doll

He was sprawled out beautifully—one leg up, one leg straight out. His thighs fat and the hairs that coated them a delicious dark brown. His body was oiled, shimmering in the set of the sun and glistening through his natural moisture.

And then there were the shorts.

Tiny. Barely there, really. A bright fabric that was pushed up to the tops of his quads and wedged between the line of his hips.

He looked transcendent. Genuinely. And you didn’t use such a word lightly. He looked absolutely out of this world and you were practically whining just at the sight of it.

“That’s perfect, Harry,” the photographer called from just beside you, “I want you to stretch out your left arm further backwards, lengthen you out a bit.”

He just nodded, complying easily and perfecting her request.

The second he shifted, you knew you had officially lost.

Thick muscles pressed outward on his back, curving over his rounded shoulders and flowing in a cohesive swarm to his pecs. He was swelling everywhere—big and curved and covered in a delicious layer of sweat.

You, on the other hand, were clamping your thighs so tight together that you swore it might just leave a rash.

He saw you do it, too. The way you would squirm and rub your nose or cough awkwardly to appear normal. He knew you weren’t. You were never good at hiding the filth that poisoned your pretty mind.

He got off to the way you worshipped him. You were younger than him, by a good bit, but it’s not like either of you minded. If anything, you both preferred it this way.

A man your age couldn’t dream of satisfying you the way Harry did. He spoiled you, physically and emotionally and through the luxuries in life as well. But it wasn’t just that.

He handled you—rough and raw and fucking dirty.

It really was a two way street. You were everything he could possibly want. A cute little thing who was sexy and shy and only showed yourself to him.

And you pried at him for his attention every minute of every day.

He was obsessed.

So, once the first session wrapped and he was strutting his way to his trailer, it didn’t take long for your legs to drag yourself to him.

“Harry,” you start, “hi.”

Not exactly what you were planning on saying, but the second you stepped within a 12 inch proximity of him, all logic went out the window.

The way he peered down at you. The towel hung around the back of his neck. The subtle smell of fresh sweat mixed with a deep vanilla musk. The look he always got on his face after a long day of shooting.

“Hey.”

He continued to walk his way towards his trailer, mountains following him as the sun snuck behind them.

“Harry,” you trot to keep up with his quick strides, “are you done?”

He coughed into his hand as he shook his head, maintaining his pace as his yellow sneakers crushed against the gravel.

“No, we’re doing a couple more. Then I’m done. Y’ok? Don’t have to stay.”

You practically laughed in his face. To say you wanted to leave seems somewhat criminal.

“No,” you say too immediately, “no, I wanna stay.”

He just nods, sniffing up the fresh air before grabbing onto either side of the towel around his neck.

You consider saying more as the two of you continue to walk along the path. You think about telling him how undeniably sexy he looked sprawled out for the camera like that. You even think about complimenting his little shorts, telling him how much you love them and maybe even hooking a finger into the waistband for just a second.

But your mind is mush.

And if your mouth can barely keep up with your mind even when it’s working properly.

“Harry, I need you now.”

Your voice was dropped to a whisper, eyes rounded and cheeks hot as you sped to keep up with his quick walk.

He paused, slowing his strides before coming to a full stop and turning to face you.

He looked completely unphased.

His hands continued to tug loosely against the soft cotton of the towel, his biceps pressing into his forearms from the bend of his elbows and his chest heaving softly in steady breaths.

“Why don’t you tell me what I’m doing right now, y/n.”

You swallowed, thick and heavy through a bite of your cheek. Your wide eyes peered across your surroundings, taking in the multiple trailers and the people in headsets and the constant chatter of people hard at work.

“You’re working…” you mumble, tugging at your bottom lip with your teeth and blinking up at him in a silent plea.

Nothing about the way you were looking at him was helping him stay stern.

“That’s right,” he nods, “now tell me, is Harry able to help you when he’s working?”

His tone was sickeningly patronizing, staring down at you like you were an idiot who couldn’t think for herself.

And, in total honesty, with the way he was speaking and the sweat that just dripped down his stomach, you sort of were.

“…No.” you shook your head, face flushed and panties soaked.

“So you can wait patiently until I’m done or you can wait for me at home if you can’t handle it.”

You were falling to pieces in front of him. His tone was sharp, but still suggestive in a way that had your head spinning.

He was toying with you. Spitting harsh words in your face until you squirmed some more and tensed tighter. He wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t been so blunt with him—but you were asking for it. He knew it’d get you riled up and he knew he’d get himself riled up just from watching it.

It was his perfect fantasy. You, dumb in front of him and whipped up by thoughts of his cock. On your tongue, in your hands, between your legs, you didn’t care. It was dizzying for him to watch you fall so pathetic for it all.

You nod, swallowing dirty thoughts and keeping your lips sealed for a moment. You actually almost let a smile fall through, delighted by his strict response, but force it down to fit your part.

“Ok,” you whisper, pressing your legs together and batting up at him.

And then there was this smirk. Low. Relaxed. Laced with pride like he knew he owned you. Like he knew you were a desperate thing that would claw at him until he gave you just a taste.

Satisfied with your understanding, he resumed his pace. Walking towards the trailer in slow and confident steps. You followed, as close as you could. No matter how thick your head felt or how unstable your legs performed.

Eventually, shooting resumed itself.

But his shorts seemed…shorter. And tighter. And thinner.

It wasn’t long after before his thighs suddenly grew. Thicker and stronger and you thought maybe even a couple extra hairs grew too.

Then it was his arms. They seemed to swell more than usual, bulging in a thick sphere and creating a smooth bend for every bead of sweat.

His face seemed to have changed too. His jaw was sharper. His nose was strong and his eyes seemed to keep changing colors.

Once you found yourself wet at the sight of his fingernails, you decided it was the right time to send yourself home. To do as he asked.

You really thought it’d be a good idea. You thought it’d solve all your problems and maybe even ease the constant ache between your legs.

You were cozied up on your couch, a thick knit blanket slung over your crossed legs and a bowl of cereal on your lap. You were calming over time—slowly.

But then there were the mockups.

Like, hundreds of them. Sent right to the laptop that you and Harry shared. You were watching a show when the notification popped to the top right of the screen, a glowing email that seemed to have come from the heavens itself.

RWM Raw Takes—HS 3.3.26 Issue. Review Pending.

You really shouldn’t have clicked on it. It was for Harry and his team to go over and carefully select what was right.

It wasn’t your fault that your fingers were moving without thought and just happened to click right on the email.

Totally accidental.

What lied on the other side of the small preview was…sickening.

Sweaty abs. Swollen biceps. Chunky thighs. Slutty little shorts with nothing but skin. Dunking in an ice bath. Stepping out of the ice bath. His shoulders. His pecs. His knees. The way his calves strained with every step.

It was fucking porn.

You don’t even realize you’ve stopped chewing at first.

Your eyes lock. Your jaw slows. Completely stalls. You’re just… frozen there, food forgotten, staring like if you blink it might disappear.

You swallow late, like an afterthought, and lean forward without meaning to.

Scroll.

Another one.

Your eyebrows lift, lips parting just slightly as a quiet, disbelieving laugh slips out. You zoom in to places you shouldn’t, drag the screen, take it in longer than necessary. There’s this buzzing feeling building in your chest—not overwhelming, but almost.

Scroll.

It gets better.

Fucking bike shorts. Leopard print. Tight around his quads and hugging his thick bulge beautifully.

You shift on the couch, tucking one leg under you, then the other, like you can’t quite get comfortable in your own skin anymore. Your bowl sits abandoned on the coffee table, fingers hovering near it but never quite making contact again.

You don’t even care. You’re too far in now.

Scroll.

“Oh my god…” you murmur, jaw slack and core dripping.

Because the next one loads, and your head drops back against the couch with a soft, breathy laugh. Your hand drags down your face, but you’re already peeking through your fingers, already leaning back in.

There it was. The pose that had you so riled up in the first place. His tanned body, long against the concrete with one thigh up and the other stretched out in front of him. His inked arm rugged with muscle, glistening in the orange glow of the sun.

And his face. Scrunched up and fucking angry. Exhausted. Tired of the shoot and watching himself as he shifts against their commands.

