𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

You knew the moment Blake turned off the main road that this had been a mistake. Miles of dark, empty industrial buildings stretched along the old highway. She told you the event always took place out here (because technically it was illegal) but you really started to feel anxious the closer you got.

Then she pulled her little Ford into an industrial park, the tires hitting gravel. The hulking warehouse looked like it might've been forgotten twenty years ago if it hadn't been all lit up with dozens of cars parked in front and loud music pouring from the entrance. Deep bass vibrated through into the car and you swallowed as you watched out the window with wide eyes. A crowd spilled around a wide loading dock and people clustered in groups beneath bright floodlights mounted on the building’s corners.

Blake parked in a random spot between a dented pickup and a matte-black motorcycle before cutting the engine.

“You okay over there?” she asked.

“I’m just… taking it in.”

“Lot to see. Even more when we get inside.”

You glanced toward the warehouse entrance where a heavyset guy in a black hoodie stood beside a folding table collecting cash.

“I didn't realize it was going to look like this, like… sketchy. Dangerous…” you admitted.

Blake laughed under her breath as she grabbed her bag. "Well, I mean it is illegal fighting and betting in an old warehouse outside of town. If it looks sketchy… that's cause it is.”

That wasn’t reassuring. You climbed out of the car, your sneakers hitting the gravel as the cool night air hit your face, making you glad you'd grabbed your cat sweater last second, even if it screamed—this person does not belong here! The closer you got to the building, the more alive the place felt. The more real it all was.

There was a low murmur of people talking over the music, smoking, and a few guys leaning against the side of a truck passing around a bottle of something potent.

“Wait,” you said, catching Blake’s arm before she started toward the entrance. “How do know this is safe? I mean, look at these people. I'm not judging, but… Do you trust Victor?”

She grinned like she’d been waiting for that question. "Of course I do. I've been fucking him for like three months now."

You huffed a nervous laugh, not convinced that the act of sex made anyone all that trustworthy. “But just two days ago you said you hated him and that it was 'complicated' with him.”

“Hey,” she said, pointing a finger at you. “Don’t start. I like complicated. And I've been here before. It's fine.”

You raised your hands in surrender. “I’m just saying… we could have had a fun girls' night, like, out dancing or something. What does Victor do here again?”

She continued toward the warehouse as she spoke. "He trains here sometimes. Helps run bets on fight nights.”

“I am just not a fan of participating in illegal stuff.”

“It's only illegal… technically. Like, if the police show up, everyone will just get sent home. Don't worry.”

“Blake.” You stopped and stared at her in surprise. "Police?"

“Oh relax,” she said, looping her arm through yours and dragging you forward. “No one’s going to raid the place. It’s been running for years.”

The bass inside thudded harder as you got closer, the metal siding of the warehouse practically vibrating with it. The air smelled like cigarettes, gasoline, and beer. You had no idea what you'd just gotten into, and now you were truly wishing you hadn't been so curious about it in the first place.

At the folding table near the door, the guy in the black hoodie counted cash while another marked wrists with a black marker. Blake slipped him a couple of bills.

“Two.”

The man barely looked up before marking an X on both of your wrists and jerking his chin toward the entrance. Inside, the noise and the scene was more overwhelming than it had been outside. Your eyes widened instantly.

The warehouse had been cleared out except for a massive open space in the center where a makeshift ring had been taped off on the concrete floor. Heavy industrial lights hung overhead, casting everything in sharp white beams.

The crowd pressed in close around the edges as people shouted numbers and pointed toward a chalkboard. It was leaning against a support beam listing names and odds, next to a folding table that had stacks of cash, plastic cups, and a cooler full of beer.

You turned slowly, trying to take everything in. “This is insane.”

Blake just smiled like this was exactly the reaction she expected. “Told you.”

Your gaze drifted toward the center where two guys wrapped their hands with white athletic tape while others shouted words you couldn't make out over the music. It was sensory overload. The music was so loud that it was hard to hear yourself think, much less anything that anyone was saying. People were leaning close to speak into ears, bass vibrated under your feet, the occasional shout of voices carried, and the view of people crowded together…

The crowd suddenly roared, making you startle. “What—”

“That guy won that round,” Blake said, speaking loudly so you could hear. “Next round starts in a minute.”

You watched as someone near the chalkboard wiped away a name and wrote another. The crowd moved as bodies pressed closer to the taped ring, and you stepped forward almost without realizing it, curiosity pulling you along with everyone else.

A guy climbed over the taped boundary first… lean, quick-looking, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he rolled his shoulders. He looked mean.

The music filtered through every shout and scream as another man approached. Your eyes followed the movement as he stepped into the light next to his opponent.

He was tall with broad shoulders, tight muscles marked with fading bruises and ink on his arms and chest. His hands were wrapped in tape, knuckles thick, and he rolled his neck. His shoulder-length hair was messy, falling slightly into his face as he calmly looked at his opponent. This one looked even meaner.

The other man was pacing, bouncing, shouting who-knows-what at the tattooed guy. Their demeanors couldn't have been more different. Mr. Tattoos was just standing there, eyes sharp and focused, like a man waiting to get something done.

You didn’t even realize you’d leaned forward slightly until Blake’s voice cut in beside you. “He's the one everyone’s betting on tonight. Main event.”

Your eyes didn’t leave him. “What’s his name?”

“Harry.”

Harry's gaze lifted from the floor and he scanned the crowd slowly. Shouts grew louder as he turned himself look toward his audience, eyes roaming over every head who stood just outside the space of the taped ring. It was as if he were silently telling everyone there to bet on him. That he would win and that a bet against him was a mistake.

Then the referee stepped between them, and someone shouted the final odds, as the music was lowered just enough to give you a subtle jolt of brief calm. And then the fight started.

The two men circled each other as the referee stepped back out of the taped square. The crowd carried clearly now that the music wasn't as loud, shouts, whistles, someone yelling out last-second bets. Your heartbeat picked up.

Harry didn’t bounce like the other man did. He stood loose and steady, shoulders relaxed, eyes locked on the man in front of him. Watching him up close made your tummy flip in half. There was a kind of quiet confidence in the way he held himself, like he already knew exactly how this was going to end.

The other guy rushed first. He lunged forward with a wild swing that made the crowd shout in approval, but Harry barely moved. He stepped back half a pace and the punch cut through empty air where his jaw had been a second before. The motion was so casual it almost looked lazy.

Then Harry hit him before you even saw his arm lift. The sound of it cracked through the space loud enough to make you flinch. His fist connected clean against the man’s ribs and the man grunted, stumbling sideways as the air rushed out of him.

The crowd roared excitedly, and you looked around at the insanity of people enjoying this kind of sport. “Jesus,” you said.

Blake leaned closer to your ear, grinning. “Jesus ain't here tonight.”

The other fighter recovered quickly, shaking it off as he came back swinging harder this time. Two quick punches flew toward Harry’s face. One grazed his shoulder, the other missed entirely as Harry ducked beneath it and stepped inside the man’s reach.

He moved differently than the other guy. You knew next to nothing about boxing, or fighting, or whatever this was exactly. But you knew enough to see how different the pair in the ring acted. Harry was controlled and patient. Every movement he made was practical, and every punch he threw landed. He didn't attack at the air or miss like the other guy.

Harry drove another punch into the man’s stomach, then followed it with one quick hook to the jaw that snapped the man’s head to the side. The sound of the crowd rose again as the fighters grappled.

The other one staggered back a step, blinking hard as he tried to reset himself, shaking his head like he was seeing stars. His chest rose and fell faster now while Harry's barely moved.

They circled again for a few seconds before the other man charged again, clearly frustrated now. His swing was bigger this time, reckless, and Harry slipped past it with a quick pivot that made the whole exchange look almost effortless. You couldn't help but feel a thrill at how easy he made it look and a surprised smile found your lips without you even meaning to put it there.

Then his fist came up from below. A brutal uppercut landed squarely under the man’s chin and the impact lifted him clean off his feet.

For a split second, everything went strangely quiet in your head as the man’s body crashed down onto the concrete inside the taped ring. You stared, waiting with your breath held, but the man didn't get back up.

The crowd exploded. People were shouting, cheering, slapping each other’s shoulders as cash started changing hands around the edges of the ring. The referee stepped forward immediately, crouching beside the fallen fighter while someone waved a hand in front of his face.

Harry stepped back, breathing a little heavier now but otherwise looking almost untouched. A thin line of sweat ran down the side of his chest as he rolled his shoulders again and flexed his taped hands. You stared at him, mouth dropped open, your heart racing like you'd just been given the biggest rush of your life.

“That’s it?” you asked, stunned.

Blake laughed beside you. “That’s it. None of the fights last very long.”

The referee waved it off a moment later, and the music blasted back to full volume again, the bass hitting so hard you felt it in your ribs. You wouldn't call yourself a convert or anything, you still didn't like that all this was illegal, but there was something so electrifying about what you'd just seen that made you want to watch again.

You kept your gaze on Harry as he turned away from the downed fighter and stepped over the taped boundary as if the whole thing had just been another routine task for him. A couple of guys patted him on the back as he moved through the crowd, someone pressing a plastic cup into his hand as he passed. He nodded to a man standing near the betting table before disappearing between bodies toward the back of the warehouse.

You swallowed, only then realizing you'd been following his movements from the ring all the way until he'd disappeared. You were a bit hypnotized by the whole thing. By him.

Blake nudged you with her elbow. “Careful,” she teased over the music. “You’re staring.”

You blinked, forcing yourself to look away as heat crept over your skin. “Hard not to.”

Your attention drifted toward the spot where he’d vanished, curiosity tugging at you despite yourself. The crowd was already shifting again as the next names were written on the chalkboard and more fighters began wrapping their hands near the edge of the taped square.

But Harry was gone, swallowed by the warehouse and out of your line of sight. And you couldn’t quite shake the image of him walking away through the crowd, sweat still shining on his skin and that same calm look on his face, like the fight had barely meant anything to him at all.

Blake wasted no time pulling you through the crowd once the next fighters were about to step into the ring. “Come on. Victor’s in the back.”

You followed her as she wove through the crowd, slipping between shoulders and ducking past a group arguing loudly over a bet they’d apparently just lost. The deeper you moved into the warehouse, the more the noise changed. The music still pounded behind you, but the roar of noise faded slightly as you passed through a doorway and into a long side hall lined with metal doors and stacked crates.

The lighting back there was harsher, fluorescent strips buzzing faintly overhead. You stepped past men leaned into walls and watched as someone sat on an overturned crate icing his knuckles while another guy discreetly counted money inside an envelope.

Blake pulled you into a room where you spotted Victor. He stood near a folding table with two other men. When he lifted his head and saw her, his face broke into a grin and he pulled her into a quick kiss before she even had a chance to say hello.

“There she is,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Havin' fun?”

“Of course we are,” she replied, already leaning into him.

“Couple of decent fights tonight. You missed the first knockout, though. Gray laid Shane flat in under a minute.”

Blake nodded. "I think we got here right after that one."

Victor’s gaze flicked to you then, giving you a quick once-over before he nodded in greeting. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you said, though the word came out a little breathless. “It’s… a lot.”

He laughed and nodded, and Blake slipped from his arms, heading toward the cooler where cups were stacked. A moment later she handed you a plastic cup filled with something amber and fizzy, and had one for herself.

“It’s just rum and coke,” she said when you hesitated. “I made it. It’s safe.”

You nodded and took a sip. You were glad it wasn't too heavy on the rum, but it was just enough to relax you a little.

The group fell into conversation, talking over the distant bass and the muffled shouts drifting from the main warehouse. You tried to follow along, but most of it sounded like inside jokes and betting talk you didn’t quite understand. Someone mentioned odds changing after Harry’s fight, and Victor shook his head, muttering something about people being stupid enough to keep betting against him. That part you understood.

You leaned back against the wall with your cup in hand, half listening and half letting your mind drift. Even back there you could still hear the rhythm of the event out front. The music suddenly dipped lower again, and a fresh wave of shouting carried through the building as another fight had apparently started.

Your heart kicked up a little at the sound. You pictured the taped ring again, the bright lights overhead, the moment Harry’s fist connected with that brutal uppercut. The image replayed in your mind as you took another sip of your drink to steady yourself.

It had been shocking to witness, but also… exciting. You shifted your weight, feeling electric nerves buzzing through you. It made you feel anxious and unsettled. You were in a place where you definitely didn't belong. But as you emptied your cup, another problem made itself known.

You leaned toward Blake, raising your voice slightly so she could hear you. “Hey… where’s the bathroom?”

“Oh, uh… right," she said as she looked at Victor.

