N). I just didn’t know if it was the right time. You know how timing is everything and that. I didn’t want to, like, get ahead of myself or anything.” His hands rubbed down the front of his pants, trying to calm himself and not mess this up when he’s so close. 

“If you want it, then take it.” 

Harry swears his heart stopped. Maybe all those palpitations were something serious that he should’ve gotten checked out instead of brushing it off and blaming it on (Y/N). He’s dead and he never got to see it through. 

Except, he still is in his car with (Y/N) and she’s waiting, a little impatiently he can tell, but she’s waiting for him to make the first move. 

“Uh, yeah. For sure. Just…I don’t know.” He’s at a complete loss. 

Harry has kissed a grand total of two people and both happened back in uni years ago. And he remembers them quite clearly but he doesn’t really know how they happened. Alcohol was involved, yes, but the other person always took the initiative and all he had to do was sit there and be grateful that someone gave him the time of day. 

With (Y/N), he knows that she likes him and he doesn’t want to mess it up by being so nervous that he ends up kissing her weird or something. That right there might be enough for her to never speak to him again. 

“I know you want to. Here, I’ll rub off my lipstick. One second.” She reached into her purse for a tissue and started wiping her lipstick off. 

“Oh, no. You didn’t have to.” He actually wanted her to keep it on so he might have a way to tell that it really happened in the morning. He could wake up and see lipstick on his face or something and know that she did kiss him. Instead of something his mind made up to combat his crippling loneliness. But he supposed that he’d probably be able to remember anyway because he’s never been so lucky. 

“Did I get it all?” She showed him her lips that were still a pretty color without the lipstick and nodded even though it really made no difference to him. (Y/N) leaned closer to the center console in the car and sent him a look. “Harry?” 

“Yeah. I’m—yeah.” 

He decided to just do it. Harry doesn’t just do a lot of things but he knew he had to. She’s waiting for him to kiss her. He didn’t misread the situation, he’s not going to do something to upset her, he’s not going to kiss weird. She wants him to kiss her and there really is no way for him to mess this up except if he keeps sitting here and staring at her and barely speaking. That could really ruin things. 

So, he does. He didn’t mean to be so awkward when he did it but he brushed aside a strand of her hair that probably wouldn’t have gotten in the way anyway and met her eyes. 

He watched his hand move from her hair to the underside of her chin to lift it the slightest bit before he started his mouth’s descent to hers. 

The first time was just a peck and he went to pull away, but she stopped him with her hands on his shoulders. 

“Where are you going?” 

“You said a kiss. Was that good? Or no?” It was good from his perspective because it made his skin feel like it was on fire again and he felt a little woozy if he’s honest, but it was good. So good. 

“Of course, it was good, Harry, thank you. But I was hoping you’d kiss me until I couldn’t see straight. You know.” 

“Oh, right. Sure, yeah. I can.” This time he didn’t wait so long. He went right in, kissing her until he had to force himself away to breathe. She didn’t let him go far though, giving him just enough time to take one deep breath before she was pulling him back in. 

Her hands were in his hair, pulling and twisting and tangling as her kisses got just a tiny bit more fervent. Her tongue swiped at the seam of his lips and he opened right up for her. 

When she did pull away, she kissed his cheek. 

“Thank you for coming to dinner with me. I’m so happy you wanted it to be a date.” She kept her voice low and gently petted her fingers over his cheek. 

“I’ve never spent Valentine’s Day with someone else before. So, thank you for inviting me.” While that might have been embarrassing to admit a few months ago, Harry doesn’t care anymore. (Y/N) doesn’t seem to care much either because she leans right back into him to kiss him again. 

“How about we go upstairs so you can keep kissing me?”

This was definitely one of his favorite Valentine’s Days yet. 

i hope you liked it!!! and i hope you’re still in the mood for valentine’s day stuff….anyway no clue what’s next. wherever the wind takes me 🤗 <3 <3 <3

However, he doesn’t turn around as you enter his office. But the slight glimpse of his profile lets you know he’s acutely aware of your presence.

He stays by his desk, offering nothing more than his silence as you set down his drink and move for the couch.

“Good morning,” is his brisk greeting. It’s not any warmer or colder than usual. It’s just him. “Do you have the reports I asked for?”

“Right here.” You drop them onto the coffee table. “Ready for your meeting this afternoon.”

“Good.” He stares out at the city, unwilling to look you in the eye. “And you’ve confirmed with Nadia?”

“Yes. She’s calling for a driver as we speak.”

He nods once, fingers flexing beside his thighs before he finally ventures a glance over his shoulder. “And I suppose you’d like to talk to me about the other day.”

You flip open the laptop and pull up your email, eyebrow raised. “The other day?”

He turns to you, and you feel his heated stare. “I believe I owe you an explanation.”

“Not really,” you respond, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “You agreed to help me with the video, and you did. I didn’t expect you to stay, Sir.”

Your peripheral catches his slight frown. “You didn’t?”

“No.” You open his schedule and begin jotting down a few notes from Nadia’s email. “You’re not exactly the cuddling type. Probably would have been weirder if you had stayed.”

His hands disappear into his pockets as he regards you. “I never meant to upset you.”

“You didn’t.” Another shrug. “I knew what I agreed to, and now we’re done. No harm, no foul.”

The frown deepens. “Still, I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that—”

“Mr. Styles,” you interrupt, turning to face him, “I wasn’t under the illusion that things would change just because we fucked. I didn’t need aftercare, I didn’t need your words of affirmation, and I didn’t need you to stay.”

Something unrecognizable passes over his features.

You lean forward. “We’re good, Sir.”

The office goes quiet. You know him well enough by now to know what it looks like when he’s biting back a response.

And you imagine there are quite a few things he’d like to berate you for, but instead, he merely clamps his jaw shut and nods.

“All right.” He returns to his desk and takes a seat. “Let’s begin.”

The rest of the workweek carries on like usual. Things return to normal. Or at least to the way they were before he admitted to knowing about your outside activities.

And you find that you’re grateful for that. It’s much easier to only imagine him as your boss instead of your…business partner. 

What happened that afternoon in the hotel room was great. Fantastic, even. But it was only ever an act of generosity. A favor, more like. He helped you exactly the way he said he would and now it’s over.

You won’t ever have to think about him like that again.

So…you don’t. 

At least, you try not to. But it proves quite difficult.

After deciding against posting the whole video for your channel, and instead only uploading the part where he comes on your tits, it becomes harder to ignore what you two have done. 

 After all, the response is overwhelming. Positive, excited, and extremely lucrative. Most of the requests are for more of the mysterious man they’ve come to know, and you try not to feel disappointed when you realize there won’t be any more guest appearances. 

You wonder if he’s watched it. Wonder if he remembers that day the way you do.

Sometimes you slip up, and you watch the beginning just to hear him talk to you. You watch the way you undress him. Watch the way he kisses you. Watch the way he drives himself inside of you and begs you to come for him.

But then it hits you. Like a fucking freight train. It won’t ever happen again, and lingering on the one time it did isn’t healthy.

So, you turn it off, and attempt to resume life as normal.

You reach out to Max to apologize yet again for what happened, and he’s incredibly understanding. He asks if you’d like to meet for drinks and go over another scene for the future.

And you agree because you will do anything to put Mr. Styles in your rearview mirror.

You don’t mention the meeting to your boss. You figure it won’t do any good, and even if he disapproved, it’s not like he would tell you.

This is your game now. Not his.

So, with a new lease on life, you head for the bar to meet with Max, eager to find out what he has in store.

He’s happy to see you. Pulling out your chair and refusing any attempts at apologies that you offer.

Which you’re more than appreciative of, although you can’t help feeling a bit guilty that he didn’t get the content he’d been wanting.

“Seriously, don’t even worry about it,” he repeats for the third time since you sat down. “Honestly. I get it, once other people get involved, it gets complicated.”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, sheepishly glancing down at your lap. “But still. He shouldn’t have…I shouldn’t have let him run you out like that.”

He smiles. “It’s fine. Listen, your boyfriend has nothing to worry about. Really. And we can proceed however you feel is best—”

“Oh, no, he’s…he’s not my boyfriend,” you interject, head shaking quickly. “No, he was just…nobody. He’s nobody. Anymore.”

Max studies you for a moment, seemingly curious at your insistence. “Oh? Does…he know that?”

You swallow thickly and take hold of your glass. “Yeah. He does.”

A beat before he nods.

“All right.” Max takes a swig himself. “As long as you’re sure this is something you want.”

You nod but can’t help finding yourself hesitating. “Yeah, it’s…yeah. Of course.”

His expression softens. “Boyfriend or not, he still has a hold over you, doesn’t he?”

And you grimace because you hate the way it sounds. Hate how obvious it must be to everyone else. Hate that it’s even a thing at all.

“No, he just…he’s infuriating,” you argue. “I mean, you were there. You saw what he’s like.”

“I was and I did,” he agrees with a smirk. “Infuriating is the nicer way to put it.”

“He’s a dick,” you correct, making you both smile. “But I trusted him. And I trusted his judgment. And him being so…blunt is sometimes a good thing. Because there’s no room for overthinking or questioning what he really wants. He tells you. Exactly how he feels, exactly how he feels it.”

Max nods thoughtfully, urging you to continue.

“And yet there are so many things I feel like he’s keeping from me,” you murmur. “And maybe he doesn’t owe me answers. Maybe it doesn’t even matter, but I just…there was this moment when we were on the same page. When it felt so seamless, and easy, and good. And now…”

Max sighs. “Now he’s nobody.”

You both grow quiet as you let this settle.

“Yeah,” you whisper, taking a sip of your drink. “He’s nobody. And it’s nothing. And it’s over anyway, so…I’m free to do whatever I’d like.”

He laughs. “That’s a great attitude.”

“Why thank you very much.”

“Of course.” He rubs his hands together. “Well, I guess in that case…maybe we should go over—”

“Peach Valentine.”

And almost as if you spoke him into existence, that familiar voice finds you. Cutting right through your conversation as chills fly up the back of your neck.

You almost don’t want to look. Want to pretend that this is merely a subconscious projection of the very last man you want to see.

But you can feel his presence behind you. Can smell his cologne and can see the surprised look on Max’s face.

Of course he’s here.

Slowly, you turn around, letting your eyes find the tall figure looming only a foot or two away.

He’s wearing an expression you know all too well. The one that tells you exactly what he’s thinking without him having to say a single word.

And your stomach sinks.

“Sir,” you whisper, voice oddly timid before you clear your throat and straighten up. “Hello.”

For a moment, he’s quiet. Offering nothing more than a blank stare. Then, he looks at Max. He looks at you. And nobody speaks.

Finally, his jaw sets, and his hands bury themselves deep within his expensive pockets. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m…I’m meeting with Max,” you reply, shooting a smile toward your new friend.

Mr. Styles frowns. “You didn’t tell me you were meeting him.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” you retort, lowering your voice as you send him a pointed look. “Seeing as we’re not partners anymore.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re still my assistant. And your well-being is my concern.”

“Oh? I thought what I did with my personal life didn’t concern you.”

“It does when it has to do with him.”

Your glare begins to mirror his. “Well, since I am in need of a new business partner, I figured Max would be the perfect one to ask.”

Mr. Styles rolls his shoulders back, regarding you carefully. “And since when are you in need of a new business partner?”

“Since my old one walked out on me.”

This does it. His features twist into an unforgiving and rather harsh look of disdain as he steps closer and drops his tone. “I told you, I needed to explain—”

“No, you don’t need to explain,” you correct. “I’m not upset. I’m not bitter. I’m not angry. But that doesn’t change the fact that our agreement is over.”

His teeth grit. “Just because I left doesn’t mean I was ending our deal—”

“It does in my book. I don’t have time to wait for you, Sir.” You sit up, leveling the playing field. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

His fingers suddenly wrap around your upper arm, tugging on you until your feet hit the floor, forcing you to stand. “I need to talk to you.”

A bit surprised, you blink rapidly and attempt to pull yourself free. “Mr. Styles—”

“Now, Peach.”

You want to argue. Want to fight him on this. Want to stay strong, stay with Max. Send the mean man away.

But you know him, no matter how belligerent he’s being. And there’s something in those eyes that you’ve found yourself lost in that persuades you to nod and follow him to the hallway.

The moment you’re alone and the loud music has been dulled to a quiet hum, you step away from him. Put the necessary distance between your bodies as he watches you go.

“You shouldn’t be talking to him,” he says simply, almost as if it were obvious. “In fact, you shouldn’t be here at all.”

You scoff, rearing back to stare at him incredulously. “I’m sorry…you’re joking, right?”

“It’s a work night,” he replies, still infuriatingly cool. “And we agreed you wouldn’t do business with him—”

“We agreed?” Your eyebrow raises. “No, we didn’t agree on anything. You ran him out of the room without so much as checking with me first. And since when are we a we at all?”

He’s far too calm for your liking. “I told you, I’m still your boss. And partner. I want what’s best for you—”

“Really? Is that why you left?”

Once again, he scowls. “I told you, I had things to do—”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you snort. “Look, I don’t care why you left. I don’t even care that you left. But you did leave. So if I want to film with Max, I have every right to do so—”

“You do,” he agrees. “But you’re much smarter than that, Peach. And you know it.”

“Yeah? And what makes me so smart, hm? Sleeping with you?”

His expression twists into something you don’t recognize. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Sleep with you? Or point out that we did?”

“Peach—”

“No, you know what?” You take a brave step forward. “You have no right to come in here and demand that I leave him. Max is a good guy. In fact, of all the people that I’ve messaged on OnlyFans, he’s the only one that hasn’t said something skeevy or inappropriate.”

His expression falls. “Are you being harassed?”

“Not if I don’t respond. The block button exists for a reason. And that’s not even the point. The point is that you told me to do this. You told me it would be good for my channel to collaborate—”

“But not with him.”

“Then who? You?”

The hallway stills as Mr. Styles leans back. “This was never about me.”

“No. It wasn’t. It was about me,” you agree. “That’s what you promised. That this would be about what I wanted to do. And I want to meet with Max.”

The glare returns. “If you’re trying to punish me—”

“Punish you?” You laugh but it’s void of all humor. “Punish you for what? For being exactly who I thought you were?”

“You shouldn’t be here with him,” he says again, and your eyes roll.

“Then where should I be, huh, Sir? Should I be at home? Like a good little girl?” You take another step forward. “Should I be on my knees, waiting for you? Should I be fucking myself with that toy you bought? Pretending it’s you?”

You notice the muscles in his jaw constrict as he steels himself and throws you a look of warning. “Peach—”

“Because if I can’t fuck Max, and I can’t fuck you, then what do you want from me?” Another step. “You’re never happy. I can never make you happy—”

“Peach—”

 “I get that this meant nothing to you. I get that.” You’re only inches away now. “But…you’re so confusing. You’re so goddamn confusing, and I never know what you really want. Sometimes I think I do, and other times…”

His lips purse shut but his eyes are soft.

“I feel like we used to want the same thing,” you admit quietly, heart in your throat as you stare up at the beautiful man before you. Your rage dwindles down to a contemplative annoyance. “And now we don’t. So…excuse me for trying to find somebody who does want me.”

Suddenly, he surges forward. Stepping up to you so quickly, and with so much power that it forces you to stumble back into the wall.

He cages you there, his broad chest brushing against yours as he peers down, features hard and unmoving.

“And you think that somebody is Max?” he sneers, almost as if mocking you. “You think that he wants anything more from you than the money you’ll make him?”

“Who cares?” you argue, but it’s weaker than you’d like. “It’s an investment, you said so yourself—”

“I am your investor. Not him,” Mr. Styles nearly barks, practically chastising you. “How could it ever be him—”

“Because he’s everything you aren’t.”

He doesn’t even flinch, instead cocking his head to the side as he smirks. “So that’s what this is? You’re trying to replace me? Trying to find somebody better?”

“Well it’s not hard.”

The Cheshire-like grin grows. “Fine, Peach. Let me ask you this…do you like who you are with him? Do you like the role he puts you in?”

Your lashes flutter. “I don’t…I don’t know what you mean—”

“Yes, you do.” His head dips until he’s fully in your space, making it impossible to know anything else but him. “Do you like how he treats you as though you’re nothing more than a means to his end?”

A breath catches in your throat. 

“Do you like how it’s never about you? Only him?”

You squirm back into the wall, once again attempting to create a bit of distance, but failing miserably as he places a hand next to your head.

“Do you like how insignificant he is?” His voice has dropped to a dangerous purr, like silk that slips across your cheek. “Or did you like it better with me?”

A question meant to trap you and you can do nothing more than stare at the buttons on his shirt as you will yourself not to gasp.

“Because I think you like yourself better in my reflection,” he murmurs, his other palm now smoothing across your hip, subtly tugging you into his body. “The way I make you beg for me. The way I touch you. Kiss you. Fuck you.”

The words weigh heavy on your chest, making it hard to breathe as his nose softly ghosts against yours. 

“Everything is better with me. And you know it. So why are you wasting your time with him? Hm, Peach? Who are you really trying to punish? Me…or you?”

And you could just slap him. You really could. Could fucking slap the dimples right off his face for being so smug.

“I’m not punishing anybody,” you whisper, nails curling into your palms to brace yourself. “I’m just doing what you told me to.”

“Well now I’m telling you to leave him.”

“Why?”

His eyes flick between yours. “Why do you think?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. I want to hear you say it.”

The frown returns. “Peach—”

“Say it, Mr. Styles,” you repeat. “And maybe I will leave him. Maybe I’ll walk out of this bar, and never look back. I’ll delete his number, I’ll block him, I’ll never think of reaching out to him again. I’ll leave. With you.”

You can see the way he internalizes this. Can feel his grip tighten, can see the muscles in the arm beside your head flex.

“Just say it,” you mumble again, reaching out to brush your fingers down his chest. “Tell me what you really want. Because maybe I want it, too.”

Everything moves around you. The world, time, this moment.

But neither of you move.

And as the seconds pass, you can’t help but silently will him to finally be honest with you. To finally succumb to what he really needs. To make everything that’s happened mean something.

Then, his eyebrows weave together, and his lips turn down. “I want you to go home,” he finally says, and your heart drops so fast, it makes your head spin. “You’re drunk, and you shouldn’t be alone with him.”

“I’m not drunk,” you retort, now shoving on his sternum to create that space you so desperately need. “I’ve had one drink. And I’m not alone. You’re here.”

And maybe it’s too dark in this hallway to be sure, but you’re almost positive you see something painful flash behind his eyes.

“I won’t be for long,” he replies as he pushes off the wall and steps back. “I have other things to do besides babysit you.”

And that is your slap to the face.

Your hands ball into fists by your side. “You are such a fucking asshole. I never asked you to babysit me. I didn’t even want you here—”

“Clearly you need it,” he argues. “Since you aren’t capable of making decisions on your own. Even when you’re sober.”

You scoff so loud, it makes your throat sore. “I was doing just fine without you—”

“You were scraping by,” he corrects. “And you could do so much better if you realized that he’s nothing but a waste of time and sperm.”

Your nose crinkles as you make your way to the end of the hall, ready to rid yourself of him. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t…I can’t argue with you over the same goddamn thing. Okay, Max is nice to me. He tells me what he actually feels, and that’s something you could never understand.”

You think you see the briefest hint of disappointment, but it’s replaced just as quickly by a look of unamused indignation. “Fine. If you’d like your sex life and your career to be as mediocre as his cock…by all means. The choice is yours.”

“It is,” you agree coldly, ready to turn on your heel and run. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Styles.”

With that, you exit the hallway, leaving him behind.

And he lets you.

The following day, things aren’t as awkward as you expected. Mr. Styles doesn’t mention your run-in at the bar, nor does he attempt to restart the conversation about Max.

He treats you the way he did when he first hired you. With nothing but professionalism and distance. 

At first, you’re thankful. There are no more sly comments or lingering stares at your chest. He follows your terms to let you make your own decisions. He lets your business be yours.

And he’s nothing more than your boss.

But as the days progress, you can’t shake the nagging thought that something bigger is afoot. Almost as though something is wrong. Off.

Maybe it’s just in your head. Maybe you want to believe he’s more affected by this little falling out than he pretends to be.

But you’ve known him for over a year. You know what it looks like when he’s upset, and this…this is not it.

However, you decide to push away the inclination altogether, and carry on with your work as usual. Because even if something is wrong, it’s none of your concern anymore.

That is until Nadia mentions it over lunch.

“Listen, he’s a very complicated man,” she says when you comment on his odd behavior, waving her salad fork through the air. “He tries so hard to appear uninterested, but I know it’s just an act. Nobody is that heartless.”

You swirl your French fry around in your ketchup, mulling this over. “I don’t know. He doesn’t…I don’t think he’s heartless. I think that’s just…who he is. He has a one-track mind.”

Nadia snorts. “Please. You should have seen him before…”

Your little lunch corner goes oddly silent as she suddenly presses her lips together and winces.

“Before…?” you repeat curiously, head tilting.

“Nothing,” she’s quick to reply, dismissing the comment with a flutter of her hand. “No, nothing. He just…he was more open when he first started the company, that’s all.”

You know there’s more to that story than she’s letting on, but you don’t push. Instead nodding your head as you return to your burger, letting the inquiry rest.

However, the subject is changed for all of three minutes before she sighs, and finally says, “Okay, look, it’s none of my business. And I don’t even know all of details, but maybe this will help make your job…easier?”

Once again struck with curiosity, you motion for her to continue.

“He had an assistant before you,” she begins. “His first assistant actually. I don’t know too much because I was working the mail room. But I do know that they were really close. Maybe friends, maybe more. I don’t know. But they were close.”

You lean back in your seat, endlessly intrigued as you wait for the rest.

“And everybody loved them together. She made him so happy. He was always smiling, always laughing, always walking around the office talking to everybody. Engaging in chit chat and catching up on everyone’s lives.”

It’s odd to picture your boss so open. So…infatuated. In fact, this fantasy she’s painting doesn’t sound like the man you know at all.

You have to wonder how different things would have been if he were still the same.

“Anyway, I don’t know what happened exactly, but something bad,” Nadia sighs. “The rumor was that she was seeing somebody he didn’t like. He got crazy possessive over her, and it drove them apart. She quit, and he became this sullen, hollow version of himself. And now that’s just who he is, I guess.”

“That’s…so sad,” is about all you can offer, frowning some as she nods.

“Yeah. It was,” she agrees. “After her, he didn’t hire another personal assistant for quite some time. Until you, actually. Which was kind of surprising, and I think we were all a little worried for you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, you seem to be handling him just fine, which is great. But…I don’t know. He just became very…cold. Distant, I guess. Doesn’t really create personal relationships anymore.”

You have to admit that this makes sense, although it doesn’t exactly help make things any clearer for you. “That must have been hard for him.”

“Yeah. And maybe he taught himself not to care, but…I think he hides who he really is because of her,” she admits with a shrug. “Which sucks. ’Cause he’s such a good guy, deep down. He just…he’s afraid, I guess.”

You hate the way your heart breaks for him. Hate the way this humanizes him. Hate the way it makes you second guess every interaction the two of you have ever had.

“Does he ever talk about her?” you ask next.

“No, never. I don’t even remember her name, to be honest. It was forever ago. Five or six years, at least.”

“Wow.”

“Mhm. As far as I know, he doesn’t date, either. I think he fucks around a bit. I mean, he’s a guy, after all,” she teases. “But he doesn’t really do anything…meaningful. Maybe he doesn’t know how anymore.”

Your stomach twists around an invisible knife. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” she hums, digging back into her salad. “I don’t know. If he’s being rude, just tell him to fuck off. That always works for me.”

You laugh as the subject is dropped and the two of you carry on with your lunch.

But you think about it for the rest of the day, the information following you back to his office where you’re quick to find that he’s left for the afternoon. 

So, you sit with this discovery as you go through your tasks. Unable to stray from the thought for very long before your throat constricts, and you feel a wave of disappointment.

You text him as you’re leaving for the evening. A simple, “Finished prepping the presentation. Hope you’re okay,” before you tuck your phone away and head home.

Hours go by without a response. Not that you really expected one, but you can’t help feeling slightly guilty for the role you played in pushing him to open up.

And no matter how out of line he was, or how justified you were in asking for his honesty, you know how hard it must be for him to be honest with you.

Especially if what Nadia said is true.

After messaging Max for a bit about your upcoming video, you decide to run yourself a bath, letting the bubbles fill the tub as you watch the water rise.

You’ve barely slipped out of your socks when your phone vibrates on the porcelain sink, making you jump some at the sudden noise.

The familiar name flashes across the screen, making your heart skip as you hesitantly hit the green button and bring the phone to your ear. “…hello?”

“You did it, didn’t you?” Mr. Styles says, but even through the static, you can hear that there’s something off. 

“Did…what?” you ask hesitantly.

“You fucked him,” comes the reply. Blunt and void of any civility. “Max. You fucked him, didn’t you?”

With narrowed eyes, you turn the water off and step out of the bathroom. “I don’t believe that’s any of your concern—”

“So, yes,” he answers for you. Then, you hear him chuckle to himself. However, there’s something chilling about the way he laughs. Bitter, almost. “You’re very easy to read, Peach.”

You can feel your expression fall into one of annoyance as you lean against the wall in the hallway. “Mr. Styles—”

“Was he good?”

You glower. “Mr. Styles—”

“I already know the answer is no,” he continues. “Even your own fingers would be better, but…maybe I just wanted to hear you say he wasn’t.”

You contemplate this for only a moment before you cautiously ask, “Are you drunk?”

You can hear the subtle slur slip through the speaker, and your eyebrows raise as he snorts.

“No, I’m curious,” he retorts, but it makes your heart pound. “And I’m still a subscriber. So I want to know what to expect.”

Your stomach wrenches. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Why are you avoiding my question?”

“Mr. Styles—”

“You like to torture me, don’t you?” he interrupts, and there’s a hitch in your breath. “You always have. From the first day I met you. You were wearing that really nice dress. And your hair was up in that pretty ponytail. And you walked in like you were trying to walk into my life and ruin me.”

Your head falls back into the wall, eyes fluttering shut. “Sir—”

“And I let you,” he carries on. “I let you ruin me. I let you do the one thing I promised I’d never do, and now what? Now you’ve gone and strutted your way into somebody else’s life.”

And maybe he doesn’t know what he’s saying, but you feel this overwhelming rush of emotion, anyhow. “Mr. Styles, where are you?”

“Where would you like me to be?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Says you.”

You huff. “Mr. Styles—”

“Tell Max I said hello,” he says instead. “And then tell him I don’t mean it.”

“Mr. Styles—”

There’s some sort of loud noise on his end before the line suddenly beeps three times and the call goes dead.

And you can only stand there, flabbergasted, as you stare at your phone. Wondering what the hell just happened.

You’re frozen for a good minute or two, running through your options. He normally doesn’t reach out when he’s drinking, at least not to you, and definitely not this late.

Maybe it’s a silent cry for help or maybe he just wanted to bother you one last time.

Either way, it breeds something unnerving in your gut as you groan to yourself and head back to your room to retrieve your shoes.

You don’t imagine he’s out. He has to be at his apartment, so at least you know he’s probably safe. But you don’t know what he might do. You don’t know what that sound was, and if he’s managed to hurt himself, but you don’t think anyone will be there to help for quite a while.

You grab the key he’d given you a few months ago. It was meant only for emergencies, although you’ve never needed to use it.

Tonight, however, you decide that this is as good an excuse as any.

You call an Uber to take you to his place, the lavish apartment building smack in the middle of downtown, quite a bit away from you.  

Thankfully, the traffic isn’t too bad this late at night, and you’re grateful for the quick trip as you’re brought to a stop just outside the sidewalk in under thirty minutes.

You jump out, greet the doorman, and book it for the elevator before hitting the button for his apartment at the top of the building.

It’s a good three-minute ride before you finally reach his floor, and once those doors open, your heart leaps into your throat.

Even the hallway is exquisite, and your dirty Vans squeak along the newly waxed floors as you approach his apartment, and fumble with the key.

You unlock it as slowly and quietly as you can, hoping not to startle him if he is in fact inside, and the moment the door is cracked, you call, “Mr. Styles? Are you here?”

