Nai's Spice

June

Never run to your destination, it has never done anyone any good, your mother always instructed. True to her words, you had witnessed countless times where maids or butlers would rush around corners, only to bump into each other and spill the trays of exotic fruits and wine they were carrying. However, you should never keep your master or mistress waiting. You must make it there in half the time it would a guest. After all, you are there to serve, and you cannot serve if you are not present.

With a sigh you picked up your skirt and pace, moving briskly past all the servants milling about the palace. You barely had time to greet them with a smile and nod as you swept by. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, warmly lighting the stone floor of the corridor. The weather was wonderful - perfect for a picnic in the garden under the clear sky or a lazy boat ride in the gentle breeze. But you had no time to admire the weather today. Perhaps later, you told yourself. When you weren’t being summoned to help the Prince with a bath of all things despite it being your day off.

You pulled the ring of keys out of your apron pocket before you even turned the corner, having learnt long ago which keys unlocked the many servant passages scattered across the palace. Without so much as a hiccup you unlocked the door with a soft click. A quick turn of the key locked it again, and you gathered your skirt in bunches at your hips while taking the steps two at a time. The passages, though completely usable, hadn’t been touched in years - something about the guest’s preferring to see the hustle and bustle of servants carrying platters and fabrics and furniture, if you recalled correctly. You made it to the first landing, completely disregarded the passage that led off to the right and continued your trek upwards. The keys were back in your hands, and before long you pried open the door at the top of the second staircase.

It had been fifteen minutes since you had awoken. Within that time, you had washed up, gotten changed, and hastily scarfed down a pastry for breakfast. However, it was approaching twenty minutes and you still weren’t at his door. A quick peek through confirmed that no one was in the hallway. Swiftly locking the door, you apologised silently to your mother before bolting down the hall, skidding around this corner and that in your hurry to make it to the Prince’s chambers in a somewhat reasonable time. You finally made it to his door, admiring the silver accents and carvings in its surface as you caught your breath. 

Always knock the door twice. Make sure it is loud enough the first time, so they hear you, and announce your presence while you’re at it. Then, after a few seconds, knock again. Call again, too, your mother advised while folding laundry beside you many years ago. You remembered clearly the way her lips curved into her signature playful smile. That way, you won’t walk into anything... unsavoury.

“Your Highness? May I enter?” You called, giving the door a strong knock. When you were met with silence you knocked again. “I’m coming in.”

You opened the door slowly, remembering the long lecture you had received when you smacked Prince Harlow in the face with the door months back. To be quite frank, he did deserve it - especially since the reason why he hid behind the door was to frighten you. Unfortunately, your mother hadn’t agreed with you. Stepping into the private lounge you noticed it was empty. It was a bit of a mess, with the open books on the card table and the cushions strewn about by the window, but empty. You fastened the sheer fabric partition separating the window area from the rest of the room. The sheerness of the fine fabric made it clear that the partition was a show of wealth rather than to provide any privacy.

Well, I’m already late, a minute more wouldn’t hurt, you thought as you arranged the blankets and pillows. You also managed to tuck all five books under your arms as you went to knock the door leading into the Prince’s bedroom. Another two knocks and a loud announcement before you entered. The bedroom was empty too, meaning Harlow must have already stepped into the bath. You quickly pushed the books back into their place on a bookshelf. An odd chill ran down your spine, and it was then you realised the balcony doors were open, the heavy curtains billowing in the breeze.

You pulled back the curtains, admiring the view of the expansive garden before you shut the doors tightly. The day may have been lovely, but you weren't going to be responsible for anyone in the royal family getting a cold. After straightening out his bedsheets and quickly starting a fire you knocked on the bathing room door. This time you got an answer.

“(Y/n)?”

The way he said your name hadn’t changed since you were children. It was always spoken fondly. Even with the deepening of his voice, or the shortening of his temper, or when he was on the verge of tears.

“Yes?”

“Good. Come in.”

You pushed open the door, watched the steam roll through for a moment, then stepped into the narrow hall and slid the lock into place.

The bathing room is a place of purity. One must never bring the filth of the outside world into a place that should remain clean. To preserve this, the baths are built with a short hall. You must remove your shoes and apron here, before you tend to your master or mistress' bath. Yet another lesson your mother drilled into your skull. You slipped out of your shoes, placing them on a little shelf, and hung your apron on a hook adjacent to it. Only when you had finished tying up your skirt at your hip and making sure your hair would stay in place did you venture into the private bath.

You always felt a twinge of jealousy every time you were called here. The place was gorgeous. Large rocks rested in the pool, artfully arranged, while a waterfall from a slit on the far wall. If it weren’t for the fact that everything was so well kept, one may have mistaken the bath for a large pond. Usually, Harlow would have been resting against one of the carved rocks, but today you didn’t see him. Not among the flower petals floating in the water or under the cascade of the waterfall.

“I called for you almost forty minutes ago.”

“I see you still have no grasp of time.”

“It feels as though forty minutes have passed!” 

There. You saw him peek out from behind a pillar which plunged beneath the pool's surface, the rosy flowers crawling up its length a beautiful contrast to his pale skin. 

“It has not been forty minutes; it has been twenty.”

“Never mind that. The water is tepid, heat it up.”

You raised a brow at his tone. “Not unless you ask me politely.”

“Ask you politely?”

“Yes, Harlow. Politely.”

He pulled away from the marble pillar with such ease it made your breath flutter in your chest. The way the water lapped at his waist as he moved oh so slowly towards you was enchanting, and if he were anyone else you would have gotten an earful about how staring was impolite. It was like watching a hunter who knew his prey was almost in reach, yet it did not scare you. You were very much used to his swagger and bravado after all these years.

“I am your Prince,” he said once he reached you, voice low and eyes flashing something mischievous. “I do not need to ask you politely for anything.”

You crouched by the edge of the pool, catching his chin between your fingers. “I had to run from one side of this palace to the other to get here. I was not supposed to. Did you know it was my day off?”

“Whether it is your day off or not, I requested you personally, you would have been forced to come regardless.”

He tilted his head back, allowing you to run your thumb down the column of his throat. “You will be polite, or you will get nothing.”