Victor pointed down the hall behind you. “Just follow the hallway you came down all the way to the end. There’s a door that goes outside. When you step out, go left and there should be two doors marked ‘employees only.’ One of those is the bathroom.”

“That’s it?” you asked.

“Pretty much.”

"Pretty much?" You looked at Blake, hoping that she would volunteer to go with you.

Instead, she gave you a quick squeeze on the arm. “You’ll be fine. Just come right back.”

You nodded and set the empty cup on the table, slipping out into the flow of people in the hallway. The space was tighter now than when you’d first walked through it, and you had to excuse yourself a few times as you squeezed past a group arguing over something.

The further down the corridor you went, the quieter it became, and the lights were dimmer. At the very end of the hall, you found the metal door with a sign that read 'EXIT'. It creaked loudly when you pushed it open, and it thudded shut heavily as you stepped out.

The back of the warehouse looked completely different from the front. Instead of floodlights and crowds, the space behind the building was dim and mostly empty. A single overhead light cast a weak yellow glow over a patch of cracked pavement and a row of dented dumpsters.

You turned left like Victor had said and spotted the doors almost immediately. Both were old metal with faded signs that read EMPLOYEES ONLY in peeling black letters. The first one opened when you tried it.

Inside, the bathroom was exactly what you'd expected from a place like this. Small, a little grimy, and smelling faintly of citrus and stale water. But when you checked the stall and saw an actual roll of toilet paper hanging on the holder, you felt an absurd wave of gratitude.

“Well… that’s something,” you whispered to yourself.

A minute later you stepped back outside, brushing your hands on your jeans as if that would somehow replace a sink with running water and soap (neither of which existed inside the bathroom). For a moment you just stood there, taking a breath and enjoying the brief quiet away from the pounding music and crowded hallways. It was almost too much inside.

Then you noticed you weren’t alone. Across the small stretch of pavement, someone was leaning back against the brick wall of the warehouse, one foot braced behind him. The overhead light caught the shape of broad shoulders beneath an open button-up shirt, the fabric hanging loose and open over his chest.

Harry lifted a plastic cup to his mouth and took a slow drink as he stared at you. You froze for a second, letting your eyes rake down his long frame. He was wearing jeans now too, instead of the athletic shorts he'd worn in the ring.

Up close, without the noise and lights of the ring, he somehow looked even bigger. Or maybe it was because you were alone out there with him. His presence was quite intimidating. The tattoos along his arms were clearer now from where you stood, and the muscles in his forearms flexed as he lowered his cup.

You managed a small, nervous smile and reached for the metal door behind you, hoping to slip right back inside before it became awkward. Only the handle didn't budge. You frowned and tried again, but it was locked..

A small rush of panic fluttered through your chest as you turned the handle a third time just to be sure, but the door remained stubbornly closed. And when you glanced up again, Harry was still watching you.

“You lost?”

His voice carried across the short stretch of pavement between you, calmly, like the two of you were standing in a quiet bar instead of behind an illegal fight ring. The words startled you enough that you stepped away from the door, letting your palm fall from the handle as you gave a small shrug.

“Just trying to get back in,” you said, forcing a smile that felt a little tight around the edges. “Didn’t realize it would lock.”

“It’s an exit.” Harry said as he tipped the plastic cup toward his mouth again, taking a slow drink without breaking eye contact.

You let out a short, nervous laugh. “Well, yeah… I should've figured.”

He watched you for another second, that same steady look from the ring now fixed on you instead of an opponent. Something about it made your pulse thrum, though it wasn’t exactly fear. It felt more like the kind of awareness you got when someone was paying very close attention to you and it felt like you were in the spotlight.

You shifted your weight and glanced toward the row of dumpsters, then back toward him. “So… I guess I just walk around the building to get back inside?”

“Probably easier.”

His tone wasn’t unkind, but it carried a hint of amusement that made you feel like he’d already figured out exactly how out of place you were. He leaned his shoulder more firmly into the brick, the overhead light catching the line of his jaw as he studied you.

“You’re with someone inside?” he asked.

“My friend,” you said. “Blake. She knows Victor.”

Harry’s brow lifted slightly in recognition. “I know Victor.”

You nodded and looked toward the building again, unsure of what to do next. You should probably have started walking to head back around the building, but the cool breeze outside, the quiet, and the company of one handsome fighter seemed a lot more intriguing to you suddenly.

He shifted, letting the cup hang loosely from his fingers as his gaze drifted over you again. You couldn’t quite decide if the look was just curious or assessing. Maybe a little of both.

The silence stretched for a moment before you cleared your throat. “Your fight was… impressive.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “Oh, yeah?”

You nodded, suddenly aware of how strange it felt to be complimenting someone for knocking another person unconscious. “I mean… I don’t really know anything about fighting, but it looked like you knew exactly what you were doing.”

Harry pushed one foot off the wall and adjusted his stance slightly, rolling his shoulder like the muscles were still unwinding from the adrenaline. “I do know what I'm doing. Yes," he paused, letting his gaze drift over your sweater. "You come to places like this often?”

You laughed immediately, shaking your head. “No. Definitely not.”

That earned you a real smirk full of dimples and a pretty row of straight teeth. “Oh, I can tell. I was kidding.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “You can tell?”

“You don’t look like the kind that spends her Saturday nights in warehouses watching people punch each other.”

You glanced down at yourself. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” he said slowly, his eyes flicking back up to meet yours, “you look a little out of place.”

The honesty of it caught you off guard, but there was something teasing in his tone that softened the words.

“Well,” you admitted with a small smile, “I did just get locked outside. I am a bit out of my depth here.”

He nodded, pressing his lips together, still staring you down like he was trying to figure you out. “And the jumper." He motioned a hand toward your sweater. "With the cartoon cats and flowers… Declaration of innocence.”

You sputtered a laugh and looked down at your top. You lifted the bottom hem upward and flashed him a peek of the plain black t-shirt you had on underneath.

"Was just gonna wear a black shirt, but I didn't want to get cold."

He took another sip from his cup before pushing himself off the wall completely. The movement made your attention drift back to his arms without meaning to. Up close you could see faint bruising along his pecs where his shirt draped open, and a small cut across one knuckle where the tape had already started to darken.

“So, this is your first time at one of these?" he asked.

“Yeah.” You nodded.

“What did you think?”

You hesitated for a second, trying to figure out how honest you should be. “Honestly, it was kind of terrifying,” you said. “But also… exciting.”

His eyes warmed a fraction at that.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s usually how people describe it their first time.”

You glanced toward the warehouse wall, listening as another burst of cheers rose from inside. The music dipped for a moment and then surged back again, vibrating through the brick behind him.

“So is this something you do a lot?” you asked.

“Sometimes. Once a month maybe.”

“Do you ever lose?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it. For half a second you worried you’d said the wrong thing, but Harry just huffed out a quiet laugh.

“Not tonight, I didn't.”

Something about the confidence in his answer made heat creep up your neck again. You folded your arms loosely across your stomach, trying to look less like someone who was fighting for her life, not to let her nerves get the best of her.

“Well,” you said after a moment, “for what it’s worth… I’m glad I got here in time to see it. To see your fight.”

His gaze lingered, and you watched him slide his eyes down to your tennis shoes.

“You came just to watch, or did you put a bet in too?”

You shook your head. "No, just to watch. My friend said it was fun. I was curious, so I tagged along."

He nodded. "And you had fun, thought it was exciting."

You gestured vaguely toward the warehouse behind yourself. “It definitely was fun. More than I thought.”

Harry’s smirk returned slowly. “Careful,” he said. “People get hooked on the adrenaline. And especially once you start winning bets, gets hard to stop.”

You held his gaze, surprised by how much steadier your nerves felt now compared to a few minutes ago.

“I guess that could be true.” You shrugged and let yourself smile wider. "Is that why you do this? The adrenaline of fighting?"

He shrugged a shoulder. “Something like that.”

You were quiet for a moment. Not sure of what to say next or if you should say anything more. If you were wise, you'd have already gone back into the building and found Blake and then convinced her to take you home. But there was something about Harry…

“You not in a hurry to get back inside?” he asked, brows lifted.

You tilted your head slightly, letting your grin grow.

“I was,” you said. “Before I got locked out. Kinda nice out here. Quiet.”

His eyes flicked to the door behind you and then back to your face.

“Lucky accident, then.”

The way he said it made your stomach flutter, and you couldn’t quite decide whether the feeling came from nerves… or curiosity. Harry didn’t look away as he lifted his cup again and finished the last of whatever was inside it, tipping it back slowly, and you noticed the movement of his throat when he swallowed.

For a moment, you were both quiet. The silence behind the warehouse wrapped around you again, broken only by the distant sound of cheers from inside and the bass vibrating through the brick and the metal. Suddenly the feeling inside of you was alive, charged…

“So what happens after this?” he asked.

You blinked at the question. “After… the fight?”

“After tonight.” He motioned vaguely toward the warehouse with his chin. “You heading home?”

“Probably,” you said with a small shrug. “I mean, that's the plan. Afterwards, my friend is gonna drop me off at home.”

Harry nodded slowly. His eyes dipped briefly to your sweater again before lifting back to your face. “Seems like a shame.”

Your brows lifted. “A shame?”

“You finally get a taste of the adrenaline,” he said, leaning one shoulder back against the brick again, eyes fixed on you, “and then you just go home.”

You laughed lightly. “What exactly would you suggest instead?”

Harry’s mouth tilted slightly, and there was something unmistakably playful in his expression now. “Burn it off.”

You stared at him for a breath, the words settling in your mind.

“Burn it off?” you repeated slowly.

He watched your reaction with obvious amusement. “Yeah.”

Your face warmed as the implication crept in, though you weren’t entirely sure if you were reading him correctly. “And… how exactly does one do that?”

The corner of his mouth pulled higher. “Couple different ways. Some more fun than others.”

You scoffed a laugh and shook your head, glancing toward the warehouse again before looking back at him. “You’re being very vague.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

Harry pushed off the wall again and stepped a little closer to where you stood. “Let’s say,” he said calmly, “you’ve got a lot of nervous energy after watching something like that. Right?”

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“You could get another drink,” he continued, “go back in and watch some more fights. Find a club to go dancing, work off the energy that way… Or, maybe you and I can get outta here, find somewhere private to burn off the adrenaline together.”

Your heart thudded as he watched the thought unfold in your head. You blinked up at him, shocked. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"I'm… You don't know me and I don't know you. Like…" You looked at him as he moved closer, your head tilting back as he stood over you. "You mean… sex, right?"

He laughed. “What? You don't like sex?” he asked, a dangerous smile on his face that made your insides feel like hot slush.

You blinked. "Well, yeah… But… I—we…"

"You have a boyfriend?"

You shook your head, stunned that any of this was happening.

"You attracted to men?"

You nodded and tried to go for a yes, but the words didn't come out.

"Are you scared of me?"

You shook your head. "No, I just… we don't know each other."

He held out a hand toward you, brows raised. "I'm Harry. It's nice to meet you…"

You let out a laugh and slid your palm against his, still looking up at him. "I'm… Y/n."

He grinned. "Y/n…" He nodded and dropped your hand but didn't move back to ease the distance. "I think you're cute. I like your smile. I'd love to burn off some adrenaline with you, but if you don't want to, that's okay. I understand. I'm a stranger and you just watched me knock out another man. Should we go back inside?"

You nodded, releasing your breath but half disappointed in yourself, if you were honest. Because Harry looked like he'd show you a really good time. And he was hot as fuck. But you were a practical girl who made good, smart decisions with her life. You were definitely not someone willing to throw caution to the wind with a strange, hot fighter… who you'd just met… who was basically asking you to have sex with him.

Harry slipped a hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small key ring, twirling it once around his finger as he stepped past you and walked toward the back door where you'd been locked out.

You watched in surprise as he slid the key into the metal door and then pulled it open halfway before glancing back at you.

You cocked your head and dropped your mouth open. “You had a key the whole time?”

He shrugged, a grin still on his face. “Yeah.”

“You watched me struggle with the door,” you said, incredulous.

“I did.”

“And you didn’t open it.”

Harry’s shoulders lifted. “If I'd done that, you’d have gone right back inside.”

You stared at him, half shocked and half amused. “That was dishonest of you.”

“It was. I apologize. But I wanted you to stick around a little longer. Thought you were pretty and figured it was a good way to get you to talk to me.”

The whole thing was flattering, even though it shouldn't have been. You should have just walked away and gone around to the front of the building and found Blake. You didn't know this man, but you were curious. And he was hot…

You let out a breath through a small smile, shaking your head as you stepped toward the doorway. “You’re a bit too confident.”