Everything is dark as you enter. Not a single lamp to be seen, only the soft glow of the city lights outside of his many large windows, and the pale shadow of the moon cascading across the floors.

You see silhouettes of furniture, walls, and a few appliances. Enough that you manage not to trip over anything as you make your way into his living room. 

And then, you see him.

The shape of his body is outlined by the window to your left. He’s sitting on the floor, back against the wall as he stares out at the tall skyscrapers before him. 

Your heart sinks as you pocket the keys and approach slowly. “Mr. Styles?”

He’s still. Deathly still, in fact. As if he hasn’t even heard you. He doesn’t even bother to look over or investigate your presence.

And then, he murmurs, “You shouldn’t be here.”

Your breath hitches.  “Maybe not,” you reply quietly, taking another cautious step. “But I was worried about you.”

He snorts, arms slung over his knees, a crystal glass in one hand that’s only got a few drops left. “How nice.”

“Mr. Styles,” you try again, “are you all right?”

Now close enough to catch a glimpse of his profile, you see the sweaty hair matted to his forehead. The strain in his jaw and the red rim around his eyes. 

“M’fine. You can go,” he calls.

You take another step. “You didn’t sound fine—”

“Well I am, all right?” he suddenly sneers, turning to face you as you lean back. “I don’t need your fucking pity.”

“It’s not pity. It’s concern,” you correct briskly. “You’re drunk, and upset—”

“Yeah? What was your first fucking clue?”

You shoot him a look of warning as you bridge the gap and hesitantly crouch down to his level. “Why are you drinking?”

“Because I fucking can,” is his reply, his normally soft green eyes now as sharp as the edge of a sword. “Is that a problem?”

“Maybe. Do you remember calling me?”

“Of course I fucking do. But I don’t remember asking you to come here.”

“You didn’t,” you agree. “But I wanted to. Because I was worried.”

“Why? Don’t you have better things to worry about now?”

You’ve never heard him sound so insecure, and you’re reminded again of Nadia’s story as you glance over his expression. “I haven’t slept with Max.”

This is the only thing that seems to reach him, his lashes fluttering as he leans back, although his scowl remains put. “Why not?”

“We just haven’t yet. We’re still planning the video.”

“So you’re going to?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“You think so.”

“I plan to.”

He scoffs beneath a quiet breath and looks back out the window. “And you needed to come here to tell me that?”

“I came here because I wanted to make sure you were okay,” you tell him again. “And to set the record straight.”

“Why? You were right, it’s none of my fucking business.”

“It’s not, but you still seem to care.”

He snorts. “I don’t fucking care who you sleep with, Peach.”

“Sure, okay. Is that why you tried to keep me from doing it?”

“I was trying to help.”

“You’d help me a lot more if you were honest.”

“I am honest. I’m always fucking honest.”

“Not about this.”

His eyes return to yours. “I told you, you can do better. That’s my honest opinion.”

“Fine.” You take a moment to study him. “Then why did you offer to help me?”

His head drops back against the wall as he mulls this over, but his gaze never leaves you. “Because you needed the help. I knew you could make more money if you just did things a little differently, and I was right.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“What else would it be?”

Your head tilts. “Why did you agree to be in the video with me?”

“You said you didn’t have anyone else.”

“Why did you get me custom jewelry with your initials?”

His teeth begin to grit, the grasp on his glass tightening some. “What?”

“The peaches would have been fine. My initials would have been fine. But you wanted me to wear your name,” you remind him. “Why?”

“I already told you, I wanted him to know who your real partner was—”

“Yeah? Then why did you leave?”

His lips press together. “I thought you didn’t care—”

“I do now. Why?”

“I had somewhere to be—”

“Where?”

“Where?”

“Yes, where? Where did you have to be?”

He seems to fight himself on the answer before finally admitting, “The gym.”

You lean back, blinking quickly. “I’m sorry, you rushed out of there to go to the gym?”

“Yes.”

Now it’s your turn to scoff as you shake your head. “Wow. No, I should have assumed as much. Makes perfect sense. Clearly that was so much more important than just telling me I made you uncomfortable—”

“You didn’t,” he suddenly interjects, shooting you this look like he’s disappointed in your response. “I left because I knew I couldn’t stay.”

“You couldn’t stay? And why the fuck not?”

“Because—” He stops himself, once again clamping his jaw shut as if wrestling with the truth. Then, he drops his head, eyes finding the floor as he glares at the marble beneath. “Because I couldn’t.”

And you want to scream because you don’t know if he’ll ever be honest with you. Don’t know what to do to reach him.

“You know what I think?” you finally huff, and he looks up. “I think this is about her.”

Confused, he glances over your expression. “Her who?”

“The girl who used to work for you. Your first assistant. The one who left.”

Instantly, the atmosphere changes, his entire demeanor shifting on a dime as he presses his back into the wall and shoots you a venomous look of intimidation. “Oh you do, do you?”

“Yeah.” You hold your ground, keep your shoulders stiff. “I think you loved her. I think you were honest with her. I think you let yourself trust her, and I think…she broke that trust.”

You can tell he’s not quite sure what to do with this, furrowed brows still knitted together. “And where the fuck did you get that?”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s true, isn’t it?”

His finger taps the edge of the crystal in thought, but his contemplative expression remains. “Even if it were, what does this have to do with us?”

“Everything,” you say simply. “She broke your trust, and you chose not to get close to anyone again. But then you started helping me. And we got closer. And created a bond—created trust. And the second you realized, you ran for the hills.”

He snorts again, but he doesn’t rush to deny it.

So, you carry on. “Max coming along only made things worse for your fragile little ego. And maybe you were trying to keep it from happening again, but you did a really shitty job of it. And now here we are, sitting on your floor, saying everything but what we really mean.”

He’s angry. He’s so very angry, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly, fighting himself on what he really wants to say.

You scoot closer, gently reaching out to take the crystal glass from his hand so you can place it on the floor. Then, you rest your palm atop his arm, and meet his eye.

“Harry,” you whisper, and he sucks in a sharp breath, tensing beneath your touch. “I’m not her. And maybe that’s a good thing, maybe it’s not. But I have only ever wanted it to be you.”

He’s quiet but you have his full attention. And the intrigue in his features urges you to continue.

“Even before you told me that you watched, I imagined you,” you admit quietly. “I’ve always imagined you. Your voice, and your hands, and your face. And yeah, I didn’t mind keeping things…professional. Strictly about the content and nothing more. But…you have to know I wanted more.”

Once again, the back of his head meets the wall, as if bracing himself from your honesty.

“I wanted more,” you repeat. “And I thought you did, too. Maybe that’s why it’s been so hard, and maybe that’s why I tried to use Max to move on. But I never wanted Max. I only wanted you. I just…I wasn’t sure I could have you.”

He looks down at your hand, gaze softening when he sees the way it looks on his arm. Like he’s mesmerized by your touch.

“And I need you to tell me right now what you want,” you say softly. “I need the truth. I have to know if we’re running around in circles for no reason, or if…maybe we can get off this ride together.”

He’s silent for quite a long stretch, letting himself ponder a response as the apartment fills with a solemn quiet.

You study his face in the soft glow of the moonlight, wonderstruck by the sharp curve of his jaw in contrast to the soft curls near his cheeks.

Even now, he’s breathtaking.

Finally, he clears his throat. “Ellie.”

“What?”

“Her name,” he says, “was Ellie. And you’re right, I did trust her. But I ruined it. Not her.”

Now it’s your turn to listen as he recalls this memory to you, nodding gently for him to continue.

“She didn’t…she loved somebody that wasn’t me. That was her only fault,” he murmurs, once again staring at your hand as your thumb strokes his tan skin. “And it wasn’t even a fault. But I hated it. Because I wanted it to be me. And it was never going to be me. We both knew that.”

Slowly, his arm turns over, allowing your gentle touches to dance along the more sensitive skin.

You smile.

“I crossed so many fucking lines,” he admits quietly. “As her boss, as her friend. I pushed her away only to drag her back and try to keep her close. I suffocated her. I let myself need her in ways I shouldn’t have. She had every right to leave. In fact, she should have left sooner.”

You feel the tips of his fingers brush against you as he subtly grabs on.

“And then you,” he whispers, eyes still locked on where you’re connected. “I’d been doing so good. Didn’t let myself slip again, and then you came along, and everything was fucked. Because I knew I couldn’t do to you what I’d done to her. But I let myself think about you anyway. Even when I shouldn’t have.”

You can feel tears crawling up the back of your throat, and the wounded look on his face is like a fist to the heart.

“And for some fucking reason, I thought offering my advice would allow me to know you without ruining anything,” he sighs, tugging you a bit closer until your knees collide with his. “Which obviously didn’t work. And then I was looking for excuses to be with you. To have you. To touch you. Even though I knew better. Even though I had to know better.”

He takes a deep breath. Holds it. 

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he eventually exhales. “And I got scared that the only reason you felt like you wanted more was because I somehow tricked you into it. I confused you, I manipulated the situation. It wasn’t real. And I wanted it to be real. But then Max, and I got so fucking angry, and I knew I was doing it again. And I couldn’t. I couldn’t do that to you.”

He won’t look up. He won’t meet your eye, and the hard set of his jaw makes you take hold of his other arm and squeeze it tight.

“Harry,” you whisper, but his head shakes quickly.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he barrels on, fingers wrapping around your elbow, keeping you close. “Because I can’t have it. I can’t have you. And you were right, I can’t be your partner anymore. I can only be your boss.”

You frown but it’s sad. “Harry—”

“Mr. Styles,” he corrects, finally shooting you a look of warning that breaks your heart.

But you aren’t deterred. Instead, you release him so you can wedge yourself between his legs and take hold of his face. “Harry,” you repeat, urgent but gentle. “This? It’s not the same.”

He struggles a bit in your grasp, tensing up as he tries to pull away. But it only lasts a second before he’s settling into your embrace, allowing you to guide his attention to you.

“It’s real,” you whisper. “It’s so fucking real. It was real even before you called me poor and badly dressed.”

This earns you your first smirk of the evening, and the butterflies that explode in your gut nearly make you dizzy.

“You’ve tried to push me away over and over. But I’m still sitting here, on your floor, begging you to talk to me.” Your thumbs delicately brush across the bags under his eyes, and he seems to nuzzle into your palms. “It’s not the same. You’re not just my boss or my investor. You’re my partner, Harry. And I can’t do this without you.”

His arms slowly slip around your middle, encouraging you onto his lap as his legs drop.

And you eagerly oblige, straddling his hips with ease as you look down at him.

“I don’t want to do this without you,” you murmur. “So don’t make me. Please.”

For a moment, you aren’t sure what he’ll do. What he’ll say or feel. He’s still somewhat tense, and far too quiet.

Then, he tugs, crashing your lips into his.

And it’s the most honest thing he’s ever done.

“Turn around.”

The strong command leaves no room for argument as you quickly spin on your heel, eager to obey.

Your ass is revealed to the camera. Bright red from the many spanks Mr. Styles has landed to it. It complements the dark black lingerie set he recently purchased for you, something you’re both rather proud of, and perhaps the main feature of this video.

You hear him hum his approval as he approaches, large hands slipping over the curves of your hips. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs before shoving you onto the bed. “Think it’s time we show them what a wet little whore you are, hm?”

You feel his finger hook into the crotch of the panties before he’s ripping them aside, allowing your swollen cunt to glisten for the lens.

You gasp as the cool air hits you, but it quickly melts into a desolate whine when you feel his touch ghost up the back of your thigh.

“Look at you,” he muses, palms pulling on your cheeks to spread you open, giving your audience a firsthand glimpse of your mess. “So fucking pathetic, aren’t you, Peach? And all I’ve done is spank you.”

“Can’t…can’t help it, Sir,” you pant, steadying yourself on your hands and knees as your eyes flutter shut. “Just want you.”

“Oh you do, do you?” He kneads your bruised flesh with admiration. “Do you think you deserve it?”

You squirm a bit as you whimper, desperate to lean back into his touch before he lands another smack to your thigh, reminding you to stay still.

“Yes,” you finally answer, chin meeting your chest. “Wanna deserve it for you.”

You hear him chuckle under his breath as he allows his touch to travel toward your dripping pussy, large digit pushing through your folds just to make you mewl.

“I bet you do,” he replies, running up and down your cunt to collect you. Tease you. “But we have a deal, don’t we, honey?”

You want to kill him and kiss him all at the same time.

“Yes, Sir.”

“We do.” He pats you again, this time gently. “Go on and grab it, all right?”

With a nod, you outstretch your shaky hand for the object sitting on the bed only a few inches in front of you.

Already tender and slightly swollen from the way he played with you earlier (casually and much too cruel), you feel a rush of excitement as you hand him the chain.

After taking hold of it, he moves to sit in front of you, allowing him better access to the front of your body as he motions for you to sit back on your ankles.

“You ready?” he asks quietly, eyes flicking between yours as he looks for your consent.

You nod. “Always.”

With that, he reaches for your exposed tits and begins preparing your nipples for the clamps.

You swallow a dozen whines and whimpers as he works them shut, the subtle ache quickly dissolving into an immeasurable type of pleasure.

And he’s smiling so big, like he’s so proud of you. Proud of the way you look, proud of the way you feel, proud of the way you obey.

It makes the yearning in-between your thighs that much worse as he travels the other end of the chain down to your clit.

Once again, he plays with you. Drags his fingers up, down, and through to make you writhe, and make sure you’re ready.

Then, with great care but devious intent, he slips the clamp along the base of the sensitive nerves and secures it.

You choke on a gasp, body stilling as the sensation becomes a bit more familiar. It’s quite thrilling. Not painful, but prominent. Taunting you with its power as you glance down at the way it holds you.

Harry leans back to study you, carefully observing every pull of your brows or hitch in your breath. “You okay, Peach?”

You nod, lip sliding between your teeth.

He frowns. “Color.”

“Green,” you say quickly, nails digging into your thighs as you release a heavy exhale. “It’s just…new.”

His expression softens as he reaches out to grasp onto your chin and squeeze once. “I know, my love. But you’ll take it for me, won’t you?”

And you say, “Yes,” with so much adoration and excitement that it returns those dimples to you.

His eyes drift toward the computer, checking the status of the livestream you assume before he leans forward and presses his lips to yours. 

You know your faces aren’t in the frame, but it makes your heart pound nonetheless as he offers you a moment of his affection. 

“How’s your ass?” he mumbles between kisses to your bottom lip.

You nod gently and sigh into his mouth. “Good. Sore.”

And he chuckles as he sends you a devious wink. “Good.”

With that, he stands, and begins to undo his belt as he returns to his spot behind you. He doesn’t plan to be gentle today. Not for your first live appearance, and you’re grateful for his punishing hand as it ghosts down your spine, guiding you.

It travels between your thighs, tapping them briskly as a reminder to keep them spread as you bend back over.

And once you’ve braced yourself against the mattress, you feel those long, skilled fingers nudging at you again.

“Sir,” you whisper, desperate for the friction as he keeps his touch light, merely tracing patterns along your folds while humming to himself.

“Yes, Peach?”

You swallow thickly. “Please?”

“Please?” His thumb moves up to brush over your tighter hole, and you gasp again as you await any sort of contact. “Please what?”

“Please…please touch me?”

“Touch you,” he repeats thoughtfully, as if considering it. “I don’t know. Have you disobeyed any of my rules?”

With a quick shake of your head, you glance down at the duvet beneath you, the expensive fabric soft beneath your clenched fists.

“Have you used any naughty language?” he asks, the tip of his middle finger lowering to circle through your arousal. 

“No,” you breathe.

He begins to push in, leaving your other opening alone. At least for today. “Have you called me by the wrong name?”

Not aloud, you think, biting back a smirk as you murmur, “No, Sir.”

The digit travels a bit further, the feeling of him pushing past your tight walls like heroin as you reel.

“Have you taken your punishment like a good girl?” he inquires next, and you chew on the inside of your lip as you nod.

“Yes.”

And you can’t exactly see him, but you can practically hear his smirk as he suddenly adds a second finger in beside the first, just to surprise you.

“Yes,” he agrees. “You have. Been my perfect peach, haven’t you? Guess you’re showing off for them, hm? Letting them think you’re actually an obedient little cock-whore?”

And maybe you are showing off, at least a little, but it’s hard not to obey this man. He just makes it so…worth it.

“Yes,” you call again, desperate to please him. “Only for you, Sir.”

Suddenly, you feel his fist against your scalp, scraping through your roots as he furiously yanks, forcing your head up.

“Only for me,” he nearly seethes, dipping down to press his lips against your ear. “Want you to fucking say it. Every time I touch you. Every time I make you come. Want you to say it. Remind them who you really belong to.”

Apparently, having his initials glimmer from your nipples isn’t enough, but that’s more than all right with you.

You’ll happily vow your life to him as many times as he needs. Because there’s something empowering about having a man beg you to be his.

And for the first time since you’ve met him, you realize…you’re on the same ground. Equal partners. Equal power. 

You and him.

One.

With that instruction, he curls, now stroking and thrusting into you with a fervent need to force you up the mountain. 

“Only you,” you whisper between salacious moans for relief. “Only, Sir.”

“That’s right,” he hisses, smacking his other palm against your ass before groping at the tender skin. Soothing it and stimulating it at the same time.

The pace increases, faster and faster until you feel as though you can’t breathe. Until you’re trying to meet his rhythm by rocking back into his touch, but the hand on your hip holds you steady. Makes you patient. 

“Only you.” It’s almost inaudible, released through quivering lips as you begin to slip into your first. “Only you. Only…”

He plunges in to the knuckle, beckoning you toward your release as it hits you hard. Fireworks go off behind your eyes as you keen, sweat beading around your hairline, and chest heaving.

“God, only you,” you barely manage as you fight for air. “Just you, Sir. Always.”

He takes his fingers out, allowing the world to see your come drip along the insides of your thighs. And the loss of contact makes your chest ache as you whimper and peek over your shoulder for a glimpse of his face.

He’s smug. Because of course he is, endlessly pleased with the way you’ve come undone so quickly.

Wet digits quickly outstretch for your cheeks, pushing on your lips to accentuate your already obvious pout.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he warns darkly. “You know better.”

You glance up at him with remorse and desperation, hoping your tiny hum will be enough to sway him. “M’sorry, Daddy.”

It’s the first time today you’ve used the nickname, and you watch the effect it has on him as he tightens his grip and scrapes his teeth together.

“Peach,” he grumbles, “don’t fucking test me. Not today.”

“I’m not. Promise. Just wanna feel you.”

And that’s the truth. It’s all you ever want. Want his cock, his time, his attention. Anything he’ll give you, and he knows this.

Because he wants you just as bad.

And maybe, if he had the strength, he’d punish you for this little game. He’d waste hours just making you wait for him. Tying you up, leaving you to beg, taunting you with something you can’t have.

But today, that would punish him, too. And you can see that he doesn’t have the capacity to go without you, not even for show.

So, he releases his hold on you only to land a very firm and sharp smack to your cheek. And it stings but it feels so good, forcing another groan as you lean back. 

“And you will,” he finally decides, settling behind you again as he begins to tug his pants down. “Gonna feel me for days, honey. Make sure you can’t fucking sit without thinking of me.”

Just the image of you in one of those boardroom meetings, legs still bruised and clenched tightly together as you sit for hours on end makes you gasp.

He’s gotten braver recently. Normally, he’s tame. Making you rest on his lap in the privacy of his office while he absentmindedly runs circles over your clit. Answering emails as he plays with you. Like it’s just an average workday.

But now he tries to tease you in public. In meetings, at lunch, when you’re apart. Making you sit with a remote-controlled toy deep inside your cunt during a meeting with the board of directors. Changing the tempo over and over again while forcing your silence. Leaving you to squirm in your seat as you silently beg him for mercy.

Sometimes he gives it to you. Most times…he does not.

You imagine this week will be no different. Especially after today. He always gets a bit more insatiable after the two of you have posted a video together. 

He’ll make you watch it in his office. His now favorite tradition. And the comments and response will encourage something in him that makes you giddy. Possessive yet proud. Like he wants to outdo himself next time. Make you come harder, longer, faster. Make everyone watching eat their fucking hearts out.

You feel the tip of his swollen cock brush down your folds, lazily rubbing against you as he alerts you of his presence.

Just the feel of him makes you breathless, back arching as you silently plead with him for more.

He won’t give it to you, at least not yet. Not until he’s had a chance to watch you soak him.

He presses his hand against it, trapping it to your cunt while gliding it through your arousal. Gentle thrusts that have you clenching around nothing until you hear him curse to himself.

“Beg me,” he calls, grasping onto your ass cheek to pull it apart, allowing him a better view. “Beg me to fuck you, Peach. Beg Daddy to make it better.”

“Please,” you comply instantly, a subtle quiver in your voice. “Please, Daddy. Need you. Need to feel you. Hurts.”

“Oh, honey,” he coos, finally circling the rim of your aching hole and pushing in only an inch just to pull back. “Bet it does. Know I’ve been teasing you all day, haven’t I?”

You whine again. “I deserved it. Always love it when you tease me.”

He chuckles under his breath, and you know you’ve made him proud. “That’s right. Know you do, my love. Because you know I just wanna make it better for you, hm?”

“I know.” You attempt to wiggle back into him, but his unrelenting grip keeps you frozen to your spot. “Always do, Sir. Always make it better.”

He slides in again, further this time, allowing your body to stretch for him. Then, he slides out, leaving you to wilt as you swallow a groan.

“And I always will,” he answers, knee knocking into your inner thigh as an instruction to spread your legs a bit further. “Just have to behave for me. Think you can do that, Peach? Think you can be good for me?”

And you’ve never wanted anything more, head nodding quickly before he finally thrusts into you with such power and dominance that it knocks the wind from your lungs.

Truth be told, you never know what you’re going to get with him. What rhythm will drive him. But you’ll take anything he offers. Because hard and slow or fast and eager…it’s perfect. Sets your nerves on fire and leaves you desperate and depraved.

The sounds of him pushing through and pulling out are sure to be captured by the microphone. You can’t see the computer, but you imagine the audience is loving it. They always seem to enjoy sounds as much as you do. And Harry’s sounds are the best.

Your quick breaths intertwine seamlessly with his unforgiving grunts. Like a melody for the soul, and you slowly slide down until your chest meets the mattress, although your ass stays up.

He seems to like this angle, nails scraping down your spine before he lands another smack to your cheek. “There she is.”

Both sets of clamps are stimulated as you’re pushed against the bed, making your eyes roll back every time he drives himself to the hilt.

The pain is delicious. Exactly what you’d needed, and just when you think it can’t get any better…he slips an arm around your stomach and forces you back up.

Instantly, his hand is on your throat, tugging your back into his chest as he settles you down on his cock. 

Dominant fingertips press into the sides of your neck, playing with your airways as you gasp. And for a moment, you are nothing more than his toy. Just a body for him to use, and the idea makes you clamp down on him until he groans and nuzzles his nose into your shoulder.

But you know it’s more to him than that. Know that you’re not just this thing for him to abuse and ruin. He wants to worship you. Treat your body like the divine gift it is, and even though this display of aggression is uncouth…it’s meant for you. To make you feel good. Everything he does is always for you.

“So good, baby,” he whispers, just quiet enough that only you can hear. “Fucking love the way you feel, Peach. Always so warm for me. So wet. My perfect hole.”

You shudder, nails reaching for his arm to scratch down his skin. Desperate to be even closer to him. 

His hand then drops to your chest, finding your breast and groping at it mercilessly as you cry out. The clamps are tugged, stimulating the rings, and forcing your back to arch. So many sensations are being exploited that it’s nearly impossible to think straight. Your mind is mush, focused only on one thing to keep from drowning:

Him.

“Wanna come, don’t you?” he taunts, now louder so the audience can hear. “Wanna come on my cock, so they see what I do to you?”

You nod quickly, unable to vocalize your agreement. But he doesn’t need it. He knows. Can read your body like a book, and it makes him smile into your heated skin.

“Good,” he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to your neck before reaching down to undo the clamp around your clit. “Go.”

The moment the pressure is released, it hits you. Your toes curl, your eyes roll back, and you make so many noises, you wouldn’t be surprised if the people below Harry’s apartment can hear you.

He works you through each ripple and aftershock, perhaps hoping to send you into a third, but your body needs a moment to recharge. 

And this is more than fine with him because it gives him a bit more time to watch himself disappear into you. His favorite part.

You collapse in his hold, held up only by his strong arm that’s thankfully bare, allowing you to glance down at his tattoos.

He takes his shirt off for almost every video now. He knows that nobody will be able to recognize his tattoos, but he especially knows how much you love them. Love to lick them, trace them, stare at them.

Your perfect pastime, and you think this now as you grip onto his wrist and squeeze. 

He exhales into your shoulder before he’s suddenly cursing and pulling out, the sound of his slick cock slipping from your cunt making you whimper.

With a single pat to your hip, he growls, “On your back.”

You nearly throw yourself down onto the bed, finally able to face him fully as you’re met with the sight of his flushed cheeks.

He’s so beautiful when he’s turned on, and you feel nothing but grateful to be able to witness this sight firsthand. Even your audience is denied such a pleasure, and it makes it feel that much more special to you.

He pushes your legs apart and settles between your thighs, grasping onto his cock before guiding it toward your chest.

He never comes inside you on film. He claimed it was because they don’t deserve to see it, and you didn’t argue. You like the idea. Occasionally he’ll capture a short clip of the way he leaks out of your pussy, but it’s never posted. Instead saved just for the two of you to watch whenever you need.

So while you’ll miss feeling him inside of you today, you know that it’s worth it. You like that you get to keep something for just the two of you. You like this possessive side of him.

Love it, in fact.

Nodding at your breasts, he silently instructs you to grab them, to which you do, pushing them together as he brings his swollen and soaked cock closer.

Slowly, he slides between your tits, disappearing beneath the supple flesh as you both groan your approval.

He’s already seconds away from his own release, but he edges himself by fucking your tits for as long as he can. Staring wordlessly at the way he looks beside his initials on your nipples.

“Fuck, Peach,” he breathes, brows knitted together as his jaw clenches. “Like it like this, don’t you? Like it when I come like this?”

And you do, a soft sough of agreement all you can offer as you look down at the way his tip pokes through the valley you’ve created. The contrast of his pink flesh against your skin is beautiful. Artful, even. And it makes you smile, wider than you have all day.

His pace is slow, allowing you to feel the slickness paint your chest before he’s suddenly tensing, the muscles in his stomach contracting quickly.

You await his offering eagerly, practically panting as you watch him run his palm along his cock before he’s releasing all over your torso and chest. 

He falls forward, bracing himself with a hand beside your head while you throw your arms around his neck to keep him close.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you whisper as he milks the last few drops. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

You feel a shiver roll across his body at your comment before he’s smashing his lips into yours, dancing his relieved sighs across your tongue. 

It takes a good minute or two for you both to find your bearings, but once you have, he reaches toward the nightstand where the remote lies.

Aiming it at the camera, he clicks a couple of buttons, and the red light turns off, signaling that the livestream has ended.

Now alone in his massive bedroom, he grins down at you. “My sweet fucking girl. Did so well for me, honey.”

You bask in his praise, nuzzling your nose against his before pressing a kiss to his cheek. “That was fun. Like it when you fuck my tits.”

“Yeah?” He’s smirking again, palm now smacking against your breast just to watch it jiggle. “Good. ’Cause I don’t plan to stop.”

Your arms snake tighter around his neck until he’s forced to lay his chest against yours. “Think they liked it?”

“I know they did,” he murmurs, face disappearing into your neck as he breathes you in, sweaty or not. “They love you, Peach. You’re so good to them.”

You press your lips into his hair.

“You’re good to me, too,” he adds quietly, sliding his hand across your body until he can hold onto you. “Always so fucking good. Best thing that ever happened to me.”

A sort of flutter happens in your stomach as you squeeze him tighter. “Ditto.”

You stay there for a few minutes at least, teetering on the verge of sleep before Harry declares you need to get clean. 

He scoops you up and carries you to his large bathtub, dipping you into the warm water once it’s ready and settling himself on the other side to face you.

