It took a while for Y/n to get comfortable with the idea that she was no longer under the thumb of her father, William, and was now the Boss’s girl. She was treated with respect everywhere she went, was pampered, cared for, and doted upon by Harry.

But as the months turned into a year, she began to understand how awful her life had been before Harry. Her father kept a close watch on her. Told her not to eat too much, to wear certain clothes, to become acquainted with important topics but to act as if she didn’t understand, and worst of all was the way he enjoyed showing her off to his associates. She hated William.

“What are you thinking about,” Harry pulled her into his lap one morning as he sat at the kitchen table and drank his tea.

“I was just… it’s stupid. It’s in the past.”

“It’s not stupid. Don’t say that. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

She put her hands up to the lapel of his suit and sighed before beginning, “Thinking about William. How much I hate him. For everything he did to me. And now he’s bragging about how his daughter is the Boss’s girl… as if he had anything to do with it.”

Harry hummed and had his palm spread out over her thigh, the silk material of her nighty smooth under his hand, “Is he now? I think it’s time for me to give him a lesson once and for all. But only if you want me to. I don’t want to do anything that will have you upset.”

“What will you do?”

“Hmm…” Harry pursed his lips to the side for a moment, “What would you like? Demotion? Public reprimand?”

Shaking her head she kept her eyes on her lover, “Something worse.”

Nodding his head he spoke again, “Have someone break his arms? Cut him off from the family?”

“Maybe that. Cutting him off. I think that would be the worst for him. And I wouldn’t need to see him again.”

“Your wish is my command, my love.”

♤♤♤♤

Harry didn’t like to spend time away from his girl. Before she came along he’d take trips for work and never think a second thought about being away from some chick he might have been seeing. But with Y/n, she was his everything. So he started having her come with him if the trip wasn’t going to be too dangerous. Even if it was only for one night. He didn’t like not having her in his bed at the end of a long day.

And now he was currently away for work and had brought Y/n along with him. They traveled with his underboss, Brad, to visit an associate to come to some kind of agreement. Y/n wasn’t sure of the details, she just knew she’d be staying at the large mansion during the day with security outside while Harry, his underboss, and the associate were meeting somewhere unknown.

Harry was generally a busy man. He came home late sometimes but he always came home and he always called her when he was on his way back to her.

It was nearly 9 pm and she was freshly bathed and wrapped in a thick robe as she watched TV from the bed. Her phone rang with the tone she set for Harry and she leaned over to pluck it up, “Hi,” she smiled widely.

“Hi, baby. I’m on my way back, okay? How was your day?”

“Oh it was good,” she plopped back down into the pile of pillows behind her and sighed, “George’s chef made me a really big brunch and I swam in the pool for a while.”

“Good girl. Sounds nice. Can’t wait to see you, baby.”

Harry was the most attentive and loving man she’d ever met. There wasn’t a day that had gone by since he took her away from William, that she didn’t feel his love for her. And she loved returning that love to him just the same.

When he finally returned to George’s mansion and entered their bedroom, half expecting her to be at the front door when he pulled up, he understood why. She was lying on the bed, naked, her legs open and facing the door (on purpose he supposed). He swiftly closed the door behind him as she grinned at him, “Hi, Harry.”

Harry slid his jacket off and draped it at the foot of the bed and climbed in between her legs, hooking the underside of her knees over his shoulders, “Hi, baby,” he spoke in a whisper before he kissed the inside of her thighs and then got to work right away.

He’d woken her up much in the same way, lapping at her slowly until she was shaking and gasping as quietly as possible, not wanting to let anyone else hear what they were doing.

And just like the morning, she was quickly brought to her end with her palm covering her mouth and her other hand grasping the blankets below.

When he let go of her legs and her body melted into the bed below she lulled her head to the side to watch Harry as he pulled his pants and his briefs off and climbed over her frame. She realized what he was doing immediately so she opened her mouth wide for him, sticking her tongue out before he stuffed his cock into her mouth and pressed down into her throat, her soft lips wrapped around him and she coughed around his tip.

Harry grasped the back of her head up from the pillow underneath and rolled his hips down into her. He’d gotten her used to taking him like this. She was always eager to please him, though, so it didn’t take much work. Soon, she was a natural at opening up her throat and letting him fuck her mouth until she was drooling and gagging happily.

“Baby, fuck… Needed this all day.”

And he really had needed it. He left her in the morning without having had anything in return because he didn’t have time. She was always his priority. He always made sure she got off first, even if that meant he didn’t have time to also get off.

But now they had time. They could sleep in the next day and he could fuck her brains out, almost literally in that moment, with his cock filling her mouth and inching its way into her throat.

When she signaled she needed a breath he pulled out and brushed the hair from her face. She gasped and drew breaths into her lungs for a moment before opening her mouth up and lifting her head to find his cock again.

“Hold on, love… needy girl,” he chuckled as he moved off of her. He was ready to make love to her, feel her warm pussy, and make her come once more with him. Fill her with his come.

He preferred coming inside of her pussy lately. Harry wanted to get his girl pregnant. Wanted to knock her up and really have a claim on her. She was already his, but he dreamed of having her carrying his babies. A good handful of them. And when he brought it up to her a few months ago, she agreed she’d like that too. She wanted to give him as many babies as he wanted.

Harry laid on his back and pulled Y/n over him, “Want to see you fucking yourself on my cock and coming again.”

She loved doing this. When Harry would lie flat on the bed and she’d climb over him, his big cock reaching deep and spreading her apart, her knees down as she leaned back and put her hands over his thighs, sliding over him, giving him a good view of the way she liked to fuck herself on him. Then he’d thumb at her clit and she’d tip over the edge.

She positioned herself over him and lowered onto his dick, her hands on his pecs at first. Harry put his hands behind his head as he watched Y/n work herself down over him. Small, muted moans fell from her lips and Harry groaned at the way she felt around him.

When she’d taken him in and she was seated over him she hissed at how deep he was. It always ached so nicely, “Your tip is pushing into my womb. I can feel it. You’re going to get me pregnant, Harry,” she spoke as she leaned back, putting her palms over his well-muscled thighs and began rolling her hips, her labia parting and spread as his wide cock was stuffed into her.

Harry’s mouth dropped open at the sight and her words. She was filthy sometimes without even trying, “Fuck. You want my come deep inside your womb?” He spoke through gritted teeth, the way she was moving over him felt too good, “Gonna milk my cock of everything I have and get yourself pregnant, baby? Let’s see it. Let me see how you fuck my cock and make me come inside of you, greedy girl.”

She nodded and whined as she continued her work, slipping up and down his long prick, her arousal making a mess of him. Soon, she planted her feet flat onto the bed and began to really move over him, lifting upward and coming down with a wet smack each time.