You shift again, restless, energized, like you’ve had too much caffeine or not enough sleep or something in between. Your heart’s not racing, not exactly—it’s just… heavy, present in a way that makes everything feel sharper.

Scroll.

You don’t even notice how long it’s been. Just that you can’t stop.

The door clicks open.

You barely register it at first—too zoned in, eyes glued to the screen, fingers hovering even though you’re not even scrolling anymore, just staring. There’s something hot under your skin, something restless and bright and impossible to shake, and you’re so deep in it you almost miss the sound of him coming in.

Almost.

A bag drops by the door with a heavy thud.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice so rich and exhausted that you nearly fainted right there. It was just getting all too much.

And then you realize what you’re doing.

Your entire body jolts like you’ve been caught doing something illegal, hands moving faster than your brain as you slam the laptop shut with a sharp clap. The sound echoes a little too loud in the room, but you’re already moving, pushing off the couch and abandoning everything, practically tripping over yourself as you hurry toward him.

“Hi,” you say, too quick, too bright, like you weren’t just completely consumed by something else two seconds ago.

He’s already halfway inside, shrugging off his jacket with slow, heavy movements, like the day’s been sitting on his shoulders for hours.

His hair’s a mess, slightly flattened in places, slightly curled in others. There's this faint crease between his brows that hasn’t quite smoothed out yet.

He barely looks up.

“Long day?” you ask, softer now, trying to level yourself out as you reach him.

“Mm.”

That’s all you get.

And instead of diminishing your spirits, his cold tone excites you. Because you know he’s revving up to treat you like you needed.

He nudges his shoes off, toeing them aside without much care, then drags a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose. There’s a kind of quiet exhaustion in the way he moves. Nothing dramatic, just… worn.

And hot. So hot that you were sure your arousal had made its way to the inner skin of your thighs.

It only got worse once you took a quick scan of his body in front of you. Nothing but a loose t-shirt and those tiny fucking shorts.

And suddenly all that jittery energy from before has a perfect place to go.

You hover for a second, then step in closer, hands brushing lightly against his arms, like you’re testing the waters, “You okay?”

That’s when his eyes meet yours. Dark and deliciously green and cold with intent.

“M’fine. Tired.”

You nod, taking a step closer as you bring a palm behind his neck and another against chest.

His eyes follow your hands as they move, watching slowly as he waits for your next move.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” you peer up at him, “missed you when you were gone. Couldn’t stop my thoughts.”

He pauses for a second, like he’s finding the right thing to say.

Because really, his mind is thinking, I missed you too, honey. What have you been up to?

But his dick had other plans.

“Wouldn’t have missed me if you could handle watching me on set,” he shrugged, pushing past you and running a hand through his hair.

You froze, staring at nothing before running to catch up with him and planting yourself right back in front of him.

His eyelids hung low as they glanced down at your return.

“But I couldn’t handle it,” you shake your head slowly, “I tried. It hurt.”

He squints his eyes at your quiet comment.

“Hurt?”

You nod your head immediately, “needed your help. My thighs only gave me so much.”

He tried to hide the subtle smirk that came after that confession, but he couldn’t.

So you took it as a sign, placing your hands back on him again and twirling a loose strand of hair on the back of his neck.

“I was busy. Other people needed me. For more important things.”

It was a bunch of bullshit. There was nothing in this world that was more important than your pleasure. Not to him. He’d make you cum morning noon and night if it was up to him.

“But, Harry,” you pull yourself closer into him, kissing at his neck as you mumble through his skin, “I still need you.”

He took a deep breath, a sly grin forming on his face before he could stop it as your tongue rolled around his skin.

“You don’t need anything. You’ve got yourself all worked up over nothing and I have shit to do.”

And then he walked away, further into the kitchen until he reached the door to the laundry room. Pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it into the empty machine.

He was sick for that one.

Your legs dragged you back towards him before your mind could consider it.

“I do need it,” you defend immediately, “I do, really. Please, Harry.”

He sighs, shutting the lid of the washing machine and spinning around to face you. You were a clingy little thing—following him around like this. It was intoxicating.

“Need what, y/n.”

You cling to him again, hands roaming his damp skin and face pressed close to his own.

“You. Your cock, I wanna cum. Please, baby, want your thighs,” you whine, embarrassingly desperate and not caring in the slightest.

“You wanna cum?” His voice was condescending, lowering his head in a small and patronizing nod.

“Mhm, yes, please.”

Then he let out another sigh, curving out of your grasp and walking out of the tight laundry room and back into the kitchen.

“You’ve been a brat today. Asking for me at work and now begging for me the second I walk in the door. If you wanna cum, you can do it yourself.”

You frown, scurrying back over to him in the kitchen and pawing at his shoulders until he turned to face you again.

“You won’t help?”

You played that one up a bit, just a little. Batted your eyes a smidge heavier, blinked until your eyes were glassed.

But he didn’t budge.

“No.”

He continued his stride, wearing nothing but those little shorts that may as well have been a string of thread.

It was fucked up.

You just continued to follow him like a lost puppy dog, pathetic and desperate and begging for an inch of his attention.

“Harry,” you tapped his shoulder again, but this time, he didn’t turn around. He kept walking, stepping into the living room and peering down at his phone screen.

You didn’t let up.

“Harry, please,” you tugged at his skin, “please, I want you. Just touch me, Daddy, please. I’ll come so fast, I promise.”

You knew the name would start the fold, but it was nowhere near enough.

He didn’t answer. He just kept walking, all the way up until his feet reached the soft carpet and he took a slow seat on the couch.

His phone was in his hand, so small in comparison to his thick fingers, and he scrolled mindlessly. His legs were spread out wide, little shorts hiking up even further at the stretch and tightening against his bulge. His free arm rested behind his head, a low sigh rolling through him at the feeling of sitting down.

You’ve never felt so hungry for something in your whole life.

“Harry,” you whine, dragging the name a bit, “I need to cum. I’ll let you fuck me however you want, please.”

He just shook his head, eyes still locked on his screen.

“No.”

Now you were stumped.

But you were never opposed to begging. You’d do it for hours. You didn’t care how ridiculous you sounded or how humiliating it was. You were going to get what you needed. Maybe he didn’t know it yet, but you did.

“Daddy, please, it’s no fair. Just fuck me…”

And then you had another thought.

“…let me fuck you. I won't say a word, just let me use your cock. Wanna fuck it into myself until I cum, please.”

He peered up from his phone, slow and teasing, to get a good look at the mess in front of him. You—whiny and loud and fucking annoying. All for his cock.

He considered it for a second, letting you bounce on top of him until you fell unstrung.

But he had other plans for you. Better plans.

“No.”

And then he was back in his screen, scrolling with his thumb but not really reading anything he saw.

You huffed, thinking for a second before losing yourself in the figure in front of you.

Thumb scrolling, face lit faintly by the screen, expression completely unreadable—neutral in that annoyingly calm way of his. No urgency, just him existing there like nothing else is happening in the world worth reacting to.

Which felt rude, since you were prying at him from the moment he walked inside.

But you couldn’t sit here and pretend like you didn’t like it this way.

He leans back further into the couch, head tipping slightly into the cushion, one knee shifting just enough to get more comfortable, still fully absorbed in whatever’s on his screen. Every now and then his thumb pauses, then keeps moving, slow and automatic.

And when you focused in on the subtle sways of his spread knees and the way his quads spread flat against the fabric, there was nothing he could say anymore that could stop you from getting your fix.

It started slow.

A cute little exhale to show him your frustrations. He didn’t react, he just sunk deeper into the cushions and let his knees fall further apart. Projecting the bulge that pressed against his little shorts carelessly.

You took slow steps forward, watching as Harry attempted to take sneaky glances—barely looking up from his screen in a sad try at keeping composure.

Once your toes hit the edge of the couch, legs stood between his open knees, you paused for a moment. Staring down at him and watching as his stomach took quicker breaths and his scrolling started to lose meaning.

And then you put your hands on his shoulders, rubbing softly against his bare skin and humming a gentle sigh. He was so smooth…poreless and moisturized and gorgeously tanned.

He continued to ignore you—no matter how hard it was getting—and kept his head faced down in a stubborn fit.