“I miss you,” Harlow whispered, his eyes almost entirely closed, “I have missed you so much, (Y/n).”

“You are not getting out of this.”

“Not even a little?”

“No.”

“Fine,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose against your palm gently. “Can you please heat up the water for me?”

You tapped his nose once, then made your way to the small hatch near the hallway. When you were first introduced to the water heating system you were fascinated. It was beyond you, how the system was able to keep everything warm despite the constant flow of cool water in. Now you knew the bits of firewood you would feed into the small hatch led to a kindling fire beneath the pool, heating the stone and therefore the water. The mystery of how it worked may have faded, but your admiration regarding its engineering certainly hadn’t. You pried it open, and upon seeing the flicker of a flame reflected in the metal you called to Harlow.

“How much warmer would you like it to be?”

“(Y/n), you should know my bathing habits by now.”

“Almost scalding it is,” you mumbled, promptly shoving kindling through the opening. “It will take a few minutes, but you should feel a difference soon.”

“Perfect.”

You carefully lowered the door so as to not disrupt the fire, then sat at the edge of the pool. “Have you just been sitting in the water, moping before I arrived?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, well,” you snickered, “I’m here now. What was so important that you had to disrupt my day?”

“I want you to wash my hair.”

“... You have got to be joking.”

“I’m not!” he whined, wet fingers curling around your calves. “It has been almost two weeks since you have helped me bathe. Since then I have had, what, six baths? Maybe more? Besides you and your mother, no one knows how to treat my hair! It has become dry and lost its shine and -”

Curling your fingers around a lock of his hair you rolled your eyes. It seemed a touch more brittle, but certainly not as horrendous as he was suggesting. “It has not gotten that bad.”

“Yes, it has,” he pouted. It looked rather charming with his furrowed brow, but you would never tell him that.

“Stop that.”

“Fix it, please?”

“See,” you tucked his hair behind his ear, “being polite works in your favour.”

You gathered a variety of oils and perfumes and shampoos, balancing them on a tray at your hip before settling on one of the many steps leading into the clear waters of the pool. Like clockwork, Harlow sat between your legs, leaning back and wetting your skirt despite your protests. With a sigh you ran a hand through his hair, your irritation quelled by the purr that was drawn from him by the action.

“I adore the way you do that,” he sighed leaning further into you.

“Just making sure I don’t snag something when I start washing your hair.”

“I love it nonetheless.”

You tipped a minty smelling shampoo into your hands. “Why are you so keen on your hair looking perfect, may I ask?”

“You don’t like my hair?”

“I never said that.” You lathered the gloopy mixture into his scalp.

He sighed deeply. “I love your fingers.”

“So, you aren’t going to answer my question, I see.”

“Oh, please don’t start that.”

“I’ve got my hands in your precious hair, watch what you say.”

“What will you do? Pull on it? How tragic, I do so absolutely hate having my hair pulled by the love of my life while I sit between her gorgeous legs.”

“Answer the question!”

“... Fine. Did you know people can’t tell Frederick and I apart? My hair is one of the few things that allow people to do so.”

Despite being younger by two years, Harlow was almost the spitting image of his brother, who was, in turn, the spitting image of their father. Yet it wasn’t that difficult to tell Frederick and Harlow apart. His brother was slightly shorter, not noticeable unless they were standing side by side, but still. Frederick also had darker blue eyes, but again, unless you had a direct comparison it was not something one could pick out immediately. The most obvious difference was the hair length, with Harlow’s hair hanging at his hips while his brother preferred to keep his shoulder length. It was probably easier to maintain too, unlike a certain Prince who was practically splayed out in your lap.

“Don’t be silly, there are plenty of ways to tell you and your brother apart. Besides your hair, I mean.”

“There are?”

“Definitely.” You nodded, filling a small jug with water and washing away the froth clinging to his hair. “For one, your brother is more handsome than you.”

You heard his gasp before you felt him pull away. “You did not just say that.”

“Come back, I’m not finished.”

“Not until you apologise!” He huffed, sinking further into the water seemingly offended. The playful tilt of his head said otherwise.

“I may not have meant it, but I’m not going to apologise either, now get back here.”

Instead of listening to you he disappeared under water. Granted you could see exactly where he was, but his defiance riled you up. He resurfaced between your legs, pulling himself up using your thighs, forcing you to clutch the marble banister as you began to slip. Harlow pressed himself against you, soaking your clothes in an instant. 

He was nose to nose with you when he said, “Well, if you think my brother is so handsome, maybe he should have made love to you on your eighteenth birthday instead of me.”

Your grip faltered, and the next thing you knew you were surrounded by water. Harlow’s hands circled your waist immediately.

“Glad you could join me,” he teased once you had both resurfaced. “It seems getting you to reminisce is the only way to catch you off guard.”

You remembered that night clearly. How he had called you to his room and sat you on his lush bed, his hands tight around yours as words spilled from his lips. How he had liked you from the moment your mother deemed you old enough to work as a maid at the palace. How he had become more enamoured with you with every day that had passed. When you had returned his confession, he lay you on his silken sheets and made love to you slowly, sweetly.

But that wasn’t relevant, not when you were floating in water with Harlow. Still dressed.

“I am going to kill you,” you huffed, no real malice behind your words. “How can you stand this water? It’s stifling.”

“You are wearing clothes, I’m not. But,” his hands slid lower, a charming smile falling into place, “that can easily be remedied.”

“I can undress myself perfectly well, thank you.”

“That’s not what you told me the last time we snuck away during dinner.” You were thankful the heat of the pool had already reddened your face, otherwise you were certain he would have noticed you blush.

“Yes, well, this time I’m fine.”

“I’m not moving my hands.”

“If you try something you won’t have any hands.”

“I promise I won’t try anything without your permission, just… let me hold you.” 

With the utmost gentleness he pushed you against the wall of the pool, his face nuzzling your neck. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as his hands twined through your hair. He placed soft kisses on your neck and cheeks, along your collarbone and temple. The tenderness made you shiver.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I missed you,” he began again, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I have barely seen you over the past two weeks, let alone had time to speak to you.”

“What can I say, we’ve all been swamped with work since the announcement of your brother’s ball.”