Harry was panting and grunting, gently shifting his own hips upward out of instinct. He couldn’t help but to respond to her creamy pussy as she squeezed and moved over him.

“Oh god… Harry, please!” She gasped louder than she wanted. Her little plea was something he’d gotten used to during their year together. It meant she wanted to come but needed help.

So Harry swiftly moved his hands from behind his head and sat upward enough that he could reach to rub her clit and give it the kind of pressure she required.

“That’s it, baby. Take what you need. Use my cock, baby.” Harry’s words were tight and breathy as he spoke in between pants.

“I want your come so bad. Want to make you a daddy.”

Harry nearly burst at that moment but he groaned and closed his eyes as he sped up his fingers at her clit. She was nearly there. Just a few more minutes.

When her thighs began to shake and her moans grew louder and her words were incoherent curses and babbles of nonsense he knew she was feeling or orgasm bubble up and begin to spread.

Yes, fuck, yes! Come on baby,” he moaned as he watched her face contort as her jaw dropped and she threw her head back suddenly, a loud call of his name followed by unhindered moans as she came. Her pussy pulsed around him as she got herself off with his cock. Harry groaned and released into her, bucking his hips up to push himself into the hilt and to get as close to her deepest spots inside as possible making her tits softly bounce.

“Fuck, baby!” He growled lowly as his come filled her up, his throbbing dick being squeezed and fucked as he came.

When Harry opened his eyes she was lying over his chest, small puffs of breath coming out as she recovered. Harry rubbed his palms over her back and kissed her forehead, “Love you, sweet girl.”

♤♤♤♤

Now, one of the reasons for Harry going to his associate's home 8 hours away from where they lived was to also discuss the fate of William. Harry had told Y/n he could just cut him off. And he could. That decision was Harry’s. But cutting someone off and ex-communicating them from the family was more difficult than just killing them. There were a few reasons for that but in the end, Harry wanted to make his girl happy. So he needed some advice from his associate who happened to be well acquainted with William from work dealings.

Breakfast was served the in mansion’s large dining room with tall windows and gaudy curtains hung. Everyone was at the table. Harry and his girl, his underboss Brad, the associate George, and his wife Blanca.

And Y/n didn’t know the details of what was going on. Nor did she know the status of her father. Harry kept her in the dark from most of their dealings on purpose. So when she heard her father’s name mentioned her ears perked up and she looked at Harry, who she was sitting on at that moment. He insisted she sit in his lap, which was not out of the ordinary. Most of Harry’s work partners and friends had gotten used to seeing the girl in his lap almost all the time.

“So he’s been a problem lately?” George spoke.

“He’s been a problem for a long time. We’d like to have him cut off from the family but we don’t know if he’s involved in anything else. And since you work with him regularly I thought I’d see if you had heard of anything else he might have his hands in. Money owed, things like that.”

Brad spoke next, “I told the boss we should just make him go away for good but the girl here is William’s daughter.”

George nodded, “I see. That makes this a difficult thing to say then, because I don’t see any way to cut him off with how many people would be after him. If you push him out and send him away without the protection of the family, he’ll be killed either way. But not before probably spilling details about your organization. And mine. He’ll be tortured and he’ll talk. It could compromise a lot of our operations.”

Y/n stayed quiet as she listened to the men talk about her father. She hadn’t realized this was a possibility. That William would need to be killed. It was one thing to have him cut off and she’d never hear from or see him again. But to know that he might be killed? Dead?

“Yes. That is my concern. I’d like a list of all of the relationships and affairs he’s got going on with your organization and then we’ll put something together on our end and make a decision about this,” he squeezed Y/n’s hip to let her know he was still keeping her wishes in mind.

On the road back home, Y/n finally voiced her concern about her father, “So we can’t cut him off or send him away, because that risks everything. But if he stays on in the organization… is there any other option?”

Harry wound their fingers together and pulled her hand up to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, “You mean other than killing him? Sure. But I don’t think you’ll like any of the other options.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, he could just continue working and making money for us. I could keep him away from you but he will be around. Another thing that could work would be to frame him and send him to prison for good. He’d be protected in prison but you’d never have to see him again.”

“But won’t he talk to the police? Tell them he’d been set up?”

“Not if I make it look like a sacrifice of honor. Tell him I’ll raise his title and thus his respect in the organization. He won’t roll on us if he knows he’ll be doing it for the family and that he’ll be earning the respect of everyone.”

“But what would you frame him for? What would put him away in prison forever?”

“Murder.”

♤♤♤♤

Y/n understood that sometimes things in the organization could be violent. People died, went to jail, wound up in hospitals… But to think about her father being framed for a murder he didn’t commit? Could she come to terms with that? Who would have to die? Who would kill the person? She asked all these questions but, as usual, Harry told her not to worry.

But she was worried. And not just about William. She’d gotten news of something else that morning that shocked her. It shouldn’t have but it did. Unfortunately, the lingering questions she had about her father overshadowed everything else that was on her mind.

She hated William. That was true. But she didn’t want him dead. She also didn’t want Harry to get into trouble for anything. And when it came down to it, when she thought about all the outcomes, the worst were always the ones that had Harry in prison and away from her or dead. She actually preferred her dad dead than to have Harry go to prison.

Even though it had been weeks since Harry had met with George, she still hadn’t gotten word about what was going to become of William and she felt anxious. She hated not knowing. She trusted Harry but she needed to know what the plan was. She wanted Harry to tell her everything. It was for a reason that he kept her in the dark about things, but this was personal for her. This specific thing was about her father.

When Harry came home that evening their routine looked much like it normally did. Y/n climbed into his lap and kissed him and he held her and decompressed for a bit before he was ready to finally eat. She heated his food and poured him a glass of wine and they sat together at the dining table and she told him about her day.

But underneath what felt very normal to Harry, Y/n was getting up the nerve to insist he tell her the plan regarding William.

When she put his plate into the dishwasher and refilled her own glass of wine she joined him on the couch and curled into his side and sighed.

Looking up at him she realized there was nothing to worry about. Harry had never been mean to her or made her feel bad for asking questions. He’d either tell her or he wouldn’t. She only hoped she was able to argue her point and make him understand that this was something she deserved to know.

“What’s going on with William? Have you decided anything?”

Harry continued softly rubbing his hand over her hip and her side as he spoke, “I don’t want you to worry about it, love. Okay? Everything is going to be taken care of.”

She knew he’d answer that way. But she was prepared.

“I trust you, Harry. I really do. But this is my father. And this is personal to me. And you tell me not to worry but I do and I can’t help but to worry.”

Harry turned to look at his girl and nodded in thought. He knew it was personal to her. And normally when he told her not to worry about something she’d drop it. But the fact that she was doubling down on this made him pause. He still didn’t want her to know. He wanted to protect her from the awful truth.