But you were stubborn too.

And worse than he was.

So you shifted closer to him and brought a knee onto the cushion, and then another one, until your legs were wrapped tight around his left thigh.

He still didn’t move.

The sigh that left your lips was inevitable, so lost in the feeling of his thigh pressed up against where you needed it most. So wet that you figured he probably even felt it. You shift your hips a bit as you settle, slowing your movements with every stab of pressure.

And even when you pressed your lips against his neck, he still didn’t break.

He tasted so sweaty, his skin damp on your cold lips and fresh on your tongue. It tastes like exertion—like overheated limbs and flushed cheeks and the lingering aftermath of his body being pushed too hard for too long.

You could barely hold it together when your knee pressed harder into his crotch, squishing against the warmth of his half soft cock and crying for a taste.

You’re not totally sure what it was, but you were fucking obsessed with watching him stiff up. Or, in this specific moment, feeling it. He was salty and twitchy and always firmed up fast.

Your mind drifted to thoughts of his cock slapped against your tongue—halfway erect and thickening up in your mouth. The moan that slipped through your lips was fully involuntary.

But the way your hips started to grind against his quads was fully voluntary.

It even pulled his focus for a moment, bringing him closer to the tipping point but never far enough. His eyes darted over to your rolling hips, pressing heavy against his skin in a plea for some relief.

But his gaze left just as quick as it got there, and he was back into his phone with a deep breath and a shake of his head.

“You’re pathetic.”

You whimper at the treat of his voice—landing over you like a gift that you didn’t even know you wanted.

“Daddy, please,” you whine, “give me your cock, I need it.”

Your lips continue to suck against his dewy skin as your hips rocked back and forth, moving with a mind of their own and too far gone to stop. His neck curved gently to the side, granting you the access you so badly craved.

“No,” he mutters, “if you need to cum so badly, you do it on my thigh.”

You groan, a mix of displeased yet still satisfied meshed through your tone. But, you still rearranged for a moment to shrug off your clothes, desperate for closer contact and reeling at the feeling of it.

You were separated only by thin black panties, the cotton drenched and chilling against his skin.

“Mmm,” you hum, lips finding their way back to his skin and licking up the remaining beads of sweat.

It was really only a couple of minutes before things got sloppy.

Your hips rocked against his thigh like muscle memory at this point, moving how they pleased and ignoring any cohesive thoughts. You were erratic—grinding up into him with a complete lack of respect for yourself.

The skin of his neck was soaked in your tongue and nagged at by your teeth, working as a blank canvas for you to use however you pleased.

And even when breathy moans started rolling through you, his face read nothing but fucking bored.

So bored that it was honestly erotic. Like you were just a little pet getting off on top of him and that he had ten things better to do. His face was still in his phone. His hands hadn’t touched you once.

But his hard cock nudged up against your knee told you all you needed to know.

“Look at yourself, y/n. You’re so fucking desperate. Haven’t even touched you and you already sound like you’re about to cum.”

You were just happy his attention was on you.

“Not good enough,” you whine into his neck, “still need your cock. Put it in me, please, I want it deep.”

Harry was convinced he’s never been so attracted to you in his life.

Sure, you’ve always been a bit of a brat when it comes to his cock and you’ve always been vocal with what you want. But this was different. This was something that could only be explained by hours of pent up sexual energy and a complete lack of relief.

“I’m not fucking you. If you wanna lose my thigh, keep complaining,” his voice was was low and exhausted, fighting to stay stern but you could tell he was stringing loose.

You just groaned at his words, frustrated to say the least. But when your clit kept knocking into the same sweet spot of his quad, there wasn’t much time for you to sit there and mope.

You couldn’t stop drifting to thoughts of the photos. Every reminder of his glistening skin and the fact that you were tasting it right now had you feral. Your pussy was sopping wet as it slid around the hairs of his thigh, your panties absentmindedly slipping to the side from all of your movement.

At the feeling of your wet folds, finally breaking through the cotton that got pushed aside, Harry cocked his leg up once in a teasing bounce.

The noise that followed was nothing short of bliss.

“Mm, please, felt good,” you groan, hips meshing harder against him, “give me something else, please.”

And the second he shut his phone off and tilted his head towards yours, you knew you had him.

“Hm?”

“Feels so good against your thighs, so strong, Daddy. Am I making a mess?”

His leg started to bounce up and down in a steady rhythm now, pressing harder into your clit with every subtle shift. He stared deep into your scrambled face as it struggled to stay against his neck, tightening his jaw in reflex.

“You’re fucking filthy, you know that? You like claiming me? So wet on top of me that your panties couldn’t even stay on,” his words are spitting at you as he shakes his leg quicker, watching your reactions and reading what he should do next.

“Mhm, wanna ride you all day, just give it to me,” you murmur, slowly falling deeper and deeper into the heat in your stomach.

It was building slowly, the grind of your hips and the bounce of his leg working cohesively to bring you to where you desperately needed. But it wasn’t enough. You were a needy thing, and if you were gonna cum you needed his dick.

“Give you what?”

“Your cock, Daddy, please. I need it! I’ll let you d—”

And before you could even finish the filthy thought, your stomach caved into itself and your legs clamped tighter around his thigh.

“—Fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

The smirk that found Harry’s face was sickening.

“Yeah? You gonna cum all over Daddy’s thigh? Feels good, doesn’t it?”

And god, it did.

Your mind was racing, stuck in a constant loop of the day and spiraling through never ending tension. You eyes would force themselves open every now and then just to get a peak at your throne—his clenching abs and his thick thighs and his little fucking shorts.

“Mm yes feels so good, so good, so good, so g—”

And right when you were about to cum, when you were finally about to release what’s been building deep inside of you all day, both of his hands came to grip at your sides and flip you off of his thigh and onto your back.

Your mind spun at the sudden change, mouth open and searching for the right words to say and falling completely short.

“Harry, what are you d—”

His lips smashed into yours before you could get it out, pressing your back deeper into the cushions and splitting your lips apart with his tongue.

His lips tasted as of sweat and an intense exercise, so salty and fresh and deliciously him. You were suffocated by his mouth, hands scrambling around his body as you tried to settle into the sudden change.

“Shut the fuck up,” he spit, “you’ll be quiet when I fuck you, ok?”

It was the best news you’d ever heard in your entire life.

Your nod was quick and aggressive as you kissed him harder, wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling his core closer to yours. His cock was solid and twitching beneath his little shorts, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

His fingers hooked into your thong and tugged them down your ankles so quick that you barely processed it. Your top came next, his hands shoving it up and over your head before reconnecting his lips to yours in a winding hunger.

The pawing only got worse. Your hands were grabbing at his bulge and whining into his throat, squeezing his cock and crying for a real taste. He just let you touch him. Claw at him. You were humiliating yourself and he was fucking obsessed.

He was more than well hung. His cock was massive and throbbing at every pass of your nimble fingers. His tiny shorts barely held him in—pressing a tight tension in the fabric to the point where you thought they might even rip open.

“Give me your cock, Daddy, I want it. Put it in my mouth, wanna suck on it, please,” you whine, breaking the kiss and breaking Harry’s only rule. To stay quiet.

But he wouldn’t reprimand you for your misbehavior just yet. Not when the breach was as sweet as that was.

“You want it?”

“Mhm.”

“This? You want this cock?”

“Mmm,” you hum, nodding your head through a bitten lip and glassed eyes.

He lowers his face closer, nose nudging into yours and lips grazing against your own before—

“Be a big girl and go get it.”

You whimpered into his lips before tugging down on the tight waist band, shoving it off his thighs until it sprung up against tummy with a smack.

He was dripping at the tip, a dribble of clear liquid slipping down his shaft and coating his tip in a thin layer.

You would do anything to slap it against your tongue, to shove it down your throat until the salty drip reached the backs of your tastebuds and drowned into your belly.

“Quiet,” he spits in a reminder, grabbing his base and lining it up against your hole.

You shook just at the feeling of his tip against you, drawing up and down in teasing motions and passing a little harder on your clit.

And when he pressed in—slow, steady—your lips fell apart before your mind could settle.

He was so thick inside of you, spreading your little hole open and pushing through your tight walls. He was long and ridged and so dense.