Harry’s smirk returned. “Probably. I mean, I did just win the feature fight, though.”

You passed the threshold as he held the door for you and smelled the scent of a dark amber and vanilla cologne he must have been wearing. A little sweet and a little masculine. Then you glanced at his pecs, the dark tattoos etched over strong muscle.

When you heard the door close behind you, you turned to make sure he was still there, and he just grinned at you before he was next to you, walking in stride toward the room where you'd left Blake.

And for reasons you didn’t entirely understand yet, the idea of walking away from him, of saying goodnight and it was nice to meet you… suddenly felt less appealing than it probably should have. The heat of him next to you, the way he seemed to know everyone he passed by in the hallway, the way he stood tall over everyone and guided you without so much as laying a finger on you… It made you wonder if you should give him a chance.

The music slammed back into your ears as you both neared the main part of the warehouse and then stepped into the room where Victor and Blake still were. They both looked up when you appeared in the doorway.

Blake’s brows rose immediately when she saw Harry behind you.

“You okay?” she asked, glancing between the two of you.

Victor gave Harry a curious look but didn’t say anything.

You hesitated for a second as you looked back up at Harry, and it was either a moment of complete clarity or insanity, but you weren't about to miss out on where the night could go if you left with Harry. If you took him up on his offer.

“Hey… I think I’m actually gonna head out. With him…" You glanced up at him and watched his expression shift into surprise.

Blake blinked. “Already?”

Harry nudged you, eyebrows knitting together. "Really?"

“Yeah,” you said, trying to sound casual despite the flutter of nerves in your chest. You decided it was in fact a moment of insanity, but you were committed now.

Her eyes slid past you to Harry again, and her expression slowly shifted into something far more knowing. “Oh,” she said slowly. "You sure?"

Heat crept up your neck, but you held her gaze. “I’ll text you. Okay?”

Victor chuckled quietly under his breath while Harry stood, a bit stunned that you had changed your mind, his expression told you as much.

Blake looked between the two of you once more before letting out a dramatic sigh.

“Well… alright,” she said. “Be careful. Harry, Victor knows where you live, so… be nice.”

He let out a laugh, looking at you as if to double-check that you were serious. “I'll be as nice as she wants me to be.”

Victor stepped away from the table then and held his hand out toward Harry. "Before you leave, I need the key back."

You watched Harry reach into his pocket and drop the small key into Victor’s palm without a word before he handed over a thick envelope that was full of cash, you assumed. Harry took it, tucking it away without checking inside, as if he already knew exactly what was in there. Victor patted him on the back, and then glanced at you with a look that was hard to read but it felt a little like you were being sized up. Like maybe Victor was trying to figure out if you were gonna be able to handle Harry or not.

"Well," Victor said dryly, "that was quicker than I expected."

Blake shot him a look before stepping closer to you. The teasing in her face had softened some now that you were actually leaving. "Text me if you need anything," she said quietly. "I mean it."

You nodded, trying not to let it show just how fast your heart was beating now that everything had shifted from impulsive idea to reality. "I will."

Harry stayed beside you, quiet still, one hand in his pocket while the other hung at his side. You were already feeling awkward about everything after having just announced to the room that you were leaving with a man who'd just pummeled someone for money. A man you hardly knew at all.

Everyone in the room already knew what happened next, and that made you feel extra uncomfortable about the curious, amused eyes that slid between you and Harry. You'd go home with him, have a good time (hopefully), and then… well, you hadn't thought too much about what happened after but you were trying to live on the edge a little. A far cry from your usual daily life.

Blake looked between the two of you one more time, then let out a breath through her nose as if she’d already accepted that there was no talking you out of this now. "Alright," she said. "Go on then. Have fun. But text me if you need me."

You laughed nervously. "I said I would."

Victor smirked as he looked at Harry. "Try not to corrupt her."

Harry’s mouth quirked just at the edge, but he said nothing.

That sent another wave of heat creeping up your neck, and you shook your head a little as if that might calm the flutter in your stomach. Then Harry tipped his head toward the hall, soft green eyes on you, wordlessly asking if you were ready, and when you nodded, he turned and stepped into the hall. You followed him toward the main room and heard raucous shouting over the next fight. You wondered how many fights there were at these events.

The warehouse felt different now than it had when you first arrived. Maybe because you were leaving it with him. As you walked through the side corridor and back out toward the main entrance, people moved around you with drinks in hand, smoke curling into the floodlit space. The gravel lot was still full, cars parked at odd angles, bass vibrating faintly beneath your shoes as you trailed Harry outside.

He led you without a word across the lot, weaving between cars until he stopped beside the matte black motorcycle you’d noticed earlier when Blake parked. For a second, you just stared at it, then at him.

"This is yours?"

Harry glanced back at you over his shoulder as he reached down to the handlebars. "Yeah."

You opened your mouth, though you weren’t sure what you were going to say. Something about that made sense. Of course, he rode a motorcycle. Of course he did. He turned and looked at you, eyes narrowing briefly as if in thought, then his gaze shifted past you, scanning the lot. His expression lifted like he'd just realized something.

"Stay right here," he said, lifting a finger.

Before you could ask what he meant, he turned and jogged off across the lot.

You watched him in confusion as he crossed two rows over toward another motorcycle parked under a floodlight. Whoever owned it had left a helmet looped over the handlebars. You saw Harry glance around, then unhook it and head back toward you casually, as if he'd just grabbed his order from the counter at a Starbucks.

Your jaw dropped as he came to a stop in front of you, holding the helmet.

"Harry…"

He was already checking the strap, barely looking up at you. "Hold still."

You did, mostly because you were too startled not to, and he lowered the helmet over your head gently. His fingers brushed your jaw as he reached under your chin to adjust the strap.

You blinked at him. "Whose helmet is this?"

He didn’t answer.

Your eyes narrowed. "I just watched you take this off someone else’s bike."

Harry grinned, still wordless, as he snapped the buckle under your chin.

"Did you steal this?"

He looked at you then, close enough now that the overhead lights caught the almost transparent green in his eyes. "What," he asked mildly, "you want me to put it back?"

You stared at him in disbelief. "Yes. We can’t just steal somebody’s helmet."

"You don’t wanna come with me?"

The question landed in a way that made your protest skitter to a halt. His hands were still at your jaw, and there was something so calm in the way he looked at you that it made the whole thing feel completely surreal. The noise from the warehouse seemed farther away suddenly, the crowd and the smoke and the lights blurring around the edges while his attention stayed fixed on you.

"Well," you said, trying to hold on to your common sense, "that’s not really the point."

"Feels like it is. Cause I'm not letting you on this bike if you're not wearing a helmet. Simple as that. Not risking it."

You let out a breath of disbelief, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "You’re unbelievable."

"I’ve heard worse."

You were still looking at him like you meant to argue more when he reached up, curled a hand lightly at the space where your shoulder met your neck, and kissed you.

It was quick, but it most definitely was not casual. His mouth was warm and firm against yours, just enough to leave you stunned by the time he pulled back. Every thought in your head seemed to scatter, and for a second, all you could do was stare at him.

Harry’s expression didn’t change much, but there was satisfaction in it now, like he already knew exactly what that kiss had done to you. Then he turned, swung one leg over the bike, and started it up. The engine rumbled to life beneath him, low and choppy, and he looked back over his shoulder as he held an arm out toward you.

You stood there for a second, heart pounding, helmet slightly too big on your head, and shook your head at yourself. You could not believe you were doing this.

But your body was still warm from the kiss, your thoughts still tangled from the look on his face, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped forward and climbed on behind him. The seat dipped beneath your weight and you carefully settled yourself, your hands hovering awkwardly for a moment before finally landing at his waist.

"Where’s your helmet?" you asked, leaning closer so he could hear you over the engine.

Harry looked back at you, one hand still on the handlebar. "After what you just saw me do in there, you think I’m worried about my own safety?"

You frowned behind the visor. "That’s not funny."

"I’m serious." His hand slid back and touched your knee, which felt way too sweet for what was actually happening. "Only one I’m worried about wearing one is you."

And that… it made you feel a little sad. There was no bravado in the way he said it. He wasn't bragging about being a tough guy. He was simply telling you that he didn't care much about himself.

Then Harry reached down, shifted the bike into gear, and pulled out.

The sudden motion made your heart leap and your arms tighten around him automatically. Gravel crunched beneath the tires before the motorcycle found the road, and then the night opened up around you, cool air rushing past as the warehouse lights fell behind. Every single sound was swallowed by the engine and the wind, and you pressed a little closer to him, clinging to the solid line of his body as he drove you away into the dark.

Once he took you off the industrial roads and toward the city, the darkness began to break away into streetlights, gas stations, late-night storefronts, and the occasional car passing by. You had no real sense of direction with the helmet on and your cheek pressed near his shoulder, but you noticed when the scenery changed.

But when he slowed the bike and turned into the parking lot of a squat little diner with a glowing sign that read OPEN 24 HOURS, you blinked in confusion. You had expected him to take you straight to his place.

Harry shut off the engine and the sudden quiet felt strange after the rush of noise and vibration under your thighs. You carefully climbed off the back of the bike and pulled the helmet off before he took it from you and hooked it over the handlebar, then glanced at you as if nothing about the detour required explanation.

You looked up at the diner and then back at him. "What are we doing?"

"Eating."

The answer came so simply that you stared at him for a second. "Eating?"

Harry started toward the entrance. "Yeah."

This had not been what you'd imagined at all. You’d assumed, maybe unfairly, that once you agreed to leave with him the night would move in one very obvious direction. The fact that he’d brought you to a diner first instead of straight to his place caught you off guard.

You followed him inside, everything about the place was classic diner vibes… including the smell. It was mostly empty at that hour, just a couple of booths occupied. The lights were bright, the vinyl booths worn, and behind the counter a radio played music because it appeared the place was not set up with any kind of modern sound system.

Harry led you to a booth near the windows and slid in across from you. A few seconds later an older man shuffled over with two menus tucked beneath one arm. He had a lined face, thinning gray hair, and the kind of posture that suggested life had worked him over more than once. But his expression was bright and familiar as he looked at Harry.

"Well, look who finally remembered this place existed," he said, handing over the menus. "Haven’t seen you in what, three weeks?"

Harry took his menu and glanced up at him. "Been busy."

You looked between them quietly, surprised by the ease in Harry’s voice. The older man made a face like he didn’t quite buy the excuse, and then he broke into a rough cough, turning his head away from the table as he brought a fist to his mouth. It lasted only a few seconds, but by the time he straightened again, you noticed Harry was already watching him with a faint frown.

"Sorry about that," the man muttered.

Harry leaned back slightly against the booth. "Need to stop smoking, Marty."

That earned him a laugh. "Do you see a cigarette in my hand, son?"

Harry pointed lazily toward the old man’s chest. "No. But I see a pack of Winstons right there, which tells me all I need to know."

You glanced where Harry's finger pointed and, and sure enough, there was the outline of a cigarette pack tucked neatly into the breast pocket of his shirt. The old man followed your gaze and then laughed again, shaking his head in good humor as he leaned down, bracing both hands against the edge of the table.

"Interesting," he said, looking directly at Harry, "how you think my smoking is worse than your own self-sabotage." He squinted his eyes. "We both probably got some lessons to learn. Difference is, I’m old and it’s too late for me. You’ve still got your whole life ahead of you."

Harry lifted his brows and shook his head, as if to say he wasn't going to be discussing life's hardships right then. It felt to you like this was a conversation they’d had before. It made you wish they'd keep going so you could learn more.

The old man’s attention turned to you then, and his face softened. "And who’s this?"

Harry glanced over at you. "This is Y/n."

You gave him a small smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Marty," he said. "Likewise."

There was a little pause after that, just enough for you to get the feeling Marty was putting pieces together in his head and deciding not to comment on any of them. Instead, he straightened again and tapped a finger against the menu in Harry’s hand.

"You eating the usual, or are you gonna surprise me?"

Harry didn’t even open the menu. "What’s good tonight?"

Marty looked offended. "Everything’s good tonight. You know that."

That made the corner of Harry’s mouth tug upward. "Alright. Then give me the usual."

Marty turned to you. "And for you?"

You looked down at the menu, then back up, a little embarrassed by how impossible it suddenly felt to make a decision. Everything on the page looked heavy and diner-specific in a way you weren’t used to ordering at nearly midnight.

Harry noticed your hesitation. "Burgers are good," he said. "Pie, too, if you’re a dessert person."

You smiled. "Okay, I'll go with the burger."