“My sweet girl. I know this is personal. But what good will it do for you to know how we’ll go about this? You know our options here and none of them are very nice. I don’t want you to be upset thinking about it and dwelling on it.”

Y/n turned herself to face Harry squarely, “I’m already dwelling on it. I need to know. I deserve to know. I wouldn’t ask you and insist on something that doesn’t somehow involve me. But this does. I need to know.”

Harry smiled and took a deep breath, bringing his hands up to her face, and gently drew her in for a small kiss before he sat back into the couch and cleared his throat, “One of George’s men was involved in something that got him brutally killed. Right now we’ve made it look like William was the murderer. It’s only a matter of time before the police investigate him and find him guilty. And as you may know, your father has been arrested for battery and assault multiple times in the past and so a murder charge wouldn’t surprise anyone looking to find the perpetrator. He will go to prison for a very long time because the murder was quite savage. If the police think William did that, they won’t want him released.”

Y/n nodded and bit her lip before speaking up, “And like you said at George’s, he’ll think he’s doing a favor to the family? He won’t talk?”

“Exactly. We’ll make sure of it. We’ll supply him with plenty of my money on his account for commissary, and bartering. And he’ll have a nice cell by himself. He’ll be treated well but we’ll never have to worry about him again.”

She let out a breath of relief. It was ideal if it worked, “And you’re sure this will work out?”

Harry let out a small laugh and pulled at her, bringing her to his lap, his favorite way of sitting with her, “Baby, it’ll work. If you don’t think we have a cop on our payroll to make sure of it then you must not realize the kind of power I have.”

Y/n smiled and put her arms over his shoulders, “I know how powerful you are. And I am so happy I’m here with you,” she brought her arms down and took Harry’s hands in hers, moving his palms to cover her low tummy, “So happy for everything that’s to come.”

Harry stitched his brows together as he took in her words and her gesture, looking from where she placed his hands to her face, “Are you… is this?”

She nodded quickly, “We’re gonna have a baby.”

He was stunned into silence. He hadn’t expected it. Sure they’d been a little loose with him coming in her during her fertile days, and he knew they were both in their prime and fully fertile so it shouldn’t have been such a surprise. This was what they had wanted.

“You… when did you find out?” Harry cupped her tummy with more intention now, his eyes wide.

“This morning.”

He let out a small breath and grinned from ear to ear, his dimples carving into his cheeks, and pushed Y/n off of his lap and down to the couch as he lifted her dress upward so he could look at her tummy, placing small kisses all around her skin and over her belly button. Y/n squeaked in laughter at the way his curls brushed her soft flesh as he drew his lips over her tummy slowly. She put her hands into his hair and sighed, “I love you, Harry.”

Harry nodded and continued dragging his mouth downward until he lowered her panties and looked up at her from between her legs, “I love you too, baby. Now let’s celebrate.”

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Harry Styles was a striking man. He was tall, impeccably dressed, and obscenely attractive. His skin was perfectly tan and when it got warm in the office you could see  beautiful tattoos revealed by his rolled up sleeves. Those sleeves were worth more than your life and his head-to-toe Gucci ensembles usually showed his wealth off well. He looked like he should be on the front of a magazine, not behind a desk. Well, he was on the cover of Forbes that one time. While he was so nice to look at, the man was anything but nice. He had an abrasive attitude and not much care for pleasantries or mincing words.

Today, you found yourself on the opposite end of his brutal disposition. You had brought a campaign proposal to him for a newly acquired client and he began to rip it to shreds.

“I don’t know why you thought this campaign was a good idea, Y/N,” he told you sternly. “It’s childish, silly, and unprofessional.” Every word he said dug into you. You tried to attribute his harshness to it being Monday, but you knew he would say this to you any day of the week.

“The client said they wanted something more playful to soften their image,” you defended yourself. “I was doing what they asked for.”

“Well, you did a terrible job at it.”

That stung. You had dedicated your life for weeks to this proposal and had expected him to love it. You hoped this was finally the proposal that would secure your position in his good graces. Apparently, not.

“Okay. I’ll restart the project with a different angle.” You moved forward to grab the binder off the conference room table and flee the room back to the safety of your office. You were shocked when he put his own hands on the binder and slid it away from you.

“You’re off the account. I’ll have someone else do a better job,” he spat. Now, that really hurt. Your ego was closely related to your career and you knew you deserved better than this. You did everything you could to hold back your tears, but one betrayed you and fell down your cheek. You believed you saw his hard exterior soften for a split second before his ruthless demeanor returned.

“Fine,” you breathed, never breaking eye contact with the cruel man. “I’ll leave you now, your highness.” The words left your lips before you could fully register them in your own head. You turned on your heel and rushed back to your office, thinking about the insubordination complaint coming your way.

“Did I just get myself fired?” you asked yourself softly when you were finally in the safety of your own office.

The rest of your week passed in a blur. By Friday, you had accepted your fate and decided to get every passive aggressive dig at your boss you could before you carried your things out in a cardboard box. When you saw him around the office, you made sure to make direct eye contact and shoot daggers his way and you responded to his emails with one word answers. You were also producing the best work you had in years. Turns out, spite was a fantastic motivator for you. If he was going to fire you, he would feel bad about it.

As usual, you spent your Friday night typing away in your office. You were a workaholic and had no problem with staying at work late. Unfortunately, so was your new nemesis.

You caught your first glimpse of him after-hours on a trip to the copier. Your next was on your trek to the coffee pot. Later, on a walk around the office to stretch your legs. Each time you saw him, he was in the same spot. He sat at the conference table surrounded by spreadsheets and graphics and stared perplexed at the piles of paper encompassing him. You knew you could go in and ask him if he needed help, but you wanted to watch him suffer. According to him, you would just do a terrible job anyway.

It was about 7 o’clock when you heard a firm knock on your office door. You expected it to be the cleaning crew asking to vacuum your office. With a ‘come in’ your door opened and your boss’ large body leaned up against the door frame, careful not to enter the office he knew he wasn’t welcome in. While you were shocked he was coming to talk to you, you stayed quiet. If he wanted to talk to you, he would have to break the silence. After a few awkward moments, he did.

“Um, I was thinking about ordering dinner if you wanted to join me.” This was by far the nicest thing he had ever said to you other than ‘you’re hired.’

“Well, what are you getting?”

“I’ll buy you whatever you want for dinner if you take a look at the investor relations portfolio I’m working on.” You were taken aback. He was asking for your help. He needs me, you thought as you smirked to yourself.

“Make it the Italian place down the street and we have a deal,” you countered. You didn’t want to spend anytime with him at all but you were taking this as a sign that  1) he wasn’t firing you, and 2) he thought you did good work. Also, their spaghetti bolognese was calling your name.