“Oh, feels s—”

His hand slapped over your mouth before you could finish, hips bottoming out against you simultaneously in one quick motion.

“Sh. No talking till you cum.”

You nod furiously, knowing it’ll be soon anyway. And with the agreement of your nod, he slips himself half way out before slamming hard back into you.

And then again.

And again.

And again and again and again until you were locked in your pleasure and spinning with every new thrust.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, head falling down onto yours, “feel so good like this. So worked up for me. Did you like humiliating yourself? Making a fool of yourself?”

You nodded again, fast and sloppy and no real meaning.

“I know you did. Riding me like the filthy whore you are. And now shutting up to let me fuck you. S’it hard for you to stay quiet? You have something you wanna say?”

Your brows fall into each other as you nod again, lip bitten between your teeth and cheeks flushed a deep rose.

“Shame. You’re not gonna say it though, right? Gonna listen to Daddy? Stay quiet for him?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as he pushes in deeper, harder, quicker. Nodding again and pressing harsh into your lip until you taste the tinge of metallic blood.

The golden cross that hung around his neck was smacking into your chin with every jab, your tongue mindlessly searching for it to get a little taste.

“Mm.” He hums, satisfied with your compliance and thrusting into you harder.

His fingers come to pry at your mouth, thumb crawling around your bottom lip before pressing into the heat of your tongue. He tugs down until your jaw drops open, displaying your red mouth and the way your tongue twitched with every harsh thrust.

He fucked into you harder as he pressed his fingers into your mouth, lapping around until they were soaked and covered in your sweet saliva. Your tongue was following his fingers, searching for a hint of his skin and stopping yourself from sucking tight around them.

“Fucking love this mouth,” he grits, spreading your mouth open further, “is my baby hungry?”

You just not immediately, not sure what he was referring to but desperate for anything.

“Wider.”

You obey, spreading your jaw wide as his fingers tug down as an aid. His thrusts don’t slow. If anything, they pick up, slamming deep into your tummy until his tip kissed your insides.

And then, hovered over your open mouth, he spit, thick and quick and right on your tongue.

You hummed as you shut your mouth, letting the glob of saliva roll around in your mouth and over your tastebuds until you could taste all of him. It was delicious, fresh and sweet and thick.

“Fuck,” he groaned at your eagness, dropping his head and rolling into you deeper and deeper and deeper. Every passing second seemed to have made it all more intense, his cock stretching you out so wide just like you wanted.

The ache had been sitting in you for so long that your orgasm rose quickly, built up from too many hours of silent tension and constant prying.

The pressure intensified gradually, the kind that bordered on overwhelming for a second before tipping into relief. Your shoulders instinctively tensed into each other against the cushions, breath hitching and body stilling.

Then the knot released with a sudden pop.

The sensation spread instantly through your bloodstream, sharp for half a heartbeat before melting into warmth. Relief flooded every muscle so quickly it almost made you dizzy, like the tension you’d been carrying had unraveled all at once.

Your chest erupted in light moans and sudden yelps, clamping tight around his cock until his tip was swollen in pressure. He just watched as you rode through your peak, clawing at his back and tugging him closer into your body.

He followed soon after, stilling inside of you with one last stroke, settling deep into your belly and filling your insides with his cum. Groans and heavy breaths swarmed between you two, filling the quiet air and replacing the prior smacks of your sex.

Your body went heavy against the cushions at the fall, every inch of you sinking deeper into it as the tightness finally gave way.

The soreness lingered faintly beneath it, overwhelmed and tender, but underneath was that overwhelming loose, weightless feeling that made you want to close your eyes and stay there forever.

“Shit,” he breathed out, forehead against yours as he fell weightless above you.

“Mm,” was all you could get out.

You’re sprawled across the couch like your body physically gave up, flat on your back with one arm tossed over your stomach and the other dangling off the edge of the cushion. Your chest rises and falls in slow, heavy breaths that still haven’t quite evened out, lungs working hard to catch up after being pushed too far.

Heat clings to your skin, making you feel heavy and overheated and completely drained. Every muscle aches with that deep, overworked soreness that settles into your limbs after you’ve exhausted yourself past the point of caring.

Your legs feel useless, too tired to move properly, and even shifting against the couch cushions seems like more effort than it’s worth.

“Ok?”

You nod. “Mhm.”

“Good,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and brushing a strand of hair off of your forehead.

Your eyes stay half-lidded, blinking slowly up at him. There’s sweat cooling along the back of your neck, your body sinking deeper and deeper into the cushions with every passing second. The exhaustion sits on top of you like extra weight, pulling you down until you feel almost glued to the couch, too spent to do anything except breathe through it and let your body recover.

With another soft kiss to your lips, he pulls out, slow and steady as to not further exhaust you. You know you should probably get up. Get your clothes on. Pee. You know, all the things.

But you couldn’t. You were completely wiped and wanted nothing more than to be pampered by your man and lay there like you couldn’t hold your own head up.

He stayed buried deep inside of you until he was soft and warm and limp, resting within your hole until he snapped out of his trance.

Harry sinks back into the couch beside you with a long, exhausted huff, his head tipping against the cushion as his eyes fall shut for a moment. It all clings to both of you—warm skin, tired limbs, breathing only just beginning to steady again.

Your legs are draped lazily across his lap, too exhausted to hold yourself up properly anymore, and his hands settle around your ankles automatically like it’s instinct. His thumbs move slowly against the little bone there, absentminded and gentle, working small circles into smooth skin.

Neither of you says anything.

The room is quiet except for the soft sound of breathing and the occasional shift of the couch cushions beneath your weight. Your eyes stay heavy, body melted into the corner of the couch while his hands continue rubbing slow, steady warmth into your skin.

Every now and then his grip tightens slightly before melding back over the bone. His head stays leaned back, eyes still closed, looking just as worn out as you feel, but comfortable in it—comfortable with you.

The silence settles around both of you easily, soft and familiar, the kind that only happens when neither person feels the need to fill it.

But then he goes to grab his laptop.

And suddenly, you’re wide awake.

You sit up just enough to register the moment properly, voice already cautious, “Okay, Harry, don’t be mad.”

That makes him pause mid-open.

He glances at you, one brow lifting, “Mad?”

You don’t help your case by looking guilty. Already so fucked out of your mind and now desperately trying to piece together a way for this to make sense. Because really, you had no business opening his emails.

His hand hovers over the trackpad, a silly grin on his face as he watches you panic, “What did you do?”

It’s light—teasing already, like he’s assuming you’ve done something small and mildly inconvenient, not world ending. He knew you could never do anything too bad. He had nothing to worry too much about. Or at least he hoped.

You hesitate a beat too long.

“…Nothing,” you say, which is immediately suspicious. You also follow it by sinking deeper into your spot on the couch and hiding your face into the side of the pillow.

That gets a quiet huff of a laugh out of him, “That was a terrible answer.”

He opens the laptop anyway.

And the second the email loads, everything clicks into place.

His shoot. Raw selects. A grid of him looking unfairly good in that effortless, camera ready way that probably should’ve come with a warning label.

Harry leans back slightly, eyes scanning the screen, then slowly turns his head toward you.

“Ahhh,” he says, dragging it out, amusement spreading across his face. “Makes sense now.”

You groan as you sink deeper into the couch.

He gestures vaguely at the screen, “This is what you were doing while I was gone?”

You cover part of your face with your hand like it might erase the memory, “I wasn’t—I was just—scrolling.”

“Scrolling,” he repeats, with a nod, like he’s testing the word.

“It’s not funny,” you mutter, but it’s ruined immediately by how tired you sound and how much you’re already trying not to smile.

He leans forward again, still scrolling through the images, “No, it is a bit funny.”

You kick his tummy lightly with your foot—no real force behind it. He just chuckles, shaking his head as he continues to scroll through the shoot.

“Okay,” he says, catching your ankle loosely before you can pull away, still grinning. “Relax. I’m not mad.”

You peek at him through your fingers.

He tilts the laptop slightly toward youx “Actually,” he adds, softer now, “this just explains a lot about the last hour of your life.”

You groan, dropping your hand completely, “I was not losing it.”