You talk for what feels like hours, until you’re pruned, and the bubbles have disappeared. You go over the scene, go over what you think the comments will be, and even go over his schedule for the upcoming work week.

It’s weird the way you’ve managed to balance the relationship of boss and lover. You’re able to distinguish the two and create the appropriate boundaries. Making it easier to work together without driving each other nuts.

 Something else you’re grateful for.

You stare at his wet abs as he talks, smiling to yourself as you admire every curve of his stomach, and every nipple he has to offer.

He splashes some water at you when he realizes before grabbing hold of your ankles and sliding your closer.

You kiss until you can’t breathe, and life feels really good.

Really fucking good.

Once you’re out and dried, you make your way back to his bedroom to make sure everything from the livestream is in order.

You scroll through a few of the responses together, making mental notes of what to do next time. And once you’re both in agreement that everything looks good, he adds it to your shared profile.

Appropriately titled,

Peaches and Cream.

I have no excuse for this or explanation, I'm just gonna blame it on the sick meds I took 🙃

I already miss them but I'm absolutely going to be doing some extras and maybe that'll make it not hurt so much 😭💞

Thank you to everyone who's read and been so kind and supportive!!! You have my entire heart forever and ever, I cannot tell you how appreciative I am 🥹♥️ This has been so fun!!

Peaches and Cream forever!!

Previous Part:

~ Four to Go*

~ Full One for the Money Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Credit for the incredible and perfectly peachy dividers to @firefly-graphics!!

Of course her boss couldn’t possibly have known about the extra number error, unless Dante — her boss, who was a rather nice one and wanted his employers to call him by his first name, because it was such a unique name he couldn’t possibly answer to such a simple and common thing as ‘boss’ —  was some kind of supernatural being able to foresee the future. She frowned as she tossed the thought from her head. She likes to think she would’ve noticed if her boss was not human, but despite his uncommon name, he was a pretty normal guy, somewhat laid back and kind of understanding with his employees, so nothing stuck out in that sense.

There was another thing that came to mind when she tried to find a reason for his unpredicted call, probably much more possible than her starring in an episode of Supernatural with Dante, and that was, maybe, that her break up had finally caught up to her. She’d tried to keep it as low as possible, not that she had a lot of friends at work, but one coworker of hers was particularly noisy and would ask once in a while how her boyfriend, Aaron, was doing. So when said coworker had asked, she’d just shrug it off with a ‘he’s all right,' without mentioning how she’d found him in bed with her best friend only a week before. 

She’d kept her crying to a minimum, excusing herself to the bathroom every once in a while when the image of her boyfriend on top of her best friend crept inside her mind when she wasn’t busying herself with work. 

So she really can’t understand how Dante figured it out. Her work had been impeccable, and despite her many bathroom breaks, she swore nothing had changed in her demeanor.

YN doesn’t know why when something unexpected happens, she always thinks about the worst possible scenario. Her mind fogged with images of Dante firing her, Dante being a supernatural something, biting her head off because he predicted she’d type the wrong number and probably make his company go bankrupt, ruining a life’s work — of course YN didn’t have such responsibility (she was supervised in everything she did) and her job was rather dull, just a lot of bureaucracies and not as much research as expected. 

She certainly hadn’t imagined Dante’d called her in his office because he wanted to offer her a promotion. She honestly couldn’t believe her ears and she’d almost asked him to repeat himself had it not be for his endless monologue about the importance of team work and how she had to take one for the team, besides, moving to a small town in the Alps was nothing, and it was only for two years, so why would she decline? 

Wait. Moving? To the Alps? (She honestly doesn’t even know where the Alps are, but is too embarrassed to ask him, and promises herself she’ll google it once she gets back to her desk.)

Turns out, the position was vacant because her coworker Anais had just found out she was expecting a baby, so she couldn’t move anymore (especially to the Alps!, he’d said), and Dante had immediately thought of YN, because well, as he said, she was young and didn’t have anything holding her back. YN remembers she frowned at that, because she really didn’t have anything keeping her there, if not the possibility of running into her ex at the supermarket hand in hand with her friend.

With that in mind, she kind of accepted before really taking the time to think about it, desperate to get out of a place that felt suffocating all of a sudden. 

Dante had been ecstatic to hear that, going on and on about how they recently found out traces of a wild grizzly bear that had been thought extinct for many years, and how she’d love working in the field as opposed to her office job.

He explained how her living situation was already sorted out (and paid for by the company), she figured probably because Anais had done the house hunting prior to finding out she was pregnant and couldn’t go. Dante had told her she’d be leaving in two weeks, and the plane was non refundable so she couldn’t just change dates. Plus, he said, they were expecting her, so she better pack fast! (YN had felt ravish at that, because she never truly felt indispensable for her actual coworkers.)

She’d managed to pack all her and her dog’s — a one year old dachshund named Baguette —  stuff in ten days, making sure she had enough warm clothes to last her at least all winter, because as it turns out, she had googled where the Alps are, and they’re really, really, cold. Temperatures dropping below the zero in March cold.

YN, who, she’d like to think, wasn’t someone scared of changes and adapted to situations rather well, was kind of excited as she had gotten on the plane, ready to leave her life behind, because, really, how bad could it be?

. . .

Turns out, it was pretty bad. And when YN says bad, it means bad, because she isn’t one to use words lightheartedly. When she says bad, she means her suitcases got stalled at the airport because of custom checks bad. Gets dark at four in the afternoon bad. Had to walk in the freezing March weather (along a steep climb!), because there wasn’t any kind of public transportation kind of bad. 

So, yes, it was pretty bad. Not to completely drain her of her enthusiasm, but definitely enough to dim it. 

When she reached the gate of the house, she took her phone from her pocket and unlocked it, opening the mail’s app and looking for the one her landlord had sent her with all the details (he technically hadn’t sent it to her, but to Anais; Dante had forwarded it to her and assured her the landlord — a certain Mr. Styles, knew about her arrival and would greet her in his house — more like his garden — with open arms). 

She nodded to herself once she finished reading the instructions, opening the gate with the code Mr. Styles had written in the email. She repeated the combination of numbers a couple of times in her head, so she could remember it better in the future, and once she heard the gate had been unlocked, she pushed it open with one hand, looping her fingers around the embroidery on the metal.

“C’mon, Baguette!” She said, lowering to the ground and picking up her small dog. Baguette got extremely tired from walking and she certainly couldn’t blame her. She felt pretty tired too, almost enough to get already in bed at five in the afternoon and sleep though the night, and she let herself gleam in the cozy daydream while she paved the way to the small house she’d be staying in, annex to a much bigger one where she figured Mr. Styles (and probably his wife? His family? She didn’t know) lived in. She felt herself grimace once she realized she didn’t even have her pajamas, so before she could fulfill her little dream, she had to at least stop at a supermarket to get something to sleep in.

She prayed in her mind it was close, because really, she didn’t know how long she had before her feet would give up on her.

YN wasn’t one to pry on people’s personal spaces, never had been (not even when she passed her crush’s house in 8th grade and her mind begged her to take a quick peek inside to see if he was home) and she regarded houses as very personal, intimate, spaces, so she doesn’t know why, on her way to her own house, she stopped to get on her toes and look inside what seemed to be a kitchen window. The house seemed empty, the lights turned off expect for a small lamp in the corner, and she possibly couldn’t have known that Mr. Styles had just gotten out of his car and was walking towards her with a look that, had she seen it, probably would have scared her.

“What the hell are you doing?” He snapped, making her jump. She turned toward him right away, watching him shut the car door loudly, a stern look adorning his otherwise gentle features.

“Uhm… hello?” She questioned, furrowing her brows at him, “I’m YN, the — she cleared her voice and pointed with her thumb in the direction of the small house — the new tenant. Who are you?”

YN tried to rattle inside her brain if Dante had mentioned a flatmate she’d be sharing the house with, but nothing came to mind. So who was he? 

“YN?” He asked, the furrow in his brows only deepening. He had gotten incredibly close to her and YN felt unease at having her personal space involved like that, which is kind of ironic, must she say. 

She nodded, mumbling a small yes along with it.

“I thought Anais was supposed to come?” 

Did he know Anais? How did he know her? 

Oh! 

Oh. 

Could he be? 

He certainly couldn’t! 

He was much younger than she’d imagined!

She thought Mr. Styles would be an odd, off putting kind of elderly person, who maybe had a wife or an old dog Baguette could play with. She certainly couldn’t have imagined Mr. Styles was this handsome (yet scary), tall guy, with a mop of chocolate brown curly hair down to his shoulders, eyes as green as the deepest forest she dreamt about while reading fantasy books when she was younger, broad shoulders and… were those swallows she could see from the low collar of his white cotton shirt? And who wears only a shirt in this weather? He must be mad!   

“Oi!” He waved a hand in front of her face to catch her attention, “i’m talking to you.” 

She mumbled something incomprehensible and then she gulped before nodding her head, “sorry. Anais couldn’t come anymore, Dante told me you knew.”

She watched as Mr. Styles scoffed, muttering a ‘what a prick’ before shaking his head, a strand of curly hair falling in front of his eyes, which he pushed out of his face with a couple of gentle fingers. YN noticed the various rings adorning his hands, and she wondered for a brief moment wether they were a gift or if he’d buy them himself.

He looked over her briefly and YN shifted her weight from foot to foot, thinking he was probably wondering why she didn’t have any bags with her. She was getting ready to explain how the airport security had detained them, but the words haltered in her throat when she saw him raise a hand and letting the sleepy Baguette in her arms sniff it, before scratching his ear.

“What a cute doggy” he said, lowering himself to be face to face with the small dog, “what’s your name?” He asked directly to Baguette, and YN felt as if all of a sudden she was the dog and Baguette was her owner, and she blushed at that thought. 

“This is Baguette!” She chimed awkwardly.

“Ha” he snorted through his nose, “cute name. Baguette” he repeated, and the name rolled off his tongue so sweetly YN imagined what hers would sound like coming from his lips. Probably much more stern and less saccharine. 

 “Okay, I have to go.” He raised himself, making her jump a little in her place. He straightened his shirt and looked at her with a crossed look, “you know how to get in, right? Or do I have to explain that too?”

YN couldn’t possibly know what other things he had explained, but she wasn’t clueless and had realized Mr. Styles didn’t particularly like her, so she figured it was best to say she did and figure it out on her own. So, she nodded and he gave a short nod back, walking past her towards his own house. 

She watched him unlock the door with a set of keys and then disappear behind the front door, her gaze fixed on his broad shoulder covered only by the thin fabric of his shirt. She felt Baguette wiggle her tail from where she was holding her between her arms, and YN rolled her eyes at her dog, “of course you like him already! Traitor!”

. . . 

YN didn’t knock on Mr. Styles’s door with the intention of bothering him. 

She just wanted to ask him where she could buy something to sleep in and perhaps something to eat, an overpriced airport sandwich being the only thing she’d eaten all day. So, she thought, her intentions were pretty harmless, and it’s not like she was expecting an invite in for dinner or something like that! 

She truly didn’t mean to be a bother, but her stomach had started to grumble half an hour ago, and she dreamed of the hot shower she’d take after, which she couldn’t possibly take if she wasn’t certain she’d have something to sleep in comfortably. 

When a couple of minutes had passed and there was still no trace of Mr. Styles, she wondered whether he was even home. Her mind lingered just a second on the possibility that he was actually avoiding her, but YN was one of those people that always chose to see the good in others, so she got rid of the thought as quickly as it had come. 

She knocked on the door again, this time harder and firmer, and she waited patiently. She was almost about to give up, when the door opened before her with a swift movement that caught her off guard.

Mr. Styles looked displeased once he set his scrutinizing gaze on her figure, and YN could almost feel his eyes touch her. 

“What?” He asked, his brows furrowed on his forehead.

“I was just wondering if you knew a place where I could…like… it’s just that… I think you probably noticed, I don’t have my suitcases. And it’s honestly fine, the airport was packed so I don’t really blame them, and the hostess was so nice! She offered to refund me for the problem, but I didn’t want to go through all that… but now I really need my clothes so I don’t… ugh” she sighed frustratedly. YN tends to kind of talk really fast when she’s nervous. She’s always been like that, especially in front of boys, and her ex boyfriend always used to get mad at her for that — said it was embarrassing and made her look dumb; she’d tried many times to explain it wasn’t something she could control easily, but he’d suggested she’d fix it fast (especially if she wanted to meet his friends).

“Sorry” she exhaled, closing her blabbering mouth in a straight line. 

Harry waited for her to continue what she was saying, his face stoic and impossible to read, which didn’t help soothe her nerves. 

“Is there a place where I can get some clothes?”

“You moved across the country without clothes?” He asked, his brows closed in a furrow across his face that made YN even more nervous. She felt dumb. She wanted to explain what had happened without sounding silly.

“Ughhh, nooo. They kept my bag at check-in, so I don’t actually have any clothes, apart from these” she pointed towards her flimsy cotton sweatshirt that was definitely inappropriate for the cold weather. 

YN tried not to pay too much mind to the grimace of what seemed like disgust when Mr. Styles looked at her clothes, and she shifted uncomfortably on her feet while she waited for his response. 

“It’s almost six in the evening. Everything’s closed.” 

YN felt her heart fall into her stomach as her brain registered the words that came out of his mouth. 

Six. In the evening. 

Everything. Closed. 

“What?” 

Harry rolled his eyes at her surprise, “everything closes at five here. You didn’t know?”

YN felt hopeless because how could she have known! She’d literally been on a plane for ten hours! 

She looked at Mr. Styles with her big, widened eyes, and Harry didn’t have to wait for her to say it to know the answer.

YN felt like crying, right there in front of this man she didn’t even know the full name of. Her boyfriend had been right when he’d call her dumb. Because she was dumb. Who moves across the country this unorganized? 

“Look, I really need to go right now.” Mr. Styles broke the tense silence that had fallen upon them, and he watched as she nodded her head slowly, seeming lost in thought. 

“Okay.” She muttered, and it felt weird seeing her so quiet, but honestly, it wasn’t Harry’s problem. Her douchebag of a boss should’ve warn her, or at least she could’ve researched a bit on the place she was moving to!

He cleared his throat and YN woke up from her trance, she swiftly moved to the side to let him out. Harry closed the door behind him and locked it with his keys. 

He shivered as a gust of cold wind fell upon them, and he watched with the corner of his eye how YN tried to squeeze herself in the flimsy sweatshirt she was wearing. Ha. She didn’t even look up the weather first!

He kind of felt bad for her, in a remote part of himself, but he also judged her for her carelessness.

“Bye” she waved gently from beside him, and he nodded towards her in a form of greeting. 

He pretended to busy himself with his phone, not feeling like talking to her anymore, but when she started walking towards her own house, he looked up in her direction, his eyes on her back. 

Her shoulders were sagged and she displayed a very different demeanor than she did this morning. Harry shook the feeling of her sadness from his gut and walked towards his gate, ready to meet his friends.

. . .

YN was hungry. And she felt gross. And the combination wasn’t the best. 

She wanted to shower and lay down on her bed, that looked extremely comfortable and clean, but she was still wearing her airport clothes, and there was no way in hell she’d sleep in those.

She debated whether she could sleep naked, but it was way too cold for that, and she had work in the morning, so she didn’t want to call in sick her first day. 

She was hopeless.

For a minute, she was so hungry that she contemplated eating some of Baguette’s food, but then she felt so disgusted by the idea she felt like throwing up, so she decided it was probably better not to. She couldn’t afford to throw up the only meal she’d had all day. So, she waited. 

Her original plan was to stay up until 5 in the morning, go buy some pajamas and then nap for an hour until she had to wake up at 7.

But the combination of starvation and exhaustion didn’t really go well, because she was so tired she couldn’t keep her eyes open. She wondered for a moment if the ground was comfortable, and just as she was about to lay down and test it, she heard a knock on her door she almost believed she’d imagined at first.

She walked slowly to the door, her brows furrowed, and when she opened the door, she swears to god she was about to pass out. 

At her feet lay a tray with takeout boxes, she couldn’t see what was inside them, but she figured anything was better than eating Baguette’s food. Next to the tray was a grocery store bag, closed with the handles tied in a knot, and she picked it up curiously. 

She bent down to pick up the tray and she closed the door behind her with her foot. 

She opened the yellow grocery bag first, and she still remembers the sigh of relief she let out as she saw what was inside: a clean long sleeve t-shirt and a pair of blue plaid pajama pants. She could smell the sweet and clean smell of the fabric softener, and she inhaled the scent in deeply.

She put aside the clothes and opened the take out boxes, eager to eat something. She grabbed a fork from the pantry and opened the first box, which contained what seemed to be a homemade meal, some kind of pasta with tomato sauce and meat. She scooped up a big bite and she felt better already, her brain finally being fueled after a really tiring day. 

. . . 

When she lay in bed that night, fresh off the shower and her tummy full with the best pasta she’d ever eaten, she cuddled with Baguette next to her and her mind wandered off to Mr. Styles. Maybe, she hadn’t really bothered him that much after all.

. . . 

Harry hates people. And, therefore, he hates places full of people. Especially supermarkets. He hates supermarkets. 

All those people in line, carts crushing into each others because of the carelessness of their owners, the annoying, commercial music coming from the speakers insinuating itself into his ears, the loud echo of voices commuting in one big buzz. 

He hates supermarkets and most especially waiting in line. The self-check out was the best addiction to the small town’s supermarket, and ever since he’d found out how to scan his items by himself, he’d never, not once, gone back to the served check out. Apart from today, that is. Because the other registers appeared to be broken, and they couldn’t have picked a worse day to be, in his opinion. Rush hour, in a small town, is around 4 in the afternoon, and Harry knew that, and he had always tried to avoid the supermarket at that hour, but Niall had called, and he needed  some kind of special sausage they only had at that particular supermarket, and when Harry had groaned, he’d swat at his arm playfully and he’d said: “you should thank god I feed you!”, and that was true in all its entireness, so Harry couldn’t really find it in him to argue with that. So, that’s what he was doing, at 4 in the afternoon, rush hour, holding a pack of a dozen sausages because his friend needed it.  

He was lost in his thoughts when he heard her. That sweet voice that had taunted him the night before, so much he had asked Niall for some of the pasta he’d prepared “in case he got hungry later”, of course, that wasn’t entirely the reason. The reason being the cute and annoying girl standing in line a person before him, and the thought of her starving and with nothing but a cotton sweatshirt to shield her from the inevitable cold of the night. 

“I’m so sorry it’s taking me so long,” he heard her say, as she let out a nervous chuckle through her mouth, “I just can’t find my card”. 

“Only cash with this register, lady. There’s a sign right there” the cashier pointed towards the sign and YN felt herself get red with embarrassment. Eager to get it over with, she had run to the first opened register she could find, not paying much attention to her surrounding, which, she then realized, she probably should’ve.

“I just flew in last night, I still haven’t got time to…” she shook her head as she realized the cashier didn’t care. Of course she didn’t. Once again, she felt silly and alone. 

“Okay” she whispered to herself, “i’ll just leave it all here and come back later?” 

Harry, that was standing in line just a person from her, had listened to the exchanged quite attentively, and he’d rolled his eyes at her.

He cleared his throat and she snapped her head in his direction, and he didn’t miss the way her cheeks had turned pink once she’d recognized him. 

“I’ll pay for her things” he offered, and the person in front of him, a middle aged man, breathed out a sigh of relief and whispered a “thank god” that YN didn’t miss. She smiled apologetically at the man, who didn’t even as much as throw a glance at her, and she watched as he stepped to the side to let Harry pass before him.

YN started packing her bags and she refused to look at Mr. Styles as he paid for her groceries and his own, too embarrassed to acknowledge the encounter that had just happened. 

When he passed her, he grabbed one bag from the floor and started walking towards the exit of the supermarket, and YN watched as his bicep flexed under the weight of the bag. 

She hurried to pick up his pace, and once she found herself walking at his side, she opened her mouth to thank him: “thank you so much, Mr. Styles. I genuinely didn’t know, otherwise I never would’ve chosen that register! The sign was just so small and I never pay attention to my surroundings so it was an honest mistake, I swear!” 

Harry rolled his eyes for what seemed like the millionth time, “will yeh stop calling me Mr. Styles? ’s not like I’m bloody fifty years old!” 

“Sorry” YN blushed embarrassed, as she tried to walk quickly beside him. His legs were very much longer than hers, and he walked pretty fast despite the added weight of the groceries.

“What should I call you?” 

“Harry.” He groaned, rolling his eyes. 

“Ok. Harry.” She said, nodding her head, liking the way his name sounded rolling off her tongue. “I will send you the money right away, I’m so sorry you had to do that for me” 

“’s fine. Don’ worry ‘bout it.” 

YN cleared her throat and nodded, looking down at her shoes as she kept walking beside him. Every once in a while, she would lose her balance due to the weight on her hands, and her arm would brush against his, the contact not going unnoticed by her. She wondered if he noticed too and if he cared, she knew he probably didn’t, but it was nice.

“Oh!” She remembered as they walked their way back to his house, “thank you for the food, too. And of course the clothes!!! You didn’t have to, but thank you. I was so hungry you have no idea. And the food was so so so good! Did you make it?”

“No.” He answered briefly. 

“Well… it was really yummy. I’ll have to meet the chef!” She joked, and because she felt her arm get tired, she switched the bag to her other hand, trying to balance the weight, “are they from around here?”

“Yes.” 

YN nodded understandably, “You know, I was a little scared to come here because I’d be all alone. Well, not entirely alone because I have Baguette, but… I’m so happy you’re my neighbor! You’re so nice” 

Harry snorted through his nose at her words, “tha’s a first”, but YN, even if she heard him, didn’t say anything. 

When they finally reached the house, Harry walked her to the door and placed the bag on the ground, massaging his arm that had gone a little bit sore. 

“Thank you” she repeated, smiling warmly at him. 

Harry shrugged and was about to turn around, when he heard her say “wait! Do you want to see Baguette?” 

. . . 

Harry left her house about half an hour later, incredibly late and with his phone blowing up from Niall’s calls. 

He had looked around quickly once he’d walked inside, and he noticed some of her belongings scattered around the living room, some pillows that he didn’t recognize as his own lying on the couch. He wondered for a brief second what her room looked like, not regarding the furniture (that he had picked a long time ago with his mother), but what it looked like with her living in it. Did she change the sheets or did she keep the ones he chose? Was it tidy or messy? Did she sleep with Baguette? 

It was weird to him, thinking this way about her, because never would he have thought of her as more than an annoying girl. But, he could admit she was kind of cute. Annoying, but definitely cute. 

He had played with Baguette while YN put away the groceries, and they didn’t talk much because he didn’t feel like talking. He’d never given much confidence to people he didn’t know, and, despite YN calling him ‘nice’, he didn’t really know much about her.

He had excused himself after about twenty minutes of playing with Baguette, and after a quick rub on the dog’s belly, he left her house without muttering more than a ‘bye’.

He didn’t care if he came off as rude, he’d always been that way, and he certainly wasn’t about to change for this girl he met just the day before!

. . . 

YN loved her work. 

Since she was little, she’d always loved wild animals, and she’d dreamed one day of doing the job she’s supposed to do now: gather sources about this rare bear that had been sighted and write a report about it to send to Dante. If the report was good, she’d be published on Dante’s scientific magazine, which was a great opportunity for YN to get her name out there and be regarded in the scientific community. 

All this was, honestly, easier said than done, because since the moment she stepped foot inside her new office, she received nothing but glares from her coworkers. Apparently, everyone was gutted about Anais’ replacement, and she tried really hard to be kind and explain that “no, Anais isn’t coming! But it’s a beautiful thing because she’s pregnant!!!! Dante sent me, I’m no Anais but I can try”, but, despite her big efforts, she was met with the indifference of the others. 

She thought once on the field, the interviews would’ve gone a little better, because she was nice and she figured people loved nice, but as soon as she tried to talk to someone about this sighting, they recognized her immediately as a non-local (which apparently was a big deal) and refused to talk to her, feigning ignorance at her questions. 

She felt defeated. And she started questioning for a bit whether moving to this small town was even a good idea in the first place.

Of course, she’d escaped from her ex and from the possibility of ever meeting him again, but was it worth it? In that moment, she couldn’t say.

When she returned to her office that Thursday afternoon, she tried to gather the little information she had gotten, but it wasn’t even close enough to write the introduction!, so she closed her laptop with a heavy sigh, full of her disappointment, and she promised the day after she’d do better. 

The day after, YN decided to do what she did best back at her previous job, figuring maybe that the excessive responsibility had influenced her work. She decided she’d take a walk on the reserve and try and gather as many sources from the territory she could. 

The bear had been spotted inside a terrain one hour down a three hour long pathway, which, for a wildlife animal, was pretty dangerous. She couldn’t even imagine what would happen if someone stumbled across the bear, and she truly feared for the animal’s life, knowing all too well human’s cruel nature. 

The walk was tough, and the muscles in her legs were burning with fatigue. After about forty minutes of walking, she decided she’d stop at the first refuge she’d find, drink a little water and maybe even grab something hot to drink to warm up her freezing hands. 

She spotted a cabin after a couple of miles, and she felt her heart jump happily in her chest at the thought of finally resting for a bit. She tossed her backpack into the ground and put away the little journal and pen she’d kept in handy to scribble down things she observed along the pathway. 

Once inside the small cabin/cafe, she immediately felt her insides warming up. Everything was made out of wood, including the ceiling, and she observed how every chair had cute, fluffy blankets draped across the backrest. 

The place was just what she needed after a really long and tiring walk, and she regarded with contentment how she was the only customer. 

“Hello!” A shrilling voice called behind her, and she jumped in her place a little at the sound. She turned around immediately and she smiled at a blonde guy that was standing behind the counter. He was tying a blue apron behind his back and once he’d secured it, he cleaned his hands on its front, smiling warmly at her once their eyes met. 

“Hi” she said, shyly, “could I get some hot cocoa, please?” 

“Yes! Of course!!” He beamed, and YN wondered if she was maybe the first customer of the day or if he acted this way towards everyone that came in. 

“Here or to go?” 

“Here, thank you.” 

“Okay! Just take a seat and I’ll bring it to you in a moment”.

YN nodded her head at his words and took place at a small table near a big window that overlooked the entire valley. 

She’d been to the mountains just once with her family when she was very little, but she’d always dreamt of living in a slow-paced, small town, as opposed to the big city she left behind. 

She loved the green and the sun shining high in the sky warming her skin, and she loved drinking hot drinks in spring. She wasn’t really a fan of the snow, though, that had always seemed to scare her, and she was happy she had both spring and summer to get through before the winter, and she figured she’d probably be accustomed to the place once it’d start snowing, so she decided not to worry too much about that now.

She fished out of her backpack her journal and started reading through her notes to see if there was something remotely good to start with.

 unusual path for a bear 

 too many houses in proximity of the sighting

 not much food can be found on the trail 

    (…)

She figured it was not much but a start nonetheless. 

She was so engrossed by her notes she didn’t even hear the nice blonde guy approaching her, so when he placed the cup in front of her she jumped a little in her place.

“Woah, easy there! Yeh’re a jumpy thing, aren’t ya?” He giggled, pushing the cup in front of her as soon as she cast aside the journal.

She blushed immediately at his words, “sorry” she muttered. 

“’S fine, didn’t mean to embarrass you”

She threw him a quick smile before glancing down at her hot chocolate, and she noticed happily that he had topped it with a big amount of whipped cream. 

“Wait!” He chimed before she could take a sip of her drink, “forgot something.”

He ran back towards the kitchen and came out as quick as he went, holding a small, ceramic, plate in his hands. 

He put it on the table in front of YN and smiled warmly at her, “Freshly made ginger biscuits!” 

YN felt like crying. 

This was the first time someone was so nice to her, and after the fiasco she went through with her interviews, she really could use someone that at least acknowledged her. 

Of course, Harry had been nice, too, but in the days that had come, she’d seen less and less of him, and she’d started to wonder whether he was actually avoiding her. 

“This is so good!!! Thank you” she beamed, finally feeling relaxed after what seemed like a long time but was actually just less than a week.

“Do you want to sit? If you’re not… busy?” She gestured to the empty seat in front of her and watched as he sat immediately in the chair, placing his elbows on the table.