“Yes, yes, the one to celebrate his engagement. Don’t remind me.” He looked up at you, his hands sliding up your back as he mumbled, “I’m sorry I made you come all the way here today. I wasn’t aware that it was your day off, I wouldn’t have called if I knew.”

“You could make it up to me by listening so I can get back to lounging.”

“But I won’t see you for the rest of the day.”

“Come on,” you cooed, stroking your fingers along the small of his back. Much to your joy, his eyes fluttered closed at the touch. “Let me finish your hair. I’ll stay with you for a little while afterwards.”

“You promise?”

“Well, I have to let my clothes dry, do I not?”

You settled on the steps, ushering Harlow to sit between your legs once more, bottles at the ready. When he finally obliged you made swift work of his hair, rubbing in concoctions and washing them out, dabbing sweet perfumes along the strands. He had managed to stay still long enough for you to wind it all up so he could scrub his body clean. The warmth of the room along with the ambient sound of rushing water was enough to make you sleepy. In fact, you were sure you had almost dozed off once or twice. 

“Anything else?” You asked when he had finished, though you had no intention of staying in the room with your wet dress longer than needs be.

“Not particularly, no.”

“Wonderful.”

“Are you not going to take them off?” Harlow took one look at your curled lip and laughed. It sounded innocent, like a childhood memory. “Don't look at me like that.”

“Look at you like what?”

“You look annoyed at the concept of undressing here.”

“I have no clue as to what you are insinuating.”

“Your clothes are already wet! You'll just end up leaving a trail straight to my room.”

“You are not the person who is going to be cleaning it up, why do you care?”

“(Y/n).”

“You're still in the water. If the whole point of this is for me to dry off, then this is counter-intuitive?”

He pouted whilst resting his chin on the edge of the pool, arm outstretched towards you as he whined, “(Y/n), do not make me order you.”

“We have already established you can't make me do anything.”

“I'll tell your mother you're disobeying me; she'll give you an earful.”

“She also knows exactly what you're like, and you'll get just as much of a lecture.”

He rested his chin atop his hand, his pout and drawn brows still firmly in place. The gesture was oddly alluring with the way the beads of water ran down his forearms. “You're right about that…” 

“Why don't you ask me nicely?”

“That's all I needed to do? Please, (Y/n). I just want to feel you against me. Can you come here? The water is lovely, and I need to feel you in my arms.”

“A little more.”

“Please? Let me touch you. Let me run my fingers along your velvety skin and watch you shiver. I want to make you breathless, make you feel so good you can’t think of anything else.”

“That will do.” You couldn’t stop the playful grin that stretched across your lips. Harlow perked up immediately, sloshing through the water to get to the stairs as fast as he could.

He managed to pull you in a second time, though this time you most certainly didn’t keep your hands to yourself. You tucked a few flyaway hairs behind his ear, then planted a generous amount of kisses just below his jaw, the audible groan he let out making your toes curl in excitement. No time was wasted in peeling your sopping clothes from your skin, his sapphire eyes drinking in your form with every inch that was revealed. 

“It has been... too long since I’ve seen you bare.”

“You’re acting like this is the first time.”

“It might as well be. You take my breath away each time I see you.” 

“As far as I was aware you had grown out of your breathing problems.”

“Hilarious,” he said, doing very little to hide the smile that crinkled the sides of his beautiful eyes. He planted a kiss between your breasts while twining your legs around his waist, and you were sure that even without the heated water around your hips his skin would be burning hot. With a delicate touch you raked your nails down his back, the shudder of his muscles under your fingertips delightful. 

“You react so pleasantly to my nails,” you drawled, your fingers reaching his lower back, “maybe I should leave marks.”

“Only if you let me leave marks on you.” 

He lifted your figure against the pool wall with ease. You dug your nails into his hips and shoulder as he pressed his lips firmly against yours, his breathy moan muffled between your lips with desperation you had never experienced before. And yet there was still a tenderness about it - in the way his lips left yours just to run his nose along your wet jaw and whisper how much he loved you. In the way he dipped his head to your neck, tugging and sucking at your skin with such intimacy. It was moments like these that made you grateful that you were the object of his affection.

And then he bit you. 

“Oh my - Harlow are you a snake?”

He lifted his head, face contemplative. “I mean I have done some things that could be considered… deceitful?”

“That's not what I meant, you bit me!”

“Ah. Did you not like it?”

It was a surprise, but you couldn't deny the sting of his teeth was a tad pleasurable. You balled a hand in his hair. “Warn me first.”

“Didn't you hear me? I said you could mark me, however,” his grip on your hips tightened, “I was going to return the favour.”

He captured you in a fierce kiss, one that could have bruised your lips if you were more delicate, giving your bottom lip a tug before dragging his hot tongue across your collarbone. His hands slid up to your waist, his thumbs caressing the underside of your breasts as he left plenty of marks on your skin. There were bites on your shoulders, bruises on your collar bone, harsh kisses on your neck.

And everything he did to you was returned in kind. You showed your affection in the bites and scratches that would inevitably bloom on his smooth skin, knowing full well that if he could he would pull down his collar and flaunt the colours that would decorate him. Though, despite your best efforts, you had little time to mark him as thoroughly as you had wanted, not with the growing sense of urgency in your touches or the rhythmic grinding of his hips into yours. In fact, his painfully slow movement down your body was making your blood thrum with each passing second. His sighs and hums and moans only added to the growing throb between your legs.  

You pulled him closer, burying your face in his sweet-smelling hair as you breathlessly asked him to hurry, to move lower. Much to your relief, he complied, hands squeezing your thighs as he hoisted you up and kissed down your stomach. 

“Patience, my love.” You practically heard the smile in his voice. He gently sat you on a marble step.

“I would appreciate it if you were faster.”

His laughter echoed off the walls as he rested his cheek against the curve of your thigh, his fingers feather-light on your other leg, tracing patterns. “Your legs are absolutely stunning.”

That confused you. “My legs?”

“Yes. I don’t get to see them very often under that long skirt of yours,” Harlow responded, placing warm, open mouth kisses along your inner thigh. You had to repress the urge to rub your thighs together, especially since he would have been squished between them. A part of you knew he would enjoy it immensely if you did. “But I can think of a few things I missed more than your lovely legs.”