“You were absolutely losing it,” he says, far too calmly for someone being accused of anything.

There’s a beat where you just stare at him.

Then he nudges your legs gently back into place across his lap like nothing happened.

“Come on,” he says, shifting the laptop so you can see it properly too, “Help me pick which ones I actually like.”

You blink, “You want my opinion?”

He glances at you like it’s obvious, “Yeah. ‘Course.”

Then, after a pause, a little more casually, “You’ve already got strong feelings about it anyway.”

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Y/N and Ella had been friends for maybe seven, going on eight months maybe when Ella asked her if she was keen to come live with her and her dad that summer in a small town called Positano in Italy. The two met in a bathroom at a club—Y/N was having a nervous breakdown because her boyfriend, Sam, wasn’t replying to her texts or picking up her calls and Ella walked in, immediately noticed Y/N hyperventilating in the bathroom and asked her if she was okay. 

Like most female friendships, it didn’t take long after that for Y/N and Ella to get closer. Y/N ended up spilling her guts (literally as well, because she had too much to drink) to Ella and confided in her about Sam, how he always got like this when she went out with her girlfriends, who had no clue about Y/N’s crashout because she had gotten so good at hiding it around them. 

Ella expressed her dislike for Sam as soon as she heard the reason for her tears, consoled the poor girl and gave her the pep talk she needed. She put her number in Y/N’s phone and told her to call her if she ever needed anything or if she ever wanted to talk, and by that point, both girls were teary and emotional, partly owing to the fact that they were both drunk and their little moment in the bathroom was so special and healing to their inebriated versions.

Unsurprisingly, Y/N found herself texting Ella the following morning, expressing her gratitude and asking her if she ever wanted to meet for a coffee so Y/N could repay her for her kindness. Coffee dates then turned to shopping dates, which then turned to movie nights, which then turned to sleepovers, and that was how Y/N got to where she was now—contemplating Ella’s generous offer for the summer. 

Since Y/N was a sane, normal person, she promptly said yes, because, hello!? Who wouldn’t want to spend summer in a dreamy town in Europe with their best friend, all accommodation paid for just for the price of her ticket going to and fro? And even that was a stretch, because apparently Ella’s dad had offered to pay for Y/N’s travel when Ella told him she was coming along too, but thankfully Y/N had enough pride in her to politely decline his generosity. 

He was already letting her live for free in his own house, Y/N would be very selfish to greedily let him pay for her ticket as well. But the offer did get Y/N thinking… Surely Ella’s dad was crazy rich to so easily offer to pay for her like it was nothing, all while owning and living in a house right by the water in Italy. All this made her even more curious about who he was and what he did—her and Ella hadn’t reached the family introduction stage yet, so Y/N was very, very nervous about meeting her dad.

All she heard about him was that he never remarried after his divorce, he loved animals and he lived in Italy for nearly a decade. Ella would go spend the summer with him every year but apparently it got a little lonely and kind of boring with just her and her dad, so she practically begged Y/N to come along this year, promising her how fun it woud be and how they could go to the beach every day and eat good food. Y/N didn’t need to hear anything else—Ella had her sold the moment she mentioned Euro summer and pasta everyday.

And so, three weeks later, Y/N and Ella were on a plane, fingers interlocked as they grinned at each other. The excitement was nearly unbearable. The only thing Y/N was scared about was meeting Ella’s dad. She did agree to spend three months living in a house with him, so she really hoped he wasn’t a creep. Anything else she thinks she can deal with. 

After what felt like a lifetime in the air, the two landed in Italy. Right off the bat the air already smelt different. Cleaner. Y/N’s stomach was flipping with giddiness. “He should be here by now…” Ella murmured, staring down at her phone. The two stood outside the airport with their luggage, now just waiting for Ella’s dad to come pick them up. “Are you sure this is okay, Ella? He doesn’t have a problem with me literally living in his house for free for the whole summer?” Y/N rambled, lip between her teeth.

“Oh shut up. He’s more than happy to have you here. I’ve told him so much about you!” Ella rolled her eyes at Y/N’s words. Her reassurance had the opposite effect on Y/N, though. “Oh my god, that makes it so much worse. What have you told him? What does he think of m—”

“There he is!” Ella exclaimed, a massive smile on her face. Y/N tried following her gaze, looking for a what she thought her dad looked like, but she didn’t really see wh—

Oh.

Now Y/N was not expecting this. 

Ella’s dad was maybe the most handsome man Y/N had ever laid her eyes on (and she says this with no shame, as a girlfriend of two years). He was tall, wearing shorts and a light blue button down. He was very much still in shape—she could tell by the way his biceps bulged when he wrapped his arms around Ella. He had beautiful green eyes that reminded Y/N of the forest, a straight nose and chocolate brown curly hair which was not too short. He genuinely looke like he walked right out of a magazine.

“Wow, I’ve missed you. How was your flight, love?” He asked Ella. He was hugging her tightly, a blissful look on his face as his daughter pulled back, “it was perfect, thank you dad. I missed you too.” He kissed her cheek before his eyes found Y/N’s, “And is this your friend who’s joining us this year?”

Ella stepped aside, “Dad, this is Y/N, Y/N, this is my dad.” 

Y/N stuck her hand out to greet him, trying to mask her shock and fake some confidence. It was then that she noticed that not only was he handsome, but he was decorated with tattoos which covered most of his arms and some parts of his legs. Judging by the ink that peeked out from his top, she knew there was probably more that she couldn’t see at the moment. Unfortunately for her, this only made him sexier.

His hand was huge compared to hers and also surprisingly warm. “Lovely to meet you, Y/N.” He gave her a polite, cordial smile. “You too, Mr. Styles.”

“Please, call me Harry.”

“Thank you for letting me stay with you this summer Harry,” Y/N said, shyly. She could feel her cheeks aflame and she should be very ashamed for reacting this way to her best friend’s dad, but God, could anyone really blame her? This man looked like he was carved by the angels. “It’s no trouble. Any friend of Ella’s is a friend of mine.” He flashed her another knee-weakening smile and Y/N was instant putty. Despite living in Italy for some time he still had the cutest British accent, accompanied by a deep, sexy voice which was driving Y/N insane.

Luckily for her the conversation was directed elsewhere as Harry began loading their luggage in his car and Y/N was left wondering how she was going to survive living with him for a quarter of a year.

-

Harry’s house was prettier than Y/N had imagined.

It was all one storey with a small porch out the front where he liked to garden. Around the back was a small bee-keeping farm that he had and a massive, round pool surrounded by two yellow and pink sun chairs. The house had four bedrooms with a huge, rustic kitchen which opened up to a sitting area and a dining area. She noticed he didn’t have a single colour theme—the decor just felt like pieces he decided he liked and brought into his home, and somehow, it all worked so well together. 

“My room is the first one down the hall, and then yours will be at the end!” Ella said to her excitedly while she gave Y/N a small tour. The girl was at a loss for words. “Ella this place is beautiful. I can’t believe I get to live here,” Y/N said, astonished. “I know right?” Ella giggled. She grabbed Y/N’s hand and dragged her outside to the deck by the pool.

Everything, from the weather to the smell in the air, was perfect. Y/N was living in a dream, “This is my favorite part. I usually just spend most of my time here while dad looks after the bees.” 

Y/N thought it was kind of cute that Harry kept bees. It was such an odd, niche hobby to have. “That’s so nice that he has a bee farm,” Y/N hummed mindlessly. She took a set on one of the chairs. “Yeah. He’s a bit of an animal and literature nerd. Oh my god I’ll show you the library!”

Ella took Y/N’s hand and rushed her inside again. Y/N felt bad that Harry was stuck unloading their bags but she did offer to help. Obviously, being the gentleman he was, he declined and told her he would take care of it and she should go explore the house. She caught a glimpse of him lifting one of her duffle bags as they walked past the front door and the sight made Y/N’s heart race.

Sweat dripped down his veiny forearms and the back of his shirt was visibly damp as he heaved the bag over his shoulder. His skin was golden and inked, so delicious, Y/N was tempted to take a bite. She had to physically shake her head to rid herself of the sinful thoughts she was having about her best friend’s dad.