“Usually there’s more people around but… you know, ’s rush hour, so…” 

YN threw a glance at the clock on the wall, that ticked 3.58 pm. “Rush hour?” She asked, curiously. 

“Oh! Yeah. I don’t where you’re from, but here, rush hour is at around 4 because everything closes at 5.30” he shrugged, stealing a cookie from the plate on the table between them.

YN nodded and took a sip from her drink, “shouldn’t there be more people if it’s rush hour?”

He furrowed his brows and cleaned his mouth from the cookie’s crumbles with the back of his hand, “no”.

YN nodded understandingly once again, even if she didn’t truly understand his thought process. She figured in small towns people lived differently. 

“Are yeh here on vacation?” He asked her and she tried not to feel too disappointed that he understood right away that she wasn’t a local. 

“No” she shook her head, “I moved here last Monday. I’m here for that bear sighting” 

“Oh” she noticed his eyes widened, “nasty stuff that was! I hope that bear ’s long gone by now!” 

She frowned at his words; she really would have liked seeing a real-life bear.

She chatted with him — she’d found out his name was Niall — for what felt like minutes but was actually an hour, and once she’d realized how late it had gotten, the sky had turned dark and gloomy, and she’d hurriedly collected her things and payed for her order, saying bye to Niall with the promise of coming more often. The clock ticked 5.13 pm and she figured it wouldn’t really be that dangerous to walk back home. It wasn’t late in the night, and despite the dark sky, it was still mid afternoon. So, after saying goodbye to Niall, she threw her backpack across her shoulder and started walking back. 

Five minutes in her walk and she was already feeling uneasy. She hadn’t noticed at first but on the pathway there weren’t any lights, so she couldn’t see more than her own two feet; any little shadow or sound seemed to scare her, and it took her a lot of convincing to not just go back and ask Niall to take her home. The option had seemed tempting, but what could he really do? Close the cafe just because she was scared of the dark? and, despite talking his ear off all afternoon, who even was he? YN had a reputation for being easy going and able to make friends with pretty much everyone, but time had taught her that not everyone wanted to actually be her friend. 

That thought made her think about Harry, and how she hadn’t seen him in almost five days. After he had played with Baguette in her home, she thought she had found if not a friend at least someone to hang out with, now that she was in a new place completely alone, but maybe, she’d figured, it was Harry that didn’t want to hang out with her. He had seemed pretty grumpy, but she’d seen through his facade pretty quickly, and she had thought he was actually nice. Now, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was just a one time thing.   

She clutched the strap of her backpack extra tight as soon as she heard the sound of a car behind her, the headlights of the car illuminating her and the path before her. She shivered as the sudden thought of being alone on a street with no way of escaping came to her mind, and she picked up her pace to walk quicker. Beside her fear, there was also the question on how could someone drive in this particular pathway that, as she knew, was actually closed to cars. 

She was wondering if the driver had some kind of permit, when the car — that actually seemed more like a pick up — stopped beside her. She unintentionally turned her head to look inside, and before she could say anything to the guy inside, he beat her to it: “what the hell are yeh doin’ here alone?” 

She looked at Harry with wide eyes, her face half hidden behind the darkness of the sky, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she realized it was him and not someone who wanted to hurt her. 

“I lost track of time” she said shyly, chewing on her bottom lip anxiously. 

“Get in.” He ordered, and she saw him unlock the car doors with a button on the steering wheel. 

“No, it’s okay! I can just walk, it’s not that far…” 

“Get in!” He stressed, but, “please” he added, once he realized his tone may have come out a little too sternly. 

“Okay” she whispered, wrapping her fingers around the handle of the car door and opening it. She threw her backpack on the car mat at the end of the seat and placed a hand on the car door to balance herself. The pick up was a little tall, so she had to literally climb inside the truck with her legs. She hoped she didn’t make too much of a fool out of herself. 

He grabbed her arm to help her, and once she was settled in the seat, he let it go quickly, almost as if he was uncomfortable with touching her. 

He didn’t say anything for a while, but YN noticed how he turned on the heat as soon as he saw her hugging herself against the cold. 

The pickup was big, but she could still smell his perfume — or cologne? She didn’t know — lingering in the air. 

YN stayed silent, not wanting to bother him, although it proved to be kind of difficult for her, because she wanted to ask him a lot of things. 

She remembers thinking he was mad at her. She still doesn’t know why, and why in the world could he possibly be mad at her, but, still. Aaron used to get angry over the most silliest things, so she figured every guy was the same. 

She almost caught herself asking him, but she remembered pretty quickly Aaron’s words: “not everyone wants to be your friend”.

She still had a little trouble understanding that. 

She heard Harry clear his throat, and she wondered if he was about to talk, so she patiently waited. He didn’t. He seemed antsy, and YN noticed how tightly he was gripping the wheel, so, she decided to ease the tension between them with the thing she did best: asking questions. 

“How are you allowed to drive here? Do you have some kind of permit? Because I researched the territory for my article and it strictly said ‘no cars allowed, must be on foot’, sooo… how can you? Are you some kind of… I don’t know — she shrugged, pouting her lips thoughtfully — are you some kind of boss, around here? That’s why people cook for you?”

Harry closed his brows in a furrow and brought his left hand up to massage his temple, “no” he simply said. 

“What does ‘no’ mean?” 

“It means no.” He said matter of factly. 

“Ugghh — she huffed — I know what ‘no’ means! I was asking figuratively. Are you always this grumpy?” 

“Thought yeh said I was nice” he grinned, a dimple denting his cheek. 

“Forget it” she mumbled, turning her head to look outside the window; there wasn’t much to see, with all the darkness, but anything was better than looking at him. 

“I’m not ‘some kind of boss’” he mocked her amused, glancing at her quickly before averting his gaze back on the road, “I own the terrain, so I can do whatever I want on it”.

YN turned her head to look back at him, wondering if he was making fun of her or if he was actually serious. He seemed serious. 

“You own it?” 

“Yeah” he nodded, amused by her reaction. 

“I can’t believe it”

“Why?” 

“This was were the bear was spotted! I could have asked you all along instead of interviewing people who closed the door in my face!” She pouted, crossing her arms in front of her chest. 

“They really closed the door in your face?” He asked, furrowing his brows, the smirk disappearing from his face quickly and his lips closing in a tight line. 

“Yeah” she huffed, “but it’s okay. I mean… I get it if they don’t want to talk to me but… I really need to do my job! I really wouldn’t bother them if it wasn’t necessary”

“They closed the door in your face. It’s not okay.” He said sternly, back to his old grumpy self, “who did you talk to?”

“Oh… that woman that lives in the first house right after the cafe. Wait. Do you know the cafe?”

Harry snickered at her question, “yeah, I heard of it”.

“Just her?” He added. 

“No” she shook her head, “I talked to Mr. Donovan too. I remember his name because Matt Donovan is a character in one of my favorite series! So… pretty easy to remember. He was actually nice before I told him I was writing an article for a magazine. He closed the door without even saying bye” she shrugged.

“That’s not okay” he repeated. 

“Well, it’s no problem at all now!!!! Because I can just ask you” she beamed, clapping her hands excitedly. 

“No. I wasn’t here that weekend” 

“What?” She asked, looking at him with big eyes. 

Harry refrained himself from laughing. “Yeah.” He nodded, “i wasn’t here. Sorry” 

“Great.” She groaned, tossing her arms in the air, her enthusiasm quickly dissolving. 

She heard him laugh through his nose, “i’m taking the piss out of yeh. I was here”

“Oh thank god!” she sighed relieved, finally seeing some ray of sunshine coming her way, “you’re cruel! don’t ever do that again!” She pointed her finger at his face and then swatted his arm when she heard him chuckle. 

You have absolutely no idea what to say. What to think or feel. Part of you is somewhat comforted by his presence and the other part is wildly confused by it.

“Okay…” Max clears his throat and cocks an eyebrow up. “Well…we were just gonna go over some ground rules—”

“Excellent.” Mr. Styles beams as he leans back. A hand is waved as instruction to continue. “By all means.”

Your lips press together into a thin line.

“All right. I was just gonna ask how you feel about kissing,” Max begins, returning his attention to you. “There’s no right or wrong answer. Sometimes it can make things feel less serious, but it’s up to you.”

“Oh, I’m fine with it,” you say, shrugging once. “It’s just a kiss.”

Out of your peripheral, you catch Mr. Styles tilt his head.

“Okay. And condoms?”

“Yeah, I brought some.”

“Perfect, and I’ve got some, too.” Max looks around the room in thought. “Uh—oh. The safe word. I know we agreed on the color system, but if you have a particular word that feels best…?”

“Color system is fine,” you agree. “I trust you.”

Mr. Styles coughs under his breath.

You look over.

He smirks.

Amused, Max moves for his camera. “All right, then. Do you wanna go over the scene one more time?”

“Uh…honestly? Maybe we just…get right into it,” you answer, slowly slipping your coat off. “I have a tendency to overthink.”

You hear a snort from behind you, and you don’t even have to look to know who it came from. 

“Got it,” Max chuckles, surveying the room one last time. “Well, then…I guess I’m ready when you are?”

Your pulse skips a time or two as you nod and allow your covering to fall away, revealing the outfit underneath.

Another one of Mr. Styles' sets. A soft, pastel peach color. It felt fitting, and the room grows oddly quiet as both men take a moment to drink you in.

Max is the only one with a comment to make, smiling gently as he says, “Nice. And it’s comfortable?”

“Very. Yeah, my investor did an excellent job.”

Mr. Styles smirks at your sly comment while Max laughs.

“Ah, so this is the work of the mysterious gentleman in the corner?”

“Indeed.” You nod as you step closer to the bed. “Turns out, he’s incredibly picky.”

Another scoff but you pay it no mind as you shoot Max an innocent grin and take a seat on the edge of the mattress.

Max fiddles with the camera and the lights a moment more before he clears his throat and claps his hands together once. “All right, I think we’re ready.”

There’s a weird flutter in your stomach as you straighten up and prepare to begin, unable to resist sneaking a glance at your boss.

He’s expressionless. Stoically sitting in his chair, relaxed, yet seemingly uninterested.

It’s not unusual for him, but even still, you wonder where the man who dominated you in your bedroom has disappeared to.

And if you’ll ever see him again.

“You ready?” Max calls gently, smiling his encouragement.

“Yes,” you reply, voice oddly timid as you scoot back toward the pillows. “Ready.”

With that, a little red dot begins to blink from the device, signaling the start to the video.

No going back now.

Max makes his way around the tripod, approaching the bed with a confident gleam in his eye. “Hi, Peach,” he murmurs, rather seductively, and your breath catches. “’S’about time we found our way here, yeah?”

You nod again, lip disappearing between your teeth as he kneels onto the mattress and begins to crawl closer. 

“Look so fucking sweet,” he continues, letting his eyes trail from your face to your thighs, appreciating every thread on your lingerie set. “Did you dress up just for me?”

You fight the urge to look toward your boss, swallowing thickly as you whisper, “Yes.”

His hands find your hips, smoothing over the curves and dips with ease before slowly guiding your legs apart. “Gonna let me have a taste?”

You feel breathless. Wonderstruck by the fingers inching closer to you, the anticipation building in your gut.

“Yes,” you repeat, nails curling into the silk bedding beneath you as he moves in.

He hooks onto the material and slowly begins to pull it aside, allowing him access to your cunt. Then, his thumb outstretches, ready to swipe across your clit when the sound of a throat clearing echoes across the room.

You and Max both still, exchanging a curious look before turning to sneak a glimpse of the man responsible for the interruption.

Mr. Styles stares back, eyebrow raised. “I’m sorry, is that it, then?”

Max pushes up onto his knees. “Pardon?”

Your boss leans forward. “You have her all spread out, ready and willing, and this is the best you can do?”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head as Max tosses you a curious expression.

“I mean…this is what we agreed on,” Max replies slowly. “A little foreplay before the rest of it.”

“And this is your idea of foreplay?”

Max blinks. “Uh…yes?”

“Interesting.” His fingers strum against the arm of the chair but he says nothing more.

A little rattled, you shift beneath Max and wait for him to continue.

Tentatively, he does, pushing through your folds with intense focus. He’s slow with it, letting the air hit you just so until you squirm, hand pushing your thigh open.

Vaguely, you feel a pair of eyes studying you from the corner of the room, taking note of each breath and quiver of your limbs.

And you know he’s watching you. Know he’s observing the technique. And while you don’t mind being watched by him, something about this feels odd.

Max straightens up and moves in to kiss you, slotting his knee between your legs as a hand wraps around the back of your neck.

His tongue is in your mouth before your eyes can close, and you whimper a bit at the aggressive force behind his touch. 

He’s quite good. One of the better men you’ve been with, and nothing has even happened yet. You take this as a good sign, allowing yourself to melt into the gesture as his fingers fiddle with the buckle on his belt.

There’s another condescending snort near the wall, and Max sighs against your cheek before turning around. “Yes?”

“Nothing.” There’s a touch of innocence behind his response but the look in his eye reads anything but. “That’s just not how she likes it.”

You feel the blood drain from your face as Max smirks and looks back at you. “Sorry, Peach. Is that not how you like it?”

“It is,” you confirm, shooting a peeved look toward the chair. “Ignore him, I’m sorry.”

Max smiles gently before pressing another kiss to your bottom lip while tugging his pants down.

He manages to get his boxers around his knees before there’s another noise, and you audibly groan.

“Now what?” Max calls, slightly annoyed but attempting to maintain a bit of calm.

Mr. Styles lifts one shoulder in a relaxed shrug. “Just think it wouldn’t hurt to slow down.”

Max lets his head drop, chin meeting his chest as he sighs before replying, “Is that right?”

“Nobody is watching this video for you,” Mr. Styles continues. “They’re watching it for her. They want to see the way she reacts. How she feels. Your cock is nothing more than the sideshow. She…is the main event.”

There’s a weird sort of flutter in your stomach as you let your focus drift to the man near the wall. 

Max exhales beneath his breath before straightening up. “All right. Then how do you suggest we proceed?”

Not needing to be asked twice, Mr. Styles stands to his feet and saunters toward the bed. “For starters…” A hand comes out to grasp onto Max’s jaw, tugging his face to the side. “…that’s not how she likes to be kissed.”

Wincing some, Max shoots him a glare while attempting to yank himself free. “Yeah? And how would you know?”

A rather excellent question, and your breath hitches as you await the response.

Mr. Styles doesn’t even look at you as he says, “I’m her fucking partner.”

Another tense silence flitters around the room before Max is finally released.

“And let me guess…I’m touching her wrong, too?” he counters, leaning away from you as Mr. Styles straightens up.

“Yes.” A simple response but the bite behind his tone makes you shiver. 

Max scoffs to himself, head shaking with disbelief as he pulls his boxers back up. “Well, maybe it would just be easier if you did it, hm?”

“It would. But then it wouldn’t be your video, now, would it?”

“Mr. Styles,” you begin in a gentle murmur, “please…it’s fine—”

“Doesn’t look fine,” is his only retort, nodding at the gentleman still kneeling above you. “Is this what they pay you for, then? Mediocre sex and cheap camera work?”

“This is what Peach and I agreed on,” Max reminds him. “All right? This is the scene that we created—”

“Nothing about this scene was constructed for her benefit,” Mr. Styles replies. “And if you knew anything about her content, you would know that her audience likes to see her squirm.”

“Well we’re not just catering to her audience, okay? This is about my audience, too—”

“Last time I checked, her subscriber count doubled yours. The majority of viewers won’t be for you. They’ll be for her—”

“Right, and that’s why she’s the one in the frame, all right? I know what I’m fucking doing—”

“No.” Another straightforward answer, and it makes your head spin. “No, you don’t. And I don’t think that’s fair to her or her subscribers. They shouldn’t have to pay for your incompetence.”

Max looks to you. “Is he fucking serious?”

“I—” You push up onto your elbows, feeling a little exposed in your see-through garment. “Mr. Styles, I appreciate the thought. But he’s right. This was part of the plan—”

“Your plan was to fake your orgasm just so he could nut on film?” 

Both you and Max still as this reply hangs in the air.

Then, Max crawls off the mattress, and stands to his feet. “Okay, you know what? I can’t do this, I’m sorry.”

“Max…” you attempt to call, feeling rather embarrassed as he begins gathering his things. “Look, he doesn’t mean it—”

“No, I do,” Mr. Styles interjects, ignoring your peeved look of warning.

Max ignores you both.

He strides around the hotel room, throwing things into his duffel before turning the camera off and packing it up.

You attempt to shoot daggers toward your boss, a silent scold, but he simply meets your eye with relaxed indifference.

“Listen, Peach, you seem nice,” Max sighs, moving for the door with his things while shooting you a sympathetic grin. “And I appreciate you for even meeting with me. But…these things never work when the boyfriend gets involved. So, just…enjoy the room. It’s all yours for the night if you’d like it. And…I look forward to maybe working with you in the future.”

Your stomach drops as you nod and watch him exit the room, disappearing into the hallway until you’re left with the perpetrator.

All of fifteen minutes he’d managed to keep his mouth shut, and you huff as you sit up. “Seriously?” you mumble the moment the door is closed.

He leans back against the dresser, regarding you with ease. “That was pathetic, and you know it.”

“How? He hadn’t even done anything yet.”

“Exactly.”

You frown. “Mr. Styles, I really appreciate all of your help. But you were the one that told me this would be good for my account.”

“And it could have been. Just not with him.”

“What was so wrong with him?”

“He wasn’t doing it right.”

“Why? Just because he wasn’t doing it like you?”

“If he’s not doing it the way I would have, he’s doing it wrong.”

Your lips part but you find yourself without a response. After all, what exactly does he expect you to say?

He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. But you can do better than him. Even in porn.”

“Right,” you snort under your breath, settling against the headboard and pulling your knees to your chest. “Well…guess it doesn’t matter now. I’ll just go back to my vibrating cock. Seems to be the only thing people really like.”

You’re attempting to lighten the mood, but Mr. Styles only offers you a rather contemplative look.

“Is that right?” he calls.

You suck in a quiet inhale and nod once. “Yeah. I mean, technically that wasn’t the only thing they liked, but…”

His brow raises.

You clear your throat. “You. They liked you.”

This seems to amuse him, his perfectly pink lips pulling up into a coy grin. “Me.”

“Yeah.” You glance down at your nails. “They, uh…liked your voice? And your…hands? And the way you talked? I guess? It was, um…the main feedback. They wanted to see you in more videos.”

The smug bastard is much too pleased to hear this, practically beaming as he studies you. “They did, did they?”

“Mhm.” You nod, cheeks warming. “So…you’ve got fans.”

“How nice.” He runs a hand along his jaw in thought, smile still much too wide. “And were you happy with the video?”

The million-dollar question. Truth be told, it’s the first video of yours that you’ve ever willingly watched more than once. You can still hear his instructions ring between your ears. Can feel his hands on your thighs. Can taste yourself on his fingers.

“Yes,” you reply quietly, shifting a bit in your spot. “It was…it was really good. I like how it came together.”

“You watched it?”

“…yes.”

“I thought you didn’t like to watch yourself come.”

“Yeah, well…this was different.”

His head tilts. “How so?”

You toss him a frown. He knows exactly why, and you hate his insistence on making you spell it out. “Why do you think?”

“Could be a number of reasons.”

“Except it’s not, and you know it.”

“Perhaps. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You huff again. “I just like what we did, okay? It was a nice video, a nice scene, and a nice sound bite. Happy?”

Once again, that dark eyebrow dances up, his expression twisting into one of curious intrigue. “Sound bite?”

Shit. Your eyes flicker back down to your hands. “I mean…yeah. You do have a nice voice. Sounds…sounds great on film.”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “You like listening to me talk?”

Again, you feel your pulse skip over its own rhythm as you attempt to convey nonchalance. “Sure.”

But he’s unconvinced by your casualness, pushing off the dresser to step closer to you. “Is that why you were watching the video, then? To listen to me?”

You want to respond but your whole mouth has gone numb.

“Were you using my voice to get off, Peach?” he murmurs, the scent of his cologne finally reaching you as he approaches the bed.

You don’t have to answer for him to know that he’s right. And perhaps you ought to be ashamed of such an admittance, yet…the strange darkness in his expression suggests otherwise.

“Yes,” you breathe, moving your gaze to the white button up clinging to his chest. It’s a rather sheer material, allowing you to see just a taste of his tan skin beneath, and the faint markings of ink from potential tattoos. “Couldn’t help it.”

“No?” He reaches the side of the mattress where you reside, sitting near your feet as he watches you. “Just had to listen to me while you touched yourself, hm?”

He’s so close. So fucking close to you, and the adrenaline you felt that day in your bedroom triples until you feel a bit faint.

“Yes,” you repeat, but it’s strained and airy. You don’t mean to sound so weak, but he always seems to leave you this way.

“How?” His attention to your face pulls you back. “How did you touch yourself? Did you do it the way you always do? Or did you do it the way I do?”

Your focus falls to your lap but he quickly takes hold of your chin to hoist your eyes back up. 

 “Peach,” he warns, “need you to tell me, yeah? Need to hear you say it.”

And you want to huff. Or scream. Or ball your hands into fists and pound on his chest in retaliation.

Instead, you whisper, “Touched myself the way you told me to.”

A look of pride flashes across his face. “Did you?”

A soft nod. “Yes. Imagined you there with me.”

He drops his attention to your lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You sit up, desperate to bring yourself closer to him. Magnetized by this invisible pull. “Thought about your voice. Your hands. What you would have asked me to do. Wanted to make you proud…be good for you.”

He releases a deep breath, lashes fluttering as if working to keep his grip on his self-control. “Peach…”

“Almost called you,” you admit, fingers outstretching for his knee. “Almost asked for your business advice.”

He tightens his grip on your jaw, leg pushing into your touch.

“Watched it over and over and over.” Your palm glides up his thigh. “Thought about you through every fucking second.”

His expression grows stern as the vile language leaves your mouth, and you can see his dominant demeanor slip through the cracks.

“Just wanted to feel you, Sir,” you whimper, and his breath hitches. “Wanted your cock. Not the toy. Not his. Just you.”

It’s dizzying how quickly he manages to take hold of your hips and force you onto his lap, lacy cunt grinding against his covered bulge.

You both make a noise of approval, your forehead meeting his as you steady yourself by his shoulders.

“Is that right?” he finally speaks, but it’s coarse like gravel.

“Yes.” Your nails dig into his jacket. “It’s not the same when it’s just me.”

“No,” he agrees instantly. “No, how can it be? Such a pretty little thing doesn’t know what she’s doing. Needs someone to do it for her.”

You’re tugging on your lip to cover a whine, nodding quickly in agreement.

“Needs someone to take care of her, yeah?” His nose nudges into yours, taunting you with a kiss that you aren’t sure he’ll actually give you. “Tell her how to make Daddy happy?”

Your thighs are dragged over his for a second time as he grinds you down, forcing another wave of pleasure to roll over you.

“Wanna make me happy, don’t you?” he asks, and it’s so cruel of him to expect your coherence in a moment like this. “Always want my approval. My permission. Wanna do anything I fucking tell you, hm?”

“Yes…yes, please—”

“Please what, hm?” A beat as he inhales you. “What do you want, honey?”

You press your chest into his, gasping when the rings in your nipples are harshly stimulated. “Want you to tell me what I want.”

And he grins like this is the best thing he’s ever heard, hands tightening around your hips rather possessively. “Think you want my cock, don’t you? Want someone to do it right.”

You do. Have never wanted anything more, and it nearly makes your stomach ache from the thought of finally having him in a way you never thought you could.

There’s a brief moment of pause, the implication of your position and request dangling in the already tense air.

His lips are so close, taunting you with a taste, and it takes everything in you not to surge forward and take him for yourself.

He shifts, cock bucking up into your cunt as you sigh again, and just when you think this is the moment the dam breaks, he says, “Did you bring your camera?”

With a racing heart, you nod quickly, glancing toward your bag in the corner of the room.

He doesn’t move, at least not for a moment, instead breathing you in as he thinks. “Where is it?”

“There,” mumble, chin jutting toward the wall.

This time, he nods, squeezing your hips once more before taking a deep inhale and moving you off his lap.

It feels like the end of the goddamn world to have him rip his body from yours, and your chest nearly caves in as you watch him move for your things.

He rummages around in the bag until he finds the camera and tripod, moving to the other side of the bed to begin setting up.

It’s a different angle than Max had picked, and something tells you this is intentional. Whether this is out of spite or because he genuinely disapproved of Max’s camerawork, you aren’t sure. 

You study him as he straightens the device and faces the lens toward the bed. Wonder yet again who this man really is. What his motivation is. What his intentions are. You’ve seen a side of him today you weren’t sure existed and despite yourself, you’re becoming addicted to it.

But is this just a ruse? Or is this who he really is?

“Look at me,” he calls, and it’s a dark, sensual instruction. “Good girl.”

He focuses on your face, making sure everything that needs to be in the frame is, and once he’s satisfied, he straightens up.

“I’m gonna hit record,” he tells you while your heart leaps into your throat. “What you choose to do with it is up to you.”

Your lips roll into your mouth, and you scoot back into the pillows. “Okay.”

The moment the red dot begins to flash, the air in the room shifts.

Your pussy practically comes to life as he side-steps into frame, slowly pulling his suit jacket off.

“Hi, Peach,” he murmurs, and your eyes zero in on his shoulders as they’re revealed to you. “Been a while, hm?”

Exactly one week and two days.

Not that you’ve been counting.

You stay silent as he approaches, desperately enthralled by his body as more and more of it is exposed.

He tosses the covering toward the other side of the bed before flicking the first couple of buttons on his shirt open.

“Know you missed me, haven’t you?” he continues, his back to the camera as he kneels on the bed. “Needed someone to take care of you.”

Your chest rises and falls with labored, anxious breaths. It’s torture the way he slowly crawls from the end of the bed to where you wait, taking his sweet time like if you aren’t about to pass out from anticipation. 

 Glimpses of his tattoos peek from beneath the collar of the white cotton fabric, teasing you with ideas as he finally reaches your legs, forcing your attention back.

“Isn’t that right?” he asks, just loud enough for the mic to pick him up.

“Yes,” you mewl, correcting yourself when you see his stern expression. “Yes, sir.”

“I know.” His fingers curl around your ankles, tugging your thighs apart to make room for his body. “Shame you didn’t ask me sooner.”

You consider this. Consider if this is part of the scene or an actual comment from Mr. Styles himself.

Either way, it makes you pout. “Should have,” you agree. “M’sorry, sir.”

The extra helping of compliance in your tone makes his mouth dance up into a proud grin. 

He settles himself between your legs, reaching now for your wrists to bring them to his chest. “Take off my shirt.”

And it’s an instruction you don’t need to hear twice as you shoot up and begin pawing at his buttons.

Despite your shaky fingers, you manage to pull the tie over his head and free the shirt from his body, anxious to shove it down his arms until you can see his chest in full.

When you do…the world changes.

Colors are brighter, sights are sweeter, life is fuller. The body before you is that of real beauty. Sketched by the steady hand of an artist, each line, and ridge, and curve telling a story you desperately want to read.

It’s as if he were painted on a canvas and brought to life, your own work of art sitting right before you on this bed, asking you to indulge him.

Without thought, your palms sweep down his tan skin, drinking in the dips and edges that make up his torso. 

He’s strong, and warm, and effortlessly sturdy. The ink littering his collarbone is delicate yet expressive. Two sparrows on each side with a butterfly just below his sternum. 

It moves when he breathes, wings fluttering with the rhythm of his heart. You can’t tear your eyes away, and even though you feel him watching, you can’t move past this moment. Can’t fathom anything else but the divinity of the man between your thighs. 

He smiles, pushing his body into your hands before grabbing hold of your hip. “Gonna show them your little surprise?”

Your head moves up and down wordlessly as he takes hold of your lingerie set and pulls the material down.

As it falls, he scoots to the side, allowing the camera to find you as your tits are revealed to the audience.

The rings shimmer in the light flittering through the hotel curtains, the initials—his initials—like a badge of honor to claim you to the world.

