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Plot: You text Harry that you were left unsatisfied last night and he makes damn sure that doesn't happen again.
The flat was too quiet without him. It always was.
Harry had only been home for one night before jetting off again, the weight of his suitcase wheels rolling out the front door still echoing in my chest. I hated that part the sudden hollow left in our bed, the pillow beside mine cooling far too quickly. But last night had been… distracting. He’d made sure of that.
Still, as I curled on the sofa in one of his hoodies, phone in hand, a wicked thought crept into my mind. He’d been smug when he left this morning, kissing me until I laughed and swatting my bum as he called over his shoulder, “Behave while I’m gone, Mrs Styles.”
Behave.
As if I’d ever.
My thumbs moved over the screen before I had time to reconsider.
Me: Just letting you know I’m not satisfied with last night’s service. I didn’t finish.
It only took a minute before his reply lit up my phone.
Harry: Excuse me?
I grinned, tucking my legs up under me.
Me: Yeah… can I speak to the customer complaints department please?
There was a pause. Long enough that I could imagine him somewhere in a lounge, curls tied back, jaw tight, thumb hovering over his phone.
Harry: Baby, we both know you finished. Twice.
I bit back a laugh.
Me: Mmm… are you sure? Because I seem to recall otherwise.
His reply came fast.
Harry: You’re playing the wrong game with me today, baby.
A shiver ran down my spine, delicious and sharp.
Me: I like games.
Three little dots blinked, disappeared, blinked again. When his message finally came through, my breath caught.
Harry: You won’t like the consequences. You’ll be begging me to stop before I’m finished with you.
Heat bloomed low in my stomach. My fingers trembled slightly as I typed back.
Me: So dramatic. All I asked for was a customer service number.
Harry: Cheeky little thing. I should put you over my knee for that.
I pulled his hoodie tighter around me, laughing softly at the screen while my body reacted in ways I couldn’t ignore.
Me: You’re all talk. You’re not even here.
The reply nearly made me drop the phone.
Harry: I’ll fly home tomorrow morning. You’ll regret sending these texts, baby.
My heart slammed against my ribs. He wouldn’t. Would he?
Me: You wouldn’t dare. You’ve got meetings.
Harry: Meetings can wait. Can’t have my wife unsatisfied.
The rest of the day dragged, my imagination running wild with what tomorrow might bring. When his car finally pulled up outside mid-morning, I swear I forgot how to breathe.
The moment Harry stepped through the door, suitcase abandoned by the entry, I knew I’d made a mistake.
His eyes were dark, fixed on me like prey, and his voice was low, dangerous.
“Y’know, Mrs Styles,” he drawled, shrugging off his coat, “when you play games, you ought to know the rules. And the rules are simple don’t start what you can’t finish.”
I swallowed hard, trying for innocence. “It was just a joke.”
He smirked, slow and sharp. “Was it? Because all I heard was ‘I didn’t finish’. And baby, I take customer complaints very seriously.”
He stalked towards me, each step deliberate. My back hit the wall, his body pressing into mine, one hand braced beside my head.
“You’ve got a smart mouth,” he murmured, tilting my chin up with his free hand. “Let’s see if I can put it to better use.”
My pulse thundered as he kissed me, not sweet but consuming, teeth grazing, tongue demanding. His hand slipped to my throat, not squeezing, just holding reminding me who was in control.
When he pulled back, his lips were swollen, eyes burning into me.
“On your knees,” he said softly.
My body moved before my mind caught up, sinking to the floor, my breath uneven. He watched with satisfaction, thumb brushing my cheek as he pushed a curl behind his ear.
“That’s better,” he whispered. “Now, let’s see how sorry you really are.”
I reached for him, fingers working at his belt, and the sound he made a low groan from deep in his chest sent heat rushing through me. I took my time, deliberately slow, knowing it would wind him tighter.
“Careful,” he warned, voice rough. “Push me too far, and you’ll regret it.”
I looked up through my lashes, feigning innocence. “What if that’s what I want?”
His jaw flexed. “Then don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The next moments blurred into heat and taste and sound. His hand tangled in my hair, guiding me, his breath uneven as he muttered curses under his breath. The praise that slipped through (“good girl,” “just like that”) was enough to unravel me.
When he pulled me back suddenly, I gasped, lips swollen, chest heaving. He cupped my face, tilting it up so I had no choice but to meet his gaze.
“You think you’re done?” he asked, voice low. “We’re only getting started.”
He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me towards the bedroom. My body clung to him instinctively, my laughter breaking through nerves.
“Harry”
“Shh,” he said, kissing me fiercely as he laid me on the bed. “Remember what I said in those texts? That you’d be begging?”
His fingers traced down my side, skimming under the hem of my shirt, teasing.
“I meant it.”
The anticipation was unbearable, every touch calculated to torment me kisses trailing my neck, teeth grazing my collarbone, hands mapping every inch of skin with a maddening patience. By the time his mouth moved lower, I was trembling, clutching at the sheets.
He held my thighs apart firmly, eyes flicking up to meet mine before leaning down, and I nearly cried from the relief of his mouth on me. Every flick of his tongue, every hum of satisfaction, had me spiralling higher, his grip unrelenting when I tried to wriggle.
“Stay still,” he ordered, voice muffled against me. “You asked for this, baby. You don’t get to run from it now.”
My protests dissolved into gasps and moans, the tension inside me winding tighter and tighter until I shattered, crying out his name.
When he finally pulled back, lips glistening, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smirked.
“Customer complaint resolved?” he asked.
I could barely form words, breathless and flushed. “You’re insufferable.”
He leaned down, kissing me deeply, letting me taste myself on his lips.
“Not yet,” he murmured against my mouth. “We’re nowhere near finished.”
And with that, the rest of the day blurred into heat, laughter, whispered threats and promises, until every complaint I’d teased him with was long forgotten replaced by the knowledge that when Harry said I’d regret playing with him, he hadn’t been joking.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