Marty looked between the two of you with open amusement now. "A burger for the pretty lady. Comes with fries, that work?"

You nodded, closing the menu. "Yes. That's fine."

"And what would you like to drink?"

You shrugged and flitted your eyes at Harry and then up to Marty. "Water?"

He smiled at you. "Is that a question? Or is that what you'd like?"

"Um. Yeah. Water, please. That… yeah." You looked down at the formica table top and the aluminum edging as Marty made a sound of approval.

"Alright. Harry's usual, and for the lady a burger and fries with water… and let me guess… no pie because young people don’t know how to live?"

You laughed softly, looking back up at him. "Maybe pie."

"If you're still hungry, we'll split a piece when we're done eating," Harry added.

Marty gathered the menus from the table, gave Harry some kind of knowing look, and then headed toward the kitchen.

Once he was gone, you looked across at Harry, who had stretched one arm along the back of the booth and was watching you with that same calm, unreadable attention that seemed to be a constant with him.

You smiled a little. "So you bring all the girls to late-night diners?"

Harry’s gaze stayed on your face. "No."

You tilted your head. "Then why’d you bring me here?"

He looked down for a second, dragging his thumb slowly over the edge of the table like he was thinking about how much truth he wanted to give you. When he looked back up, his expression had softened.

"You seemed nervous," he said. "Thought you might wanna eat first. Give you a chance to change your mind before it's too late."

You pushed out a half laugh and tilted your head at him like he was some kind of alien. "Before it's too late? What's that mean?"

"Just means I can tell you're not used to any of this. You've got this… good girl thing going on and so, this is kind of a buffer for you. If you need it."

"Okay… I guess that's true in a way. I'm definitely not used to watching fights in warehouses," you said.

Harry’s mouth lifted. "Or jumping onto the backs of motorcycles with men you don't know."

A scoff fell from you as you looked down again. "Who also steals helmets," you said, a smile creeping up on your mouth as you looked back at him again.

His grin lifted entirely then, and the dimples that carved into his cheeks made him look almost innocent. He nodded and ran a finger under his nose. "Who does a lot of things he shouldn't do."

You studied him for a moment, this man who had just knocked someone out cold in front of a screaming crowd and then stolen a helmet like it was nothing, only to bring you to a diner and make sure you ate before the night went any further. The contradiction of him was getting harder and harder to pin down.

"Marty seems to know you pretty well," you said.

He shrugged one shoulder. "I come here often enough."

"You always stop here after fights?"

"Sometimes after work. Sometimes late." He glanced toward the counter where Marty had disappeared. "He’s been here a long time."

You rested your forearms on the table and looked at him more openly now. "So you and Marty just became friends over coffee and burgers?"

Harry huffed a quiet laugh. "Something like that."

There was a beat of silence, and then you smiled. "I didn’t picture you as a diner regular."

He looked at you like he was examining, though the teasing was back in his eyes now. "What did you picture me as?"

You looked at him over the smooth laminated table, the fluorescent lights catching the bruises peeking through the open collar of his shirt, the roughness in his hands, and the tiredness that seemed to sit just beneath all of his confidence.

"I’m still figuring that out," you said.

He pressed his lips flat before pursing them. "Fair enough." Settling his own forearms over the table he kept his eyes on you. "What do you usually do for fun?"

Licking your lips, you took a breath. You imagined you were about to bore the tears out of him. "Flowers." You nodded, clearing your throat and forcing yourself to feel more confident about what you were about to tell him. "I like to press flowers and frame them. I know all about flowers too. I even… work at a flower shop."

He huffed a laugh. "Flowers. I'm only a little surprised. Imagined you'd say something like reading and sipping tea, spending time with your family…"

You shrugged. "I like those things too. What, you don't like reading and tea? Or… your family?"

He lifted his brows, clearing some kind of unwanted thought from his head. "Not particularly. Can't remember the last time I drank tea. Or saw my family. And can't seem to sit long enough to read anything that keeps my attention either."

"Well, I make fresh chamomile honey tea and the recipe is pretty much perfected… There's a balance between dried and fresh… I have this method where I use honey to age the flowers. Anyway. We even sell it at the shop because people love it so much. I bet if I gave you some, you'd change your mind about tea."

"You make and sell homemade chamomile tea? What's the name of the shop?"

You laughed. "Lavendar Lane Florals. I hate the name, personally, but my aunt named it when she opened the shop like… 25 years ago. Can't go and change it now."

Harry nodded slowly. "You work at your aunt's shop. Okay…"

"Something wrong with that?"

"No," he said with zero amusement. "Of course not."

"I mean… I run the shop, so it's not like I'm just her employee. Well, I guess I am technically her employee since she owns it but I'm like… taking over and in a few years since she's planning on retiring." You paused as he continued nodding. "And… well anyway. What about you? Do you just… fight for a living?"

He let out a loud laugh that made his shoulders shake a few times before he shook his head and licked his lips. "No. I do not fight for a living. I'm a package delivery driver. Northline Logistics. Fighting is for getting out all the stuff in my head and making a little extra on the side."

You took a breath again, not expecting that at all. "Oh, wow. Northline…That one's like, the most expensive delivery carrier. We usually go with Rapid Delivery for the shop. How do you like it?"

"It's work. Keeps my mind occupied. Good benefits. Pay's alright. Steady schedule."

Just before you could respond, Marty appeared with a tray with all the food and your drinks. You watched him place your plate down in front of you. A steaming burger piled with lettuce and tomatoes, and a side of rough cut fries, piping hot just next to it. Then your ice water in a tall, hard plastic, opaque cup before he gave Harry his order.

He’d gotten a roast beef sandwich with gravy on thick toasted bread, a heap of fries on the side, and a little cup of coleslaw shoved into the corner of the plate. Beside it, Marty placed a plain black coffee in a heavy white mug that had seen better days.

"There you are," Marty said. "And don’t complain the coffee’s stale this time. I made a fresh pot just for you."

Harry looked down at it and gave a small nod. "I'd never complain to you, Marty."

The old man snorted as if he didn’t believe that for a second, then walked off toward the counter again.

You looked at Harry’s plate, then at your own. "That looks good. So, that's what you always get here?"

Harry picked up the mug first and took a sip of the coffee before answering. "Most of the time."

You reached for one of your fries and shoved it into your mouth. The food was hot enough to make you wince a little, but it was good, greasy just as diner food was supposed to be, and you realized only then that you actually were hungry.

Harry ate like someone who was used to being hungry—efficiently, without fuss. Quietly. He didn’t seem self-conscious about the silence, but you were because your nerves were still a little on edge over everything and silence felt too awkward for you at the moment.

"My parents would lose their minds if they knew where I was tonight."

Harry looked up briefly from his sandwich, then back down again as if to signal he was listening.

"They already think I’m incapable of making any good choices on my own," you went on, tearing off a piece of lettuce that had slipped from your burger. "And I’m twenty-seven. Twenty-seven. But somehow they still act like I’m seventeen and can’t be trusted to cross a street without supervision."

Harry nodded, chewing.

You kept going, partly because he was listening and partly because now that you’d started, you couldn’t seem to stop. "They’re not bad, just… overbearing. My mom calls constantly. My dad likes to phrase everything as concern, but really it’s just because he's super controlling. And then there’s my aunt, which doesn’t help because if anything even remotely interesting happens at the flower shop, somehow my parents hear about it before I’ve even made it home."

That got the edge of Harry's mouth lifting.

You pointed at him with one fry. "See? That’s horrible, isn't it? They're so annoying."

"Sounds annoying," he said simply before taking another bite.

"It is." You sat back a little, shaking your head. "I moved out two years ago and they still act like I’m having some kind of extended rebellion. Like any minute now I’m gonna come to my senses and move back home and ask my mother what I should wear every day for the rest of my life."

That made him huff a quiet laugh, and the sound of it pulled a smile from you before you could help it.

"I’m serious," you said. "Blake stopped by the shop one time and my aunt told my mom she thought Blake looked…" you lifted both hands making air quotes, "a little too alternative and then suddenly I was getting a lecture over dinner about surrounding myself with stable influences."

Harry lifted his coffee mug and took another sip, eyes on you over the rim this time. "You seem stable enough."

You smiled and looked down at your plate for a second. "I feel like I'm going crazy. All I want is my independence. I'm a grown woman. I love them, it's just… too much at times."

He set the mug down again and reached for one of his fries. You noticed he still hadn’t offered anything about his own life beyond the delivery job and the fights. He listened well, though it seemed. He just let you talk, like he didn’t mind hearing you untangle your thoughts out loud.

"I know it probably sounds stupid," you said after a second. "There are way worse problems to have than parents who care too much."

Harry’s expression shifted. "Doesn’t mean it’s not still a problem."

You looked at him more carefully then. "You don’t talk to your family much?"

Harry picked up half his sandwich again and shrugged one shoulder. "No."

There was something in the way he said it that made it clear the subject was closed before it had even opened. You could have pushed, maybe, but it would have felt wrong. So instead, you just nodded and let the moment pass.

"I see," you said softly.

You switched subjects and talked a little more about the flower shop, about wedding clients who wanted impossible peony arrangements in the wrong season and the older woman who came in every Friday for fresh roses just because she liked them. Harry listened calmly as he ate and occasionally asked short questions that told you he was paying more attention than he let on. By the time you’d finished eating, your nerves had eased just a little. You weren’t exactly relaxed, because the part of the night where he took you to his place was still coming, and soon.

Marty came by just as Harry was drinking the last of his coffee.

"You alive over there?" he asked Harry, reaching for the empty plate.

"Barely."

"Thought so." Marty stacked the plates, then glanced at you. "How was the burger?"

"Really good," you said. "And the fries."

He gave you a satisfied little nod like he’d personally cooked every item in the place.

"How about that pie?"

Harry looked at you, brows raised and you shook your head. "I'm too full to eat another bite of anything."

"We'll just get the check then, Marty."

The old man nodded, reaching into his apron to pull out the bill and handed it to Harry. "You working tomorrow?"

Harry nodded. "Early."

"Then don’t be out all night doing anything dumb."

You looked between them, smiling a little at the way Marty said it, like he’d probably said similar things to Harry more than once.

Harry reached into his pocket for cash. "We'll see."

Marty took the bills from him, glanced down at the amount, and shook his head. "You tip like you’re trying to buy my affection."

Harry stood, sliding out of the booth. "Thought I already had it."

Marty laughed under his breath and gathered the last of the dishes. "Get out of here. And make sure she gets home safe."

You stood too, smoothing your hands over your jeans as Harry waited for you at the end of the booth. Marty headed back toward the counter, but not before throwing one last look over his shoulder at Harry that seemed to carry a whole conversation inside it.

Then it was just you and Harry by the door before he pushed it open for you. You walked in step with him as you moved to where he'd parked. He stopped beside the bike and looked at you.

"Changed your mind yet?"

You looked at him, at the bruises scattered just beneath the opening of his shirt, at his tired eyes and the way he held himself like he was confident but had too many secrets to really bare himself to anyone. Maybe you should have changed your mind, but you hadn't.

"No."

He paused and looked you over for a moment before he reached for the helmet hooked over the handlebars.

"Alright then," he said.

And a few minutes later you were back on the motorcycle behind him, your arms wrapped around his waist as he pulled away from the diner and carried you deeper into the city night.

It wasn't but a few minutes later that he was turning into an older apartment complex and parking his bike in a numbered spot next to a utility van.

You climbed down slowly and Harry followed, taking the helmet from you and tucking it under his arm before leading you up a short flight of stairs and down a dim exterior walkway. He unlocked the door near the end and pushed it open, stepping aside so you could go in first.

The apartment was clean, but plain, devoid of any life aside from a weight bench near the wall, a rack stacked with weights next to it, and closer to the corner, hanging from a brace in the ceiling, a bright red punching bag. It wasn't messy at all, just otherwise stripped down to the essentials: a couch, a coffee table, a television, a small kitchen with almost nothing left out on the counters. No framed photos. No decorations. No books stacked anywhere. No little pieces of a person scattered through the room anywhere.

You stepped farther inside, taking it in while Harry shut the door behind you and tossed his keys onto the small table beside the couch and then placed the helmet next to them.

There was so little of him in the place that it made you turn to look at him again.

"What do you do in your spare time?"

Harry glanced at you as he plucked at the last few buttons on his shirt, leaving it hanging open so you had a full view of his chest up close. "Work out."

Obviously.

You let out a small breath that was almost a laugh. "That can’t be all you do."

"Well, it’s most of it."

The answer made you smile, though there was something kind of sad about it too. The bare bones decor of his place suddenly made more sense if that was the case. If he was being honest.