“So pretty, Peach,” he tells you, not for the first time, yet it makes your ego swell the same way it had before. “Like being mine, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you say without pause. “Wanna be yours. Always.”

He hums, and it’s delicious. Soft green eyes like grass on a summer day.

He kneads your breast in his palm, letting his thumb ghost over the piercing until you keen, back arching from the bed.

He makes another noise, soft but urgent, and you can see that his attempt at dragging the scene out is all for not. 

His other hand moves to your cunt, rough fingertip pressing into your clit through the lacy fabric until you’re squirming. He swallows your whispers for more, for mercy, and his brows furrow when he feels how wet you’ve become.

“Lay down,” he nearly grits, practically tugging you onto your back. “Let me see you.”

You settle into the mattress with ease, lashes fluttering when he maneuvers onto his stomach. His hands curl around your legs, forcing them further open to make room for his head as his nose brushes down the fabric on your stomach.

He’s moving for your pussy, lips sweeping across every inch of you he can reach before hovering over where your clit lies. 

His tongue comes out and presses into your cunt, despite the covering in the way, and you whine when you feel him. Warm, and wet, and pointed as the tip slides up just to tease you.

“Sir,” you gasp, but it’s his name you’re desperate to say. His real name, the beautiful H still shimmering from your chest, seeming to taunt you.

He hums, and the vibrations echo into your nerve endings, setting each sense on fire. You attempt to move away from his mouth, but his strong hold keeps you cemented to the bed and his firm expression keeps you submissive.

He creates a pattern of licking and sucking. Rhythmic yet purposeful. And the skill behind each nudge of his nose or flick of his tongue far exceeds what you expected of him. 

His nails sink into your heated skin, practically forcing you against his lips until the flesh tears, crescent-shaped indents now littering your thighs. 

And he’s so close to tasting you but not quite close enough. You’re not sure who this tortures more, but you hate the way he keeps you from what you truly want. What you need.

Your hands find his curls, sweeping through the auburn strands as he makes another noise and nuzzles into your touch.

“Please,” you whimper, and it’s a futile attempt at begging but even still, Mr. Styles seems pleased.

More than that, he seems just as unhinged as you feel, rutting into the bed beneath him as he squeezes his eyes shut.

You imagine he might come just from this little act of foreplay, spurred on by your sounds and pleas. But you need to feel him, and he needs to feel you, and there’s no goddamn way either one of you will be leaving this room until his cock has been inside your cunt.

 “Sir,” you try again, tugging on his hair until he looks up. “Please…need you to fuck me. Need it, please—”

He shoots you a displeased sneer, palm slapping into your thigh as punishment for the choice in language.

But you don’t care. Not when he’s this close to conceding, and you know it’s hurting him just as much as it’s hurting you.

 Despite his disapproval, he sits up and begins tugging on his belt, yanking it through the loops before ripping the zipper down.

Your greedy hands reach for him, trailing across his large arms and broad shoulders. Fumbling with his pants in an effort to push them down his legs. Slipping into his briefs just so you can get the faintest feel of his cock.

He’s outrageously hard, already leaking when you find him, and despite his conviction, he bucks into your palm.

The slight twitch makes your head spin, and you whine as you scoot closer.

“Please, please, please,” you beg breathlessly, legs spreading once more as he pulls himself free. 

The cool air sends a wave of goosebumps from your neck to your toes, but it’s the sight of him in his own hand that really does it.

Pumping himself with delicate precision, he hisses between clenched teeth, “S’this what you want, Peach? Want Daddy’s cock?”

The voice inside your head is screaming but your mouth merely mumbles, “So bad, sir. Need you to make it better.”

He pushes on your leg, cementing it to the mattress while his other fingers hook onto your outfit to pull it away from your dripping pussy.

He seems mesmerized by the way your body reacts to him, and you have to wonder why he’s so surprised. You imagine it should be obvious the effect he has on you, yet the fascination in his eye leads you to believe he never considered this to be a possibility. 

“My perfect peach,” he whispers, letting his finger drag through you. You jolt, moaning deep within the back of your throat as he brings his cock closer. “Gonna feel so fucking good for me, aren’t you? Can already tell. Gonna be my good girl.”

He spreads you, studying your pussy with fascination. Allowing his touch to move up and down your soaked folds while he plays with you. As though you’re a toy, meant only for his amusement. 

And he’s so wonderstruck as he moves your arousal around, letting it web between his fingers before teasing your hole.

One digit is sweet, but two is ecstasy. Reminding you of just how empty you really are. How badly you need him. All of him.

He works himself in and out for at least two minutes, just to see you stretch for him. And the way he watches you makes your ears ring, your cheeks growing hot.

He could keep you here forever, you imagine. Could make you come from this alone, and you have half a mind to let him.

But you enjoy the feeling of his fingers curling inside your soft walls. Enjoy the way he strokes you, pets you, presses into you. You want to kiss his hand for being so wonderful. For being so generous, and maybe you want to kiss him, too.

The faster his fingers move, the harder you sink. Your muscles dissolve into jelly, and you nearly disappear through the bed when he places a knee onto your thigh.

He’s using his weight to trap you, keep you pliable, keep you submissive. And it works because you don’t consider doing anything else as he finally removes his hand and lines himself up.

“Breathe,” he orders, taking hold of your hip to steady you and angle you up. “Easy, honey. Gotta open you up for me, yeah?”

He pushes in slowly, inching forward with great restraint as your walls stretch around him, mold to him, invite him in. You’ve gone quiet, jaw dropped open in an empty, soundless pant. But he knows what this means, and the bastard smirks as he continues.

Halfway in, and your cunt has latched onto him. Squeezing him so tight, you can see the torture of it on his face. He’s trying to take it easy, be gentle. Make this at least somewhat pleasurable for you but he’s only a man. An older gentleman at that, and it seems as though he wasn’t expecting to lose himself so fast.

“More,” you mewl, wiggling down. “More, sir, please….please, just…go.”

You greedily reach for his shoulders, his neck, his hair. Wanting to wrap your arms and legs around his body and hold him inside of you until this ache goes away.

And he seems to want this, too, driving in a bit faster than before as if to satiate you.

“M’almost there, Peach, be patient,” he scolds, but you can tell the threat is empty. “Gotta make this pretty pussy mine, yeah? Gotta show you what a real cock feels like.”

And maybe his cock isn’t purple, and maybe it doesn’t vibrate, but my god does it scratch that itch. Reaches places inside of you that a silicone one never could and it’s his. The only thing that really matters.

He smells like money and expensive aftershave. Addicting in every sense of the word, and you whine again when he stills.

“Easy,” he warns, attempting to shoot you a stern look, but it dissipates when he sees how ruined you are. “Be good, my love, come on.”

And this nickname makes your heart burst as you whimper and melt into the silk sheets.

He’s almost there, maybe an inch or two from being completely sheathed within your cunt. But he throws all decorum to the side when he decides to ram himself forward, filling you to the hilt as his lips suddenly crash into yours.

The kiss is salty yet oddly sweet. His tongue has traces of you, but it also tastes like him, and both of you together is something you couldn’t have anticipated. 

It’s a messy connection, wet and a bit uncoordinated for only a moment before he figures out a rhythm he likes. 

You scratch down his scalp almost as if to discourage him from leaving you, moaning while your body works to accommodate his size. 

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t attempt to pull back before you’re ready, and you’re grateful for this courtesy in a moment so heated. You aren’t sure if you’re in control of your own mind anymore, but you enjoy following his lead.

You always have.

When he nips at your bottom lip, you’re reminded of how bad you need him. Need that release, and you slip your free leg around his bare hip. “Please,” you whisper, nose nudging into his cheek. “Please, Daddy.”

He groans at the nickname, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he eases back, just gentle enough to torture you.

And so begins the languid but deviously hard pace. A cadenced set of thrusts so deliciously slow, it makes your lungs ache. 

Each pull out and push in seems to rip you in half, introducing you to the kind of pleasure you’d only ever heard about.

It feels as though this is what has always been missing from your life. This kind of sex, this kind of understanding, this kind of prowess. 

And maybe it’s just his cock, or maybe it’s him, but it doesn’t matter because you’ll take it. Take anything this man offers you, and you’ll thank him for it.

Perhaps a rather uncouth thought, but you’ll correct yourself tomorrow. 

Today, you’re his. 

“Taking me so well, Peach,” he grunts, hips knocking into yours as he slips an arm beneath your waist. “Look at you, honey. So fucking wet, you hear that? Hear the way you sound for me?”

And you do. How could you not? It echoes around the room, bounces between the walls, and fills your ears like a harmony. 

You imagine this might be your favorite part. Listening to the way your body has welcomed him in. You can feel it dripping down to your ass, can see it on his skin, can practically taste it still on his tongue.

Your back arches, chest knocking into his, and the brush of the rings makes you writhe. A squirmy movement that benefits you both as he growls beneath a strained breath and drives in at a harder pace.

“Bet it feels good, yeah?” He captures your mouth with his. “Bet it’s so fucking good. Bet you’ve never had someone fuck you like this, have you?”

With a fervent shake of your head, you wrap your arms around his neck and move to kiss down his jaw. “No, Daddy.”

The arm beneath you coils a bit tighter. “I can tell. This poor, pretty pussy just doesn’t know what to do, hm? Can’t do anything but take it.”

Sweat trickles between your bodies, and it’s salty on your taste buds as you lick the spot below his ear. 

You almost swear you hear him purr from the feel of your lips, and it makes your heart soar to know he’s so enamored.

“Show them,” he seethes, the blades of his shoulders rippling beneath your hands. “Show them how good it feels to be fucked right.”

Your head drops back, heavy from the weight of your lust before you manage to look toward the camera.

Already you can see the influx of comments about the man between your legs. Praising him, idolizing him, thirsting after him.

And with your eyes on the lens, you lift your mouth to his, sucking on his tongue with great purpose as you remind the audience who he really belongs to.

After all, his initials are emblazoned across your chest. His mark, his claim, his property.

Whether or not that follows you both outside of this room doesn’t matter. Right now, right here, in this moment…he is yours.

His hips snap forward and he’s losing the battle fast, unable to keep himself from fucking into you with a fervent need for release.

But you certainly don’t mind because the angrier he gets, the harder he goes…the more infatuated you become. 

And he’s hitting that spot over and over and over. Like it’s his job, like he always knew where to find it, how to please you. Stars scatter behind your eyelids and you’re drenching his cock and the sheets and his fingers the moment they attach to your clit.

The room fills with sex and whimpers and determined thrusts that have the bed shaking. Nothing else exists but this. Just this. Just him.

“Come on,” he breathes, pinching you between his fingers, tweaking the sensitive nerves until you nearly scream. “Come on, Peach. Let go for Daddy. Let me feel you come on my cock.”

“Please,” you cry because it’s far too overstimulating for you to think straight. It almost hurts, and you writhe beneath his hand. “Please, can’t—”

“But you will,” he tuts, thumb pressing into your clit as though punishing it. “You will because you’re my good girl. Aren’t you? Do exactly what I say, don’t you?”

Your head rolls back into the pillows, spine arching as you whisper, “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He removes his arm from under your waist so he can go back up to your chest, pulling on your tit until tears actually gather in your lashes. “Go on, then. Fucking give it to me.”

You can feel the cool brush of his rings against your skin, but the moment you look down at his hands, it hits you.

Unraveling faster than you ever have, you clench around him, and finally release that scream. It’s the strongest one you believe you’ve ever experienced, and it seems to last an eternity as he continues fucking into you. 

Then, his hand is on your jaw, tugging something fierce until your eyes meet.

“Look at me,” he whispers, knee still digging into your thigh as his weight keeps you caught in the pleasure. “Look at me, honey. Let me see you come.”

Tears fall from your cheeks and into his hands, almost burning your skin as you shudder around his cock.

You can see the repercussions of it on his face. Can see how connected you two have become in this singular moment.

He’s seconds away from following, and just when you begin to revel in the thought of feeling him fill you…he pulls out.

Straightening up, he takes his cock in his hand, and with a quick, firm pump, he comes all over your tits.

Nothing will ever be able to describe the wave of adoration you feel as you watch him release himself. The knitting of his eyebrows together in pure, unadulterated bliss or the flush in his cheeks as he groans.

His lips are so very pink and swollen, and the expression on his face, like something out of a museum. Structured and beautiful and the perfect showcase of exactly how good he feels right now.

And you watch as the nipple rings—his initials—are drenched in the sticky substance. It looks like art, painted across your chest in featherlike strokes. 

The camera catches everything, allowing the audience the best view of his contribution. You imagine it’ll be something you’ll rewatch for years to come. A screenshot engraved in your mind for the rest of time.

You hum contently, eyelids growing heavy as you admire his work, and just when you think the moment is dwindling down, he dips down.

His tongue swipes over your breast, collecting himself on his lips as you groan and push up into his mouth.

He makes a noise himself, both hands gluing to your ribcage as he pulls you closer and keeps you still.

He licks at you like you’re a popsicle on a hot day, smearing his come over your skin, your lingerie set, and his chin. 

“So good, Peach,” he murmurs between sucking your nipple into his mouth. “Could fucking stay here all day.”

Once again, your fingers brush through his curls, lazily this time. Almost as if trying to relax him. Thank him.

“Please do,” you whisper, almost as if to yourself, but the softening of his expression tells you he heard.

With one final kiss to your tit, he moves back up and takes hold of your jaw.

His fingers press into your cheeks, right beside your lips as a silent instruction for you to open. 

You do, immediately sticking out your tongue for his offering as he leans down.

The spit and come dribble down deliciously slow but the moment they make contact, you whimper.

He keeps his hold on your face, watching as it sits in your mouth, seeming to enjoy the sight of your full submission. 

Then, he squeezes. “Swallow.”

You do, quite greedily, and the second it’s down your throat, he’s kissing you again.

And it’s different this time because he’s no longer inside of you. No longer fucking you or showing off for the camera.

He’s kissing you just to kiss you and it makes your head spin as you disappear into his unspoken display of affection.

“My sweet girl,” he says against your lips, and it makes you smile. “Sweet like a peach, hm?”

You giggle into his cheek, nuzzling into him as though his touch is the only thing that can save you. 

And maybe it is.

“Thank you,” you finally say, nipping at his earlobe until he smirks.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. Fucking me?”

He laughs as he smooths his palm down your side, drinking in your feverish body as the camera watches.

“Just trying to be a good business partner,” he retorts, and it makes your stomach flutter.

You lean back to meet his eye, already feeling sheepish. “Mr. Styles?”

“Hm?” His focus drifts to your forehead as he absentmindedly brushes back your hair. 

“I wouldn’t be…opposed to doing that again,” you admit with a sheepish grin.

And for a moment, he’s amused, staring at you with a look you aren’t sure you recognize but absolutely adore. 

Then, his smile falls, and a frown settles over his face. A sad kind of expression that changes the afternoon on a dime.

Suddenly, he’s sitting up and scooting back, tucking himself into his pants before snatching his shirt from the bed.

You watch, confused and a little unsure as he begins packing his things in the same way Max had. 

“I’m…I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” you venture timidly, arms crossing over your chest in an attempt at covering. 

He doesn’t reply. He simply turns off the camera and redoes his belt, eyes trained everywhere but you.

“I was just…I was kidding. We don’t have to do that again, I just…I thought—”

“It’s fine.” His tone is clipped. Short and straight to the point. He sounds the way he always does yet it makes your heart sink.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” you try again, but his head merely shakes.

“You didn’t.” Another vague and frustrating answer. “I just have somewhere I need to be.”

However, you know his schedule inside and out, personal and professional, and you know that he specifically kept today wide open.

Still, he pulls on his jacket and runs a hand through his hair, attention drifting toward the door. Eyeing his escape.

You bite back a sigh. “Uh…okay, well, thank you. Again. For your help.”

He nods, finally glancing over. But he’s not looking at you the way he was before. Now, it’s hollow. Void of any understanding and care. “I told you I’d help, and I meant it.”

“Right.” And now he’s done. “Sure, yeah. Okay. So I’ll…see you Monday?”

Another nod, this time quiet. You can see that he’d like to add something else, but his lips purse together, keeping his secrets locked away.

“Monday,” he finally repeats, moving for the exit. “I expect you to be on time.”

You stare at his back as he opens the door, silently pleading with him to turn around. To look at you one last time. Not leave like this.

He hesitates, hand gripping the handle, knuckles going white. He’s halfway into the hallway and your breath hitches.

Then, he disappears through the frame.

And the door slams shut. 

ONE MORE PART, I WILL BE SOBBING TBH

Next Part:

~ Five to Go Live*

Previous Part:

~ Three to Make Ready*

~ Full One for the Money Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Credit for the incredible and perfectly peachy dividers to @firefly-graphics!!

And a shout-out to @fkinavocado for helping me plan! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @kathb59 @iamjustaholeforyousir @buckyssbestgirl @harrystylesfan2686 @cherryluvhobi @indierockgirrl @narry-heart @daphnesutton @uniquesexything @amateurduck @ilovec0lbybr0ck @winterrays @milfrrynation @definegirlfriendsx @allthelovehes @amiets2 @likeapplejuicenpeach @nega-omega @sucker-4-angst @hsgucci94 @gills-lounge @kennedy-brooke @avasversion @stylesfever

When his request is met with silence, his eyebrow cocks up, and he looks over. “What did I just say, hm?”

“To breathe, yeah. I just, uh…kind of forgot how.”

He chuckles as he crawls back over to where you lay on the bed, newly sterilized object in hand. “Do you doubt me?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you retort through a thick swallow. “I wasn’t expecting nipple piercer to be on your resume.”

“Funny.” He takes the ice cube from you. “For your information, I happen to be a man of many talents.”

“Clearly.”

“Yes. So, you have nothing to worry about. I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah? You pierce a lot of your client’s nipples?”

He smirks. “Only the good ones.”

With a rather stressed laugh, you settle back into the pillows, heart racing the closer he brings his tools.

In turn, he scoots a bit closer as well, eyes falling to your chest before his chin juts up. “Gonna have to take them out.”

“Oh. Right.” You glance down and hook your finger around the lacey covering over your breasts, gently pulling until your tits pop free. “Uh…there?”

He grins, attention flicking back to your face. “You seem nervous.”

“Gee, really? What was your first clue?”

“Your voice is shaking.” He nods at your arms. “And so are your hands.”

“Yeah, well…getting stabbed with a needle isn’t exactly a talent of mine.”

“You’ve been pierced before, haven’t you?”

“I mean, yeah. But not in my nipple.”

“It’s no different than a clamp,” he responds, moving toward your right breast. “Perhaps a bit more uncomfortable, but I know you can handle it.”

Your eyes narrow. “Yeah? And how exactly do you know that?”

A beat as a teasing smile tugs at his lips. “Because you like pain.”

Shit.

He brings the ice cube closer, running it gently down your feverish skin before encircling the hardened bud and coating it with the melting liquid. 

You hiss, back arching, and features twisting into a wince as you squirm back. “Oh, shit—”

“Easy,” he warns quietly, but he seems entertained. “This is just the ice.”

“I know, and it’s cold.”

“Gee, really? What was your first clue?”

You scoff. “Not funny. God, are you done?”

“What? You don’t like it?” he retorts, continuing to hold the freezing object over your sensitive skin. “Thought you’d be into something like this.”

“I…I am, I just…it’s cold.”

“Yes, you mentioned. Do you not like temperature play?”

You hesitate. “I mean…this is different.”

“Is it? It’s ice.”

“Yeah, but…normally it’s not followed up with a needle.”

He laughs again, eyeing your hardening nipple with great intrigue and calculated focus. “Relax, Peach. I know what I’m doing.”

“Mhm. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Good girl,” he hums as your heart suddenly lurches in your chest. Then, he pulls the melting cube of water away from your body and brings it to your mouth. “Hold this for me, yeah?”

A tad stunned, you nod mutely and part your lips to take the ice between your teeth.

He’s pleased, smiling to himself before he continues his work on your breast. He plucks the nipple between his fingers and rolls it around a time or two, pinching hard in order to stimulate the nerves and make sure it’s ready.

“Are you breathing?” he asks quietly, sneaking a glimpse of your cautious expression.

You nod again, muscles going lax as you anxiously await contact.

With this assurance, he brings the needle to the pebbled bud, studying it with the utmost concentration as he smooths the skin out in order to create space.

“Ready?” he whispers, and your throat goes dry.

“Ready,” you stammer around the cube between your lips. So quietly, you’re surprised he hears you at all.

But he does, and he offers you a look of encouragement before he brings the sharp tip closer.

The sting is no worse than that of a bee, perhaps slightly more prominent. But even with your high pain tolerance, you can’t help gasping some as you feel the needle pierce through to the other side.

“Shit,” you murmur, eyes rolling up toward the ceiling in an effort to keep yourself from looking. “Oh, that’s…god—”

“You all right, Peach?” he asks calmly.

“I’m…I…yeah,” you manage, teeth grinding into the hard block of ice. “Fuck—”

“Easy,” he reminds you, now leaning some of his weight on your leg as if to discourage you from moving. “Hold still, yeah?”

“Yeah…sorry—shit.”

He reaches over for the only earring you had available, getting it into position so he can slide it through. “I’ll pick up the correct bar tomorrow,” he decides. “But until then, this should do.”

Once secure, he leans back to admire his work. “There. Easy.”

Venturing a glance, you look down as well, and notice the shiny, gold hoop glinting in the light from your tit. “…huh.”

His eyebrow raises. “What?”

“It’s…pretty,” you admit, cheeks warming some. “I like it.”

He grins, reaching back up to take the ice from your mouth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You swallow the extra liquid before running your tongue over your lips. “You were right.”

“Always am,” he retorts coolly before he’s bringing the frozen water back to your other breast. “Still doing okay? Need a break?”

“No. It wasn’t so bad.”

“Good.” He hums again, repeating the previous task of running the cube over your skin. “Doing really well, Peach.”

“Thank you. Sir.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “And you behave. How nice.”

“Haven’t I always?”

“Incredibly well,” he concedes, and it does something strange to the butterflies in your gut. “I knew you’d make an excellent business partner.”

“Ha.” You squirm a bit under the cool trailing of ice across your chest. “I think you just like bossing me around.”

“I like watching you obey,” he corrects smugly. “And I like watching you grow more confident with yourself. And with me.”

“Sure, sure. And it has nothing to do with the fact that my pussy was on full display?”

“Oh, was it? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Very funny. Now who’s got jokes?”

“Like I said. I’m a man of many talents.”

Again, he stimulates your breast a bit before smoothing it back and lining the needle up just so.

And again, you keep your focus anywhere else but his hands, instead content to stare at the bridge of his nose as he goes.

It’s quite a nice nose. One that you’d absentmindedly run your finger down. That you’d boop before pressing a kiss to the tip. 

You don’t imagine he’s into that kind of affection, but your mind wonders about him anyhow. You ponder what his behavior might look like with somebody he cares about. Somebody he loves. If he’s just as calculated or if he loosens up a bit. If he shares his darkest secrets and devotes his time to caring for them.

You rarely see him slip. Sometimes he drinks but even when fully inebriated, he’s still the thoughtful man you’ve come to know. Or when he’s tired, or stressed, or aggravated. Everything he does is carefully concise. He doesn’t lose his temper. He doesn’t sulk or throw tantrums. He rarely raises his voice and he’s never one to belittle somebody for a mistake.

A few of the many reasons you admire him.

“There,” he declares, and you blink yourself back to reality only to realize that he’s finished, and the second hoop is in place. “Done.”

He sits up, removing his weight from your legs, and a part of you is sad to feel him go.

Nevertheless, you push up as well, wincing some as the residual ache begins to settle. “Fuck—”

“It’s gonna be sore for a bit,” he tells you, taking the cube of ice from between your teeth and popping what’s left of it into his own mouth. “Take some Aleve and wear loose clothes. Swelling should go down in a bit.”

You watch him stand, eyebrows raised. “Uh…okay. Now what?”

He’s studying you. In that same way he had the other day in his office. Focus solely on your tits as he sucks on the frozen water with a wry smile.

“You look good, Peach,” he says again, and your lashes flutter. “Really good. S’might be my best work yet.”

“Glad to hear it,” you tease before clearing your throat. “So, um…are we…are we done? Is…I’ll just edit the video and we’ll…I’ll see you at work?”

You’re not sure why you feel so…awkward but what else could he possibly expect of you? He’s essentially done what he came to do and now…

Now what?

He chuckles, tucking the ice into his cheek. “Yes, I’ll see you at work,” he agrees before hesitating. “I just wanna do one thing first.”

Shit. “Oh, uh…yeah? What’s…what’s that?”

He turns around and strides back over to your desk, hand outstretching for your Polaroid camera. “Think we need something to remember the occasion by.”

You can feel the way your pulse goes stagnant, a breath catching in your throat. “…yeah?”

“Yeah.” He studies the settings before turning to you. “And it’s something else you can post if you’d like.”

There’s a strange sort of rush between your legs as Mr. Styles steps up to the edge of the bed, Polaroid in hand.

“Is that all right?” he asks, finger poised over the shutter release.

You nod so quickly, your head begins to ache. “Yes. Yeah, that’s…mhm.”

He smiles, and it’s soft. Amused. “Lay back for me, honey.”

You do, resettling into the pillows, careful not to move too much. “Like…this?”

He nods, lifting the camera and hovering it near his chest so he can peek through the viewfinder. “Yeah, just like that. Arch your back.”

You do as instructed, lifting from the bed until your tits are a bit more prominent.

“Good. And let your hands kind of…rest,” he suggests. “Maybe one just above, one just below. It’ll help draw in the attention.”

“Are the bright, gold hoops through my nipples not enough?”

He chuckles. “Having your hands in the frame reminds people of what your hands can do. How they might squeeze, or pinch, or pull. How you’d look playing with them as you squirm and gasp for more.”

Shit, shit, shit. “Oh…right. Smart.”

With shaky arms, you gently lay your palms near your breasts, framing the handiwork as Mr. Styles leans closer.

“There you go,” he murmurs, peering through the camera. “Just like that, Peach. So fucking pretty.”

The flash goes off, forcing you to suck in a sharp breath as the photo slowly begins to slide out with a mechanical whir.

Pleased, Mr. Styles leans back, slipping the image free before placing the Polaroid back on your desk. “Perfect.”

“Good,” you whisper, biting the inside of your lip. “Good, yeah…”

Sensing your hesitancy, he smirks. “You did good, Peach. I’ll see you Monday.”

“Monday. Right.” You clear your throat as you sit up. “Good. Yeah. I’ll…yeah.”

“Yeah,” he echoes playfully before nodding his goodbye and slipping from the room.

Eventually, you hear your apartment door open and shut, leaving you alone yet again.

And left to wonder what the hell just happened.

“Good morning, Mr. Styles.”

Your greeting is met with nothing more than a short, almost unperceivable nod as you make your way into his office, a coffee in one hand and his schedule in the other.

“Morning,” he mumbles, eyes flicking across his computer screen as you approach and place the hot drink on his desk. “You’re late.”

“I am. Sorry.” You take a seat in front of him, notebook landing in your lap. “I, uh…had a weird start to my day.”

He says nothing. Doesn’t even glance over. All he does is offer the raise of his eyebrow, his sign for you to continue. 

So, you do. 

“I posted the, uh…the picture? That you took?” you explain quietly, glancing around the empty room almost as if you expect someone to be listening. “Which was great, by the way. Really nicely done. The framing…and all that.”

He smirks.

“Anyway, and I, um…I got a message,” you continue slowly. “From another creator. On OnlyFans.”

Still, he’s distracted, replying with a nonchalant, “Okay.”

“He…he asked if I wanted to maybe collab,” you tell him. “Do a…short video together. Or something. Maybe…maybe make it a series?”

The rapid typing on his keyboard suddenly stops as his attention drifts to you. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Your fingers strum rhythmically along the notepad. “I’ve seen a couple of his videos before. He’s good. And he’s got an impressive following.”

Mr. Styles blinks, seemingly unfazed. “All right.”

“Yeah, so…” You shift. “Yeah. What do you…what do you think?”

He leans back in his seat, focus now directly on you. “What do I think of what?”

“Of…him. The idea. Collaborating.”