Eventually the two girls arrived at the library and Y/N was immediately floored. Being a sucker for books herself, Y/N was enthralled at the huge, stacked shelves of atlasses, classics, encylopedias and journals she saw before herself. She could spend the whole summer in here and never get bored. 

“I knew you would love this,” Ella said excitedly. She stood behind Y/N with a grin on her face, watching the girl run her fingers along the spines of books. Just as she was about pick one out of the shelf, she was interrupted, “I’m just about to head to town to grab some things for dinner.”

Y/N turned around to see Harry had joined them in the library. He stood at the doorway, looking expectantly at both of them. “Take us with you please! I want to take Y/N to Violetta’s!” Ella pleaded. Harry’s expression softened at his daughter and Y/N saw the moment he melted at her tone, “Of course,” He replied, “we’ll leave in fifteen.” Harry smiled briefly and left to get changed.

“What’s Violetta’s?” Y/N asked finally. She followed Ella as they left the library and went towards their rooms to wash up, “Only the best gelato in the whole world. Dad and I go there at least twice a week when I’m here,” Ella said, “wear something short. It’s going to get really hot later.”

Y/N had no doubt about it.

-

Positano was a charming small town. It looked like it popped right out of Y/N’s pinterest board, with chiseled cobblestone streets and kind shopkeepers who knew Harry by name and stopped the three of them every few seconds to say hello. The sun was beating down on Y/N’s back, which was bare save for the two pieces of string that tied to keep together her dress. The garment fell just about mid-thigh and fit her waist snugly, the neckline deeper than she normally wore. She remembered packing it specially for the trip—it was cute but sexy.

They finally arrived at Violetta’s, which was a pretty dessert shop tucked into the corner of a busy, crowded street. Harry and Ella walked in first and were greeted by a small, short woman with tied back black hair.

“Ella, tesoro mio, come stai? I was wondering when you were coming,” She said sweetly, engulfing Ella in a hug. Ella closed her eyes and hugged her back, “I’m great, Violetta, how are you? I missed you!” 

Violetta had a heavy Italian accent, “Me too, tesoro. I was getting bored of your old padre,” she teased, winking at Harry. “Who is this bella ragazza? Is this your friend?” Violetta, Harry and Ella now all looked at Y/N, who albeit felt a little out of place, was quite endeared by the bond the three of them had. “This is my best friend, Y/N. She’s spending the summer with us this year.” Ella introduced. 

“Oh che emozione! Welcome to Positano, principessa,” Violetta grinned. She pulled Y/N into a hug, “Thank you. It’s wonderful. You have a beautiful shop.”

“This is nothing. You have to try the gelato. Tell me, what flavors do you want today?”

She asked this question to all three of them. In the end Y/N just went with whatever Violetta recommended, all the other flavors looking to good to choose from herself. She stepped outside to enjoy her dessert in the sun when her phone buzzed.

Sam

hows italia? any cute boys?

jk 

Y/N rolled her eyes at his lame text. She got that he was trying to crack a joke but he was kind of just irritating her. This was always what happened—whenever she was somewhere he wasn’t, he’d assume she was getting approached by a lot of males, which was not true and only pissed her off that he even thought that. She ignored the text and decided to reply later, choosing instead to enjoy her gelato.

The flavor was raspberry and lemon sorbet, and it was truly the best thing she had tasted in a while. “Everything okay?” Harry asked her, coming out of the shop as well. Y/N cast a quick glance over his shoulder to see Ella was engrossed in conversation with Violetta. “Uh yeah, it’s nothing,” Y/N brushed it off. She leaned against the brick wall, watching as Harry licked his spoon.

Y/N was maybe being erotic for no good reason, because her eyes drank in the sight of him greedily. She never thought it was possible to be envious of a spoon. “Mmm. Do you like your gelato?” He asked her, making small talk. “Oh it’s great. What uh… what flavor did you get?”

“Nocciola. Hazelnut.”

“Yum. That sounds nice.”

“Do you want to try?”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up. “If you don’t mind?”

“Wouldn’t have offered if I did.”

She used her own spoon to take a bite, and she’d be lying if she said his was not better than hers. “That’s so good!” She said, eyes widening. Harry smiled softly, “Yeah, it’s my favorite.”

“I’m so getting that next time.”

“Oh, wait, you got a little something there,” He said. His eyebrows furrowed as he zeroed in on her face, gaze focused on the right side of her chin. Y/N blindly reached up to wipe it, “Did I get it?”

“To your right.” He motioned with his finger. She tried again, “Is it gone?”

“Wait—let me,” Harry put his wooden spoon between his teeth, using his now free hand to wipe her chin. Y/N was nearly about to combust. His fingers were gentle and somehow they felt like they enveloped the whole bottom side of her face due to the sheer size of his palm. The position was oddly similar to one she would be in if he was about to kiss her, but Y/N stopped that thought before it could spiral into something worse. “There.”

“Oh. Thank you,” She breathed, slightly discombobulated. Her heart raced as he took a step back and took the spoon out of his mouth. He gave her a shy smile just as Ella walked out.

“Can we go home now? My feet hurt.” She looked at Y/N and gasped, “Did you like it!? I knew you would like it!”

Y/N nodded enthusiastically, agreeing with Ella. “Now you have to try dad’s carbonara. It’s like the best thing in the world. You’re cooking tonight, right dad?”

“Yes love,” Harry beamed at his daughter. He threw an arm around her shoulder as the three of them walked and kissed the side of her forehead, “Whatever you want.”

-

Y/N and Ella made use of the pool as soon as they got back to the house.Y/N changed into the red string bikini she bought especially for the trip and spent an hour lounging on the sun chair and reading her book before she got in the water. The deck door was open and all the aromatic smells from the kitchen flowed through the property. Harry had music playing from an old record player, making the evening dreamier. 

After watching the sun go down, the two girls finally went back inside. Y/N pulled on a white coverup and Ella a big t-shirt as they walked into the kitchen. Harry was humming along to a song wearing a pink “Kiss the Chef!” apron which amused Y/N. “It smells so good,” she commented. “Just wait until you try it.” Ella and Y/N sat next to each other and Harry set down two plates for them and then one for himself.

Steam rose from the bowls of heaping pasta, decorated with parsley and a sprinkle of what Y/N believed was parmesan cheese. She didn’t waste anytime in taking a bite. Her eyes closed in pure pleasure. “Wow,” was the only word she could say. Ella was not lying when she said this was the best thing in the whole world. If Italy was always going to taste this good, Y/N was scared she would never ever leave.

“I’m glad you like it,” Harry drawled. He poured the three of them red wine and then took his own seat. Ella and Harry recalled all their memories from the past summers spent here, and their stories ranged from days holed up in the house doing nothing but eating pasta and swimming in the pool to impromptu camping trips and catching the train to different cities every weekend. 

Y/N enjoyed every minute of her time. She was always more comfortable as a listener, afraid to talk too much and say the wrong thing, which is often where she would end up when she rambled with her boyfriend. She tried not to think about him too much though, because he wasn’t doing much other than ruining her trip with his clingy little messages. Maybe later in the night she would call him so he could finally stop.

After dinner Y/N offered to help clean up, seeing as Harry cooked for them and took them out to get gelato, all at his own expense. But the man didn’t hear one bit of it, softly holding her wrist back when she went to collect the dishes from the table, reassuring her that he would take care of it. It didn’t take long after that for Ella and Y/N to bid Harry goodnight and resign to their bedrooms.

Ella stayed with Y/N for about an hour, just gossiping and giggling about everything she had planned for their stay at the house. Y/N thanked her another time for bringing her along. She was immensely grateful for both Ella and Harry’s hospitality and she didn’t, for one moment, want to seem like she was imposing at all. After telling Y/N to shush and just enjoy her stay, Ella went to her own bedroom and Y/N fell fast asleep.

The next week and a half went past like a blur. Y/N and Ella would wake up and prepare breakfast together, usually pancakes or oats or french toast drizzled with honey fresh from Harry’s farm. They would get ready for the day and either go down to the beach, which was a two minute bike ride from the house, or down to the shops where they enabled each other to buy anything and everything. Street food vendors called the girls over, shoving samples into their hands which they took gratefully—sometimes they would stop at Violetta’s and get a fix of her amazing gelato. All of this for the day to end back at the house to eat another home-cooked dish that Harry made for them—at this point Y/N had to wonder if he was a chef or something before he retired to the Italian countryside.