You were still looking around when he crossed the room toward you.

The shift in him was so quick it startled you. One moment he was across the apartment answering you casually, and the next he was standing right in front of you, crowding into your space until your back brushed the edge of the counter behind you.

His hands came up and cupped your face, warm and large. You inhaled a soft breath.

"What?" he said, looking down at you with a not-so-innocent smile. "You trying to figure me out already?"

You swallowed. "Your apartment’s just… very plain."

"You saying it's boring?"

A nervous little laugh escaped you. "Maybe."

Harry’s thumbs brushed lightly at your cheeks, his eyes moving over your face in a way that made every inch of you feel noticed. Then his gaze dipped to your sweater, and his mouth curved.

"You really did show up at the fight dressed like this," he said softly, teasing. "Little cat jumper. Soft as anything. You look too innocent to be standing in my apartment right now, Y/n. Too sweet."

Heat rushed straight into your face. "It’s just a sweater."

"Mm." He leaned closer, the tip of his nose nearly brushing yours. "That’s not what I said."

Then he kissed you. It was nothing like the quick kiss in the parking lot just after he'd stolen the helmet. It was deeper, a little filthy with his tongue tasting slowly before pressing it over yours… like now that he had you there he meant to take his time and make you feel every second of it. His mouth moved over yours like he'd been yearning for it all night. It made your knees soften almost immediately, and when he let out a deep sound against your lips, it went straight through you.

"Fuck," he whispered, barely pulling back. "Even your mouth is sweet."

You could hardly think. Your hands had somehow ended up on his chest, fingers pressing lightly against warm skin and old bruises, and he seemed to like that because his grip on your face shifted just slightly, one hand sliding down to the side of your neck, thumb brushing over your pulse point.

"I’m gonna have fun with you," he said, voice rougher now, his eyes flicking down to your mouth. "Been thinking about getting this sweater off you since I saw you outside the warehouse."

A small sound slipped out of you before you could stop it, embarrassed and breathy.

Harry groaned, lips brushing yours. "Yeah," he said quietly. "That sound. Want to hear that one again."

You felt yourself melting under the way he looked at you, under the press in his hands and the fact that he seemed so completely in control while you were losing your footing by the second. He kissed you again, as one of his hands slid to your chin, holding you steady exactly where he wanted you while his mouth moved over yours until you were clinging to him just to stay upright.

Then he took your hand and pressed it over the line of his zipper through his jeans, still kissing you, still guiding you with a calm confidence that made your thoughts go fuzzy around the edges. The heat and bulk of him through the denim made your world tilt just a little, and when he finally pulled back, you were left standing there dazed and staring up at him, hand still in place over him where he'd left it.

The grin that spread across his face was wicked and warm at the same time.

"You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Y/n?" he asked softly. "What is it you like?"

You blinked at him, still trying to catch up. "I… uh…"

Harry took your hand then, threading his fingers through yours as if the question didn’t need answering yet. He started backing you down the short hallway, eyes never leaving your face.

"I like, um…" You laughed nervously, already flustered by the question. "I don’t really… I uh…"

He pushed open the bedroom door and led you inside, amusement spreading across his face as he turned to look at you. "That’s what I thought," he said.

His hands slid slowly down your arms over the soft knit of your sweater, and the look in his eyes told you very clearly that he planned on finding out exactly what you liked. He backed away a step and clicked on a lamp that sat on a bedside table and suddenly something skittered past your feet and into the bedroom.

You jumped back and looked at Harry with wide eyes just as he bent and reached down toward something that had ducked past the table with the lamp and when he stood back up, you were completely shocked to see him cradling a cat in his arms.

The cat was older, gray all over except for a white patch at his throat and another at one paw. His face looked permanently displeased, with one ear nicked and eyes the color of bright amber.

Your expression softened instantly. "Oh my god."

You reached out toward it, fingertips barely lifting before Harry’s voice stopped you.

"Wouldn’t do that."

You looked up at him. "He doesn’t like being pet?"

"He doesn’t like people," Harry said simply. "Except me."

That made you draw your hand back to your side again, though your eyes stayed fixed on the grumpy-faced cat. He stared at you for a second from the safety of Harry’s arms, unimpressed and vaguely judgmental—if cats could be judgmental—then Harry bent and set him back down. The cat landed lightly, flicked his tail, and wandered out of the room at an unhurried pace like he had more important things to do than supervise whatever was about to happen in there.

You watched him disappear into the hallway before looking back at Harry. "What’s his name?"

"Tyson."

You blinked, then laughed. "Tyson?"

Harry’s mouth tilted. "Like Mike Tyson."

"You named your cat after a professional boxer…"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Seemed fitting."

You smiled and glanced toward the door where the cat had vanished. "He’s cute."

"He’s mean."

"He looked fine to me."

Harry stepped closer again, that calm confidence settling right back over him now that the brief interruption had passed. His eyes dropped to your mouth, then lifted, green and far too pretty for a man with busted knuckles and countless bruises on his body.

He slid a hand down to your waist, the other settling at the back of your neck as he pulled you in close again, and when he kissed you, it felt like he was picking up exactly where he’d left off in the hall. You leaned into him and your hands rose to his chest, palms flattening over his sturdy muscles as he kissed you harder. He made a quiet sound against your mouth, and the hand at your waist tightened just enough to make your breath stall.

He squeezed harder, fingers sliding up under the sweater and you let out a breathy, nervous laugh that turned into another small, helpless sound when he kissed the corner of your mouth and then your cheek, his nose grazing your skin.

"Still nervous?" he asked softly.

"A little."

"Mm." He pulled back just enough to look at you, both hands settling at your hips now. "Cute. So fuckin' cute."

That only made you more flustered, which he clearly enjoyed if the slow rise of the grin on his face was any indication. He dipped his head again and kissed you until your thoughts blurred, until the apartment and the bike and the warehouse all felt far away, and there was only the lamp-lit room, and his hands on you.

Harry’s mouth moved slowly against yours, like he knew what you wanted. Like he knew just how to make you melt into him, how to make you weak.

Your hands were still resting against his chest when he shifted them, guiding your wrists gently outward until your palms slid over the warm breadth of his shoulders instead. The movement pressed you closer to him, your body fitting flush against his.

His hand slipped under the hem of your sweater, fingers lifting, dragging the soft knit of it upward and over your head, making your arms lift before he tossed it away to the side. You put your hands on his shoulders again as his fingers spread over the bare skin of your waist under your black-t-shirt. He had rough calluses from training, and the contact made a heat trail up the notches of your spine. His mouth curved against yours as his hand slowly glided the thinner material up inch by inch.

"You feelin' shy?" he asked, amused.

"I’m not," you protested weakly, though no one would have ever been convinced by the sound of your voice.

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, you are. Like it, though."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, green eyes dragging slowly over your face, fingers still curled into the fabric of your shirt.

"Arms up for me again."

You lifted your arms slowly and he tugged the shirt up and over your head. The cool air of the room brushed over your skin instantly, and your instinctive reaction was to bring your arms down across your stomach. You really, really couldn't believe you were doing this.

Harry took your wrists. "Hey," he said quietly, making you look up at him.

He laced his fingers through yours so you couldn't cover yourself. Then he lifted your hands and pressed them gently against his own chest, right over his heart.

"Don’t do that," he said.

Your nerves twisted even tighter as his eyes moved over you slowly. He grinned, gaze raking over your stomach and your arms, the line of your shoulders, and then over the swell of your breasts pushing at the soft fabric of the totally unsexy bra you wore.

"You’re fuckin’ adorable," he said under his breath. "Like a little treat for me."

He let go of your hands and reached around to the back of your bra before he paused and looked at you. "You gonna let me keep going?"

You nodded almost immediately. You were nervous, but well past the point of no return.

"That a yes?" he teased softly.

"Yes." You were boiling hot. Every inch of you felt like it was steaming, mostly because of the way Harry was being with you, but definitely also because you were a bit out of your depth with someone like him.

The clasp popped open under his fingers at your yes. He slid the straps slowly down your arms, letting the fabric fall away before tossing it aside. The moment your chest was bare, Harry inhaled, lips parting.

"Jesus. That is… you are so pretty."

His hands came up immediately, large, rough palms cupping your breasts, making your knees loosen again. His thumbs brushed slowly over the sensitive peaks, testing the reaction, and when a quiet sound slipped out of you he smiled.

"There it is again."

Before you could swallow the sound, he bent his head and his mouth closed around one nipple with a wet warmth that sent a jolt straight through you. You reached up to his shoulders as his tongue flicked over the sensitive skin, his other hand cradling the opposite breast.

"Sweet girl," he hummed against your skin, like he was enjoying himself far too much.

His mouth traveled upward then, leaving a damp trail of kisses over your collarbone, your throat, the side of your neck. Every place he touched lingered just long enough to make you want more.

You were barely aware of his hands sliding lower until the button of your jeans popped open. You gasped quietly against his mouth when his fingers slipped inside the waistband, brushing against the soft skin of your low stomach before tugging the denim downward.

"Step out," he said gently.

Your legs felt a little shaky as you moved. Harry bent to pull the jeans the rest of the way off, and when he stood again, there was something distinctly darker in his expression. Hotter.

For a moment he stayed a foot back, just looking at you. Almost completely bare from head to toe under the warm glow of the bedside lamp. His gaze dragged slowly down your body and back up again as you pressed your thighs together from the scrutiny.

"Fuck," he breathed, reaching toward you as a finger trailed along your hip. "Even these panties."

You looked down at yourself, nipples peaked, goosebumps on your tummy, full coverage cotton panties with colorful flowers printed on the fabric. You swallowed and looked back up at him to see his eyes on your face.

"You weren't expecting to get fucked tonight, were you?"

You shook your head, a puffed laugh falling out. You thought you were going to shake out of your skin standing there like that, practically naked while he was still clothed.

He grinned. "Did not expect to meet such a nice girl tonight."

He moved closer and pulled you by your hips, eyes wandering over your skin and your breasts and then back up to your eyes. "I don't deserve anything this nice."

Heat rushed into your face and you shifted your weight as he lifted a hand up to your face, thumb smoothing against your bottom lip. "Shaking. Need a minute?"

You let out a sound, chest heaving. "No. I'm…" You swallowed, yet again. "I'm okay."

He groaned and leaned in, running his nose along your jaw as he spoke, heat trailing with his breath. "You are gonna make me want something I don't get to have."

You were far too gone to make sense of his words at that moment when he pressed his lips on your neck again, arms wrapping around your back before his hands slid down, fingers spreading over your hips before gliding around to the front of your body again. One hand slipped between your thighs, but only the ghost of a touch at first.

You inhaled a shaky sound and placed your hands on his shoulders when you wobbled.

Harry looked at you. "Relax for me, Y/n," he murmured.

His fingers moved slowly, tracing along your inner thigh before drifting higher. When he finally brushed against the soft, sensitive center of you, your entire body reacted with a small, involuntary jerk.

Harry chuckled quietly. "Just touching. Can we get these panties off?"

You nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

"Yeah? Okay?" He teased, looking at you as he tucked his fingers into the elastic of your panties at your hips and began to slide them down. Once they were pushed just to your knees, they dropped by themselves to the floor at your feet.

He groaned as he put his hands on your hip and smoothed them down to the outside of your thighs before he drew his fingers again to the space between your legs. "Keep making those cute sounds for me. Yeah?"

You didn’t answer, mostly because the moment he touched you again your thoughts scattered completely. His fingers slid through the slick warmth between your legs, and he let out a low, satisfied sound.

"Well, look at that."

You bit your lip, skin hot yet covered in goosebumps as he drew a finger upward and found your tender bud, circling. "Even your clit is all wet," he said softly.

"H-Harry—"

He pulled in a breath through his teeth as he dipped his fingers lower. "Oh, sweet girl. Yes, that's what I wanna hear. Keep making those noises, keep saying my name."

One of his fingers pressed gently inside you, and he hissed when he realized how open you already were. The sensation made your head tip forward against his shoulder with a quiet gasp.

"Easy," he murmured before pushing in deeper.

Your fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt as he slowly worked his digit in and out, gushy. He pulled out his finger and placed a hand between your thighs, making you spread your legs the slightest before he pushed back in, adding a second finger. The soft stretch made a sound squeak from your throat.

Harry kissed your temple as he fingered you right there next to his bed. You'd never had anything like that happen to you before. Being fingered standing up was new, and the fact that you were stark naked while he was still wearing his clothes made it feel all the more intense.

"How long's it been since you've been fucked?"

You lifted your head to look at him, clinging tight as he fucked your pussy with his fingers. "I… Last year."