His head cocks. “Are you asking my permission, Peach?”

Are you? “I’m…yes? No? I don’t…I just want to know if you think it’s a good idea.”

He considers this, humming to himself as he places his elbow on the arm rest. “Are you asking me as your boss or as your investor?”

“Uh…the second one?”

“As your investor, I don’t think it can hurt. More exposure means more subscribers. It helps elevate your content and gives them something they haven’t seen from you before.”

“And as my boss?”

“As your boss, I’m legally obligated to direct you to HR.”

You smile, eyes glancing down toward your folded hands. “Right.”

The large office grows quiet.

“I can’t tell you what to do,” he adds, leaning forward. “This is your business. Your body. Your choice. My input is nothing more than mere suggestion. It’s not rule.”

“I know, I just…you’ve been right so far,” you sigh. “As much as I hate to admit it. And I like what we’ve…created. But I’ve never made a video with anybody else before. I mean, not like what he’s suggesting anyhow.”

“Are you opposed to the idea?”

“Honestly? No. He’s nice. We’ve spoken briefly before, and he made sure to let me know we would create a safe environment.”

Mr. Styles nods, considering this. “Are you attracted to him?”

You blink. “I mean…I don’t…I don’t know? He’s…cute. Yeah. Sure.”

“Can he fuck?”

You lean back. “What?”

“Can he fuck?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“You said you watched his videos. Did it seem like he knew what he was doing?”

“I guess? What does it matter?”

“It matters because if he can’t, you’ll spend the entire scene having to fake your moans, and I don’t think that’s very fair.”

You ponder this. “Okay, well. I’m pretty sure he can.”

“Do you think he’d be worth your time?”

“I don’t…know. I guess? If anything, it gets me out of my comfort zone.”

“All right. Last question.” He leans his weight on the desk and meets your eye. “Do you want to?”

You take a beat before answering. You honestly aren’t sure. You used to think you didn’t want anything, but Mr. Styles changed that for you. And you realized earlier this morning that you don’t think it will ever feel like it did with him. Comfortable, and safe, and…right? 

You don’t understand any of it.

“Yes,” you finally say. “I do. I just…I think I’m nervous.”

“Then take your time to find your nerve,” he suggests. “Get to know him first. Discuss how you’d like the scene to play out. The technicalities, the boundaries, the point.”

You groan a bit as you flop back into your chair. “God, it was so much simpler with you.”

The dark hairs of his eyebrow quirk up. “How so?”

“I don’t know. It just was.” You shrug. “You showed up, you told me what to do…it was nice. I already knew you. Felt comfortable with you. It wasn’t about the camera or the technicalities. It was just about…pleasure.”

He nods. “How it should be.”

“Right. And I liked it. I liked how…normal it felt? In a sense?’ 

He’s amused by this. “Sex only works if you’re comfortable.”

“Agreed. It would be so much easier with you.”

The statement seems to catch you both off guard as you clear your throat and glance at your shoes.

“I mean…you know what I mean,” you mumble, shifting some. “I…yeah. I’ll just…I’ll message him and work something. Great…great talk.”

You feel him watching you. Eyes raking over every inch of your fame before he straightens up.

“Peach,” he calls, pulling your attention back. “Come here.”

Your head tilts. “What?”

“Come,” he repeats, motioning you closer with a jut of his chin.

Confused, you stand, allowing your feet to carry you to his side of the desk as he scoots back to create room.

Once settled before him, he travels his focus up to your face. “How are they?”

“How are…what?”

“The piercings.” 

“Oh.” You both glance toward your chest. “Uh…good? I think? They don’t hurt as much anymore. Still a little tender, though.”

He nods. “Show me.”

Despite the chill that travels straight to your cunt, you swallow. “I’m sorry?”

“Show me,” he repeats. “Let me make sure they’re healing right.”

A ruse if you’ve ever heard one, but you can’t deny the small inkling of intrigue as you reach for the buttons on your blouse.

You pop them free, slow, and deliberately as he watches. The office is quiet but the tension in the air is palpable. 

When you get to the last one, something in his expression shifts.

“Peach…” he begins slowly, almost as if warning you.

Your smile is innocent.

His large hands outstretch for the silky shirt, gingerly pushing it back and down your shoulders until your torso is revealed to him.

The air is cool against your bare chest, your nipples even more prominent now with the delicate jewelry catching the light outside his large window. It sends yet another shiver rippling across your nervous system as you twitch beneath his touch.

He hums. “Think you forgot something,” he muses, steady palms ghosting over your ribcage.

“What? Oh, yeah.” Your voice is nonchalant and blasé. “Well, you said loose fitting clothes. Thought wearing something so…tight would defeat the purpose.”

He’s amused. “So you came into my office with no bra, hm?”

“Seems like I did.”

He begins to pull you closer, legs parting to create the space you need to stand. “And how do they feel?”

You look down at him, heart in your throat. “Uh…like I said, a little tender, but…fine.”

He’s nearly eye level with your tits and his concentration is resilient. “How about when you touch them?”

A breath catches in your lungs. “Um…when I…I haven’t. Really.”

His fingers lift, thumb gently and oh-so delicately stroking under the swell of your breast. “How’s this, hm?”

Your muscles stiffen. “Um…good?”

He looks up. “Is that a question or an answer?”

“An…answer?”

His eyebrows raise.

“An answer,” you repeat, sucking in a quiet inhale. “It’s…fine. It’s good, yeah.”

He nods before you feel him move up. “And this?”

He’s getting closer, hand gently cupping your tit and squeezing it softly. 

Your lashes flutter, knees suddenly going weak. “Good. Fine. Mhm.”

He hums again before the tip of his finger ghosts across the piercing.

You jolt, a soft gasp slipping between your lips as you subconsciously push yourself into his touch.

He smirks. “Good, then?”

“Mhm,” you repeat, nodding quickly as you swallow a whine. “Really…good. Yes. Good.”

He holds you in his hand for only a moment longer…before he’s letting go and scooting back.

“Still sensitive,” he muses. “But that could just be you.”

You force a laugh as you pull your blouse back up and begin redoing the buttons. “Well…what can I say? I’m a peach.”

It’s an awful attempt at a joke but Mr. Styles smiles anyway, nodding for you to return to your seat so you can begin going through his schedule.

The next week carries on as usual. You set up meetings, return emails, and help your boss divvy up his itinerary for the next few months. 

You rarely chat about his…investment. In fact, the topic is hardly broached at all except for when you give him small updates on Max.

Turns out, Max (your future collaborating partner), has been only OnlyFans since it started. He’s got an entire routine and dedicated fanbase and has at least a hundred ideas on what the two of you could explore.

He’s nice, as far as you can tell. Interested in your thoughts and feelings on the matter. Never pushes something you seem to hesitate on. And is willing to wait until you’re ready.

You tell Mr. Styles that you’re meeting Max for coffee this coming Friday, and his reaction is about what you’d expect. A simple, “All right,” before he’s moving on to his next task. 

You can’t help but wonder if he’s losing interest in you. Or in your…business. He doesn’t ask for any details. Doesn’t pry for information. Doesn’t even suggest he check your piercings.

You know this stoic behavior isn’t unusual for him. He’s always been incredibly focused on his work and his real business.

Still, you can’t deny a part of you misses when he devoted some of his attention to you.

No matter how fucked up.

Coffee with Max is good. Better than good. You spend over four hours getting to know each other, planning the scene, and deciding what you’re both comfortable with.

By the time you leave, you’re actually excited. The ideas and positions will be incredibly riveting for the viewers, and you can’t deny that you’re interested in how they might feel.

Mr. Styles offers you nothing more than an understanding nod when you tell him. You explain that you’ll be meeting at a hotel, that you’ve already discussed a safe word, and that you’ll be taking extra precautions to make sure you both feel comfortable.

Secretly, you suppose you’re searching for his approval. For him to tell you that you’ve done a good job. That he’s signing off on this collaboration.

Yet the nod is all you get.

By the end of the workday, you’ve lost some of your spark for the impending video. You’re not sure why. Maybe you’re sulking. Maybe you gave Mr. Styles more credit than he deserved. Maybe you’re just crazy.

Either way, it strikes your boss as odd.

“Peach,” he calls, and hearing him use your pseudonym makes your heart leap. “What’s going on?”

You look up from the sofa, ripping your eyes away from your laptop. “What?”

He nods at you. “You’re distracted.”

“I’m…working?”

“Exactly. It’s weird.”

You snort. “Sorry, I’m just…I’m thinking.”

“About?”

“About…” You hesitate before your head shakes. “Nothing, forget it. I’m fine. Did you get the email from Lance?”

“I did. Are you going to answer my question?”

“Only if it’s a question about the email.”

His tongue swipes across his bottom lip. “Fine. When forwarding me the email, were you thinking about this Matthew fellow?”

Despite yourself, you smile. “Max. And that’s cheating.”

“It’s not cheating. It’s rearranging the rules.”

“Oh, is that what it is?”

“Yes. Were you?”

You lean back against the cushions with a sigh. “Kind of? I don’t know. I feel like maybe it’s a bad idea.”

He mirrors your stance, allowing himself to settle into his seat. “Why is that?”

“Because…I’ve just…I don’t know. It’s weird.”

“You didn’t seem to think so earlier.”

“Yeah, well…I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

“Why?  

“Yes, why?”

You shut the laptop and toss it onto the couch beside you. “It’s stupid.”

“Probably but tell me anyway.”

You throw him a playful glare. “It’s because of you, actually.”

“Me,” he repeats. 

“Yes, you. Okay, I keep…I keep thinking about how easy it was with you, and how we’ve kind of…found a way to be cool about all this,” you explain with a frustrated exhale. “Right, and then with this…something just feels…off. You know, you’re really quiet about it. Haven’t really said much, and I don’t know. Maybe I just…wanted you to be okay with it.”

He takes a moment to mull over his answer. “I told you, this is your choice. My opinions don’t matter—”

“Yeah, except that they do,” you argue. “I don’t know why but everything you’ve suggested so far has worked. So you being so uninterested in this thing with Max makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

“You can’t do anything wrong,” he says calmly. “It’s your body. Your content—”

“Yes, I know. I just…I want…god, I want…”

Silence stretches between you as Mr. Styles tilts his head. “You want what, Peach? You want…my permission? My approval?”

Do you? “I don’t…I don’t know. Maybe?”

He considers this before nodding once and lifting his hand, fingers beckoning you closer.

You sit up, tossing a curious glance his way.

However, when you don’t move, his expression grows stern. “Thought you knew how to behave.”

You sigh to yourself and stand, legs carrying you back to his side of the desk for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Take off your shirt,” he instructs, and you feel a weird rush of déjà vu. 

But you obey, nonetheless, lifting the satin hem and pulling it over your head as he reaches into one of his drawers.

When his hand retreats, you see something shiny in his palm, and your breath hitches.

He’s grinning as he nods for you to sit on the table, rather entertained by your flabbergasted response. “Take them out.”

Once your ass is settled, you gently pull the lace of your bralette down, revealing your chest to his gaze yet again.

He smirks before standing as well, fingers uncurling.

Inside his fist are two nipple rings in the shapes of perfectly plump peaches.

And monogrammed on each one? An initial.

H. S.

Your lashes flutter.

“Would you like my honesty?” he begins as he brings them closer, sneaking a glimpse of your face in search of permission.

You nod quickly.

He reaches for the piercing already in place and gently starts to remove it. “I like what we’ve created, too. Perhaps more than I should.”

Your pulse stutters.

“And I like that you take my advice. Like that you’re more confident in yourself,” he continues, the rough pad of his thumb brushing over your nipple until your eyes nearly roll back. “That you feel more relaxed in your own body.”

Your hands grasp onto the edge of his desk, steadying yourself just before you can keel over.

He carries on, voice calm and deep. Like melted butter. “I like the way you react to me,” he murmurs. “The way you hold your breath. The way you squirm. Or the way you beg me for more with just a look.”

The peachy H is slipped through your right nipple with great care as you glance down.

“What you choose to do and who you choose to do it with is your decision.” He moves to the left. “That will never be up for debate.”

His palm cups the underside of your tit as you mewl a bit and shift in his touch.

He pretends not to notice. “So, you will make this video. You’ll do what I taught you. You’ll make it worth it.”

With a final pinch, the last ring is locked into place. 

He leans closer, both hands now softly taking hold of your tits until his thumbs can brush over the new jewelry.

“And I will be…right here,” he whispers, eyes falling to his initials that glitter across your chest. Almost as if claiming you. “So while he’s fucking you…you think of me.”

His touch constricts, squeezing you subtly as you gasp.

“Whenever he touches you…whenever he looks at you…” His head dips until he’s so close, you can feel his breath fan across your cheek. “…you think of me.”

You whimper, legs squeezing together. “Harry—”

“Uh-uh.” He tugs on you, expression hardening as his voice deepens. “Not here.”

“Sir,” you correct, and he nods. “I’m wearing your name, and I can’t even use it?”

“This isn’t for you,” he corrects, the tip of his nose momentarily brushing against yours. “This is for him. So he knows who you’re really in business with.”

Your hand moves to his arm, squeezing the bicep beneath his nice jacket as you swallow thickly. “So, this is just part of your investment, then?”

He’s quiet, a minute passing between you as the office fills with the sound of his clock ticking the time away.

“Yes,” he says, nodding once but the cadence is thick. Labored. “You said it would be easier if I were there. So, now I will be.”

“That’s not quite what I meant,” you breathe, lashes fluttering at the prospect of his lips being so dangerously close. “But I appreciate the gesture.”

“Then what did you mean, Peach?” His hands move to your hips, squeezing onto your skin as if to cement you to your spot. “Hm? What do you really want from me?”

You’ve asked yourself this very question more times than you can count.

“I…” Your fingers curl into his arm. “I want whatever you’ll give me.”

Everything whittles down to right now as he debates your proposition, and you can see the intrigue in his eye.

Then he pulls back, releasing you from his hold as you nearly wilt.

“Then I’ll give you my blessing. If that’s what you need,” he says with an air of professionalism. “Do what you need to do.”

Not exactly the answer you were looking for.

With a hint of disappointment, you nod mutely, grabbing your shirt and slipping it back on as he returns to his seat, and you return to the sofa. 

“Peach Valentine,” Max greets, smile wide as he swings open the hotel door. “Right on time.”

“What can I say? Punctuality is sexy,” you tease, slipping inside and tossing your things onto the dresser. “So…this is it, huh?”

Max nods as he looks around the large hotel room, arms crossing over his chest. “Yeah. I’ve used it before. People seem to like it. The bedding is silk which looks nice on camera. And something about a hotel room makes people think of...taboo cheating scandals? I don’t know, it’s weird, but…they like it.”

You hum your understanding and step closer, taking note of all his equipment. “Oh, shit. You’ve got…you’ve got everything.”

He laughs. “Well, it’s what they’re paying me for.”

“Touché.” Shaky fingers lift toward your coat. “So, um…how do you wanna…where should we start?”

“I wanna go over some ground rules,” he begins, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. “Things we’re comfortable with, what we want to avoid, what the limits are.”

Nodding, you lean back against the large desk. “That’s fair.”

“All right, first…what are your thoughts on kis—”

There’s a knock on the door.

The sharp rapping pulls you both from the conversation as you look toward the front of the room, eyebrows raised.

“Are you…expecting anyone?” you ask hesitantly as Max’s lips turn down into a frown.

“No?” He stands from the bed and makes his way for the door. “Maybe it’s room service? I ordered some water and champagne just in case we needed an extra kick.”

“Sure, sure…”

He peers out of the peephole before swinging the door open just wide enough that it allows you to see who’s on the other side.

And your heart just about drops to your ass.

Mr. Styles.

Standing in the hallway, hands in his pockets, expression smug, and suit freshly pressed.

Max clears his throat. “Hey, man. Can I help you?”

Mr. Styles looks to you, mouth curling up into a rather devious grin. “I’m here for Peach Valentine.”

Max turns, seemingly curious. “Oh, uh…I didn’t know you were bringing someone.”

“Neither did I,” you murmur, straightening up as both men make their way into the room. “Is there…a problem?”

“Not at all,” Mr. Styles replies calmly. “Just figured you might like my advice.”

Now you understand his game, and the blood drains from your face as Max quickly looks between you. “Oh, all right. And you are…?”

Mr. Styles smirks.

“The investor.”

Don't be mad, I swear there will be smut and action and angst in the next part!!! I SWEAR IT!!

Next Part:

~ Four to Go*

Previous Part:

~ Two for the Show*

~ One for the Money Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Credit for the incredible and perfectly peachy dividers to @firefly-graphics!!

You swallow.

“Red is your color,” he muses after a moment, breaking the tense silence as you exhale. “Keeps the eyes on you.”

“Well, I would hope so,” you retort automatically before snapping your jaw shut. “…sorry.”

The side of his mouth curls up but his focus remains on the screen. “S’funny.”

“Hey, porn and stand-up, that’s my wheelhouse.”

The smile gets a bit bigger. “I can tell. Are you paying attention?”

“Right. Yeah, sorry.”

He nods.

The video continues on, sounds of your delicate whimpers slipping through his speakers as you wince and glance toward his office door.

“Shouldn’t you turn it down?” you suggest, but he remains unmoved.

“No.”

“What if someone can hear?”

“Then they’ll hear.”

You blink. “But…it’s the middle of the workday. What if they think it’s inappropriate?”

“Then I’ll fire them.”

Your head whips over your shoulder. “Mr. Styles—”

But his chin merely juts toward the screen. “Shh. Watch.”

“I—”

“Peach.”

The stern sound of your nickname brings you to a sudden stop, your stomach flipping into a sea of desperation as you slowly return your eyes to the computer.

You watch as your first finger slips inside. Watch the way the camera catches your cunt stretching around the digit as you slowly push it in, the microphone catching each sound.

He hums. “Interesting.”

You tense. “…what?”

“Don’t worry. We can talk about it after.”

“But—”

“Watch.”

Your lips press together into a firm line.

It feels as though this fifteen-minute video stretches on for hours. You feel slightly humiliated to watch yourself like this. The way your face scrunches up. The way your body rises and falls with heavy breaths. The way you’re whimpering.

When you finally come, you look away, eyes squeezing shut as you wince. But after you’ve finished, and so has the video, you look back…only to catch the frown on Mr. Styles’ face.

He’s disappointed by something, and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand upright.

“Problem?” he asks, finger tapping a button on his keyboard to close the video.  

“Hm? Oh, no,” you mumble, now shyly glancing toward your lap. “I just…it’s kind of embarrassing, you know? To see yourself like that.”

His brow raises. “Is it?”

“Well…yeah? I don’t…I never see myself come, I don’t know. It’s kind of mortifying.”

“Why?”

“I…just…because,” you stammer, beginning to stand from his lap. “It’s not exactly…pretty.”

However, his arm quickly loops around your hip to trap you against his thigh. “Did I say you could leave?”

You blink. “Uh…well, I just assumed since the video was over—”

“It is, and now I’d like you to explain to me all the ways in which you could improve.”

You sneak another glimpse of his face. “You were serious about that?”

“Of course.” He meets your eye. “Did you expect I wouldn’t be?”

“No, I just…I’m not really sure what you expect me to say?”

He considers this before returning his eyes to the screen as if remembering. “Start with your demeanor. You’re quiet. Perhaps too quiet. You don’t talk to your audience, you don’t draw them in. Make them feel like they’re just as much a part of it as you are.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh…yeah. Okay, I can…I guess I can see that.”

“You have quite an alluring voice,” he continues, looking back to you. “The sounds you make are reserved but needy. Makes your viewers feel as if they have control over your pleasure. As if you’re begging them to let you come. It’s one of your strengths.”

Your cheeks warm. “Um…okay. Good. Thank…thank you?”

He barrels on. “You rush things. Try to get from Point A to Point B. It’s not just about coming. It’s about everything in between. Slow down, take your time. Work yourself up—work them up. Make them squirm through every goddamn second of the video.”

“Okay…”

“The camera work is good. It gives them a perfect angle yet still allows them to see glimpses of your face. And the lighting is nice. Soft but still bright enough to see.”

“Okay, good…”

“You don’t use any toys.”

“…what?”

“Toys,” he repeats calmly. “A vibrator from time to time, but not much else. Is there a reason?”

Your shoulder lifts and falls. “No, I just…I don’t know. I don’t really have many, I guess. And vibrators are easy.”

“Easy, yes.” His head tilts. “Are you easy, Peach?”

Well…shit. “Is that rhetorical?”

“Not at all.”

“Then…no? Wait, yes. Wait…is easy a good thing?”

He’s amused. “It can be. If that’s what you’re going for. But you don’t know what you’re going for, do you?”

“I feel like the answer is no.”

“No,” he agrees. “You don’t. Which is why you need somebody to help show you.”

“Well, it’s not like they teach a class in OnlyFans for Dummies,” you defend, and he smiles again. For some reason, garnering his amusement feels like a personal victory. “Fine, I’ll invest in some toys. Happy?”

He leans back in his seat, still regarding you with great intrigue. “Would you know what kinds to get?”

“I don’t know, big purple ones? Does it really matter?”

His finger taps the top of your hip, and you feel your muscles stiffen. “You don’t seem to be taking this very seriously.”

“It’s a cock.”

“It doesn’t have to be just a cock. There are quite a lot of things you could incorporate into your content.”

“Okay, well…I’ll swing by Spencers on my way home.”

A smirk finds its way to back to him. “Spencers?”

“Yeah. It’s a sex shop.”

“I know. But it’s cheap. And for amateurs.”

“We’ve already established that I’m cheap. And an amateur, so I’m not really seeing the problem.”

“The problem is that you are worth so much more than what you advertise yourself as,” he says, and something weird happens to your heart. “You are not cheap, Peach. I would hope you would know that.”

You go quiet, a little unsure of how to respond.

A flash of disappointment streaks across his face before he sighs and pats your thigh, signaling for you to stand. “You’ll meet me at Velvet Rain tonight at 8.”

You hesitantly walk toward the other side of his desk, eyeing him curiously. “Wait…what?”

“It’s on the other side of the bridge,” he says, returning to his work as he pulls the keyboard close. “Just on the edge of town. If you need directions, you can ask Nadia.”

You blink, still unsure of what he expects you to say. “Sure, okay…why?”

“Part of my investment,” he answers, as nonchalant as you’ve ever heard him, focus never leaving his computer. “And I’m not cheap, either.”

Which is an understatement if you’ve ever heard one.

Velvet Rain is far nicer than you had anticipated. Considering it caters to the more mature consumer, the establishment itself is quite extravagant. Dark panels with red embellishments. A rather full parking lot. Even a security guard posted by the door.

You smirk to yourself as you step out of your car, eyes flicking left and right in search of your boss.

You see his car a few rows down, the familiar dark black McLaren practically shimmering beneath the ruby lights of the neon sign.

He exits once you begin walking closer, rebuttoning his jacket while straightening up, chin nodding at you.

“See you found it just fine,” he calls as he shuts his door. “And you’re on time.”

“Did you expect I wouldn’t be?” you counter, brow raised.

“Truthfully? I didn’t expect you to show at all.”

You scoff some as you both head for the entrance, a hand over your heart in mock insult. “It’s gonna take a lot more than a big, purple cock to scare me.”

His amused smirk nearly sends chills down your spine. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

After flashing his ID to the guard, he pulls the door open, and allows you to step inside.

You’re met with an array of lights, sounds, and even smells. There’s almost too much to take in all at once, each one of your senses getting pulled further in as you mindlessly wander toward the center of the room.

Mr. Styles chuckles from your left as you attempt to study your surroundings, clearly entertained by your fascination. “Not what you were expecting, hm?”

“I…wow,” is about all you can say, eyes widening when you find the shelf full of colorful cocks. “Yeah, this is not Spencers.”

“No,” he agrees, trailing after you, allowing you a moment to look around. “But everything you need, you’ll find here.”

“I don’t even know what I need,” you admit. “I don’t even know what half of this stuff is.”

He smiles again before you feel him place his hand on the small of your back to guide you to the right. “Questions are asked to be answered. If you don’t know something, ask me. And I’ll tell you.”

You’re brought to a new section of the store, focus flicking across the display of objects, unceasingly enthralled.

“You know what handcuffs are,” he begins, glancing over the side of your face. “Yes?”

“Yes.” You nod once, studying the colors, the material, and the intensity of each pair of restraints. Some are fluffy, some are pink, some are metal, and some come with leashes and locks. “Pretty self-explanatory.”

“Good. Then you know what a spreader bar is,” he continues, now gesturing toward the opposite wall. 

You turn, eyebrows lifting. “Uh…cuffs for your ankles, right?”

“Essentially, yes.” He reaches for one, taking a moment to investigate. “Could be useful for your content. Watching you submit to yourself.”

You consider this, nodding once.

He moves on. “And I assume you’re familiar with things like paddles, whips, and gags?”

“Yeah, but I can’t exactly use them on myself, now, can I?”

He smirks. “Perhaps not. But you could always invite a partner.”

“I guess. Although I don’t know who I’d ask.”

“A boyfriend, a roommate, a friend you trust.”

“Don’t have one, don’t have one, and none of my friends and I are close enough for that.”

This information triggers the cock of his eyebrow, although he keeps his focus elsewhere, moving on to the next display. “I see. You might want to invest in some better friends.”

“Why? Is it not interesting enough with just me?” you tease, watching the nonchalant shrug of his shoulder.

“It is for now. But adding a partner or even multiple partners would perhaps bring in a larger audience,” he muses before glancing toward you. “Just something to think about.”

So, you do think, contemplating some of the porn you yourself have enjoyed before. You suppose he’s right. It can be a bit more interesting with more people involved. To see the dynamics between a dominant and a submissive play out, instead of just one person alone in their room.

You follow after him. “Fine, I’ll make sure to put out a Craigslist ad.”

He grins as he reaches for something else. “What about a clit clamp?”

“…what about it?”

He looks over. “Have you ever used one?”

“Do I look like I’ve used one?”

“Not at all, but I was trying to be nice.”

You shoot him a glare. “Well, no. I have not. Are they…I mean, is that super popular?”

“For OnlyFans?” He considers this. “I don’t see too many, no. It could give you an edge.”

You step closer to investigate. “I guess it looks fun.”

“It is,” he agrees as your head tilts, surprised. “I’ve used them before, Peach. On other partners. And they’ve always quite enjoyed them.”

“Oh, well, I’m sold,” you retort, to which he smiles a bit bigger. “Is that it?”

“Not quite.” He maneuvers around to the other side of the store, brushing past the collection of strap-ons and bondage. “I want to start you off with something simple. Something you might already be used to.”

With that, he reaches for something on the wall, plucking it free before handing it to you.

“A cock,” you deadpan, eyebrow raised. “Yes, I do believe I’ve seen one before.”

However, he merely flicks his finger over something on the bottom, and the whole toy comes alive, buzzing in your hand.

“A vibrating cock,” he corrects smugly before his touch trails over the clit stimulator. “It’s an upgrade from your other vibrator and quite an upgrade from your hand. Still a bit tame, but I think it could be good to start with.”

For just a moment, you forget the fact that you’re having this conversation with your boss in the middle of a sex shop. Forget that this goes well beyond the duties of an investor and even that of a friend.

And you almost…don’t mind.

“Okay,” you agree, weighing it in your palm. “And I can do this alone?”

“You could,” he agrees before there’s a beat. “But you don’t have to.”

You glance back up. “What do you mean?”

“Comes with a remote,” he explains, plucking it from the wall as well. “So it can be controlled by someone else. You don’t necessarily need another person, but I don’t know if I trust you to use this toy to its fullest potential.”

“And what does that mean?”

“You’re weak,” he says simply. “The minute it starts to feel good, you’ll cave. Let yourself come. Won’t edge yourself properly, and truthfully, I think that’s quite a waste.”

You lean back, blinking fervently. “I think I can handle it.”

“I don’t.” He studies you. “But it’s up to you, Peach. If you’d like to keep your content average, that’s your prerogative.”

Your eyelids narrow. “And let me guess, you’re offering to help?”

“If you’d like.” Another shrug. Indifferent. “But this isn’t about me. Or my contribution. It’s about you. Your pleasure. Your audience.”