Soon you were both knee deep in documents and investor information packets. You absolutely could not believe it but the two of you were collaborating well and making real progress on the portfolio. This was the working relationship you always wanted to have with your big shot boss; the opposite of his constant criticism and belittling of your work.

When the food arrived, you both decided to take a break and eat like an entire company’s stock shares weren’t resting on your shoulders. While your conversation stayed surrounding work, it inevitably steered towards the account he had taken away from you.

“So, how’s my campaign doing?” you asked. You knew it was a risky question but you two had been getting along and you decided you needed an update on the account that had become your baby.

“I gave it to Marcus and-”

“Marcus? Really?” You interrupted  him. “Marcus is a shithead.” Your baby deserved better than Marcus.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he said in a joking manner, with a small smile. The smile was just big enough for you to notice that he had dimples. He had never smiled in front of you before. “He’s doing a horrendous job and I was going to give it back to you on Monday.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the second chance,” you confessed. “Can you level with me for a minute?” you asked after a moment of silence. “Why did you rip into me like that? You could have just told me that it wasn’t right for me and taken it away.”

You watched him think for a moment. He scratched at his five o’clock shadow (that was more like a 9 o’clock shadow now) and you could tell he was searching for the right words.

“Because it got you fired up, but I could tell I hurt your feelings and I apologize.” You never expected an apology for the way he acted and you no longer regretted showing him your emotions. He had hurt you and he should feel bad for it. “I thought you were getting complacent in your ideas and you’ve been killing it since Monday.”

“Thank you for the apology. Here I am thinking you did it just to be a dick.”

“Is that what people in the office really think of me?” He looked genuinely hurt and you felt slightly guilty for being the bearer of bad news. But you hoped if he saw it from his fearful employees’ perspective he would lighten up a little.

“Do you want me to be honest?” He nodded his head. “You act like you have a stick so far up your ass it’s touching your brain and that you’re better than everyone else because your suit costs more than my rent.” If he never minced his words, why should you?

“Oh Y/N, tell me what you really think,” he said after a pause with a light chuckle. You were surprised by his reaction. You never expected him to take something like that so well.

“Listen,” you began again. “I understand and respect your toughness on us. But there is a line between criticism and just being mean.” You decided this was a time to call him on his shit, during this very very rare moment of comradery between you. You wanted to have a healthy relationship with him, maybe even a friendship.

“I understand that I can get a bit harsh. It’s just the whole ‘is it better to be loved or feared’ thing. I’ve always thought fear would be the safer option.” You felt like you were getting to pull back the layers of his hard shell and see the human being underneath for a brief period of time.

“But if you were truly loved, no one would ever betray you,” you whispered softly, always the romantic.

“Love has never been reliable, has it?” Your heart broke for him and you realized someone doesn’t become as hardened as he is overnight. Something did this to him.

“What about love being the most powerful force on earth?” you wiggled your eyebrows at him, referring to the slogan for an engagement ring campaign you were both working on.

“Well, when your wife tries to steal the company that you built together and run away to Spain with her personal trainer, love gets a little bit more complicated.” There it is, you thought to yourself. This was the first time he ever felt like a real person to you; not like a teflon shell of anger, wealth, and ambition. His features looked softer and he seemed less like your evil boss, and more like someone dealing with a painful trauma.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” you said softly, genuinely meaning it. “Oh shit, sorry. Mr. Styles,” you corrected yourself. He laughed at your mistake and you watched his dimples reach their full potential. He looked down at the table, obviously a little uncomfortable with his rare moment of vulnerability with the woman who was probably the biggest pain in his ass in the office. Before you knew it, you had decided to share your own uncomfortable vulnerability.

“My ex put me in the hospital while I was still living in New York,” you began, watching his eyes immediately jump to yours and listen intently.

“Oh Y/N, you don’t have to talk about this… I didn’t mean-,” he tried to stop you but you figured if he shared with you, you could share with him.

“No, it’s okay. It’s been a long time,” you reassured him, shaking your head softly. “We were fighting because I found out he had been cheating on me. I had packed a bag and was trying to leave when he pushed me down the stairs of our apartment building. I broke my arm in two places and I had to have a few surgeries.” You rolled up the sleeve of your blouse and showed him the scar that ran down your forearm. You scanned his face and it looked like he genuinely cared about you for a moment. You brushed it off. “After that, I decided I needed to leave New York.”

“Why London?” he said gently.

“I was obsessed with this English boy band when I was growing up,” you laughed. “I guess I romanticised London in my head and decided it might be a good place for a fresh start.”

“While I’m incredibly sorry you had to go through all of that to get to London, I’m very glad that you found your way to me,” he spoke tenderly. His face was serious, but not the seriousness you were used to while getting scolded about your work. It was gentle and like he meant every word he said. You were happy you found your way to this version of him too.

“To the firm, I mean,” he corrected himself and you felt a weird pang of sadness inside of you. You are just his employee, remember that, you thought to yourself.

“I’m happy I found the firm too. If only I could figure out how to deal with my hellish boss?” you asked sarcastically, rolling your eyes dramatically and laughing at him. You realized that this could definitely be taken as flirting, but you decided were okay with that.

“Maybe they’re just trying to push you because you are by far the best campaign director they have,” he said nonchalantly, leaning back in his seat and watching your every movement. You felt your cheeks heat and the rush of adrenaline from finally getting his validation. This was all you ever wanted from him.

“Oh, I know,” you smirked, leaning back in your own chair and studying him as well.

He really was gorgeous. His quaffed hair had fallen over the course of the day and a few stray pieces hung on his forehead. His black dress shirt fit him so well. You were fully able to appreciate the tailored fit after he had shrugged off his blazer and removed his tie, unbuttoning the top few buttons to reveal glimpses of two swallows that sat on his collarbones. A chain that you had never gotten to see hung around his neck, a cross and the Star of David resting on his chest.

“We should get back to work,” he murmured after a few extended moments of staring at each other.

“Probably.”

You two worked for another hour or so before you let out a small yawn and Harry insisted you both call it a night. Although you protested and told him you were fine, he was firm in his demand that you go home and rest. As you packed up your things in your office, he hovered in the room and watched your every move. Conversation was relaxed and casual, not stained with the malice you usually had towards each other.

He took your briefcase from your hands, offering to help as you struggled to carry a poster and a few proposal binders, and carried it as you walked in step with each other out of the office. When you reached the front doors and went to go your separate ways, you were met with a puzzled look on his face.

“Where are you going? The parking garage is this way?”

“Oh, I don’t have a car. I take the tube wherever I have to go.”

“Let me drive you home,” he offered. When you denied his proposal, you were met with a stern, “Let me drive you home or you’re fired.”