He blew out a breath, eyes locked on your face. "And you're sure you wanna be fucked tonight? Still all shaky."

You nodded and moaned, hips moving against his hand erratically.

"Mmm…" he moaned, amused, fingers still pumping.

His thumb brushed lightly against the sensitive bundle of nerves above where his fingers moved inside you, and the sudden combination made a helpless sound slip from your throat again, and he groaned softly at the noise.

"That’s it," he said.

He pulled his fingers out slowly before guiding you toward the bed. "Come on."

His lips found yours again as he eased you down onto the mattress, the kiss slow and deep as he followed you onto the bed. His hands immediately returned to your body, sliding over your stomach, your hips, your thighs like he couldn’t stop touching you.

"You’re so fuckin’ cute," he murmured.

His fingers slipped between your legs again.

"And you feel even better than you look."

Before he pressed his fingers back in, he pushed himself from you and stood back. "Rub your pussy for me while I take my clothes off."

You reached down at once, watching Harry as you found your clit and began sliding your fingers over yourself. He kept his gaze locked on the space between your legs as he shrugged his shirt off to the floor and then unbuttoned his jeans.

When he shoved them down, he was left in his boxer briefs. The thick bulge that sat under them looked so big and long already, the thin fabric stretched tight over the heavy outline beneath it. But his attention was fixed on you. On the way your hand moved slowly between your legs. On the way your thighs trembled slightly as you touched yourself.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Just like that."

You were feeling all flushed and exposed like that. You'd never done anything like it before… rubbing yourself in front of anyone. Especially a man you hardly knew at all. But there was something about him that made you want to just say yes to everything he asked of you.

"Look at you," he murmured.

You forced your eyes up from where you’d been staring at his bulge through the boxer briefs. Looking into his eyes hadn’t helped your concentration at all.

Harry stood at the edge of the bed, broad shoulders rising and falling slowly as he breathed. Up close you could see every mark on him now… deep purple bruises blooming across his ribs, light yellowed ones along his abdomen where older hits had been healing. A thin scar ran diagonally over one side of his stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Your eyes drifted over every hard dip and muscled curve. Across the hard lines of his chest, over the scattered tattoos across his skin, down the defined ridges of his abs that flexed when he shifted. He had laurel tattoos that curved low at his hips, just above the waistband, drawing your gaze right back to the thick shape pressing against the fabric there.

You stopped moving your fingers as you were too caught up in the way his body looked. There was so much there to see and explore.

"Hey," he said.

Your eyes flicked back to his face as he stepped closer, climbing onto the bed with you in a smooth motion. The mattress dipped under his weight as he moved you gently toward the center, guiding your hips with both hands.

"Don’t stop touching yourself, pretty."

Your breath shuddered as you resumed the slow motion of your fingers, making the little gushy noises start up again. Harry watched for another second before lowering himself between your legs. The position made your heart gallop wildly.

And then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of your knee. Then another. His mouth traveled upward over your thigh, warm and lingering, his hands sliding along your hips to keep you open beneath him.

"You’re so sweet," he murmured against your skin as his lips moved higher.

"So fuckin’ pretty." Another kiss at your belly button.

"And you make the cutest sounds for me."

You let out one of those "cute" sounds immediately, accidentally, soft and breathy, and Harry groaned quietly.

"Yeah," he said under his breath.

His fingers slid between your legs again, replacing your hand. You gasped softly when he pushed two fingers back inside you without warning, the stretch somehow more intense now that you were lying open beneath him.

"You got this wet all for me," he murmured, almost impressed.

Your hips lifted upward, and you moaned. Harry dipped down to kiss your stomach then, while his fingers slid through you, deeper than before, his knuckles brushing against you with every thrust.

"God, Harry…" you whispered.

He leaned down beside you, his mouth brushing your ear.

"You feel that?" he murmured.

You nodded weakly.

"Yeah, you do. Little pussy is just sucking my fingers in, begging for more."

His breath was warm against your skin as he continued speaking softly against your ear.

"Such a good girl," he said.

Your fingers twisted in the sheets.

"So sweet for me. Letting me play with you like this."

His hand slid over yours then, guiding it back down between your legs.

"Here," he said.

His fingers kept moving inside you as he repositioned your hand over your clit again.

"Keep rubbing for me."

The moment your fingers began circling there again, the combination made your entire body jolt, and Harry groaned quietly at your ear.

"That’s it."

His fingers pumped deeper now, curling slightly in a way that made your back arch off the mattress. It was good. You were already feeling the rush of what he was doing to your body, and his deep voice vibrating at the lobe of your ear sounded like sex.

"Fuck," you gasped.

Your hand trembled against yourself, the rhythm becoming messy as your hips began chasing the sensation. You couldn't believe that you were on the edge of coming already. For you, it was unusual, especially when it included another person.

Harry’s voice stayed soft and close. "Look at you." His lips brushed your temple. "Already shaking."

You knew you were trembling already. Your thighs quivered around his arm, breath coming faster now as the pressure inside you built higher and higher. You gasped as he curled and you hastened the pace of your fingers.

"Mmm," he murmured, slowing his fingers suddenly.

You let out a broken groan but before you could even process what he was doing he slid down between your legs, his body settling against the mattress as he pulled your hips slightly closer to his mouth. Your hand hovered uselessly over yourself for half a second, then his mouth replaced where your fingers had been.

The first drag of his tongue over your clit made your entire body jerk violently.

"Harry—Yes!"

Your hand shot downward but he caught your wrist before you could pull away, and he guided it to his head where your fingers tangled in his hair.

Harry looked up at you from between your thighs, green eyes dark under the low light.

"Pull," he murmured.

You whimpered when he pumped his fingers deep.

"As hard as you want."

Your fingers tightened in his hair as his mouth returned to you immediately, tongue pressing slow, deliberate strokes against the sensitive bundle of nerves he’d just abandoned seconds ago. His fingers continued to glide into you as he sucked you into his mouth.

The sensation was overwhelming. "Oh my god!"

Harry groaned softly against you at the sound. "Squeezing my fingers so hard," he murmured before leaning down again and wrapping his lips around your bud.

Your hips lifted helplessly, chasing his mouth as his fingers thrust steadily upward inside you again. His tongue moved faster now, every movement sending sharp waves through your body. Your legs shook hard around his shoulders.

Harry looked up again, watching your face as he continued licking you.

"Come on," he murmured against you.

Your fingers pulled harder in his hair as you let out a loud moan into his room.

"I know you’re close."

And you were already falling apart. Your back arched violently off the mattress as the tension snapped through you, your entire body shaking as the orgasm tore through you and Harry licked you through every wave of ecstasy. His tongue stayed on you, fingers still filling you, as your thighs trembled uncontrollably around him.

Harry didn’t stop working you until the tremors running through you started to soften. Your fingers were still tangled in his hair, chest rising and falling as the last warm waves of your orgasm rolled through you. Everything felt loose and floaty, like your bones had turned soft under your skin.

When he finally pulled his fingers from you, he lifted his head and shifted his hands to the backs of your thighs, nudging them apart again so he could look at you. Study your puffy, wet folds and everything else there between your legs. His eyes moved slowly over the flushed skin there, the slick shine still clinging to your thighs, and a crooked smile pulled at his mouth.

"Well," he said.

Your face burned from the scrutiny of his eyes on you. Harry brushed a fingertip lightly along the inside of your thigh before dragging it slowly through the wetness between your legs again, watching the way your body reacted to even that small touch.

"Look at that."

You let out a flustered sound and tried to shift your legs closed in embarrassment, but he caught your thigh easily and squeezed it.

"No," he said with a smile, amused. "Let me see."

His thumb brushed over your skin before he leaned down and pressed a wet kiss to the inside of your knee.

"Even your pussy looks cute," he added quietly. "All soft and shy."

You covered your face with your hands, and he chuckled under his breath.

"C’mon," he murmured.

He guided you farther onto the bed, easing you back against the pillows until your head sank into them. Your body still felt a little fluttery from the orgasm, limbs loose as you watched him move.

He stepped off the mattress for a second.

Your eyes followed him automatically as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pushed them down his legs. And oh god. He was certainly… hung.

You’d already noticed how thick he was through the fabric earlier, but seeing him fully now made your stomach flutter all over again. He was big. Heavy and thick in a way that made heat coil low in your stomach even through the lingering haze of your orgasm.

Harry grinned as he reached into the nightstand, pulled the drawer open, and took out a condom. He placed it on top of the wood before turning back toward the bed with you. When he climbed onto the mattress beside you, the movement shifted the bed slightly and he reached for your hip, making you roll toward him.

You were still a little stunned, mind a bit mushy when he leaned over and kissed you. He slid a hand down your thigh and pulled it, draping it over his hip so your body turned toward him.

He pulled you closer so that his cock was pressed against your stomach. You moaned against his mouth as Harry grinned, before shifting back just enough to take your hand. His fingers guided yours slowly downward and your palm brushed against him, making you freeze immediately.

He was warm and so hard. Your fingers wrapped around him and your eyes widened slightly as you felt just how thick he actually was in your hand.

Harry huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah," he moaned.

You glanced up at him, still holding him carefully, scared to squeeze too hard. You shouldn't have been surprised that his dick was as ample as it was. Because there was something about Harry that made it seem like exactly what you should have expected.

You began to move your hand slowly, gently. You stroked him carefully, your grip light and cautious like you weren’t quite sure how hard you were supposed to hold him. Harry watched you for a second as a small grin tugged at his mouth.

"That’s cute."

Your brows pulled together as you looked him, a little lost at what he meant.

"You’re being real gentle with it."

You slowed your hand uncertainly, and he brushed his thumb along your cheek.

"Don’t stop," he said softly.

You resumed the motion, still careful.

Harry watched your hand move along him for a few more strokes before his gaze lifted back to your face. "Let me see something."

Your paused your motions.

"Let me see those pretty lips wrap around it for a little bit," he said. "Wanna do that for me? Suck it a little?"

You blinked as you nodded and released his girth from your palm before shifting. Moving carefully, you sat on your knees between his legs while Harry leaned back against the headboard, settling comfortably against the pillows so he could watch you.

The truth was that you had some experience. But not like this. You'd given blow jobs, hand jobs, and even had sex in various positions before… This felt like an entirely different undertaking with Harry.

You rested your hands lightly on his thighs and looked up at him before leaning forward slowly. Then you dipped your head and ran your tongue along the underside of him.

Harry inhaled sharply. "Fuck."

You glanced up at him again to check his face. His jaw had tightened, pupils spread dark as he watched you.

"That’s good," he murmured, licking his lips.

You smiled and leaned down to try again. Your tongue traced another delicate path before you finally wrapped your lips around the head of him and suckled the tip gently as you peered up at him.

Harry swore under his breath as his hand came up to cup your cheek as he watched you. "You are the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen," he whispered, voice rougher now.

Your lips moved slowly over him, trying to take a little more. A soft wet sound slipped from your mouth when you tried again and Harry groaned quietly.

"It’s a lot for you, huh, pretty?"

His thumb brushed your cheek. "But you like that. Don't you?"

You tried to take him deeper, blinking your eyes and concentrating on not scraping your teeth against him. But he was a lot in your mouth and it felt like an almost impossible task.

You inhaled through your nose, forcing another inch of him into your mouth as you gripped the tops of his thighs. You coughed and pulled back to suck more air into your lungs.

Harry smiled. "Wish we had time to let you practice on it more."

His fingers slid gently into your hair. "Get you used to gagging on it a little."

You leaned down again, taking him into your mouth as far as you could, leading with your tongue and sucking as you went.

This time he pushed lightly at the back of your head, testing the movement and your throat tightened and you swallowed around him. A soft gurgling sound slipped out.

Harry’s head tipped back with a low groan. "Oh, baby…"

He held you there for another second before easing the pressure and guiding you back up. A thin string of saliva followed as you lifted your head and Harry caught your chin between his fingers and pulled you up toward him.

He pulled you to his mouth, kissing you hard and slow, tongue pressing against yours. When he pulled back, his eyes searched your face.

"What position do you like?" he asked.

You blinked at him. "I… I don’t…" Your words stumbled over each other.

Harry laughed softly. "Yeah… Fuckin' too cute for me."

Before you could answer, he pulled you further up, dragging you over his thighs and into his lap. You straddled his him as his hands slid slowly down your sides, warm palms smoothing over your ribs and around your waist.

"God," he said quietly.

His hands moved lower, spreading over the curve of your hips before sliding around to your bottom.

"You’re making this too hard for me," he said, lip parted. "Not gonna wanna say goodbye to you in the morning."