You run through his premise. Debate each side before settling on, “You don’t think it would be weird?”

“Have I given you any reason to believe it would be?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

The smug grin returns. “It would not be weird. Not to me. But like I said, this is your decision. You are welcome to find someone else.”

You hesitate.

“If you can,” he adds coyly, and your eyes roll.

“So…what? We’d just film us using the toy and that’s it?” you ask, handing the cock back. 

He takes it, and you have to admit…you like the look of it in his hand. “Yes. I wouldn’t be in the video. Just my hands. Maybe my voice. But it would be about you, Peach. It will always only be about you.”

You happen to like the sound of that, too. “What if I hate it?”

“Then we’ll stop.”

“What if it’s awkward?”

“I won’t let it be.”

“What if I hate you being there?”

“Then I’ll leave.”

And what if I like you being there? you think to yourself, swallowing shakily as you straighten up. “You really think I can’t do this alone?”

“You can,” he says softly before stepping closer. “You just shouldn’t have to.”

Somehow, that’s all you need to hear before nodding your approval and following him to the register.

He pays for the vibrating toy, a blindfold, some lube, and the clit clamp. Mostly in an effort to annoy you, but even still, your interest has been piqued.

He agrees to meet you at your apartment over the weekend. He wants you to take a couple of days to think about it. Decide if it’s really what you want.

So, you do. You spend the next forty-eight hours running through the pros and cons. You change your mind nearly a hundred times, and almost call him twice to quit your job altogether.

But each time, you remember a flash of his smile, or the feel of his hand on your hip. His warm body, his sometimes-relaxing demeanor, and his ability to make you feel respected.

You know he means it when he says he won’t let things get out of hand. He’s a very straightforward man, always has been. He calls it like he sees it, and even though there are times that does more harm than good, right now…it’s incredibly welcome.

He doesn’t mention it during work. Business continues as usual. You run errands, prep him for his meetings, and work with him on his schedule. Not a word is uttered about your future plans, and you find that you feel both relieved and frustrated by this.

You slip into the elevator after work on Friday, ready to go home and tussle with decision a bit longer when a large hand comes out and smacks against the door, keeping the lift from closing.

And in steps Mr. Styles.

He shoots you a grin as he finds a place beside you, fingers outstretching for the keypad. “What floor?”

“Ground,” you say quietly, a tad confused as to why he’s going home so early. It’s not like him to leave his office any earlier than midnight, and you can’t help but wonder why today is so different.

He selects the button and leans back as the ride fills with silence. You overthink through nearly every second, deliberating on whether you should say anything and if perhaps he’s changed his mind. Or if he even remembers at all.

It’s not until you’ve reached the fifteenth floor that he finally murmurs, “You seem tense. Have I been working you too hard?”

“No.” You clear your throat, shaking your nerves free. “No, uh…just thinking.”

“About?”

“Our…deal.”

“Ah.” He nods once, now reaching for the tie around his neck to loosen it. “You have hesitations.”

“I have…questions.”

“More?”

“Yes.” You turn to him. “What are we supposed to do after? Just go back to work like nothing happened?”

“Yes.” He makes it sound so simple. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“Because…that’s weird.”

“Yes, you keep saying that. Yet I fail to see how.”

“You’re my boss,” you remind him as his expression twists into amusement. “And despite all the really good tips so far, I feel like this crosses a line.”

“Then we won’t do it,” he replies calmly. “No harm, no foul.”

“I…well, that’s not what I’m saying I just—”

“Then what are you saying, Peach? Tell me.”

You hate the way that nickname makes your stomach wrench. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I’m just…looking for reasons not to want to.”

His hands slip into his pockets as he leans against the wall. “Sounds complicated.”

“Well, this entire situation is complicated.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah.”

“How so?”

“You’re my boss,” you repeat. “I could get in a shit ton of trouble.”

“With who?” he counters almost immediately. “Everybody in this building works for me. I pay their salary, I pay their insurance, and I pay for them to keep their fucking mouths shut. If their nose is anywhere but their own business, I can happily direct them to the unemployment office.”

You swallow again. “Doesn’t change much.”

“It should,” he argues. “What you and I do or don’t do is our concern. I plan for it to stay that way.”

“I know, I just…I’m worried.”

“About?”

“I don’t know. I just worry. It’s what I do best.”

He smiles, and it feels genuine. “I know,” he murmurs right as the doors open. “If this feels like more trouble than it’s worth, then forget I said anything. You can use the toy however and with whomever you see fit. And I won’t mention it again.”

You follow him into the parking garage. “And what if I want to?”

He stops beside his car. “Then you know where to find me.”

You don’t have much more to say before he’s slipping inside his expensive vehicle and peeling out of the parking lot.

Leaving you to wonder where you really stand.

“What…is this?”

You push your shoulders back as you face the man in your hallway, attempting to deliver a more casual appearance. “It’s the lingerie you bought me.”

“I can see that,” Mr. Styles replies, almost beneath his breath before stepping into your apartment. “Is this how you always answer the door?”

“No,” you admit while he slips off his coat. “But I figured we’d just get right into it.”

He hums, entertained smirk returning as you lead him through the living room. “In a hurry, are you?”

“No,” you repeat. “There’s just no point in delaying the inevitable.”

“How…considerate,” he replies, weaving around your couch as you head for your bedroom. “So you’ve set everything else up, I take it?”

“Yeah. Camera, lights, the bed. It’s all good to go.” You push open the door. “Even figured out how to charge the toy, so it’s ready for you. I mean, us. I mean…you know.”

“Mhm.” He comes to a stop near your nightstand, watching as you quickly flutter about your room, tapping away on your computer and making sure the camera angle is correct. “Peach?”

“Yeah?”

He steps forward, long arm outstretching for yours as his fingers wrap around your wrist. Then, he tugs until you have no other choice but to turn to him, eyes wide, and heart racing.

“Relax,” he whispers, pulling you so close, you catch hints of his minty gum. “You’re stressing me out.”

“Sorry.” You begin to lightly bounce on the tips of your toes. “I just…I’m anxious to get started.”

“I can see that,” he says calmly, now stroking the skin of your hand. “Have you changed your mind?”

“No,” you answer quickly, head shaking. “No, I just…I know I’ll overthink it if I sit and wait, so…I just wanna keep moving. Get going, you know?”

He nods, eyes narrowing as if studying you. “You have been with other people before, yes?”

“Yeah, but not you.”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip before releasing you. “I’m not any different than anybody else.”

“You are, and I believe we’ve already established why.”

He hums again, as if in thought. “Nobody will know but us. Just my hands and my voice. That’s it.”

You take a deep breath. “What if I’m not any good?”

“Not possible,” he rejects quickly. Assuredly. Without so much as a beat. “I’ve already seen you do this, Peach. I know what you’re capable of.”

“But what if I don’t know what to do with you in the room? Or with the toy? Or what if it’s not the same?”

He suddenly takes hold of your cheeks, fingers pressing into the space beside your lips as he pulls them into a pout. “You’re talking too much.”

“Sorry,” you mumble through a squished mouth.

“You also apologize too much,” he adds.

“…sorry.”

“Peach.”

“Sorry,” you huff, attempting to wiggle free, but his grip remains. “S’not my fault. I’m nervous.”

“That’s because you think too much, too,” he replies. “Do you not believe me when I say I want to help?”

“I do. Doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Would you like to stop?”

“We haven’t even started.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

You sigh. “No, I don’t want to stop, I just…I might need you to just…boss me around.”

“Boss you around?” he repeats with a small smile.

“Yeah. Like you usually do.”

He sets your face free before his head shakes. “Giving you orders isn’t bossing you around. And following those orders is your job.”

“Right. And if you want to treat this like any other deal, then I’m gonna need you to give me orders here, too,” you explain, nails curling into your palms. “It’s the only way I’ll get out of my head.”

He takes a beat. “You want me to dominate you?”

Even that makes your thighs clench. “I…didn’t say that exactly, but…yes. Yeah. Basically.”

“I see.” His arms cross over his broad chest, and your attention immediately falls to the muscles rippling beneath the fabric of his nice shirt. “Do you think you could follow my instructions?”

“…yes?”

He nods, now moving toward the other side of the room where your camera resides. He studies it for a moment, eyes narrowed, expression curious.

“Mr. Styles?” you call tentatively.

“Sir,” he corrects without looking up. “You call me Sir, or you call me nothing.”

Shit. “Uh…okay. Sir.”

He makes a noise of approval before he’s reaching for something on the device and tapping it once. 

Surprised, you ask, “What are you—"

“Get on the bed.”

His entire persona has changed, his voice dropping by an octave as his darkened expression glues to you.

You feel yourself shiver, hands gathering in front of your stomach. “What?”

“Get on the bed, Peach,” he repeats, nodding at you once. Dominate. Yet reassuring. “Now.”

Your feet take you to the mattress, ass landing on the duvet as you crawl back and settle near the headboard, facing the camera.

Mr. Styles seems pleased, leaning against your desk before jutting his chin forward. “Spread ‘em.”

His eyes are on your legs, indicating exactly what he’d like you to spread while leaving you no choice but to oblige.

So, you do. Allow your thighs to pull apart as your clothed cunt is revealed to the camera.

“There you go,” Mr. Styles calls, but his attention remains on you. “Look pretty, Peach, don’t you?”

You suck in a quiet gasp, fingers digging into the bed beneath you as you fight this strange sensation building in your gut. You’ve never heard him speak this way, and any hesitation you might have had is instantly erased.

Has he always been this attractive?

“You do,” he continues before allowing himself to drink you in. “Especially in the clothes I buy for you, yeah? Do you feel good, honey? Like dressing up for me?”

Yes, yes, yes. “Mhm,” you finally manage, a gentle mewl that’s met with the sound of his amused chuckle. 

“I know,” he says, arms once again folding over his chest. “Why don’t you show them, hm? Show them how much you like that little set.”

You take another deep breath before raising your shaking palms to your chest and placing them over your tits.

Through the lace, you begin to knead and pull, allowing your lashes to flutter shut as you indulge in the stimulation.

It’s easier not to see him. At least right now. You’re still searching for the courage to push through such an odd turn of events, and you don’t want to ruin the video by letting your nerves take over.

You travel down your stomach, feeling the material beneath your touch, and the way your body rises and falls with each inhale and exhale.

Then…you find your cunt.

You move to your inner thighs first, stroking the sensitive skin before dragging your hand over your pussy and squeezing it once.

“Good girl,” comes the sultry praise, and your pulse spikes. “Anxious, aren’t you?”

A double-edged sword, and you nod once.

“Yeah?” he repeats. “I know, Peach. Show them just how much. Let ‘em see what I do to you.”

And even without the explicit instruction, you know exactly what he means, almost as if the two of you have settled onto the same wavelength.

You hook a finger into the crotch of the lingerie and pull it away from your cunt, allowing the camera to see just how worked up you’ve become in such a short amount of time.

He smiles. “Look at that,” he muses, tongue clicking. “And I haven’t even touched you yet. Do you always get yourself this wet just from speaking to me?”

Yes. “Yes,” you breathe, finally allowed to say what you’d really like under the guise of the scene. “Always.”

He smirks as if he thinks you’re merely playing along. Or perhaps he knows just how much honesty is hidden behind your reply.

Either way, he responds with, “Yeah? Want me to do something about it, don’t you?”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“…please, Sir. Make it better.”

You watch his lips pull together, jaw clenching ever-so-slightly as if restraining himself. It makes your pussy flutter.

“That’s my girl,” he grits before reaching back to grab the toy off the desk and step closer. “Tell me, Peach…have you used this without me?”

Your head shakes fervently, and you watch him approach with wide eyes, noticing the way he steps around the camera yet keeps himself mostly out of frame.

Keeping the focus on you.

“No?” He places his knee onto the bed and leans down. “Is that the truth?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He hums, allowing the silicone cock to run through his palm. “Shame. Might have enjoyed knowing you disobeyed me.”

Oh, your audience is going to love him.

You squirm a bit as he braces himself beside your leg, the toy now coming closer to you. “Gonna relax for me?”

You realize he’s watching you closely, sage green eyes flicking between yours as you nod. “Yes,” you whisper.

He seems unsure. “Peach…”

“Yes, Sir. I will.”

He contemplates this, eventually choosing to believe you as he nudges the tip of the plastic cock against your folds. “I hope so. After all, they deserve to see you behave for me.”

You swallow a whimper and his head tilts.

“Don’t you?” he asks, and you nod again. “Good. Suck.”

Now the toy is being brought to your lips, hovering near your mouth as Mr. Styles cocks an eyebrow up in warning.

You sit up a little and take it onto your tongue, cheeks hollowing, and saliva generously coating the object until he seems satisfied.

“That’s it, honey,” he coos, and your cheeks warm at the almost tender sound of his voice. “Just like that.”

Eventually, he pops the toy free, and returns it to your clit, thumb flicking across the power button until it comes alive.

Vibrations trickle across your pussy as you gasp, hips bucking up from the bed. 

He chuckles under his breath, traveling the tip toward your hole while you begin to whimper pleadingly.

“What, Peach?” he teases, circling it around once or twice just to watch you clench. “Need more, hm?”

You focus on the dark stains beneath his shirt. The hint of a tattoo or two practically begging to be seen through the sheer fabric of his button-up. You look at his arms. The veins, the muscles, the tan of his skin. 

“Yes,” you sough, keening at the feel of the object gently pushing in. “God, please…”

“S’achy, baby, huh?” he purrs, slipping further past your tight walls. “Just wanna feel full, don’t you?”

“Mhm.”

“Want me to fuck this sweet little pussy until you’re coming for them, hm?”

“Shit—”

Suddenly, you feel a sharp smack against your leg, your eyes widening as you look up at him.

“Good girls don’t use bad language,” he warns, expression stern, and unrelenting. “Thought you were my good girl.”

“I am,” you’re quick to argue, lip disappearing between your teeth. “Am, Sir, promise.”

“That’s right.” Another smack right as he thrusts the toy in a bit further. “I have no problem finding ways to keep you quiet. But that wouldn’t be fair to them, now, would it?”

Your eyes wander toward the camera, the red, flashing light practically taunting you. “No, Sir.”

“No. So what are you gonna do?”

“Be good.”

“Good,” he hums before leaning closer. “Or else I will take you over my knee and give you something to cuss about.”

A rather debauched moan rips from your throat as he sheathes the vibrating object into your cunt, the stimulator pressing into your clit almost perfectly.

It’s cruel how quickly you begin to fall apart, body shaking and thighs trembling as you attempt to chase the sensation.

“Easy,” he warns, despite the way he begins to reach for the remote. “Easy, Peach. Settle down. Don’t ruin my fun. We just started, hm?”

You struggle to nod, but it’s nearly impossible with the way your head rolls back across the pillows, chest nearly caving in. “Sir…sir, please—”

“What?” He begins to rotate the toy slowly, stimulating your walls and clit with ease as a chill shoots down to your toes. “Already wanna come, hm, honey?”

You go to speak but the response dissipates on your tongue as he pulls out just to thrust back in, pulsations increasing. 

“Har—Sir,” you whine, catching yourself just in time from letting his real name slip. A name you never use, not even in his office.

You expect him to be cross with you for such careless stupidity, but you catch a wry smile and the subtlest of winks.

“That’s it,” he says quietly. “That’s a good girl.”

Your eyes roll back, body arching from the bed as the orgasm rips through you, fast and hard. You’re almost humiliated by how little it took. How quick it found you after everything leading up to it.

But for about forty-five seconds, you don’t care. It feels so much better than anything you’ve ever been able to do yourself, and you silently thank every deity for bringing this glorious, sadistic man to your aid.

Once you’ve caught your breath, you glance down, ready to watch him pull the toy from your still fluttering cunt.

Instead…he ramps up the speed and twists it in further.

“S—Sir,” you gasp through a mewl, attempting to wiggle back. “Wha…what—”

“Shh,” he whispers, focusing now on the ministrations caused by his wrist. “Want another one, Peach.”

You jolt every time the rabbit stimulator rolls across your clit, ears practically ringing from the sensitivity. “Want…want—”

“Another one,” he finishes. “You’re gonna give me another. Gonna give us…another. Yeah?”

Hazy eyes dance toward the camera. “I…I…”

“Can see your pretty pussy stretching for me,” he continues, now guiding the tip up before thrusting in a bit further. “Takin’ me so well, honey. Feels good, doesn’t it? Feels good when Daddy’s right.”

The dominant nickname makes you whimper as your nails scratch down the bed beneath you, a strangled breath pushing past your lips. 

“Look at you. Dripping to your ass like my perfect little Peach,” he muses, flicking something on the remote as the toy begins to quiet down. “Touch your tits, baby. Go on.”

You raise your palms to your chest, kneading at the tender skin through your lingerie. Your nipples harden from the groping touch, nipples straining against the material as you groan and tug a bit harder.

“There you go,” Mr. Styles praises, thrusting the silicone cock a bit harder into you, encouraging a second orgasm. “Look at that, guess you can listen. Gonna listen to me again? Gonna give me another?”

And as if on command, a rush of adrenaline and pleasure washes over you, nearly ripping the fibers of your body in two.

You’re exhausted. Depleted of all remaining energy as you come down from the much quicker—but still powerful—high. 

…and then he turns it up.

Without so much as a glance, he begins working the toy in and out of your already abused and swollen pussy, chasing your third as if it were his job.

And right now…it is.

His fingers are slick with your arousal, squeezing the base of the cock as he creates a steady thrust. 

He’s so…pretty to look at. Selfishly, you're glad your audience won’t be able to see him. Only his back as it moves with his arm. 

But you. You get to study every inch of the face you’ve been clocking in to see for the past year. It’s somehow the same as always yet vastly different.

He’s normally an incredibly focused man but never this…powerful. At least not when it comes to you. It makes you feel safe and scared all in one singular moment as your third orgasm approaches.

“Go, Peach,” he grits between clenched teeth, the veins in his arms pushing against his skin. “Be our perfect girl, yeah? One more.”

“Can’t…can’t—” Your panting is to no avail, eyes squeezing shut as if to hide from the intensity of the pleasure building at the base of your spin.

“Yes,” he growls, pushing against your clit until you cry out. “Just one more, come on—”

“Please,” you whimper, legs thrashing about until he leans his weight against your right leg, effectively trapping you against the mattress. “No, please—”

“Uh-uh. You can do it. Already done it twice. Be so easy to give me another—”

“Hurts—”

“Then you better hurry, hm?”

Your hand slaps to his arm as you squeeze and ride yourself over the cock and through to the other side of euphoria.

And then—

“Sir, shit…can’t…can’t,” you gasp, head shaking back and forth with zealous defiance. “No, no—”

“Yes,” he insists, slowing his thrusts before picking up the tempo once again. “Relax, honey—”

“No. No, no, please…please…”

“Shh. You’re all right. Gonna give me one more—”

“No—”

“Yes. Another, Peach. Be so proud of you—”

“Please…no, please—”

“I know, sweetie, I know. Gonna make it better—”

“Ca—can’t. Too…too much, please—”

“Gonna be my brave girl and take it,” he says calmly. Almost soothingly. As if imploring you to do just that. “Know you can. Show them how well you take me.”

With that, he leans back, presses his hand to your thigh, and stretches you further open. Allowing the camera to catch the exquisite sight of just how well you behave as your fourth slips through the cracks of your defiance.

Tears stream down your face as he brings you through the aftershocks, finally allowing for the vibrations to slow until he removes the object completely. 

For the next minute or so, you’re aware of nothing else but the words he’s whispering as he runs his hands up and down your hips. 

“You’re okay. There you go, deep breaths, honey. That’s it, just like that. Did so fucking well, Peach. So pretty when you come, yeah?”

You think you nod but your muscles have liquefied, melting right through the bed as you warily reach for him.

With a gentle but somehow proud grin, he scoots closer, letting you take hold of his wrist as he drops the toy and allows you to bring his fingers to your mouth.

Your tongue glides along his palm before making your way to the top, a satisfied and content hum reverberating from your throat before you suck him in.

His lashes flutter, a look of absolute fascination painting across his expression. “Taste good?” his asks, voice coarse and thick with lust.

You nod, wrapping both hands around his arm to keep him close, swallowing yourself as if he were a lollipop.

He releases a shaky breath through quivering lips before gently pulling free. “You okay?”

“Yes,” you murmur, finding it easier to look at him now that your brain has turned to mush. “Are you?”

“Very,” he chuckles before sneaking a glance toward the camera behind him. “Shall we stop?”

“Yes,” you say again as he nods and stands from the bed.

You feel cold without him pressing into you, and your lips fall into a pout while he fiddles with the device on the tripod. “Harry?”

“Mr. Styles,” he corrects, but there’s a playful edge to his tone. “Or Sir. Either one or nothing at all.”

You don’t have the capacity to decipher if he’s kidding. “Is it weird now?”

“Not at all.” You like how confident he sounds. “Is it to you?”

“I don’t…know,” you admit, attempting to work through the whirlpool of emotions swimming around in your head. 

He laughs as he turns toward your door. “Stay there, yeah?”

Confused (and slightly terrified that he’s planning to leave), you wiggle up onto your elbows to watch as he slips into your kitchen and grabs a cup.

He returns with cold water, gently settling onto the bed beside you before handing it over. “Drink.”

You do, allowing the cool liquid to slide down your throat as he watches with immense concentration.

Once you’ve downed the remaining contents, you hand it back, and he places it onto your nightstand.

“Now,” he begins, “tell me how you feel.”

“I feel…good,” you decide. “Tired, but…thoroughly fucked and overstimulated.”

“Good,” he echoes, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up toward his elbow. “I apologize for not checking with you sooner, but I figured that might add something extra to the video.”

“No, it was good. I get a few comments about stuff like that from time to time. I would have suggested it myself if I wasn’t already so nervous.”

“You did just fine,” he assures you, smiling gently. “Better than fine, actually. I was impressed.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Anytime.”

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence as he leans on his hand and continues to study you.

“Peach?”

“Yeah?”

“Assuming the reaction is positive, and the increase in viewers is substantial…would you consider doing this again?”

You pretend to debate this as if you haven’t already decided. “Uh…maybe. Yeah. Why? Do you want to do it again?”

He bobs one shoulder up before letting it drop. “Perhaps. I have a few ideas for future videos.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

He grins to himself before his focus trails down from your face and toward your chest, hand outstretching for your tit.

“Have you ever considered piercing your nipples?” he murmurs, fingers delicately pinching the hard bud through the lace of your outfit.

You go deathly still, a breath catching in your throat as you look down. “Uh…maybe once?”

He rolls it over his thumb, mesmerized by the feel. “Are you opposed to it?”

Your thighs begin to clench, vision blurring. “I don’t…I don’t think so. Why?”

“Might be fun,” he says softly, pulling a bit harder until you gasp. “Think they’d like to see it.”

You know he’s right, but you don’t care about what they’d like. “Yeah? You…you think I should?”

He nods, humming his agreement as he pulls his lip between his teeth. “You’d look pretty, Peach.”

Your back begins to arch from the bed, almost without your permission, desperate to push yourself into his touch. “I’m…okay. I can…I can look into it.”

He perks up, eyes flicking to yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll…I’ll make an appointment tomorrow.”

His head tilts. “Why?”

You’re ready to respond before you catch the sadistic smile already pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

He grins. 

“I can do it right here.”

Listen...I'm having a lot of fun, please refer all questions and concerns to my therapist 😭

Next Part:

~ Three to Make Ready*

Previous Part:

~ One for the Money*

~ Full One for the Money Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Credit for the incredible and perfectly peachy dividers to @firefly-graphics!!

He’s not new to porn. He’s not new to the idea of showing off for a camera or creating a business out of pleasure. 

But he can tell you are. And try as he might, he can’t help but feel rather fascinated by the ways in which you’re attempting to earn a little extra cash when you’re not with him. 

He just wishes you’d do it better.

He can’t help it. It’s hardwired into his DNA to search for improvements. To create business plans and strive for the highest profit. And ever since he happened to stumble across your OnlyFans account, he’s been noticing areas in which a bit of guidance could be helpful.

Like today for example. You’d started the video already on your bed when Harry would have suggested you gradually walk into frame. Reveal yourself slowly to your audience. Let them anticipate you.

You were already in your underwear, too, and he’d wondered how much better it would have been if your viewers had been privy to a little strip tease.

Which led him to his next thought: your lingerie. Plain, simple, and rather boring if he was being honest. Nothing exciting, sexy, or intriguing about it. 

Sure, it was an upgrade from the flesh-colored bra and panties combo you normally picked. Now you were wearing a light lavender set with some subtle lace. Even still, it did little to accentuate the idea you were trying to sell.

But he has to admit, you’re getting better at edging your subscribers. You used to jump straight into the main event, bypassing a majority of the foreplay in favor of coming.

Now you take your time. Tease yourself a little. Work yourself up. Allow the audience to see the growing wet patch between your pretty thighs as they anxiously await for how you take care of it.

He smirks to himself as he leans back in his office chair and allows you to continue on with your routine. 

Your soft little pants are precious, he thinks. Sweet, even. Which he supposes is fitting with a stage name like Peach Valentine. And you get even sweeter when you hook a finger into your underwear to pull it away and drag your touch through.

You’re so…gentle, Harry notices. Jolting from the first graze of your digit through your arousal alone. Circling your clit once before shivering and pulling your hand away to catch your breath.

You must be sensitive. It would probably be far too easy to overstimulate you and leave you in tears. Something else your viewers might like to see, although he’ll never be able to suggest that to you.

You have no idea that he’s a subscriber. In fact, you have no idea that he even knows you do this at all. And why would you? What you do on your own time is none of Harry’s business, and he certainly doesn’t care that this is how you’re making some extra cash.

He just…wishes he could offer his input. Help you earn the kind of money he knows you’re capable of making.

Or perhaps this is just his pathological need to look for a profit rearing its ugly head.

Your quick whimper brings his attention back as you finally push a finger in, body stretching to accommodate.

He hums proudly without realizing, letting his palm fall to his trousers so he can lightly push against his throbbing cock. 

He made it a rule to never get off to one of your videos. He’s already towing the line of mixing business with pleasure by even watching you. And he’s a businessman, first and foremost. Not to mention your boss. He’s merely here to support you. Help you. Make sure you’re getting what you need.

It’s not about him, and truth be told, he’d like to keep it that way.

He can’t allow himself to slip like he did before.

He won’t.

He attempts to ignore the twitching of his dick as he watches you add a second finger, pumping it slowly as you work yourself closer.

And even still, he can’t help but imagine how he would guide you if he were there.

“Suck your fingers,” he’d suggest, maybe even bringing your hand to your mouth. “Nice and wet, Peach, come on.”

And you would do just that because even as his assistant, you’re always so diligent when obeying his instructions.

“Tease your clit,” he’d order next. “Play with it. Let them see how pretty it looks all swollen and sensitive.”

You’d show the camera and Harry would pull your leg back to provide a better angle. Let the light catch your glistening cunt as you mewled desperately.

“Good girl,” he’d praise just to watch your lashes flutter. You always tend to bask in his compliments, as rare as they are. But he’d offer it to you now if he could. “Tell them how good it feels to be stretched, Peach. Tell them how fucking full you feel. How you’re being so good for them. So sweet.”

You’d do just that. You’d speak to your audience and give them a show that would have them fucking their fists, their fingers, or their toys until they had nothing left to give. Until they had no choice but to come back and watch you do it again.

And after it was over, Harry would insist on you providing yourself with a bit of aftercare. 

He’d tell you to run a bath, let your muscles soak in the warm water. He’d tell you to light your favorite candle and fill the tub with bubbles. He’d tell you to have a glass of wine and think about how good you made yourself feel. 

He’d tell you to think about how proud he was of you.

And then he’d burn that horrendous excuse for lingerie. 

Your hips buck up as you moan, two fingers plunged deep within your cunt as the heel of your hand grinds against your clit.

You’re close and you’re trying to stay quiet as you get to your orgasm, but Harry wishes you wouldn’t. He wishes you’d make it a show. Let yourself feel what you need to feel. Make the sounds that you need to make. 