“And what’s that?”

Another kiss that sent tingles up your spine. “I miss how you taste.”

“... I’m not stopping you.”

“I know you aren’t. But I want you to ask me nicely.” You raised a brow, sighing through your nose in an attempt to stop yourself from just pulling him closer. When you didn't reply he shrugged and began to move away. “No? That’s fine, let's go get you -”

 “No, Harlow, don’t go. You’ve already done this much. Stay.”

“Are you - wait, are you whining?” He tilted his head as if he was listening to something far away. “Did I just hear you whine for me? Whine for me to stay?”

You lay back, a flush making its way from your cheeks to your shoulders, and avoided his stare. Trying to be as quiet as possible, you draped an arm over your face and muttered, “...Maybe.”

“Do it again.”

“What?!” You shot straight up.

“You’ve never whined before, about anything. Not even when I make your job more difficult with my ‘messy tendencies’.” He leaned forward, hands back on your thighs and his face alight with joy. 

As difficult as it was you swallowed your pride and interlaced your fingers with his. “Please stay… I- I’m. Ugh, I want you to kiss me and touch me and mark me. Stay here with me Harlow. Please.”

His smile softened, a twinkle in his eye. “Do you want me to taste you?”

The words that tumbled from your lips like a plea were cut short when he pressed a small kiss to your clit. Immediately your legs clamped down around his ears.

“Just as good as I remember.” His voice was muffled, and the vibrations of his chuckle when you clutched his hair shot waves of pleasure straight to your core. “You like that?”

“Less talking.”

“Whatever my lady demands.” 

His tongue swirled around your clit as he pressed his face into you, making your back arch as you tugged him even closer. One of the hands previously laced with yours moved to your stomach, pressing you down to stop your squirming hips, his tongue running along your slit with dexterity. It wasn't until he buried his tongue inside you that you really cried out. He flicked back and forth rhythmically. Pressure began to pool at the bottom of your stomach, your legs tensing as Harlow made broad strokes over your clit. The pulsing between your legs only got stronger with each passing second, building and building until - 

“Your Highness? Are you there?”

Harlow stopped. For a split second his eyes locked with yours, then he untangled himself from between your legs, drawing you closer until your chests met. The loss of his tongue when you were so close made you want to scream, but instead you settled on calming your erratic breathing and shoving the mild sense of panic as deep down as it could get. 

“Don't worry, you're a smart woman, I heard you lock the door,” he whispered, a smile that screamed conspiracy plastered on his face. 

“I did?” It was fuzzy, but the distinct sound of the bolt lock sliding into place managed to slip through your frazzled thoughts. “Oh, thank god, I did.”

“Um… your Highness?” The voice was distinctly female, younger sounding too. You recognised it as being one of the newer maids - the girl with the straw coloured hair if you remembered correctly. 

“I think that's Ebony.”

“I don't recognise the voice.”

“She's new.”

“Who's there?” Harlow called through the door. 

“Oh, my name is Ebony. I don't think we've met before, your Highness.”

You smiled, pressing your cheek against his and leaned into his frame. “Told you.”

“Never doubted you for a second,” he whispered, hands gliding down your body, much to your confusion. His attention was back on the hallway, though his hands didn't stop their descent. “Ebony, was it? Why are you here, is something wrong?”

“Well, no. You see I come with clothes. You've been asked to wear them to a meeting later today.”

It was then you understood what Harlow was doing. In one smooth stroke he pushed a long, slender finger between your folds and inside you, all while pushing your head into the crook of his neck to muffle your groan. His voice was low when he said, “Quiet love. We don’t want the new maid hearing you, now do we?”

“Um… has (Y/n) arrived yet? You requested her to help with your bath?”

“Oh yes,” he slipped another finger into you, and you had to dig your nails into his shoulders to stop yourself from making any suspicious sounds, “she’s right here. Isn’t that right (Y/n)?”

The heated glare you gave him could have set his hair on fire if such a thing was possible. “Y-Yes. I’m here. How are you Ebony?”

“I’m fine… may I come in?  Her voice carried through the room again, this time punctuated by the sound of the door rattling. You knew it was locked but you couldn’t stop the quickening of your heart rate. “Ah… The door is locked, your Highness.”

“Thank you for bringing the clothes, you can just leave them on the bed, (Y/n) will get them after she’s done with my hair.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“Thank you Ebony,” you called, trying to keep your voice steady as Harlow began to pump his fingers ever so slowly. His mischievous smirk didn't slip at all while he began to stretch you out, the pressure on your walls delightful. 

You waited for what seemed like forever, until the only thing you could focus on was the sounds of rushing water and the feeling of Harlow’s fingers filling you. 

“That was so close.”

“It was.”

“You're evil, why would you do that?” You moaned, squeezing his thigh as the rhythmic movement of his hand sped up. 

“At least I didn't do this.”

“Do wha- oh god.”

He curled his fingers inside you, the motion causing you to practically collapse into him. You felt the breath of his laughter against your neck as he continued to stroke the same spot. He pushed back strands of hair plastered to your face, his fingers still moving, thumb pressing into your clit. The smell of the soaps and heat of the water was intoxicating, so much so that you didn’t even realise that Harlow had placed you back on the steps, his teeth and lips marking your legs as his fingers continued to stroke. Somehow, he managed to drag the building pressure between your legs out for so long that you lost track of how many times you almost came. 

Every time you were unbearably close to orgasm, he would remove his fingers and use his mouth and tongue instead, gently bringing you back down. Your head became more clouded as your patience wore thin, and you resorted to begging. With jumbled words split between pants and moans you let him know how desperate you were and how badly you wanted it to be him to do it. Your hands grabbed and pulled at every available inch of his skin, your lips working wonders on his neck and ear if his breathy groans and faltering strokes were anything to go by. You told him how much of a wreck you would be for the rest of the day if he didn’t give you release. It wasn't until you could no longer remember the number of times you said the word please that he finally let you come. On his tongue no less.

Relief washed over you, the building tension at the bottom of your stomach unfurling as your legs gave out. You reached for Harlow, breathless and wanting, needing something to ground yourself. His damp hair brushed against your skin when he leaned down to kiss you, the sensation ticklish.