You weren't exactly sure what he meant, but there was something sad in his words just then. And you'd picked up on a bit of melancholy in him. Like he'd been really hurt by someone in his past. It made you wonder about him. Want to know more about everything, but he didn't seem the type willing to divulge his secrets easily.

His hands moved upward again, cupping your breasts as he leaned forward to kiss one nipple, and then the other. Slow and warm, his lips wrapped and wetted as he fluttered his eyes closed briefly.

"Fuck me," he groaned against your skin.

His thumbs brushed lightly over the sensitive peaks as he parted from them.

"Too sweet."

He pressed a kiss to your collarbone. "Too cute, baby."

You shifted in his lap, the movement sliding your body against him and dragging your sensitive clit across the hard line of him.

Harry groaned quietly and then he leaned over to the nightstand, grabbed the condom, and tore it open before rolling it slowly down over himself while watching your face as if he liked watching every little reaction that crossed it. The soft lamp light caught the green of his eyes as he smoothed his palm down the length of himself, making sure it was seated properly, before his gaze drifted back to your body sitting there in his lap.

He huffed out a quiet breath through his nose and shook his head. "Jesus."

He slid his hands back to your hips, thumbs brushing against your skin before he leaned in and kissed you again. His mouth moved lazily over yours for a moment before he pulled back and gave your hips a gentle squeeze.

"C’mon," he said softly.

He guided you carefully off his lap, turning you around to face away from him with steady hands until your knees settled into the mattress in front of him. His palms stayed on your hips as he moved you forward a little farther onto the bed, easing you down until your elbows rested in the sheets.

The position left you spread out with your ass up in the center of the bed and Harry shifted behind you as he got himself into position. Your skin prickled under the feeling of his eyes moving slowly over your backside, over the curve of your waist and the soft line of your hips…

Then he gently settled a hand at the small of your back. His thumb brushed lightly over your skin and his thumb traced the small inky design there carefully.

Right above the curve of your ass at the back of your hip sat a delicate little flower tattoo, the thin petals shaded softly against your skin.

Harry leaned down slightly to look at it closer, then he bent and pressed a kiss right against the ink.

"Is this a daisy?" he asked.

You turned your head, glancing back over your shoulder at him.

"It’s a chamomile flower," you said.

Harry looked at your face and then he let out a low groan of laughter. "Oh, my god."

He leaned down again and kissed the little flower a second time, open-mouthed this time, his lips lingering against your skin.

"You are so fuckin’ cute, Y/n," he moaned.

He slid his hand up the curve of your waist again. "Goddamn," he added under his breath. "You’re precious."

You felt his palm settle against your hip. "Got my heart pounding and everything."

Then he moved a hand lower, one stayed at your hip while the other drifted lower between your thighs. His fingers spread your cheeks slowly, his breath leaving him in a soft hiss when he saw you like that from behind.

"Jesus, fuck…" he muttered.

His hands nudged your knees a little wider.

"There we go… let me see that..."

You shifted, thighs parting a little more as you bit down on your lip hard to push down the heat of bashfulness. You'd never had anyone really take in the view of your bits like that before. Except your gynecologist.

Harry dragged two fingers slowly through your folds, the touch making you gasp softly as he gathered the lingering slickness there.

"Oh, honey," he said.

You felt his hand guiding himself behind you, dragging and pressing, before, he slowly pushed forward. The first press of him against you made your thighs wobble, your fingers tightening in the sheets beneath you.

Harry paused for a second and then he eased forward again, letting you feel every inch as he worked himself deeper inside you. Once he stuffed himself into the hilt, he stayed there a moment, completely still.

You inhaled softly as your thighs trembled slightly, letting your body adjust around the thick stretch of him. You heard Harry let out a breath.

"Fuck," he moaned.

His hands slid up the backs of your thighs and settled at your hips as he looked down between your bodies. From where he knelt behind you he could see the way the two of you were joined, the thick length of him slowly disappearing into the slick spread of you. He groaned quietly at the sight, hips giving the gentlest experimental roll that made you gasp.

"Oh my god. Look at that," he breathed.

Your stomach fluttered at the way he said it, like he was half talking to himself about the way your body looked around him.

"So fuckin’ pretty."

He pulled back slowly, just enough that you felt the gradual drag of him sliding outward before he eased forward again, pushing back into you at the same slow pace. Your mouth parted around a shaky breath as he repeated the motion.

"You’re so wet."

Another slow thrust had your body rocking forward slightly from the pressure, elbows sliding against the mattress as you tried to steady yourself.

"Feel how your pussy wraps around me?" he said softly.

You let out a small broken sound in response, and Harry groaned again.

The pace stayed slow for a moment longer, the steady glide of him in and out of you filling the room with soft, slick sounds that made your face burn even as your body pressed back helplessly into the rhythm. The bed creaked faintly beneath the two of you, the quiet noise mixing with the sound of your breathing and the occasional low groan slipping from Harry’s throat.

Then, his grip on your hips tightened, and the next thrust came harder. Your breath punched out of your lungs as he drove into you deeper that time, the sudden force making the mattress shift beneath your elbows.

"Oh! Mmmm!" you cried.

His hips began moving faster now, the slow rhythm breaking apart into deeper, stronger strokes that pushed your body forward each time he buried himself inside you again. The sound between your bodies grew louder with every movement, wet and messy and impossible to ignore.

Your voice came out choked as you tried to breathe through it and Harry moaned behind you, like he was feeling the same thing.

"Oh, shit…" he muttered.

One of his hands slid down the curve of your hip and squeezed your ass firmly as he thrust again. Your whole body jolted before his palm tapped lightly against the soft curve of your bottom. Like a test swat. The sound popped softly in the room and your back arched immediately at the sensation, breasts dropping toward the mattress as your hips lifted higher into him without you even thinking about it.

Harry sucked in a breath. "Oh, baby… You like that?"

Another deep thrust had you pressing your cheek down to the bed, mouth dropped open wide.

"Sweet girl like you wants a spanking?"

Even if you had an answer for him, you couldn't. The only thing that came out of your mouth was a broken string of sounds as his hips drove forward again, the thick stretch of him filling you so completely it made your head spin.

Your thoughts had gone hazy and gooey and all you could feel was him. How big his cock felt in you. How achingly deep he reached inside you. The front of his thighs against the back of yours…

He swatted at your bottom again. This time a little harder so you really felt it. Your body jolted forward, a surprised sound bursting from your throat as the sting melted across your skin. Harry immediately thrust deep behind it, burying himself all the way inside you until his hips pressed flush against your ass.

Then he stopped moving. For a second the room filled with nothing but the sound of both of you breathing. You could feel his cock throbbing inside of you as he stayed seated deep in you and completely still.

You lifted your head to turn and look at him over your shoulder and you saw that his eyes were closed. His face was twisted in concentration like the feeling of you wrapped around him had hit him all at once. When he opened his eyes, the expression in them made your stomach flip. He looked like he’d forgotten everything else for a second.

Harry leaned forward suddenly, his hand slid gently to the side of your neck, fingers curling there just enough to keep your head turned toward him as he bent, chest against your back, and caught your mouth with his.

The kiss was crooked from the angle. Your lips brushed his unevenly as he started moving again, hips driving forward, deep into your guts, each thrust pressing you slightly into the mattress as his mouth kept finding yours in messy little kisses along the corner of your lips and your cheek.

"Rub your clit again for me," he said against your mouth.

You reached down and slid your hand down between your legs and the moment your fingers found the sensitive bundle there your body jerked as Harry thrust deeper. Your breath broke into small gasps as delicious sparks filled your tummy.

The sound of your bodies filled the room now. The wet slide of him inside you, the creak of the bed frame, the rough rhythm of Harry’s breathing against your ear.

Your fingers moved faster and Harry groaned shakily against your mouth. "Just like that."

His balls pressed softly against your fingers each time he pushed forward, the sensation sending little shocks through your already trembling body. The pace between you kept building, his thrusts growing rougher, less controlled as you bunched at the sheets beneath you with the hand you used to keep yourself steady.

You could feel him starting to shake. Harry’s breathing grew ragged behind you, the sounds slipping from his throat deeper now as he rocked harder into you, lips still at your mouth but almost not kissing anymore.

Your own body tightened in response to him as tension gathered low in your stomach, spreading outward with every thick thrust, every drag of your fingers against your clit, until the pressure inside you felt almost unbearable.

Harry groaned your name under his breath, and suddenly your vision blurred. He let go of your neck and he pressed both palms down on the bed on either side of you as he fucked in and in. The rhythm was so sharp that it made your toes curl.

Your fingers were moving desperately between your legs while Harry’s hips drove into you again and again, thudding into your skin… and then your entire body seized around him, a sharp cry breaking from your throat. The orgasm rushed through you as your back arched as your thighs trembled beneath him.

"Fuckfuckfuck—" Harry cursed behind you.

He felt it the instant your body clamped down around him, the tight pulsing squeeze of you making his thrust stutter as a long, rough groan tore from his chest. His hands tightened on your hips, holding you there while your body shook beneath him, and you could hear the sound of him losing control right behind you.

"Jesus, Y/n— Ah…"

Your name broke apart in his mouth as your body kept tightening around him, the tremors rolling through you in waves. Harry groaned louder when you squeezed again, his hips driving forward one last time before he buried himself as deep as he could and came hard into the condom, his breath leaving him in a long, helpless sound against your shoulder.

For a few seconds neither of you moved. The room filled with the sound of both of you breathing hard, the mattress creaking faintly beneath your weight while the last little tremors worked their way through you both.

Your strength drained out of you all at once and your elbows finally gave out and you sank forward onto the bed, cheek turning into the comforter as your arms stretched out beneath you. Your body felt warm and heavy and pleasantly loose, like every muscle had melted at the same time.

Behind you Harry stayed where he was, still kneeling between your legs. You could hear him breathing, deep and unsteady. And then a moment later, you felt his hands return to you.

They settled gently on the backs of your thighs first, his thumbs brushing slowly over your skin as if he was using the feel of your skin to ground himself. One of his palms slid up over the curve of your bottom, the touch softer as his breathing gradually slowed.

When he finally shifted, you heard the quiet rustle of movement behind you as he carefully pulled away and reached for something near the nightstand. The motions were brief and soft and quiet as he helped you wipe up and then cleaned himself.

Your body still felt pleasantly hazy. The kind of warm, floating tired that came after a good workout or a long day when you'd finally laid down in bed, exhausted. But this was even better. It was because of Harry and the orgasms he'd just given you.

It had been… really good. Better than you expected. Better than you'd ever experienced. And he didn't even really know you.

A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you stared toward him, sliding his boxer briefs up his legs in silence. You hadn’t expected him to be like that at all. For someone whose hobby was fighting in a warehouse and walking around with bruises all over his ribs, he had been surprisingly gentle. And attentive.

Harry sat beside you on the edge of the bed, one forearm resting loosely across his thigh as he leaned forward slightly and reached for his phone. The light from the screen traced across the line of his chest and over his shoulders and the scattered bruises still blooming along his ribs, catching in the messy fall of his hair.

But he seemed different suddenly. He laid his phone down and stared toward the door of his room. He stayed quiet like that for a moment. Like he was deep in thought. His mind had drifted somewhere else entirely, and you didn't know if you should ask him if he was okay or if it was better to just remain quiet.

Slowly you reached a hand up to touch his back and when your fingers pressed against his shoulder blade he startled just slightly and stood up, running a hand through his hair.

"You can uh, get some rest. I'll be in, in a little while. Need to… do something." He didn't even look at you when he said it. You watched him step out of his room and you were suddenly filled with shame and confusion. After what you two had just shared, you thought this would have gone down a lot differently. It wasn't like you were expecting him to fall in love or anything, but the sudden disassociation had you on edge.

You climbed from the bed and picked up your sweater to bring it over your head and pull it down your body to cover yourself before you stepped into the hallway and then toward his living room to see what he was doing. He had his phone in his hand and he was looking at his screen like he was in pain. You didn't understand what was going on but part of you thought that he was acting this way because he was already seeing someone.

"What's wrong?" You blurted out.

He looked up at you, brows shot up before he closed his phone and set it down, shaking his head as he stepped into his kitchen. "Nothing. Just got something to do."

You followed him, now completely convinced he was cheating on someone with you and you weren't about to let it go now. You placed your hands on your hips and stared at him as he grabbed a cup from his cabinet.

"You have a girlfriend, don't you?"

He stopped mid-motion and turned to look at you. "What? No. God, no. It's nothing like that, Y/n. Just… don't worry about it, okay?"

You hummed, still unconvinced, and leaned back into the counter, watching as he poured water into his cup. "Then what's all this? Why are you acting guilty?"