All you’re really trying to do is get to your orgasm so you can be through. But if you’d just forget about the camera and fuck yourself the way you deserve, he knows your subscriber count would skyrocket.

You just need someone to show you.

Harry wonders (not for the first time) if your timid nature on film is merely the result of being unfamiliar with a camera or if you’ve simply never been shown what real sex can feel like. He knows you have quite an active social life. Knows you’re very outgoing, not too terribly shy, at least not around him. 

You do go on dates from what he’s gathered in the year you’ve been working for him. You’re incredibly pretty. Outrageously sexy when you want to be, although apparently you don’t know how to use your appeal to your benefit. 

Either way, there’s something…off. And the urge to fix it for you is strong.

You cry out, the sound of your orgasm reverberating from his phone speaker and echoing around his empty office.

He doesn’t bother concealing the volume. It’s almost midnight, there’s nobody else on this floor but him. And he happens to like sitting here in his office with you like this. It’s almost a routine for him. 

Despite the fact that seven hours from now you’ll be strutting through his door ready to start the workday. Completely unaware that your boss has watched you come all over your pretty little fingers.

Truth be told, that might be his favorite part.

You whimper something unintelligible as you ride the wave of euphoric ecstasy before slumping back down in bed. Your breathing is quick and labored, thighs still shaking as you slowly pull your hand away and reach for the camera.

Just like that…you’re gone.

Harry tosses his phone onto his desk before running a hand down his face. He likes this video more than some of your others. It was…cute. Simple. Maybe a little lackluster but you clearly needed the release. And that’s what he likes to see.

Your desperation.

He’d noticed that you’d been on edge this past week, and he is glad to know you’ve finally scratched that itch. He can’t help but wonder if he’ll notice a change in you tomorrow.

The idea makes him smile before he glances down at the prominent tent still residing in his pants. 

Now it’s his turn.

Harry’s eyes won’t leave your chest.

They’re magnetized to your tits, never once deviating from the space where your blouse hugs your bra as you read off his schedule.

In fact, he’s been staring ever since you walked into his office this morning. Focused yet distracted. Almost as if he’d completely zoned out and forgot to look away.

And it’s not at all subtle, sage green iris glued to the curve of your body while you talk and pretend not to notice.

Truth be told, you think it’s rather funny. Harry’s not one to make you uncomfortable or put you on edge. You’ve been working as his assistant for almost a year now and in that time, you’ve learned a few things about him. Like the fact that he values hard work and professionalism. That he appreciates attention to detail and wants things done in an orderly fashion. That he looks for every opportunity to make the most money.

He's not as sleazy as some of the other guys you’ve worked for. In fact, there was a point when you wondered if he even had a sex life. Although with a face like his, you imagined he must have. But he never talked about it, never made any inappropriate comments, and never tried to fondle you as you passed by.

So, while this staring is a tad unusual for him, you can’t help but feel entertained. If anything, you look forward to pointing it out and watching him stammer out an explanation.

Assuming he manages to snap himself out of this trance he seems to be under.

“—and then you have a five o’clock dinner with Alex. And he made a point to mention that you’re not allowed to cancel on him,” you tell the distracted man across from you. “Again. Or he’ll sue. Which I think would be kind of funny, but whatever.”

Harry says nothing, unfocused stare still cemented to your chest.

“And then this weekend you’re meeting Kira for drinks to talk about the start-up she’s hoping to get you to invest in,” you continue, smirking to yourself before looking down at his schedule. “But she wants to call you around three to get your opinion.”

“Uh-uh,” he finally murmurs, eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly as he seems to study you.

You run your tongue over your bottom lip. “Mhm. And then tonight you’ve got that orgy in Central Park. Which you can’t be late for again. You know, since you’re the one bringing the lube.”

“Yeah. Right. Got it,” he replies absentmindedly.

You lower the notepad onto your lap and lean closer to his desk. “Mr. Styles.”

The increase in volume and use of his name makes him blink as he seemingly shakes the fog from his mind, finally dragging his eyes up to yours. “What?”

You nod your chin at him. “Are you okay?” 

“Hm? Yes, I’m fine. Continue,” he replies, pushing himself back into his chair as if to get comfortable.

You debate his answer for only a moment before conceding and glancing back down at the planner. “Okay then. Andrew called, too. He’d like to go over the proposal he sent before your meeting tomorrow. He also wants to make sure you got the proposal as he’s convinced you send his emails straight to the spam folder.”

Harry’s mouth quirks up in an amused grin before his attention lazily trails back down your neck and toward your chest.

“And then Casey stopped by, she’d like to have a word before you leave today,” you continue before noticing the way his stare has drifted. “And wanted to know if you’d—okay, seriously, what is going on?”

A bit stunned, Harry blinks yet again and pulls his focus back up. “What?”

You glance over your blouse as well, looking for anything that might be wrong or out of place. “I mean, do I have a stain or something? Can you see my nipples? Is there a loose string?”

His confusion is evident. “Pardon?”

You motion back and forth in front of the area he’d been so attentive to. “You keep staring at me like something’s wrong. Is it a stain, did I spill toothpaste on myself or something?”

Finally putting the pieces together, he shakes his head once. “No, I was just…thinking.”

“About my tits?” you tease.

But he doesn’t laugh. “Yes, actually.”

A bit stunned, you hesitate. “Oh…uh. Okay? Is…why?”

He lifts one shoulder in nonchalant shrug, unfazed by this admittance. “Just curious as to how they might look in red.”

You smirk. “I’m sorry…what?”

“Red,” he repeats. “I imagine it would work well with your complexion. Although black would, too. And it adds a bit of intrigue.”

Your entertained chuckle dwindles down to a bemused grin. “I…Mr. Styles, I don’t…I don’t get it.”

He nods again, seeming to have assumed as much before leaning closer, folded hands finding his desk. “I’m attempting to improve upon your current wardrobe. Find what might work best for you going forward.”

Unsure whether to be flattered or insulted, you lean back in your chair. “Uh…okay. Is there some sort of new company policy on underwear I don’t know about?”

 “This is not the company’s policy, no. But it is mine. Or…it’s yours. At least, it should be.”

“That was…incredibly vague,” you snort, head tilting. “Seriously, what’s going on? Am I doing something wrong?”

“No,” he says simply. “Not wrong, per se. I just think you might benefit from a bit of an…upgrade.”

“In…underwear.”

“Among other things, yes.”

You exhale a soft laugh as you glance down at your lap. This is quite possibly one of the strangest conversations the two of you have ever had, and you’ve had a few. Mostly when he’s drunk. Or pissed about a deal going sour. “All right, I’m thoroughly confused.”

“By what? I’m offering you some business advice.”

“Okay, well, I’m an assistant, remember? I don’t have a business.”

“No,” he agrees. “No, but…Peach Valentine does.”

The sound of your online porn pseudonym is like a slap to the face. Your eyes widen, your cheeks warm, and you just about melt through the floor. You consider feigning confusion although you don’t imagine that will help your case. If he knows the name, he knows that your face has been in almost every one of the videos. 

Instead, you swallow thickly. “How…how do you know about that?”

“I’m your boss,” he says simply. “It’s my job to know everything about you.”

“I’m…I…” Good god, you have never been more humiliated in your life. “Mr. Styles, I’m…I don’t know what to say, I’m…I’m so sorry, I—”

“Relax,” he interjects. “What you do on your own time is your own choice. As long as it doesn’t interfere with your work or my company, you are free to do whatever you’d like.”

“Well…well, still. I’m sure that wasn’t something you wanted to see—”

“On the contrary. It was quite informative.”

There’s something methodical about the way he speaks. As if he’s given your porn a great deal of thought. 

You’re tempted to feel ashamed that your boss has discovered your outside activities. Because Harry Styles is nothing if not intimidating, not to mention incredibly respected in his field. And for a man of only thirty, he’s already created quite a name and business out of nothing more than a hundred dollars and a storage unit he rented from his neighbor.

The idea that he knows you…defile yourself for strangers on the internet is incredibly chastening. 

And it makes the blood drain from your face as you swallow thickly and meet his eye. “Oh?”

He nods once, deep set eyes studying you a bit closer. “Your content has quite a lot of potential. Truth be told, I hate to see it wasted on those cheap bras and faulty vibrators.”

You blink. “You…what?”

“I assume you don’t do this for the fun of it,” he comments. “So if you expect to actually turn a profit and bring in a larger audience, you’ll need to consider improving your stock.”

“I’m sorry, did you just refer to my pussy as stock?”

His smile is smug as he crosses his arms. “Of sorts. It is the income earner. The main attraction. Which is why it’s such a shame that you dress it up in nothing more than flimsy underwear you buy in a pack from Wal-Mart.”

“Oh, sure, okay,” you snort, tossing him a strange look. “Very nice. How do you know all of this anyway? Why were you even watching? And why does it matter how I make my videos?”

“I’m a businessman,” he says simply. “It’s kind of my job to look for improvements. And yours were glaringly obvious.”

You scoff.

“Second, I was watching because, like I said, it’s my job to keep an eye on my employees,” he continues. “Make sure what you do doesn’t reflect poorly on me. And to make sure you’re actually doing it right.”

Your eyes narrow although you’d be lying if you said it didn’t create a rather intriguing feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“And third…it matters because you are wasting your potential when you could be earning thousands of dollars a week.” He pauses as if to let this sink in. “With all the content already out there, you need to stand out. Make a name for yourself. A persona. A reason for people to come back.”

“They come back,” you can’t help but retort. “I’ve already got quite a few loyal subscribers. And I’m making decent money from how I’m doing it now.”

“Decent, yes,” he agrees, almost condescendingly. “And yet you still can’t buy yourself a nicer set of lingerie for the audience quite literally paying you to do so.”

With a wounded sneer, you look back down at your blouse. “Okay, rude. The stuff I have is nice. And isn’t the whole point of the video when I take it off?”

“Not necessarily,” he counters. “Part of the mystery comes from dragging the audience along with you. Making them sit and watch as you dangle what they really want right in their face. Wrapped up neatly in a lacey one-piece with a red bow.”

“Oh, yeah? And how would you know?”

“Do you really think I don’t watch porn…Peach?” he replies, and the nickname makes your pulse quicken. “It’s not just about setting up a camera so you can fuck yourself. It’s about creating an entire mindset for every person behind the screen. It’s about getting them off in the same way you’re getting yourself off.”

He makes an excellent point. Something he seems to do quite often, and it makes your blood boil. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway because things are fine the way they are.”

“Really? Do you make enough to quit your job with me?”

 You hesitate. “Well…no.”

“Do you make enough to cover your rent?”

“…no.”

“Do you make enough to cover your utilities?”

Oh, you hate him. “Okay, no. But I don’t see why you should care.”

“Why wouldn’t I care? I can see a clear opportunity for you to make better money and I’m sharing that with you. I’d say that makes me pretty fucking nice.”

“Well, you called my underwear cheap. Which isn’t nice.”

“Doesn’t have to be nice if it’s the truth,” he argues. “In almost every one of your videos, you’re dawning those atrocious flesh-colored bras with absolutely no sexual appeal what-so-ever. And I’m willing to bet you a hundred dollars that you bought them from TJ Maxx.”

You really fucking hate him. “Okay…so? People only care about what’s beneath the bra, anyway. And why have you watched so many videos if they’re so atrocious, huh? And doesn’t that go against some sort of company policy? Watching your assistant get off?”

A moment of silence passes between you as he smirks. “You ask a lot of questions,” he muses. “But never the right ones. I watched them to help your view count. And no. We’re not breaking any HR rules, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Okay, well…that’s still weird that you watch.”

“Really? I would think you’d feel more comfortable knowing you had a familiar face in the crowd.”

You consider this. “I mean, maybe if you weren’t my boss.”

“Is that all I am to you? Just a boss?” He’s far too amused as his lips pull back in a grin. “Shame. And here I thought we were almost friends.”

“Yeah, well, friends don’t tell friends their bras are cheap.”

“Well, they are.”

“They are not.”

“Hate to break it to you, Peach, but twenty dollars is cheap. At least as far as lingerie goes.”

Your eyes narrow. “I’ll have you know that this bra cost me almost forty dollars.”

“Really?” He glances back down at your chest, almost as if amazed. “Well, by all means, take it off and let’s see it.”

“…what?”

“Your shirt. Take it off and let’s see this fancy new bra that’s gonna make you a porn star.”

You scoff again as your eyes roll. “Funny. I never said porn star, I just don’t see why it matters how much detail I—”

“I’m sorry, did I stutter?”

You wind down to a stop. “What?”

His expression is stoic. Perfectly groomed eyebrow cocking upward as he nods at you. “Did I stutter? I said, take. It. Off.”

“Yeah, no, I heard you the first two times. I just…why?”

“Why? Because I just fucking told you to.” He’s calm but there’s a definite edge to his reply. “Now take it off before I have to ask you again.”

Confused and slightly annoyed, you stand up, drop the notepad onto his desk, and reach for the hem of your blouse. Once you’ve pulled it over your head, you allow it to dangle beside you as Harry’s eyes rake down your chest.

You’re tempted to feel embarrassed under his scrutinous gaze, but you imagine it’s far too late for that now.

Besides, there’s something tantalizing about his eyes on you. About a man with his features, his assets, and his assertive demeanor that almost makes you want to bare yourself to him. 

After a moment, he leans back in his large chair, chin raising as he studies you. “So, this is it, then? This is what you think is gonna attract views? This pathetic excuse for lingerie?”

“What? It’s cute,” you argue, glancing down at the lavender lace. “Men like that. You know, simple. And girly. It reminds them of innocence.”

“No,” he snorts, resting his temple against two fingers. “No, it merely reminds them that you don’t know what you’re doing. That the money they send you goes to shit like…that.”

He haphazardly gestures to the plain bra as you frown. 

“Okay, well, I bought this with the money you pay me, actually,” you retort. “As cheap as my paycheck is. And I seem to be doing just fine if you’re one of my subscribers.”

“I subscribed to keep an eye on you,” he reminds you haughtily. “And because you clearly need someone to tell you how to do it right.”

“Oh, please. Tons of people love my content.”

“They’d like it a lot more if you weren’t wearing your grandmother’s hand-me-downs.”

You lean back, feigning insult. “I’ve gotten a ton of compliments on this one. They think it’s sweet.”

“That’s because they’re horny bastards that want you to take it off so they don’t have to look at it anymore and lose their hard-ons,” he argues. “And once you have, they have no reason to stay. And the less engagement you get, the less money you make. Until my cheap little paycheck is the only thing paying your rent.”

Your lips purse as you take in his unfazed expression and rather confident tone. Yet another excellent point, and despite how strange this entire conversation has become…you’re slightly impressed by his tips.

“Fine,” you concede. “Fine, let’s…let’s say there are some areas I could improve in. How…how would I do that?”

He smirks to himself before reaching for his coffee and taking a deliberate sip. “I’m so glad you asked.” 

With yet another roll of your eyes, you pull your shirt back on, and flop down onto the seat. “Great.”

He chuckles under his breath before ripping a sticky note free and grabbing a pen. “Write down your measurements. I’m gonna send some potential outfits to your apartment and I’d like you to try them on.”

You watch him scribble something across the top of the memo. “Okay…and this doesn’t feel weird to you?”

“No.” He slides it toward you. “As your boss, it’s my job to look after you. Offer wisdom and advice, make sure you’re prepared. If you’d like, you can think of it as a business deal. And this is me investing in you.”

“Ah, yes, my pussy stock,” you tease, and he smirks. “Okay, and what if I hate everything you send?”

“You won’t.”

“But what if I do?”

“You won’t.”

“But what if I—”

“Then you can return them, and we’ll try again,” he decides, gesturing for you to take the pen. “I’ll have Nadia drop them off this evening.”

After writing down your preferred sizes, you hand the notepad back, and raise an eyebrow. “I’m guessing this’ll come out of my paycheck?”

“Why would it? I told you. This is an investment, Peach.”

You watch as he returns his attention to his computer, mindlessly typing as you mull this over. “So…you want something in return.”

“No.” His eyes flick across the screen before the typing continues. “All I want is to see my assistant…succeed in her business. You owe me nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.” He nods once and then looks back to you. “See? Nice.”

You scoff playfully before grabbing onto his planner. “Fine. May I finish reading you your schedule now?”

“Yes. Yes, you may.”

The collection of lingerie lays across your bed as you stare. The variety of colors, designs, and material making your head spin.

Mr. Styles wasn’t kidding when he said he’d be sending an assortment. He said he wanted you to feel free to choose between them, and was sure there would be at least one or two that you’d feel comfortable in.

Looking at them now, you’re almost overwhelmed, amazed by the number of choices. You have to admit, he’s done a rather excellent job. You can’t imagine rejecting any of these, and you’re almost excited by the prospect of trying them on.

Granted, it still feels rather odd to be trying on underwear that your boss bought for you. But you understand his premise. Understand that to him this is simply about helping you grow your account and increase your potential earnings.

You appreciate the way he’s handling this with so much professionalism. Sure, it’s a bit peculiar, but you don’t think you really mind. You appreciate the help. And considering your boss looks like Mr. Styles, you know it could certainly be worse. 

As you ponder your choices, your eyes dart back to the card he’d sent along with the lavish box:

Pick whichever you’d like. But once it’s on, do not take it off.

Smiling to yourself, you toss it aside, and reach for the red one-piece. It seems to be the tamest of the bunch, yet it’s still quite sexy.

Getting it on is rather difficult, considering how many ties and pieces are involved, but once you figure it out…you step up to the mirror.

It’s…stunning.

Sensual, skimpy, and Mr. Styles was right…red is your color.

You’ve never felt so beautiful and your heart leaps into your throat as you spin around and take note of your reflection from every angle. It hugs your body in all the right places, it dips down your chest teasingly, and it showcases your cunt like a prize.

Which…you suppose it is.

You don’t waste any more time, immediately moving everything off your bed so you can set up your camera and begin.

You start slow, allowing your hands to travel from your shoulders to your stomach as your finger dances down the valley between your breasts.

You indulge in the feel of the fabric on your warm skin. Imagine how it would look between someone’s teeth as they ripped it off. 

Between his teeth.

Truth be told, you’ve never imagined your boss in such a context. Other people, sure. An ex. A celebrity. A couple you saw in porn.

But never your boss, never Mr. Styles.

Why? You aren’t quite sure. He’s certainly attractive enough. With his expensive suits, his chiseled jaw, and his large hands that are always sporting rings. 

And the few occasions you’ve seen him in a casual t-shirt and jeans was almost enough to knock you over. You assumed he went to the gym. You just didn’t realize how frequently.

Images of his arms, his muscles, his tattoos begin to flood through your mind. They guide your hand further between your legs as you squirm and allow your fingers to ghost through your pooling arousal.

You imagine his voice. That soft, silky cadence demanding you touch yourself the right way. Telling you to be good, be patient. Not be so greedy.

You attempt to follow the request, circling your clit a time or two before teasing your hole. You’re so desperate to feel full, even if it’s just your own hand. Want more than anything to chase this pleasure building in the pit of your stomach.

“Sir,” you whisper, hips raising as if to follow your digit as it glides through your wet folds. “Please…”

“Not yet,” you picture him saying. “Not until I say. Is that understood, Peach?”

You nod, despite the fact that he’s not really here.

With a shaky inhale, you raise your palm to your chest, pulling on your tit before giving it a nice squeeze through the fabric of the thin covering. 

You remember his instruction to keep the set on, smirking a bit as you consider his reaction. You aren’t sure if he’ll be watching this one, although you imagine he will be if he’s so desperate to keep an eye on his investment.

And knowing that he’ll be watching you later makes goosebumps explode across your back as you whine and finally slip a finger inside.

You spend the next twenty minutes edging yourself. Bending your legs to get a better angle, a better stretch. Arching off the bed whenever you get close just to crumple when you pull your hand away.

You’re soaking your fingers. Soaking the beautiful lace. Soaking the bed beneath you and all you can think about…is soaking him.

How pretty he’d look with you dripping down his chin, or dripping down his thigh, or dripping down his cock. 

The rush of pleasure nearly overwhelms you. It’s quite possibly the fastest you’ve reached an orgasm and before you allow yourself to finish, you picture him one last time.

“Fucking come,” you hear him whisper inside your mind, imagining his soft lips grazing the outer shell of your ear. “Right now, Peach. Let them see what a pretty, little cumslut you are.”

It rips through you hard and fast. Your eyes roll back, your toes curl, and you nearly scream for mercy. In fact, you almost scream his name but manage to resist before you’re lost to the sensation.

It takes you a few minutes to regain consciousness and turn off the camera. Your thighs still shaking as you crawl across the mattress to hit the button, a few aftershocks hitting you on your way.

You shiver when you feel it, glancing down toward your cunt where the dark, red fabric resides.

And seeing the remnants of your orgasm still dripping down your skin makes you smile.

Mr. Styles says nothing when you walk through the door to his office the next morning. He doesn’t even look away from his computer, one hand cradling a phone to his ear while the other scribbles something on a notepad.

You don’t mind, though. You didn’t expect him to want to continue on with the conversation. He already did his part and now, you’ve done yours. Things will go back to how they’ve always been and you’re more than okay with that.

“I understand,” he says as you take a seat on the sofa across the room from him. Your usual spot. “Yes. I’ll send them over. Mhm. All right.”

With that, the call ends, and finally…his eyes drift to you.

“Morning,” you call, already gathering the things you’ll need to take notes.

“Good morning,” he replies slowly, eyebrows pulling together as if observing you. His voice is deeper than normal, and it makes a chill run up the back of your neck.

You shake it free. “Janice mentioned you already stopped for coffee on your way in, but if you’d like, I can make another run before lunch.”

“No.” He rests his arms on his desk, leaning into it as if trying to somehow get closer to you. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

“All right.” You click your pen and hover it near the top of the paper. “Are you ready to begin?”

A beat. He’s quiet. Unusually quiet for this time of morning. He’s normally one to jump right into the list of things he’d like you to do and now…he does nothing but stare.

You’re getting a weird sense of déjà vu.

You clear your throat. “Mr. Styles?”

His head tilts. “Yes?”

“Is something wrong?”

“No. I was just thinking.”

“Again, huh? Been doing a lot of that recently. Let me guess, my shoes are wrong?”

You add a teasing lilt to your jab but all he does is push up onto his feet and stride around the desk.

Shit.

“Your shoes are fine,” he says calmly, stopping on the other side of the table only to lean back into it. “That’s not the part of your wardrobe I’m interested in.”

“No?” You shoot him a smirk. “Then it’s my skirt. You think it’s cheap and boring.”

His response is to lift his finger into the air and motion you forward.

Now slightly nervous and a tad apprehensive on what his reaction will be, you obey his command, and stand from the couch. With slightly wobbly legs, you approach his side of the office, eyes glued to his while willing yourself not to trip.

You stop about five feet away, heart hammering in your chest as he sucks in deep breath.

“It’s not your skirt,” he finally says, raking in your figure once more before landing on your face. “It’s what’s underneath your skirt.”

Your ears begin to ring. “Oh?”

He steps closer. “I’d like to know if you took my advice.”

Of course he would. “I did,” you reply as calmly as you can manage. “Yeah, picked one of the sets and wore it for a video.”

His lips dance up into an amused smile. “Yeah? Good. Which one?”

“The red one.”

“Red.” His grin widens. “Interesting.”

Bastard. “Yeah, well. What can I say? When you’re right, you’re right.”

He takes another step, and the smell of his cologne washes over you until you feel a bit lightheaded. Why the fuck does he always smell so good? Like sex and money.

“I’m always right,” he replies, eyes trailing down to your chest, watching the way it heaves beneath your silk shirt. “And did you follow my other request?”

Your lip slides between your teeth as you nod once. “Mhm. Kept it on the whole time. And you were right again, it really…really spiced up the video.”

“Yeah?” His head cocks. “Shame I haven’t had a chance to watch it yet. Sounds like you really stepped up.”

“I…I think so.”

“Good.” He nods as well. “Good. Glad to see I could be of service.”

“Yes. Yeah, no, thank you. It was really…really generous. They were all so pretty and I know they’ll be fun to add into the mix.”

“Good,” he repeats. “Would you say it made you more…confident? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but confidence is key.”

You smirk. “I mean…I guess? I definitely…felt…sexier. I guess.”

“You guess,” he echoes, lids narrowing slightly.

“Well, I just…I don’t know. I’ve never really watched my own videos, so I don’t know if there was really a change,” you explain. “But I did feel sexier. So…thank you?”

You grimace at how awkward you sound, but Mr. Styles remains unmoved. “Interesting. So you haven’t watched this one?”

“No. I edited it a bit before posting, but no,” you say. “I don’t know, I think it might be weird.”

“It would be weird to watch yourself come?”

“Well…no. Yes? I don’t know.”

“Interesting.” His arms cross. “Is it weird to know I’ve watched you come?”

Well…shit. “Uh…” Your skin warms as you glance down at the floor. “I mean…I…uh…honestly? I don’t…I don’t know that either.”

He says nothing, merely waits for you to settle on an answer.

“I guess…yes?” you finally admit, voice rather timid as you finally look back up into that familiar green. “And also…no? You were right, it does feel…better knowing there’s someone in the audience I know. And…you know, you’re you, so…”

His eyebrow raises. “I’m me?”

Shit, shit. “Yeah, you know, you’re…” You wave your hand toward his body. “I mean you look like that, so…it’s…nice?”

He smiles. “It’s nice that I watch you come?”

“It’s nice that you subscribe,” you correct quickly. “And that you’re being so…helpful, I guess. And not pervy. So…thanks.”

“I want to help,” he says simply. “You’re bright, and you’re ambitious, and you deserve to make money any way you see fit.”

You mirror his grin. “Thanks.”

Suddenly, he turns on his heel, and strides around his desk to take a seat. “Speaking of,” he begins, pulling the keyboard closer. “I believe this brings us to our next order of business.”

“Which is?”

“Research.” His focus flicks across the computer as he types. “Part of expanding a business is the search for ways to improve it.”

“…okay?”

“So, I want you to watch the video,” he continues. “Right now. And I want you to tell me all the things you did right, and all the things you did wrong.”

Your jaw just about drops. “I…seriously?”

He turns to you. “Seriously.”

“I—right now? In the middle of the morning? In your office?”

“Yes.” His tongue runs over his bottom lip, watching you stammer with a smile. “Do you not want to improve?”

“I…I just…isn’t it weird to do that here?”

“No. This is my office. My company. What I do is nobody else’s fucking business but mine.”

Honestly, you aren’t sure how to feel as you study him. “Mr. Styles, I really appreciate it, but I don’t know if you really wanna see that.”

“Honey, I’ve already seen you come more times than I can count,” he replies casually, and despite yourself, you feel a rush of longing and excitement. “I’m your business partner, Peach. Let me help you, hm?”

Your lashes flutter, palms growing clammy as watch him angle his lap toward you and extend an arm.

“Come,” he murmurs.

Your feet make the decision before your brain can, taking you to where he sits before settling down over his legs.

You wonder why he didn’t ask you to pull up a chair but you aren’t about to complain. His thighs are strong. Sturdy. Almost as sturdy as his chest that he nonchalantly pushes into your back as he returns you both to the computer.

Perhaps this isn’t the wisest idea, but you have to admit, it would help to get an outsider’s perspective. You want to be proud of the videos you create. Want to be proud of this kind of work you do, and you definitely want to make some extra money.

You suppose if he knows how…what’s the harm?

“You all right?” he asks quietly, and you can feel his warm breath fan across your cheek as he glances over your shoulder.

You nod softly, throat going dry. “Mhm.”

“Good.” You catch his wry smile out of the corner of your eye before he’s reaching for the mouse and hovering it over the Play button. “Are you ready?”

No. Yes. Fuck.

Your heart pounds beneath your rib cage as your video’s thumbnail stretches across the screen. Guess there’s no going back now.

So, you take a deep, brave breath…and nod again.

“Yes.” 

Very excited to explore these two and their horny ways 🥹 I know a lot hasn’t happened yet but I swear we’re just getting started!!

Next Part:

~ Two for the Show*

~ Full One for the Money Masterlist

Credit for the incredible and perfectly peachy dividers to @firefly-graphics!!

~ Other Harry Blurbs