“Are you okay, hmm? Was that good?” he asked, attentive. He brought your outstretched hands to his lips, and you felt his smile against your skin. “You seem like you enjoyed it.”

Once you had caught your breath you yanked him closer by the neck and ground out, “You ever make me wait like that again, you watch what I do to you afterwards.”

“So, was that a yes?”

“I don’t think I can get up,” you breathed, your eyelids getting heavier by the moment.

He laughed, pushing your head with his own before he stood. The water rolled off him in sheets, and you had to admire the stretch of his stomach and sculpted legs. “I must have done a good job then. Wait here, I'll be back.”

You laid your head against a step and heard rather than saw him pick up your still soaked clothes and unlock the door to his bedroom. Minutes later he was back, a silken black robe hanging off his figure in all the right places. 

“Hello, dear. Any feeling back in your legs yet?”

“Don't even joke about that.”

You didn't miss the chuckle he tried to hide behind his hand. “Come, let's get you dried up.” He crouched next to you, but you held him at arm's length. “Is something the matter?”

“I’ll get you wet again.” You gestured to your legs still in the water, and your very clearly not dry abdomen. 

“That's not a problem.” He gathered you in your arms, and you could hear the droplets of water hit the stone floor as he swept away to his bedroom. “You know I got up to light a fire, so we could warm up. Imagine my surprise when I walked in and saw one had already been lit, you brilliant woman you.”

“I'm surprised it lasted that long. Ebony must have added more wood to keep it going.”

“Well if she did, please give her my gratitude.” He set you down on the plush rug in front of the fireplace, pulling a deep blue robe over your shoulders. The material was so light and smooth you barely felt it when he slipped it on your frame. “I think you look gorgeous in every colour, but I am biased when I say you look the most radiant in blue.”

“Flatterer.”

Harlow left a quick peck on your lips before settling next to you on the rug. “You can stay here as long as you like. I'll be right with you.”

“... Don't you have a meeting to go to? Ebony brought you the clothes so you could get changed.”

It was around mid-afternoon that you got the text. Or rather, a string of texts that made your phone go off second after relentless second. Your pen stilled as you watched the notifications tumble onto your phone screen, and you didn't even have to pay attention to the name to know who was texting you.

There was only one person who ever bothered you without a second thought as to whether or not it was interrupting something important.

Sawyer.

But no, you weren't going to let him ruin your productive afternoon. You had been sat at your desk for an hour, pouring over textbooks and scrolling through papers to prepare for a presentation you were to give to your peers in a weeks’ time - and you were not going to let that man ruin your current workflow. So, you nudged your phone to the edge of the desk and continued working.

And then it started ringing.

You clenched your jaw, staring daggers at your phone before you snatched it up and answered it. "I'm working, what on Earth do you want?"

"Hey, sweetpea! See guys, I told you they’d pick up!" His words were followed by a series of gunshots, a string of curses from who you thought were Tommy and Ambrose, and a manic laugh who you knew with absolute certainty was from Riley.

Your attention was no longer on your work.

"Sawyer, you're calling me in the middle of a job? Are you fucking stupid?"

"Oh no, baby, are you mad at me?"

"Sawyer, get off the phone you're going to get shot!”

"Okay, okay, I will! But first, I know I literally just sent the pictures to you, but let me know if you want me to keep it, yeah gorgeous?" There was some incoherent shouting on the other end, followed by a loud thump. You were also sure that the clatter that just assaulted your ears was the sound of Sawyer dropping his phone.

"Get. Off. The. Line. Now." You were starting to get nervous. Sawyer did somehow get himself out of plenty of sticky situations, however, you were not too keen on the idea of you being the cause of an accident.

"Fuck, angel, don't use that voice over the phone, you know it makes me crazy horny. You know - hey, Ambrose! Don't -"

Like a blessing sent from above, you heard Ambrose wrestle Sawyer's phone off him. You eased at the sound of her smooth voice. "Hey (Y/n)."

"Hello, Ambrose. Can you hang up?"

"'Course sweetie. Bye (Y/n)."

"Thank you."

You stared at your phone until it turned off. That man was going to knock years off your life from the stress he put you through if he hadn't done so already. What pictures were so damn important that he decided sending them to you during a raid, or whatever morally grey activity they were doing at that current moment in time? You sighed through your nose, having been jarred enough that you couldn't get back to doing work even if you tried, and opened your messages app. The first thing you saw was a bunch of keyboard mashes, followed by an apology.

Ahhhhhh sorry babes, im just really excited, im taking a bunch of photos right now in this proper fucking swanky ass bathroom, lookie

And it was a swanky ass looking bathroom indeed. The black glass tiles had rainbow iridescent flecks scattered on the surface. The lighting was low, almost sensual, the only exception being the full-length mirror ringed with white light. Even the sink was set in what looked like a black marble bar.

Okay listen this mirror has the BEST lighting, I mean I don't need a bathroom for me to know how bangable I am BUT STILL

"Confidence in spades that man has,” you mumbled, moving on to the next text.

Like what you see babycakes?

The next picture stopped your thoughts right in their tracks. There, taking a mirror selfie, was Sawyer. In a cop costume. A tight cop costume. His hips and head were tilted, a thumb hooked through his belt with a smile barely visible through the shadow of his hat.

You had no idea why he was in that costume, but with the way his nipple piercings strained against the fabric, and how cinched his waist looked you thanked your lucky stars you existed at the same time this picture did. That was until you remembered he had sent you more than just this. You swiped right, not knowing how he could have topped this.

"No fucking way," you breathed, swiping to the next picture only to confirm your suspicions.

Sawyer had sent you a striptease through selfies. 

The first picture he was fully dressed.

Next, his hat was gone, along with a few undone buttons of his shirt. He went so far as to lean in towards the mirror, giving the camera those alluring bedroom eyes he always managed to pull off.

In the selfie you were currently on all of his buttons were undone. You swiped again. No shirt.

"If he gets fully naked I'm going to scream."

Another picture - the belt was unbuckled and his zip was down. Then he was just in his boxers, tongue sticking out and nose scrunched in such a childish way it would have been endearing if he wasn't almost completely naked.