Although you fought him the entire walk to his car, asserting that you were fine to take the train, you climbed into his beautiful jet black sports car with a huff and a pout. He had a triumphant smirk on his face that you were tempted to slap off, but decided to take this as a sign from the universe that you just weren’t meant to get blisters from your heels walking home tonight. You watched as his long fingers gripped the steering wheel skillfully and you both sat peacefully, the silence between you only interrupted when you gave him occasional directions to turn right or left. The soft sounds of a Fleetwood Mac song you couldn’t remember the name to flowed through the speakers and his mouth silently lip-synced the words. You admired him the whole drive home and you didn’t want to get out of the car when he pulled up to your building.

You both departed the car, walking around to the trunk where he had stashed your briefcase. Your casual conversations had long passed, both of you beginning to mourn the night you had together. You had enjoyed this night far more than you anticipated and you hoped this would be the first of many late nights at the office that he would join you for. You looked up at him when he handed you your briefcase and you both stood there in silence for just a few more fleeting seconds, neither of you wanting to be alone yet. You were first to break the noiseless night.

“Thank you for dinner and the ride home, Mr. Styles.”

“Please call me Harry,” he said with a subtle smile, stepping up on to the curb, closing much of the space between you.

“I can do that, Harry.” His first name felt foreign on your lips but it was a welcome change.

“Thank you for all your help tonight. I needed your fresh set of eyes on that portfolio.” This interaction felt so intimate; his words hushed and complimentary, intensified by his body’s proximity to yours.

“Whenever you need me,” you breathed, refusing to break the eye contact you were both desperately holding on to.

With one swift step he pressed your bodies and your lips together, backing you up until your body pressed against his car. You dropped your briefcase to the ground and your hands flew up to the base of his neck. He tasted like the lemon cookie he had ordered for dessert and you smelled his intoxicating cologne as you drank each other in. His hands snaked their way under your blazer and rested on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to him. His kiss was deep and demanding and you weren’t sure if you ever wanted it to end.

This morning you couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him and mere hours later you were ready to bring him up into your own. He was infuriating and rude and knew just how to push your buttons. But, he also seemed to be gentle, kind, and thoughtful when he wanted to be. Harry Styles was an enigma. You couldn’t wrap your head around him and it drew you to him even more.

Your bodies flowed in perfect sync with one another and your open-mouthed and hungry kisses were so hypnotizing you couldn’t think. Harry was the only person that existed to you anymore, tuning out the murmurs of a passersby, and anywhere your skin touched his was lit on fire.

Finally coming up for air, you breathlessly peeled your lips away from the other. You both refused to break your eye contact, your hands gripping tight to his biceps to steady your weak legs, and scanned each other’s faces.

“You have a little something,” he murmured, reaching to wipe your smudged red lipstick from your bottom lip with his thumb. You leaned into his touch and smiled up at him.

“So do you,” you panted, staring at his lips that were now stained red.

You both just stood there for a little while, soaking up the other’s company before you pulled away and things got more complicated. He was your boss after all, was this even allowed? Did he want to be something more than coworkers? If things ended poorly, would you still be able to work together? Would he be nicer to you now?

“It’s late. You should get some sleep,” he eventually broke the silence and your spiraling thoughts.

“I agree. You worked me real hard today,” you smirked at him, unable to pass up the innuendo. An amused grin spread across his lips and he took a step back from you, releasing you from his grip against the car. He gathered your things you had dropped on the ground during his assault and handed them back to you.

Harry leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek that lingered a little too long to be considered friendly. It made your cheeks burn.

“I’ll see you Monday, sweetheart” was the last thing he said to you before he climbed back into his car and drove off into the night.

///

Harry’s house was just as Y/N pictured it (not that she fantasized about his house often or anything), down to the baby cactus in the finger-painted ceramic flower pot, snuggled next to a framed picture of a messy-haired Harry in a light blue Hawaiian shirt, smirking at the camera while carrying a baby girl in his tattooed arms. 

“My goddaughter,” he explains as he shuts the front door behind her, Nike-socked feet padding across the dark wooden floor to where she is currently standing, smiling fondly at the image as she toes off her worn sneakers and draws her black windbreaker tighter over her Captain America t-shirt.

Harry looks so different outside of the office— so different from the intimidating man he has to portray in order to be taken seriously in his field. He’s clad in a pair of neon blue running shorts and a slightly oversized Greenbay Packers sweatshirt, his hair in messy, fluffy tuffs and just a tad bit damp at the ends, giving away that he’d gotten out of the shower not too long ago. He’s freshly shaven and smells of his signature cologne, mixed with the scent of musky aftershave and refreshing deodorant. He looks soft and cozy and cuddly, much to Y/N’s demise, and she wishes she could allow herself the luxury of running her hands through his curly locks and feel him give into her touch.

Sure, she’s seen him unwind before outside the office, but this closer glimpse at Harry’s life is so rare it feels so intimate to be allowed to see it. To see him completely unguarded, with his ungroomed curls, relaxed posture, and big hands tucked lazily into the front pocket of his jumper; he looks like any other regular twenty-four year old boy would. Nothing like a millionaire business-owner with the weight of the world sitting on his broad shoulders.   

“She’s two,” Harry continues, breaking Y/N from her train of thought, “and her name’s Ruby. Sweetest little girl you’ll ever meet. Loves to chew on fingers, though, so if you ever do meet her, you ought to keep those hidden.” 

She giggles softly as he smiles fondly at the snapshot, turning slowly to face her and jerking his head sideways in the direction of what she guesses is the kitchen. “Cake won’t eat itself. C’mon.”  

Harry gives Y/N a mini tour of his huge pent house in the few seconds it takes them to reach the elegant kitchen. He presents the living room as it is set beside the kitchen, and then points in the direction of where a corridor leads off, explaining that it descends to his room as well as the guest bedrooms. The color scheme of the home is centered towards dark colors, the theme being modern and posh. It can clearly be seen in the decor what with the plush, burgundy-colored sofas that look square and compact and ever so luxurious, arranged over a Persian rug of sorts that she can tell was probably woven by hand, the gold and bronze threads glimmering under the dim ceiling lights. 

The architecture of the home displays it as well, with its glass-based design and sleek dark brown and ashy grey accents washed across the walls, not to mention the creamy beige carpet that gives off to polished, red oak floors. At certain points, she even sees what appears to be bamboo built into the ceiling and across a few surfaces, tying the entire place together with an air of exotic beauty that is somehow still easily chic. 

The whole space is crisp, clean, and neat, the darkness created by the faint, warm lighting complimenting the deeper tones and shades all around the apartment. Funny enough, Y/N finds that the condo really reflects Harry as person— it’s reserved and quiet and peaceful, yet impecable and seemingly perfect down to the last window pane, with a bit of a haunting aura that just draws you in. 