Y/N would be lying if she said he didn’t make her days all the more sweeter. It was enough that Y/N was living in a house with him for three months where he cared for her and pampered her and took her out and never let her spend a dime when she was with him.

He was incredibly caring and just deliciously nerdy and so sexy. Y/N felt like a teenager around him. It was awful already that she was thinking these things about her own best friend’s dad and she swore she really, really tried to stop thinking about him the way she did but it was just so hard. 

Her bedroom was angled just right so that right outside of her window she could see the sliver of the back deck where Harry’s bee farm was. On days where she woke up before Ella, Y/N would often take her book by the windowsill and read while listening to the birds chirp—but about two days ago, that became near impossible to do in solitude.

Y/N was on the windowsill like planned, her book in hand as she peered out of the glass with a soft smile on her face. She was just about to pop open where she left off when she noticed a tall figure on the deck. She caught Harry right after he had tended to his bees and she watched shamelessly, like a starved woman, as he walked towards the pool and shedded the protective suit off of his body. Beneath it she was met with miles and miles of golden, tanned, inked skin. He wasn’t chiselled like a bodybuilder or anything, but he had faint lines on his stomach which showed sign that he definitely used to.

She was practically hypnotised by the sight of him—watching the butterfly on his torso move up and down as he breathed, his biceps bulging as he stretched, his hair flopping messily over his forehead. Her thoughts were interrupted when he suddenly dove into the pool but her gaze never strayed.

He swam a lap before surfacing and wiped his face with his hands. Almost like he could feel her watching him, he turned his head and met her eyes. Y/N nearly jumped out of her own skin. She was caught redhanded oogling him like a creep. Immediately drawing the curtain shut and getting off of the windowsill, she noticed she was actually drooling when she touched her chin. She was so engrossed she didn’t even noticed, and she really, really hoped Harry didn’t either.

After that Y/N was avoiding Harry like the plague. She didn’t mean to act so standoffish around him but she felt like she had no choice. She was so embarrassed of her actions. She pretended like she wanted to walk to the market today instead of being dropped off in Harry’s car and forced Ella to trek the 7 kilometers with her, which by the end of it they were both sweaty and exhausted, and lowkey not even in the mood for shopping anymore. At dinner time she mad minimal conversation and pretended like she had a headache so she could go to bed early. 

Ella checked in on her a few hours later but Y/N pretended to sleep. What was she to tell her? That Y/N thought about fucking her dad 24/7 and now he probably knew this as well? She felt like she couldn’t even face Ella. She felt like a fraud.

To top it all off, her night was worsened by the constant stream of texts that Sam was sending her. He was on her ass about where she was all the time, who she was with, if she met any new people, even though he made her share her location before she got on the plane. He was on a whole other continent, yet Y/N felt suffocated by him. 

She looked at the time on her phone. 

2:34AM.

The air was humid, and Y/N wore her tiniest nightset which could pass for lingerie if you squinted your eyes. Although her bare tummy and legs were exposed, she felt like she was melting. She quietly left her room and went to the kitchen to get an ice cold drink. Surely that would help cool her down, mentally and physically. As for the text messages, she switched off her phone and tucked it under her pillow, blissfuly choosing to ignore the issue. She didn’t need this negative energy while she was having her dream Italian summer.

The night was quiet save for the quiet cricketing sounds outside. Y/N hummed a tune to herself as she grabbed a diet coke and popped the can open. She turned around and was immediately startled when she bumped into a strong figure. 

“Oh my go—” She started to yell, assuming that an intruder broke into the house. Her eyes were wide with fear when a hand came down on her mouth gently, cupping it and silencing her. “Shhh. It’s just me Harry.” Y/N allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and in that darkness she recognised his familiar voice. She allowed herself to calm down, her shoulders relaxing as his hand slipped away from her lips. 

“You scared the life out of me!” She whisper yelled. Harry took a step back and it was then Y/N noticed that to her dismay, he was completely and utterly shirtless.

He wore nothing but a pair of lose plaid pyjama pants which looked lazily tugged on. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t meant to. Are you alright?” He asked her. Y/N put a hand to her forehead and leaned against the counter. Harry did the same on the opposite side. If she took three more steps she would be pressed right up against his bare, hot skin but she didn’t let that thought linger for long.

“I was just getting something to drink. It’s uh… it’s hot,” She replied. Harry sweeped his gaze over her exposed skin. Her tiny shorts and tank didn’t leave much to the imagination and Y/N was just now realising how promiscuous she probably looked. Nervous, she crossed her arms over her stomach. 

“Me too.”

She wondered if she should bring up what happened that morning, with him catching her watching him from her window like a stalker, but she didn’t know if that would make her situation worse. What if he didn’t even notice her and she’s just convinced herself that he has? What if she was just imagining things?

“About Friday morning—”

“I’m so sorry about wh—”

They both started talking at the same time, deciding to unanimously address the elephant in the room. So she didn’t just make it up in her head. Harry did catch her watching and he was obviously still thinking about like she was since he was bringing it up now.

Y/N felt her cheeks go red, and although she knew she should probably reply to Harry, all she could think about was how from this up close, she could see the stubble forming along his jaw and coming over top lip, which was plump and heart shaped, and she saw as his tongue swiped over it an—

“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault the window is right there.”

Y/N was yanked out of her thoughts by his apology, which felt so wholly unnecessary. If anything, she felt like she was the creep in this situation who made him uncomfortable with her staring. “ I hope I didn’t bother you,” She replied. She fussed with her own bottom lip, biting and tugging like she was physically holding herself back from grabbing the man and kissing him silly.

“Did you like what you saw?” Harry questioned. Y/N was dumbfounded. She had no idea where this was coming from. She could practically see the shift in mood in his eyes as he watched her carefully. 

For a few moments, all Y/N could hear was the racing of her own heart.

“Yeah.” 

Harry hummed low in his throat. “Me too.”

Y/N tried to process what was happening, actively consoling the butterflies in her tummy that were going crazy with each passing second in his dizzying presence. She noticed as Harry grabbed the counter behind him with both hands, knuckles turning white, as her own tightened around her stomach, lip turning bring pink from all the abuse it was undergoing.

There was a push and pull energy between them—Y/N could practically taste it in the air. Both of them looked like they were refraining themselves from touching the other person, channeling their energy and desperation into other parts of their bodies. Her eyes drank him in greedily and she could only hope that he wasn’t following the needy look on her face in the dark kitchen.

Y/N didn’t know who gave in first, and to be honest, she didn’t care to tell. For what could she ever care about and what could ever matter in her life when Harry’s hand was enclosing around her jugular and his lips were on hers hungrily pressing his entire being against her like he couldn’t get enough. A soft moan escaped Y/N’s lips as he pushed his pelvis against hers. 

It was like a flip was switched. She could already feel his arousal through the layers of fabric separating them.

“Little minx,” he mumbled against her mouth, biting her bottom lip now himself. God knows how long he’d been waiting for this, “you’re nothing but trouble.” His fingers tightened against her throat as he angled her head to his liking. He wasn’t shy with his tongue, as it invaded every crevice of her mouth—running along her teeth, looping with her own tongue and sponging wet kisses all along her jaw and neck.

Harry was just as sinful as her own thoughts—maybe even more.

His other hand grabbed her ass before sliding down to the back of her thigh which he spread open to press his hard dick against her pulsating cunt. Y/N could feel her clit swelling and her underwear getting soaked the more he pushed against her—deep and hard rolls that nearly made her eyes water.

“I fucking knew the moment I saw you.” He slapped her bum and rubbed his palm over it after, like he was trying to sooth the pain.

Now this was a side of Harry Y/N was not expecting. 

Even in those shameful moments when Y/N would think about what he might be like in bed, Y/N pictured a soft and gentle lover, much like how he was in his normal day-to-day life—caring and considerate. But now, when he was biting all over her neck like a fucking vampire and choking her with his massive hand, she realised she was very, very sorely mistaken, "d'you think I don't notice? Think I don't see you staring, hmm?"