You swiped again, only to be met with a video, not another selfie, much to your surprise. 

"Oh no..."

You had a strong hunch you were not going to make it out of this unscathed.

‘Hello sweetie pie, how are you doing?’ Sawyers face suddenly popped into view, the piercings on his brow and ears glinting in the low lighting. ‘Listen, I gotta go out in a bit so I’m gonna have to zip up, and I have no clue when you’re gonna get this but, uh…’

The camera panned down, and you couldn’t stop the jolt of electricity that ran up your legs at what you saw. In his slender, very deft fingers was his cock. He ran a finger over the piercing near the tip, the moan he released at the touch downright sinful.

‘I was thinking about bringing this outfit home for you and that was enough to get me going.’

Your screen went dark, only to light up again to reveal Sawyer in his full glory reflected in the gorgeous full-length mirror, holding up his phone as if he was about to take yet another selfie. His tattoos looked so vibrant against his pale skin and the black tiles - though you only gave those details a mere fraction of your time.

'Look at that, there’s already precum, just from the thought of you.’ The words came out drawled, like the slight touch he gave himself earlier had already sent him into post-orgasmic bliss. 'I wonder if you’ll be able to see it, hmmm?’

He pressed his thumb into the tip of his cock, spreading the sticky precum ever so slowly over his head. You could hear the small, slick sounds over his shuddering breath as he rubbed back and forth. It made your toes curl.

'Shit, you hear that? That’s all for you (Y/n). Only for you.’ He brought his fingers up close to the camera, slowly flexing them to show off his precum. 'Honey, I want you here to tell me to lick my fingers clean.’ He broke out into laughter and you smiled. Being able to lift the mood while still sounding, feeling and tasting irresistible was one of his many charms. 'I mean I’m gonna do it anyway, it just always sounds better when you ask me to.’

With no hesitation, Sawyer placed his fingers in his mouth. A low hum escaped from between his digits, followed by a wink to the camera and the slow removal of his fingers. A silver string of saliva trailed from his mouth to his fingertips.

‘Do I get you all worked up? Yeah, baby? You make it hard to focus…’ He trailed his wet fingers down his neck to his chest. He laughed, then purred, ‘And you also make me hard, but I don’t think that’s a secret at this point in our relationship.’

Sawyer trembled as he spread the wetness onto his nipples. His piercings were always sensitive when he got in a mood, and he had piercings in all the right spots for those moods.

‘You know this outfit came with handcuffs. I know that you know that I have those fluffy ones, but maybe these metal ones might be a nice change of pace. They bite into your skin.’ His hands stilled for a moment and he smirked. ‘That’s not too unlike me now that I think about it. Maybe -’

It took you a second to realise the knock that startled you enough to drop your phone came from the video, and it was not, in fact, someone barging in on you watching videos of your boyfriend teasing himself.

'Sawyer, get out of there, it’s showtime!’ You could recognise Tommy’s deep voice anywhere. Sawyers reflection, though partially blocked by his phone, was extremely annoyed as he glared to somewhere off camera, displaying his impressive profile. He sighed, his hand reaching for something out of frame before he flipped the camera around, the momentary unflattering angle from below making you giggle. ‘Well, this was my idea, I guess I should go through with it. Let’s hope Mr drug trade thinks that I’m all hot and bothered for him. I’ll catch you later honeybunch.’

And that was the end of it - of the video at least. It was most certainly not the end of the heat between your legs or the sudden restlessness Sawyer’s teasing caused.

The phone rang and you fell out of your chair, hitting your funny bone on the way down. After a few seconds of hissing at the static running up your arm, you answered your phone to see it was Sawyer calling. Groaning, you picked it up.

“Hello, it’s me, the love of your life, Sawyer, hello. How are you doing my love?”

“I just hit my fucking elbow because of your call, so thanks,” you grumbled, settling back into your swivel chair.

“Oooh, I’m sorry sweet cheeks I didn’t mean to scare ya, I called because I come bearing good news!”

Besides the hum of what you assumed was a car, there was silence over the line. “… You gonna tell me what that is?”

“I’m alive, that’s the good news - it went well! My distraction worked, and no one was hurt!” You heard a shout in the back that sounded suspiciously like ‘people did get hurt you fucking bastard’, though you couldn’t really tell who it was with how muffled it sounded. Sawyer elected to ignore it. “I’m in a car at the moment, on our way back. Did you get to look at what I sent you? You know, the super important stuff?”

The teasing tone in his voice made you want to wrap your hands around his throat and make him beg. “Yeah, about that, what the hell were you doing wearing a cop costume?”

“I told you, I was the distraction. You weren’t the only one that got teased tonight.”

“You what?”

“Don’t worry shortcake, I didn’t even take my shirt off before bullets started flying, my innocence is still intact.”

“Innocence my ass.” You rolled your eyes; thankful he and his gang were okay despite the commotion you heard earlier. “Wait, are you still wearing the costume?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna change when we get back to Riley’s place. Unless…?”

“Don’t change,” you demanded, twirling a pencil between your fingers. “And bring the cuffs.”

“You sure?” Sawyer failed to hide the anticipation in his voice.

“I’m going to show you what boyfriends who tease their partners with no warnings get. Don’t expect it to be quick.”

Heat and the tangy smell of citrus washed over you as you cracked the door open. You stepped in, quickly shutting the door behind you to keep all the heat in the usually cool kitchen and had to swallow your laugh when you saw Ezra hunched over the well-worn recipe book. It was a present, something you had gotten him in the very beginning of your relationship, not knowing how much the small cheap book would mean to him or that he was going to use it every other weekend to show his appreciation.

You inched closer to him until you were practically peering over his shoulder, yet he hadn’t noticed you. Instead he was scribbling down notes furiously on a pad of bright blue post-it notes, mumbling to himself as he did so.

“Oh, you’re making a sponge cake so early in the morning? Whatever did I do to deserve this?”

Ezra perked up almost immediately, forcing you to jerk back to avoid being whacked in the face by the back of his skull. He wasted no time in wrapping his arms around your waist, dipping you so low that you had to scrabble at his shirt for purchase. You were dangerously close to the oven, the heat rolling off it in waves. It made you cling to him harder.