It’s overwhelmingly refreshing, in a sense. 

Y/N is taking everything in when her eye catches on a certain piece of decor that she finds rather enticing. It appears to be a lamp of sorts, its lights made out of different sized rings that are stacked upon one another and spaced at intervals, the outer rims of the unusual bulbs painted midnight blue. It hangs from the ceiling, dangling a few inches off the floor at its full height. 

“Dope lamp.” She comments, and then mentally facepalms. How could she allow herself to sound so simple-minded and childish while in the presence of such expensive and high-class surroundings? She feels like she should curtesy to the fireplace as an apology. Harry, however, doesn’t seem to mind her wit. He actually loves the way Y/N is, with her modern lingo and her juvenile personality— it’s just like the first breath of spring. He is so used to being around older people and having to act incredibly mature and impeccably faultless that her easy-going, young persona is more than perfect to him. He gives the accessory a glimpse, smiling warmly and the gesture is directed more towards an unaware Y/N than the actual object. “Thanks. My sister designed it. Actually, she designed and furnished my entire apartment. She’s really into all that decor stuff and I can’t be bothered with it, so I just picked my place and let her take care of everything else. The only thing I had a say in was the art on the walls. Personally went and toured different exhibits and met tons of artists to make my collection ‘cause I feel it’s the one thing I can do no wrong with.” He gives a signifying glance at all the paintings that trail across the walls of his home, his lips quirking with the ghost of a proud smile and she thinks he looks pretty when his eyes twinkle like that. “Art is the one factor of decorating that clicks for me— it’s simple yet it has such an impact on the atmosphere. Every piece is unique, and they all come together to tell the story of the person who owns them. Y’know what I mean?” Y/N nods her head numbly, shocked into an awed silence by the depth and analysis of Harry’s comment. She barely knows anything about art, unless picking out paintings in the IKEA clearance section counts. And to hear him talk with such an open heart and honest mind about himself and his interests is admirably engrossing because, yes, he lets loose when they’re out of the office and around friends, but very solemnly had she seen him like this. She never knew that there was this much more there, under the guy who put chopsticks beneath his upper lip to look like a walrus and California Rolls up to his eyes to mimic the Sushi Serpent (otherwise known as a mythical creature he claims lives in the Himalayas with Big Foot and feeds only on white sticky rice). She never knew just how old of a soul he could be— in a good way, obviously. Y/N continues to trail behind him, their footsteps going from muffled thumps on the carpet to soft padding against the hard wood floor as they enter the kitchen area. She is just now noticing how long the wall of the living room is, fascinated by how it is made entirely out of glass, looking out across the city skyline where the lights of the busy streets and skyscrapers twinkle invitingly. “I’ve always loved the city.” Harry pipes up when he catches her staring, sighing wistfully as he walks around the marble kitchen island, lifting the glass dome off of the cake-serving dish, the tangy smell of coffee and buttercream frosting tinting the air. “Living close to London does that to you.” “Yeah, I bet,” Y/N mumbles quietly, gifting him a small smile as he spins the cake dish around dramatically, sweeping a hand grandly before the dessert to emphasize its greatness. “Are you ready to taste a coffee cake that could put Gordon Ramsey to shame?” He’s acquired a cake-cutter and is already serving her a slice onto a plate that aesthetically contrasts the marble counter’s pattern, sliding it across the expanse of the table and pointing out a cabinet behind her. “Silverware is right in there.”

Soon enough, they are both sitting on top of the cold tabletop, Y/N on the island and Harry across from her on the counter besides the stove, swaying his legs ever-so-slightly as he licks at the frosting on his fork. “...and so then I told Niall that there was no way he could possibly fit all eight garlic bread rolls in his mouth without, y’know, breaking his jaw, and since he’s a knobhead, he proceeded to try and prove me wrong.” Harry is telling a story about a party at a restaurant that he and Niall had attended for one of the company’s older board members, who had been turning 81, and both of them had been bored out of their minds during the whole thing. They’d entertained themselves during the toast by hiding behind everyone else and daring each other to shove as many garlic rolls in their mouths as they could. Niall had won a gruesomely disgusting victory full of lots of drool and gagging, but he got bragging rights and Harry agreed to pay for his dinner so all went well in the end. He has Y/N a laughing mess, telling about how he almost threw up in the process when it had been his turn to cram the bread in his mouth, saying that since that day, every time he smelled something “remotely garlicky,” his stomach would lurch in a ghost warning. “Yeah, it was horrible. I can’t even smell Alfredo anymore or I risk presenting some of my very own homemade pasta sauce.” Harry loves the way Y/N’s eyes crinkle when she laughs too hard and how she clutches her stomach lightly as if she were about to burst open, her bubbly giggles being extremely contagious. He comes to the conclusion that he could sit here forever and watch her smile, his gaze softening with fondness as she wipes tears from the inner corners of her eyes while scrunching her nose and pinching her nostrils. 