He sighed and shook his head before he took a long drink from his cup. He finally turned to face you, and the expression that twisted there made it look like he'd just been punched. "Damnit. You gotta wear that? Come on…"

Your brows knitted together as you looked down at yourself and back at him. "Wear the sweater? I didn't want to walk out here naked to confront you."

He weakly gestured at you. "It's just… It's too… You shouldn't even be here. You're way too good for me. So yeah. I do feel guilty. I should've…" He let his eyes drag over your sweater and down your legs.

Suddenly Tyson stepped into the kitchen and moved toward your ankles before brushing against you so lightly at first that you almost thought you imagined it. But then the old cat curved around the back of your leg and rubbed against you again, slowly, his tail flicking as he passed. You froze, looking down at him, just as Harry did.

His eyes dropped straight to the cat, and he looked genuinely caught off guard… shocked. Tyson circled back and bumped his side against your calf again.

Harry stared at him. "What the hell?"

You looked down, then back up at him. "What?"

"He doesn’t do that." Harry’s voice had gone flat with disbelief. "He doesn’t do that with people. I was surprised when he ran into the bedroom the first time because he usually just hides. But this…"

The cat moved around you once more, brushing against the other leg now as if he had decided you belonged there after all. You didn’t know what to make of it, and judging by the look on Harry’s face, neither did he.

"Oh," you said. Not really knowing what else to offer.

Harry let out a short breath through his nose and dragged a hand down over his mouth. "I’ve never seen him do that before."

You folded your arms over your chest, the confusion and embarrassment from the last few minutes still sitting in you. "Do you want me to call a cab?"

Harry’s gaze snapped back to your face. "What? No."

"You just said I shouldn’t even be here." Your voice came out tighter than you meant it to, but you couldn't help it. Your feelings were hurt. "And you feel guilty, and now you’re acting like something terrible just happened, so if you want me to go, just say that."

"It’s not that I want you to go."

"Then what is it?"

He looked away first, clenching his jaw. For a second you thought he might just avoid the question altogether, but then he muttered, "I just can’t be getting attached."

You blinked at him. "Attached?"

His expression shifted instantly, like he regretted the word the second it left his mouth. "That’s not what I meant."

"Well, that's the word you used."

Harry exhaled hard and shook his head, already trying to pull back into himself. "Forget I said that. I’ll take you home in the morning."

You stared at him, incredulous. "In the morning?"

"Yeah." He gestured vaguely toward the bedroom with his cup still in hand. "You should get some sleep."

You let out a disbelieving laugh. "No, I don’t think so."

His brows drew together. "Y/n—"

"Why not just take me home now?" You pushed off the counter, the sweater bunching around your crossed arms as you looked at him. "I don’t want to sleep in your bed while you’re out here sneaking around being weird after we just—" You stopped yourself, cheeks heating, then pressed on anyway. "Like… I just don't know you all that well and this is… it's weird. The way you're acting."

Tyson bumped your leg again. Harry looked down at the cat and made a low, frustrated sound, raking a hand back through his hair. "Jesus Christ."

You stood there waiting, heart beating too fast, while he stared at the floor for a second like he was trying to get control of himself. When he looked back at you, some of the tension in his face had eased, replaced by something more tired than defensive.

"You wanna go home?" he asked quietly.

You swallowed and nodded. "I’d rather be at home if you’re going to act like this. Whatever this is."

That seemed to hit him. "If I lie down with you," he said, "will you stay till I have to get you home?"

You hesitated. "What time?"

"Five-thirty."

You stared at him for a second, unable to believe this was where the night had landed.

"I don't know, Harry."

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm… I don't sleep well. I maybe get three hours a night. Four. And if I sleep longer, it's for… like two days. I'm all fucked up, Y/n." He looked up at you, and the look of apology on his face was sincere. "Got a lot of shit in my head. You're genuinely… really nice. I apologize for ruining the night like this. I just didn't expect…"

He trailed off and looked away, eyes blinking as he swallowed and shook his head. "I would prefer you to stay. We can get a little sleep, okay? Like four hours? Then I'll bring you home and you never have to hear from me again."

You frowned. Part of you wanted to wrap him up and comfort him. Have him tell you everything, lay it all out for you so you could just listen to him. But you knew better than to push at someone you didn't know well enough. Whatever he was going through, and whether or not any of it was true, you felt like at least you could stay for a few more hours until he was ready to get you home.

"Okay."

His eyes lifted, and he looked surprised and then relieved. His shoulders dropped a little, and after a long moment he set the cup down on the counter and reached past you to switch off the kitchen light. The room dimmed, leaving only the softer glow from the living room and the faint light spilling in from the streetlights outside.

When you both stepped back into the bedroom, Harry was moving silently, none of the teasing swagger from earlier left in him. He pulled the covers back, waited for you to climb in, and then joined you a second later before switching off the lamp, and the room dropped into darkness.

For a moment you lay there on your side, tense and uncertain, listening to the shift of the mattress and his breath as he settled. Then he moved closer behind you and wrapped an arm around your waist, drawing you back against him gently.

He didn’t say anything else. He just held you there, quietly, his breathing gradually evening out against the back of your neck until your body gave in to the exhaustion of the night and you drifted off in his arms.

𑁍ࠬܓ

It was still dark outside when the two of you left his apartment. Neither of you said much as you stepped out into the early morning. Harry locked the door behind him and you followed him down the exterior walkway with your arms folded over yourself.

He had the helmet in one hand, dangling from his fingers as he moved. Sleep had softened him a little, but only on the surface. You could feel the sadness in him more clearly now. It seemed to emanate from him, to settle over the line of his shoulders and the way he moved, like something unseen had its grip at his throat and refused to allow him up for air.

You hadn’t known him long enough to say for sure what haunted him, and you knew better than to pretend you understood. But between what he’d said in the kitchen, the way he barely slept, the near-emptiness of his apartment, the hollow look that had crossed his face when he mentioned he hadn't talked to his family in a while… it all added up to something heavy, you were sure.

Harry handed you the helmet once you reached the bike and waited while you put it on. Then he climbed on, and after giving him your address, you settled in behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist and held him a little tighter than you had the night before.

When he turned into your apartment complex, you expected him to stop at the curb, let you off, and disappear before you’d even gotten your key into the door. But instead he parked properly, killed the engine, and climbed off first before turning to help steady the bike while you got down. You pulled the helmet off and blinked at him, surprised when he didn’t immediately reach for it.

"What are you doing?" you asked as he started walking with you toward your building.

He glanced at you. "Walking you up."

"It’s okay, you don’t have to."

Harry’s mouth quirked like he found that mildly ridiculous. "Not safe to let you go wandering around alone like that, even if it’s a decent neighborhood."

You didn’t argue. You just carried the helmet against your hip and walked beside him through the dim, quiet courtyard toward your door. You were tired enough that your thoughts felt a little loose at the edges.

You stopped at your door and turned toward him. "Thank you," you breathed.

Harry shook his head. "Don’t thank me. I'm sorry for how the night turned out."

Your fingers tightened around the helmet. "You don't need to apologize. I did have a good time."

His expression shifted at that, something tired and regretful passing across his face before it smoothed over again.

Then, before you could stop yourself, the question slipped out. "Are we gonna… see each other again?"

The second you asked it, embarrassment washed over you. You almost winced at yourself. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Either way, the question was out now, hanging there between you where you couldn’t take it back.

Harry smiled then, but it was sad enough that your stomach sank before he even answered.

"I don’t know," he said quietly. "We’ll see. Okay?"

You nodded and looked down, pretending to adjust your grip on the helmet so he wouldn’t have to see too clearly that you understood exactly what that meant. He hadn’t asked for your number. He hadn’t offered his. And now the simple answer only confirmed what some part of you had already known.

Then you lifted the helmet slightly toward him. "Here."

Harry looked down at the helmet and smiled. "Keep it."

A little laugh escaped you. "I can’t use this, Harry."

He shrugged. "Neither can I."

You lowered your hand and looked at him for a beat before dropping your gaze again, wishing you could just make this moment disappear forever. Then his fingers were at your chin, lifting your face back up until you had no choice but to look at him.

"Don’t be sad," he murmured. "None of this is worth being sad about."

You tried for a smile, though you weren’t sure how convincing it was. You nodded quietly, and he dropped his hand before you faced toward your door to stick your key in it.

Pushing at the door, you turned back to look at him as he stepped away, hands in his pockets. The edge of his mouth turned up into a crooked grin aimed at you before he finally turned, broad shoulders hunched as he led himself down the stairs and kept walking until he was gone.

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𓈒 𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃 𓈒

A week your husband had been away from home. He was staying somewhere a few hours away while on a mission for work. You missed him, but hadn't texted him a bit because you knew he'd been busy.

Though, on this particular day, you really missed him—missed him in the way that made you crave his body. The body you temporarily didn't have access to.

You squirmed on the bed for a long moment, but it was hard to get comfortable, especially with Leon so heavily on your mind. As a last resort, you decide to text him.

“Hey babe, you free?” You type out the message and send it.

Surprisingly, he responds within a minute.

“Yeah. Just got back to the motel a bit ago.”

You bit your lip. Now, you had it confirmed that he was free. Your eyebrows furrowed as you thought hard for a moment; you wanted to send him a nude. Mostly in hopes he'd send one back, which surely he would.

You got up off the bed and rose to your feet.

You stripped off all your clothes.

You held your phone upwards as you began to pose in front of the mirror of your vanity. The mirror was large, and the bulbs that ran up along the sides casted a bright glow that accentuated your body. You rested your hand upon your hip as you then took a few pictures with the back camera.

You scanned over each taken photo to decide on your favorite. Underneath, you added a text: “Miss you.”

You were a tad nervous to send it; after attaching it to the conversation, your finger hovered over the send button for seconds. You swallowed, pushed your finger down on the button, and then tossed your phone down on the bed.

You sat back down a bit fidgety as you waited for a notification.

Minutes passed, but nothing. Curiously, you picked back up your phone, unlocked the screen, and checked. Just a simple “read” underneath your sent attachment.

Then, he reacted. From Leon, your picture had received a “❤️” reaction.

You still waited for the big moment—to see if he was going to send anything back.

And just another minute later, he did. Your phone dinged with a sent attachment from him: a picture of your husband, Leon, standing in front of the bathroom mirror—no clothes. His cock was thick with veins that ran up along it. It was halfway hardened too. Your pulse quickened at the sight, and created a heavier sensation within your groin.

He said: “Miss you too, sweetheart.”

With the picture up on the screen you held in your hand, it made you wish to touch yourself. However, apparently Leon had the same idea.

Just another moment later, he sent you a video. The video was of him jerking himself off; his large hand was wrapped around his dick—stroking it. He softly groaned within the minute-long clip. The camera was still angled towards the bathroom mirror.

That did it. You sat up on the bed and rested your head against the propped up pillows. You held out the phone to where your body was visible and your face was just slightly out of frame. You hit record as your right hand slowly traveled downwards; firstly dragging down your bare chest and then abdomen.

With your phone filming, you began to touch yourself. You were already aroused—it began just from your X-rated thoughts earlier… and then the attachments Leon had sent really done it.

Though unlike Leon, you weren't stopping after a minute. You kept on touching yourself for the camera to see. You did for several minutes with soft moans until you orgasmed on screen.

Your breath became heavy as you came down from the high, and you stopped the recording. Then, you sent it to Leon.

He again reacted the same to the attached video. You waited to see if he'd send something else—biting your lip as the patience was difficult to maintain.

After a few minutes, there was a new notification; an attachment from Leon. You quickly clicked on it and felt a gentle, warm blush arise to your face at what you saw.

What he had sent was another video of him masturbating—a longer video too, and by minutes.

You listened intently when he moaned softly through his gritted teeth, and even noticed whenever his abdominal muscles would flex throughout.

He'd whisper soft things too—praises about you, your body, and specifically the attachments you had sent him.

After a few minutes into the video, he recorded his own orgasm too. Ropes of cum spit out from the tip of his hardened dick. His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes clenched shut as it happened. His hips jittered as well. Then, the clip ended.

The entire video flustered you further and made you feel all tingly. Your heart raced as you felt your groin stirring and fluttering once more.

You texted him: “I love you, babe. That was so amazing. You're so handsome.”

He responded: “Thank you, gorgeous. I love you too, and I miss you so much. I can't wait to be home.”

You stared at the conversation open on your phone screen. You really did miss him—and of course couldn't wait for what would go down when he returned home. It wouldn't be for another few days, but with the videos you now had access to, you'd be alright.