“I’m going to fall!” You squeaked.

“Oh no, we can’t have that now, can we?” He gradually pulled you until you were upright, all while keeping you pressed tightly against him.

“Thank you.” You murmured, enjoying the familiar scent of vanilla as you nuzzled into his neck. “Morning Ezra.”

“Good morning, sweetheart. How did you sleep? Good?” He ran his hands up and down your back. The comforting motion made you sleepy again.

“I slept fine, thank you.” And with the sleepiness came a yawn that even you couldn’t stifle.

“You don’t sound like you’ve had a good night. Are you getting sick?” Ezra pulled back, concern creasing his brow. His hands made their way to your face to cup your cheek and feel your forehead. 

You peeled his hands away from your face, opting to lace his fingers between yours to keep them away. “No, no, I’m fine, I swear.”

“You look tired.”

“I always look tired.”

“That’s not an excuse to not have proper rest.”

“You’re right, it’s not, but I swear just because I look tired doesn’t mean I am.”

“(Y/n), my sweet, I-”

“Don’t you dare start Ezra, we’ve spoken about this.” You skirted around him and picked up the blue post-it pad, trying to read the mess on it in an attempt to change the subject.

You understood (or at least you hoped) Ezra’s concern came from a good place, but you were not going to have the man who promised he loved you treat you like a child. After living with him for almost a year, you knew better than to fall for his pouts and whines that ensued when you refused to let him take care of you. It always led to more coddling. 

Ignoring his pouting, you held up the pad and raised a brow. “More experimentation?”

His puppy dog eyes were replaced by a huge smile. He squished himself right up against you and said, “Yes! Originally, I was going to make eight-inch cakes and have you try them all… but then I realised that’s unhealthy, so instead I’m going to make a couple of batches of cupcakes, all with different ingredients.”

You put down the pad and, in its place, picked up an orange that sat next to an array of glass bowls. “I’m assuming they’re going to be citrus cupcakes?”

“I’m going to try a whole bunch of different flavours,” he nodded, “but lemon, lime and orange are a few of them, yes.”

“It's a good thing you don't take orders by hand, your writing is terrible.”

You heard a little gasp and turned only to see Ezra staring at you, mouth agape. He looked rather hurt considering the statement was clearly a joke.

“Well, I -” he made a little high-pitched huff, akin to what an offended rich lady in an old movie would do whilst holding a Pomeranian. He readjusted his apron and began to ignore you.

“Ignoring me? That’s new.”

Not only was it new, it was very out of character for Ezra too. He must have been having a good confidence day. He pointedly weighed out flour and sugar, cracking eggs with ease that could only come from years of routine baking. You stood quietly, watching him work. Chunks of blond hair fell into his face as he whisked, trying his damnedest to ignore you, it seemed. You let out a small sigh and made your move - if there was one thing you knew how to do, it was how to get Ezra out of his little strops and back to his cheerful bubbly self.

With a gentle touch you tugged at his hair tie, running your fingers through the soft strands. He shuddered, so discreetly you almost missed it. You didn’t, however, miss the way his knuckles blanched when he gripped the whisk and the bowl tighter.

“Did you even try to tie up your hair properly?” You smiled to yourself when you saw his throat bob as he swallowed. “Hmm?”

He continued to hold strong in his silence, though you would have had to be blind to miss the strong flush creeping up his neck.

“If you weren’t ignoring me, I’m sure you would say something along the lines of ‘would you believe me if I said I did?’, because I just love you so much and know you so well…” you said, voice low and alluring.

You finished tying his hair up and out his handsome face, exposing the smooth skin of his pale neck. Without hesitation you brushed your nose against it, smirking when Ezra almost spilled the batter while dividing it between the bowls.

“Ezra, my love?” You pressed a small kiss to the nape of his neck, and he cracked.

“I know you didn’t mean it-” he spluttered, continuing with a string of apologies, his words practically merging into each other. He leaned back into you, as if he would float away if you weren’t there to ground him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would hurt your feelings.” You were impressed. This was the longest he had lasted against your teasing. Then again, he wasn’t usually distracted by baking when you did decide to rile him up. “I know I’m not as good as you in the kitchen, but would you like some help?”

“That would be lovely!” Ezra beamed, grabbing the kitchen grater and measuring spoons. “Would you mind mixing?”

A few minutes later cupcake tins were lined with colourful cases and batter was poured into them. Ezra stressed the fact that it was imperative that each flavour was colour coded with a cupcake case. Just so you could tell them apart. It didn’t really matter to you. All his baking tasted delicious. Ezra popped the trays in the oven, started the timer and moved to place a few other ingredients on the kitchen worktop.

You recognised them straight away. “Oh, you’re making buttercream icing too?”

“You always know what I’m thinking don’t you? The cupcakes are going to take a while, so we have plenty of time to - wait.” He looked utterly horrified.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’ve not even had breakfast yet! What kind of a man doesn’t get the love of his life breakfast in the morning?!”

“Uhh… a busy one? And here I was thinking something actually bad happened.” You leaned against the cupboards, only to be pulled towards the kitchen table. “It’s fine, it’ll be lunch soon and your cupcakes are baking, I’m not going to die from missing breakfast once in a while.”

“I refuse to be here and not feed you.” If you hadn’t known him for so long, the way he pushed you into the chair and looked at you with intensity could have been interpreted as forceful.

“Ezra-”

“Most of the ingredients used for pancakes are already out - do you want some pancakes, treasure? Or would you like waffles instead? I can make you something else if you’d prefer. What about-”

“Oh, for the love of god!” With a yank of his wrist you pulled Ezra in such a way he ended up straddling your lap, his face growing beet red as the seconds ticked by. He was completely silent, looking at everything except you.

The silence was amazing.

You loved him, sure, but sometimes he just wouldn't stop worrying over you, and other times he just wouldn’t shut up.

But now he was sitting in your lap, all obedient and blushy.

The cupcakes were going to take at least another half an hour. 

And the icing doesn’t really take that long to make…

“Hey, how long does it take to make buttercream icing?” You asked, hands already sliding up his calves.