She came to the epiphany that she actually didn’t know Harry at all. 

"Tell me, Y/N," Harry started, tugging her bottom lip before letting it snap back into place, "do you touch this pretty pussy and think about me?" She felt his hand now trail down and cup her hot center, his fingers sitting right where she needed him most, "do you imagine me fucking you, right here, with your best friend asleep in the other room?" He spat lowly in her ear.

He let his fingers roll on her cunt. The small movements made her even more desperate as she felt her knees buckle beneath her.

"Yes. Please, Harry," Y/N whined. Her mouth settled in an almost child-like pout and she felt tears in her waterline. Harry's hand rubbed her clit over the fabric of her shorts, "Always knew you were a dirty little thing."

Y/N’s hands roamed all over his bare back just like she wanted to when she first saw him that day at the airport. She savored every moment—letting her tongue taste his skin, letting his hands squeeze her hip and then her tit, pinching her nipple in a way Y/N didn’t even know she liked. He resorted back to grinding against her pussy and Y/N felt her wetness spread all over her folds.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” She whined, hugging him closer to her body. Harry’s hand came up to her jaw which he cupped, eyes never leaving hers, “Open your mouth.”

Y/N was too cock-dumb to think for herself in that moment as she obliged immediately. She didn’t expect Harry to purse his lips and spit right on her tongue, and she didn’t expect that she would like it at all. 

But she loved it.

"Swallow," He slapped her cheek lightly.

She loved how filthy he was and she loved how she felt degraded but taken care of at the same time, she loved the way his thumb flitted aross her chin gently as he watched her swallow his spit and she loved how he didn’t slow his hips, grinding faster when he noticed her nearing her end. 

She came hard and she tried to stifle her moans, but Harry made sure to cover her mouth with his own, letting her muffle her sounds against his tongue. Her high lasted for ages, and Y/N didn’t remember the last time she had such an amazing orgasm, especially one that was through her clothes. Harry groaned and then that stretched into a whiny cry of her name, "Fuck, Y/N."

The sound made Y/N’s entire body feel like it was on fire. 

Harry made her feel like she was on fire.

The euphoria she experienced that moment could never compare to anything Y/N had been through before. She slumped into Harry’s arms, utterly exhausted and spent, even though they barely did anything. A gentle hand came into her hair, nails scraping against her scalp. She heard the words vibrate in her body as his lips touched her forehead.

“We are so fucked.”

You and Harry hadn’t been together for very long, at least not in chronological terms. In your own time, though, it felt as if you had been together for a lifetime. Long enough for Harry to know when you were genuinely happy or merely being polite; long enough for him to memorise your usual order at the café and place it for you; long enough to grow accustomed to the messages and the countless random TikToks you sent him throughout the day; long enough to notice, and even appreciate, your particular obsession with his moustache.

His moustache… it was a simply irresistible detail. You could hardly remember what his face had looked like before, as though past versions had never truly existed. When you met, he was already sporting the facial hair you loved so much and, honestly, it only made him even more attractive. There was something about that effortless aesthetic, flirting with a certain “daddy” vibe, that caught you off guard, because you hadn’t even realised you could find it attractive until you met him.

It was amusing to think that, before everything, you had already known him in another way. From magazine covers, from impeccable photos at events, from concert videos you used to watch repeatedly during your teenage fangirl phase. It felt like a lifetime ago, even though, deep down, it hadn’t really been that long after all, you were only 21.

And even so, none of those versions compared to the one that existed now, so close, so real. Because, in real life, there was always something more—the way he looked at you, as if he had all the time in the world just for you. The way his smile appeared slowly, almost teasing, especially when he noticed how much attention you paid to that moustache. And when you moved closer, it was impossible to ignore the soft yet shiver-inducing sensation against your skin, the low laugh slipping from his lips as he noticed your reaction. It was unfair, really, because no old memory, no perfect photograph, came anywhere near that.

Many things about Harry seemed unfair when you stopped to think about it. He was unfairly handsome, had a body that looked as though it had been sculpted by the gods, knew exactly how to treat a woman, and was so good in bed that he made you cry almost every time you had sex.

Simply put, You were absolutely crazy about him.

You remembered that night perfectly, when he was so deep inside you that you could feel the shape of his cock pressing against your stomach. With a low, husky voice, he had murmured against your ear, “I’ve ruined all other men for you, haven’t I?” And you knew he was right. Deep down you already knew you would never be able to be with or be satisfied by any man who wasn’t Harry. Back then, you weren’t even officially a couple, but he acted as if you had been his from the very first moment he saw you.

Now, with him so close again, that feeling returned even more intensely. The calm, possessive look, the smile that appeared slowly, especially when he noticed how your eyes lingered on his moustache. That light moustache in contrast with the dark brown of his hair, well kept, which always made you a little more nervous when he smiled.

You moved closer slowly, your heart racing. Your fingers slid up to his chest, feeling his heavy breathing beneath his shirt. Harry tilted his head slightly, his eyes darkening as he watched your reaction. The corner of his lips curved, making his moustache shift in a subtle, almost teasing way. “Look at you…” he murmured, his deep voice laced with desire. “You’re already wet just from being close to me, aren’t you? And I haven’t even started touching you yet.” He took a step closer, his body almost pressed against yours. His hand moved slowly down your waist while his eyes remained fixed on yours. “I want to feel you in my tongue…”

He effortlessly carried you to the bedroom, switching on the bedside lamp on the way.

The warm, golden light bathed his skin as he laid you down on the bed. The sheets were cool against your back, contrasting with the heat already rising through your body. He knelt between your legs, his large palms finding the inside of your thighs, spreading you open slowly, almost reverently, just for him. “You drive me crazy.”

He began with slow, wet kisses along your inner thighs, moving up gradually. His rough moustache brushed against your sensitive skin, leaving a trail of shivers. Each kiss was followed by a gentle bite, a warm lick. He took a deep breath, inhaling your scent as if you were addictive.

When he reached the centre, he didn’t attack straight away. He ran his broad, flat tongue from your soaked entrance up to your clit, a long, slow, possessive movement. His moustache moved along with it, creating that rough, delicious friction that made you grab the sheets. He repeated the motion several times, letting out a low moan against you, the sound vibrating directly through your centre. "You're so wet for me..." He whispered, almost reverently. "This pussy is mine, isn't it?" 

He closed his mouth around your clit and sucked firmly, rhythmically, while his tongue circled in quick, precise motions. His wet moustache rubbed without pause, intensifying every sensation. You arched your back, moaning loudly, your fingers tangling in his hair. He responded by gripping your thighs more firmly, opening you even more, plunging his entire face.

His tongue slid between your folds, teasing you slowly, then returned to your swollen clit, sucking at it hungrily. The sounds were wet, obscene, echoing through the silent room: the sound of suction, his husky moan, your own moans growing louder and more desperate. He alternated between long, deep sucks and quick, short licks, never letting you grow used to the rhythm.

One of his hands moved up your body, gripping your breast tightly, pinching your nipple while the other kept your thighs open. You could feel your orgasm approaching fast, but he noticed, he always knew when you were close, and he slowed down on purpose, torturing you. “Not yet, love, you’re going to hold it just a little longer. Can you do that for me?”

He pushed two thick fingers inside you, curling them exactly in the spot that made you see stars, while his mouth returned to your clit with more intensity. His wet moustache slid with more intensity, his tongue working faster, his fingers fucking into you hard and deep. Your whole body shook, trying to close your thighs around his head, but he wouldn’t let you.

When the pleasure became unbearable, he grunted against you. “You can come now, my love. Make a mess on my face.”

The orgasm hit you like an overwhelming wave. You came hard, moaning his name, your body tightening, pulsing around his mouth and fingers. But He didn’t stop. He kept sucking and licking slowly, prolonging the pleasure until you became too sensitive, trembling and breathless.

Only then did he move up your body, his moustache glistening with your arousal, his lips swollen and red. His dark eyes were wild with desire. “So beautiful for me.” He murmured, kissing you, making you taste yourself.

"I want to make you cum like this one more time before I actually fuck you. Is that okay?" You can only nod, unable to find words. “That’s my good girl.”