“A-about five mi-minutes, why?” He stuttered, his breath hitching when you hooked your hands under the back of his knees.

“Perfect.”

With a devilish smile you hoisted him up until he was lying flat against the table and pressed yourself flush against him.

“(Y-Y/n)! We can’t-”

“Oh? And why not?” The grin you flashed him was nothing short of mischievous, and you began to grind your hips into his, your fingers already deftly working at the ties of his apron.

“Because, be- because…” But his protests dissolved into moans when you grinded into him harder.

The apron was discarded within seconds and you fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. His hands were everywhere on you - clutching and grabbing and groping. Sliding over your hips and under your top, only to leave moments later to glide up your chest and wind themselves in your hair. Responding in kind, you tangled your fingers around his luscious blond locks and pulled his head back, revealing yet again the long column of his neck. You nipped at his ear, your head swimming with excitement at the little squeak he gave in response.

“Ezra,” you crooned, leisurely trailing warm, soft kisses down his jaw and neck, “I love it when you make those noises, they’re so cute. Make more for me please?”

As if on cue he let out a breathy groan when you managed to undo the last button of his shirt. You pressed a palm flat against his stomach while you raked your nails down his back. 

“Thank you, sweetie.”

You lowered your head, nibbling at his collarbone and chest, revelling in the way his eyes fluttered closed and his back arched, pressing as close to you as he could. With enthusiasm you continued your journey down, leaving teasing licks and kisses on his stomach. You giggled when you reached the belt of his trousers, noting the large bulge as you wrapped your fingers around his thighs.

“Ooh, looks like someone is getting excited. Did I do that to you?”

Ezra was too much of a mess to give you an answer other than his gorgeous, unrestrained moans. 

And what a glorious mess he was.

Magnificent reds and purples were beginning to properly bloom across his delicate skin. His hair was utterly dishevelled, and his back was arched enough that you could see every movement as he struggled to catch his breath.

Warmth pooled in the bottom of your stomach and between your legs. You had to grit your teeth to stop yourself from doing anything about it.

You knew exactly how Ezra ticked. You were not going to give into your desire to ride him until he screamed. Not when it would be all the more satisfying to leave him with a quick hand job here and have him truly desperate by tonight.

So, you admired him instead, pulled his legs up over your shoulders to squish his still clothed thighs against your face. Despite his squirming, Ezra’s stunning eyes were focused solely on you.

“Would you like some attention dear?”

Like before, his response was only strangled moans.

“Use your words, you’re a big boy.” You gave his thigh a light bite.

“Please,” he whispered desperately, his blush spreading to his chest as his body trembled, “please touch me.”

“And without stuttering, such a good boy. Of course, I’ll touch you.” You planted a firm kiss on the bulge of his trousers and shouldered off his legs, your fingers grasping his belt.

The jangling of the buckle was a welcome sound as you inched his trousers down his legs ever so slowly. Ezra threw his head back and whimpered. It was only then you took pity on him, giving his thighs generous squeezes and scratches as you worked your way up to his boxer briefs. After a few strategically placed kisses on his hips you rubbed your thumb over the wet spot that formed on his underwear.

“Would you like me to make you cum, Ezra?” you hummed teasingly and applied more pressure to the wet spot, watching his thighs tremble deliciously.

“Y-yes!”

“Good answer.”

Gently, you pulled him closer to the edge of the table, thankful for its silky polished wood allowing you to slide him with ease. It was a large improvement compared to the previous table you had, and Ezra had the friction burns for a good few days afterwards to prove it. You tucked his hair behind his ear whilst planting a quick kiss to his forehead before flipping him around, your hands steadying his hips.

“You have such a lovely back, Ezra,” you cooed, tracing a finger up and down the length of his spine.

You felt a rush at the way his muscles clenched and relaxed beneath your fingertips. Hooking your fingers under the waistband, you slid down his underwear and massaged your fingers into the base of his cock. Ezra’s moans were severely muffled, and it took you a moment to realize that he had buried his face into his arms. You mustered up all the gentleness you could manage as your hand climbed up his back and into his hair, pulling tenderly and placing soft kisses behind his ear. 

Your voice was soft when you mumbled, “No, Ezra, I want to hear you. I can’t do that if you bury your face in your arms.”

He apologized with breath he didn’t have. With a smile you buried your face into his hair, intertwining the hand that was once in his hair with his. You dragged your curled hand up his warm length at the same time Ezra brought your joined hands to cradle them at his chest. His heartbeat was hammering, and when you gently lay your head against his back you could practically hear it.

Ezra bucked his hips into your hand, his cock throbbing when you traced your thumb over the tip again and again. Just to add to his need you used your nails as you pumped, savouring how he cried out with no hesitation. You waited, bringing him to the edge, stopping just before he spilled over and repeated. Only after you were satisfied you finally, mercifully, let him cum, his moans verging on screams as they filled your ears.

And you stayed there for a while.

You weren’t sure how long, but you stayed there with your weight pressed against Ezra as he came down from his high, his breathing slowing down and his heartbeat settling. Your hand was still wrapped around his cock, and you could feel his sticky cum dripping from your fingertips, but you would grant him the blessing of letting him rest before you made him do anything about it. 

Or at least you would have if the timer for the cupcakes hadn’t rang. 

“Uh oh,” you laughed, veins still singing and the sounds of his orgasm still swirling in your head. It took a great amount of effort to peel yourself from Ezra’s back and coax him to turn around with your clean hand. All he did was pull you down for some more kisses.

“You have to clean up your mess, honey,” you breathed, allowing him to steal a few more kisses before you placed your cum covered fingers on his lips. You adored the way he took your fingers into his mouth, his tongue swirling around them and licking them clean.

“All done,” he said, clearly exhausted as he sank back onto the table.

“Good boy.” You gave his forehead a quick kiss. “Alrighty, I’ll go take them out of the oven.”

You pulled on an oven mitt and set the tins on a cooling rack all while stealing glances at the puddle of limbs that was Ezra. You made your way back over to him, where he hadn’t moved an inch, and stroked his hair as he sighed like a love-sick fool.

“Thank you...” He gazed at you lovingly.

“I'm glad you enjoyed it.” 

“(Y/n)?”

“Yeah?”