“When I laugh too hard, I tend to start sneezing.” She explains, sniffling lightly and sighing with content. “It’s an issue.” Harry scoffs softly in amusement, setting his palms against the dark-stoned counter and hopping off with ease. He sets his plate in the sink, coming back over to Y/N to pick her’s up as well.    “What is it?” She inquires with a playful tone as she notices he still has that entertained smirk across his dimpled cheeks. He shakes his head lightly, pursing his lips to try and rid of the endeared grin but he just can’t. He can never seem to shake anything when it comes to her. “S’nothing.” “Oh, hop off it!” Y/N huffs, reaching over and slowly shoving him with a loose fist. “C’mon, spill.” “It’s just...” He’s fiddling with the fork on her empty plate, turning and shifting it around, the light clinking of the metal against the porcelain filling the pause in his thought. “You’re just cute, s’all.” Y/N blinks once in surprise. This is the first time he’s made any sort of comment like this since the incident. “Oh...” Her voice is tight with a slight squeak at the end. “Uh, t-thanks...” Harry glances up at her from the frosted surface of the platter in his huge hands, jade irises glimmering below his thick lashes with a timid yet confident air. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.” Her toes instinctively curl inside her kitty-printed socks at the pet name, the way he says it making a dull throb swell at the pit of her tummy. His voice was low and almost predatory as he let the word slip past his lips, licking the corner of his mouth slyly as he turned slowly to head back towards the dishwasher. When their locked eyes finally break is when Y/N can breathe again. It’s like he had a warm fist wrapped securely around her throat, forcing the air to stay in her lungs and fill her entire body with an anxious jittering. He’s so magnetic and enthralling, it’s almost like he’s not human. Harry’s voice rips her from her mind. She snaps her wild gaze up at him as he chances a glance behind his shoulder, scrubbing the buttercream from a plate with a rainbow sponge. “Be careful coming off the counter, love. It’s higher up than y’think and socks are slippery.” Y/N’s eyes roll at him jokingly as he sets the dishes in a drying rack, toweling his hands with a Plates Against Humanity dish cloth. “I think I can handle myself.” It turns out that she actually can’t handle herself. The island top was indeed higher than she had anticipated. Y/N jumps off, palms pressed against the surface as reinforcement, her body falling between her elbows and she thought her feet would hit the floor by the time her hips leveled with the counter. But she was wrong and her body keeps falling— falling to the point where her armpits are what is level with the surface so that her arms bend out of proportion, causing a small yawp of shock to string her vocal chords as pain erupts along the tendons of her shoulders, feet eventually hitting the ground but sliding out from under her due to the tiled floor not being compatible with the socks she is wearing. Harry lunges forward, strong arms wrapping around Y/N’s waist and higher torso as her flimsy arms give out beneath her weight. If he hadn’t been there, she would’ve hit her head against the edge of the tabletop. He hikes Y/N up and props her against the island, where she leans backwards, catching her breath from the scare. Her legs feel like Jello, knees quaking as unharnessed adrenalin pumps heavy through her veins. Y/N’s chest heaves with shaky inhales, the feeling of her feet slipping out from under her haunting her conscious. One of her hands presses over her chest, heart threatening to break through her ribcage. Harry keeps his lean arms snaked around Y/N’s hips, he himself slightly winded do to the sudden call for action. He shoves his fringe off his forehead, giving her a smug side-grin and a jolt of his thick brows. “What was that you said about being able to handle yourself?” She releases a quivering, borderline hysterical laugh, still somewhat unhinged. “I miscalculated.” “It appears so,” he himself lets out a heap of chuckles as she tries to regain her footing, only to have her feet slip yet again. Y/N jerks her head up to meet his eyes as they glow with triumphant coyness, forming a witty remark in the back of her brain in the process. However, her comment is extinguished when her nose suddenly bumps with his as she lifts her gaze and she hadn’t realized how close Harry was until now. He is cradling her waist as her arms are slung loosely over his broad shoulders, palms flat against the muscles of his back as they flex under the soft cotton of his jumper, tight with the effort of holding her up. One of Y/N’s legs had perched between both of his when her feet had scrambled in the heat of the fall, knee being locked between both of his thick thighs and they feel so warm and soft under the sheer material of his mesh running shorts. Y/N had failed to notice how intimate this moment had grown in such a short amount of time. Harry’s canopy-green irises glitter at her with a certain familiar intensity from a while back. His tongue peeks out to absentmindedly lick across his suddenly dry lips and she can hear his breathing hitching in the back of his throat. His face drifts closer, the tip of his cold nose rubbing over her’s as his head cocks to the side a bit, eyes flickering back and forth between her owlish own and her mouth. His warm exhales wash across the young woman’s pulsing lips as he slowly pushes her further back against the counter, the lower half of her back bending slightly over the cold border. “H-Harry—” Y/N’s voice comes out high and weak, cut off by his as it fills with needy vehemence. “I’m gonna kiss you.” His words are a deep rumble in his strong chest, barely a murmur but a powerful one nonetheless. His brows furrow heavily and his Adam’s Apple bobs with a thick gulp, cherry-stained lips parting slightly in wariness. “I don’t think that’s a good—” She is forced to swallow her thought as Harry’s warm mouth collides with her’s, hot lips encompassing her quivering own as he grips her hips a tad more roughly, pushing forward as she yelps in surprise. His nose is smudging over Y/N’s as he deepens the kiss, tongue hesitantly wandering into his friend’s mouth and licking across her top lip. His hands scramble up to cup her face, warm palms cradling her jaw and holding her in place as he drags his textured tongue over her’s and glues a needy whimper to the roof of her mouth. The kiss is incredible— it’s everything Y/N had dreamed of and more. He’s dominant but in his own sheepish way— not too rough but not too soft— taking her into his embrace and she melts at the way his body wraps itself around her’s, eyes lulling to the back of her head. One thigh presses between Y/N’s legs as the other straddles one of her hips, his strong hands keeping her placed as he invades her mouth with a want so deep and carnal, she just about dissolves into a puddle right there in his strong arms. Harry gnaws at her bottom lip, gasping lightly when nails dig into the backs of his hard shoulders, whining into her mouth. “God, Y/N, been wanting this for too fucking long.” Y/N isn’t kissing back, but she’s not stopping it either. She just wants to bask in the way his thumbs are caressing the underside of her jaw as he suckles her tongue and chews on the center of her lower lip. His warm body is caving against her’s, bracketing her in and refusing to let go because, fuck, he needs this. Needs her. “You taste so bloody sweet, darling. S’like champagne and cream and...” Harry can’t help but fully grin into the kiss. “And coffee cake.” A small laugh pipes from Y/N’s trembling frame as a timid yet cheeky, “Wonder why.” puffs from under her breath. He’s pulling back a bit, replacing the long, drawn-out kiss with a scatter of gentle, cushiony pecks instead as he tries to get himself together. Harry’s plan backfires somewhat, however, because before he knows it he is back to desperately sifting his lips between her’s like they are his last source of oxygen and at this point, he doesn’t consider them anything less than life-saving.   “Shit, I bet y’taste even better between your thighs...” The blunt words had escaped his mouth, managing to slide by the filter in his brain due to all of his thoughts muddling together into one messy image that takes up every function of his being— the image of him snuggled between Y/N’s thighs as they roll around in the rumpled, damp lavender sheets of his king-sized bed, her nails biting memories into the flexing muscles along his back as he stains her tongue with his needy gasps and moans, his skin glistening with sweat and littered with love bites. A sudden warmth pools Y/N’s cheeks and something tells him she’s thinking the exact same thing. Maybe it’s the way her grip instinctively tightens on him, her fingers winding harder into the fabric of his sweatshirt, or how her swollen mouth falls open just a tad more to allow him as much access as he wants, but he’s just certain the same scene is rolling through the film behind her eyes. Harry’s starting to buck against the thigh she has between his, raw desire slowly gaining complete control of the reigns. His brows frown deeper as the buzzing in his bones rattles harder. When he speaks, his voice is soft and it sounds vulnerable as it thrums against her mouth. “Kiss me back. Please, pet, kiss me back. Need to know you want me, too.” Every nerve in Y/N is telling her not to. Every single fiber is telling her to high-tail it out of this situation before it goes into territory that they won’t be able to come back from. She has watched enough romantic comedies and chick-flicks to know that the whole boss-employee cliche never goes well. It’s ridiculous, really, that she’s let herself get this far when she’s always the one telling the TV off about how stupid the girl is being and how stupid the plot of the entire film is and how stupid the ending is because everyone knows there’s rarely such a thing as happily ever after when it comes to mixing career with pleasure and it’s all just so fucking stupid. But the thing the Y/N thinks is utterly moronic is that she finds herself, for once, starting to empathize with the female lead in those films. Now that she’s here, in Harry’s arms again — much less drunk on tequila and much more drunk on each other— she finally sees the world from the protagonist’s point of view. She sees the devastatingly handsome, sweet, and incredibly funny boss hovering a few inches from her face as his chest heaves with nervous, rattling breaths, full eyebrows pinched in anxious hope as he awaits her answer. It’s almost like she can hear an audience in the back of her head cheering her on as they watch the intense moment unfold before them in the movie theatre, screaming at her to just let go and do it already because it’s been a long time coming and the chance has never been more right. And before Y/N can rethink her actions, she’s giving not only that dumb imaginary audience exactly what they want, but she’s finally giving herself what she wants because she’s tired of having to be sensible and obedient and righteous all the time. So what if she fucks up this once? She’s spent most of her time at the company doing enough damage control to cushion it over. This one’s for her. Harry watches intensely with fluttering eyelashes and a battering heart as Y/N coasts her shaky hands across his broad shoulders and up his blushing neck to cup his set jaw, moving a single rebellious curl back from his forehead, her thumbs slowly curving around shells of his ears in thoughtful circles that have his knees knocking. He watches with enormous relief as Y/N hesitantly edges her face closer to his, eyes glued to his mouth with a form of uncertain determination as she prepares to take a leap that he well knows will take both of them down. Yet, he doesn’t stop it because she’s worth it— any rumors or dirty looks or gossip that might arise, she’s worth all of it because she’s so unique and special to him that he just can’t let this go. When Y/N finally touches her mouth to his, it feels like everything that has lead to this moment has been perfect and like the stars have aligned just so that both of them could be here tonight to finish the constellation. It’s sappy and disgustingly poetic on his part to think of a hormonal make-out session as some sign from the universe, but he doesn’t give two shits because that’s how it feels to him and he doesn’t remember a time where he’s ever felt more alive. Harry’s only in his early twenties but his family business has caused him to have to grow up earlier than others of his time. Do to these circumstances, he thinks he should be allowed this— should be allowed this messy encounter with a girl he’s been crushing on like a twelve-year-old for months now. She’s lively and lovely and kind and could give any famous comedian a run for their money and he is almost a hundred percent sure that his stomach has never felt this hollow and twisted before when he’s been kissed. He deserves this. This is for him. Both of their thoughts are racing a hundred miles a minute, overcome by the wave of sensations that neither have experienced from each other, let alone were ready for. Harry feels frozen in time, his fingers twitching against her jaw as she slots her mouth deeper with his, acting out of sheer adrenaline. Y/N suddenly releases a small, watery whine from the back of her throat, and this acts as some form of reality check to Harry because the sound is so intoxicating and syrupy that it jolts him into action. His hands quickly fumble for her hips, grabbing at her cushiony waist and backing her up even further against the counter. Y/N’s body reacts to his implications all by itself, pushing up off the ground as Harry’s arms flex with her weight, dropping her lightly onto then cold marble counter. Her thighs part widely to bring him closer, arms locked around his neck as Harry tilts his head slightly to the side, his nose brushing against her cheek as he delves further into her mouth. His breathing is spastic and wild as it puffs from his nose, tickling her skin and sending a jitter down her spine.   “Fuck’s sake...” Harry mumbles all raspy against her plush mouth, licking shyly at her top lip and revering in the way her thighs squeeze tighter around his hips. “S-Sorry if I’m a little rusty...s’been a while, actually, and— God, can you do that again?” Y/N has moved her hungry lips to the underside of his strong jaw, suckling down the structured skin and using the cute little moles scattered across Harry’s neck as guides. She pays close attention to each one, per his request, and her technique seems to prove valid because his fingers dig into her thighs, his head slowly lulling back to give her any space she needs to keep going. He’s biting down on the flesh just below his bottom lip, the corners of his mouth curved up into a dreamy, pleasureful grin as his eyes droop shut in bliss. His cheeks tint a darker shade of mauve, chest thrumming with satisfaction. “It’s okay. It’s actually been minute for me, too...” Harry chokes out a drunken boyish giggle that has hints of disbelief. “I highly doubt that’s tru— bloody hell— stop, stop!” Y/N moves her mouth away from the little dip at the center of his taunt throat, feeling confused and a bit embarrassed. “Was it hurting? I’m so sorry—” “No, no, it’s not you. These are...” Harry whispers between deep gulps of air, reaching up to smooth his index finger thoughtfully across Y/N’s swollen bottom lip. He swallows heavily as she stares up at him with wide, curious eyes that have his balls aching. “These are fuckin’ magical.” When she speaks, her voice is meek and nervous and she has the cutest little pout present. “Then why’d we stop?” “Well, it’s just that since it’s been some time since my last play-date, I’m kinda sensitiveee— Oh, fuck, that’s deep.” Harry’s interrupted by Y/N gradually taking the finger that was prodding her lips into her mouth, tongue swirling around the digit and sucking feverishly, preening at the way his jaw goes slack and his eyebrows scrunch with sexual angst. She grabs a hold of his palm, uncoiling a second finger and tucking it inside as well, coating them thoroughly before pulling away slowly. She holds grueling eye contact the entire time, holding his large hand with both of her’s and separating the two digits with her tongue, running it down the center of both before planting sloppy wet kisses up and down their length. Harry feels like his whole body has been set alight, his thighs clenching and toes curling in his socks as he watches the utterly erotic scene unfold. How was he to know that sweet, gentle, comedic Y/N was so shamelessly dirty? He doesn’t hesitate to voice it, either, with his tone full of pained lust and wondrous awe. “Christ, you’re such a horny little thing, aren’t you?” Y/N nearly chokes around his fingers at his comment. It sounds so much hotter in real life than in her imagination. He smirks lightly. “Just asking for it— practically begging, with that pretty mouth and those big eyes.” Y/N turns Harry’s hand upwards, sponging messy suckling kisses across his tingling palm. “Like I said, it’s been a while for me, too.”     “Can see that clearly, now.” He murmurs under his breath, watching with bated inhales as lightning courses from her lips through the nerves in his skin. “Why’d you wanna stop?” She reiterates, failing to keep the hurt from her voice. When Harry interprets her mood, he immediately feels like shit. “Oh, darling,” he coos softly, leaning forward and nudging her nose with his. “It wasn’t you, it’s just that...I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself— let alone regain my masculinity— if I had an incident from simply just making out.” Y/N blinks at him exactly three times. “You were gonna cum from kissing?” Harry’s shoulders slump as a scowl toys with his cheeks. “Rub it in, why don’t you?” The snorty giggle she releases somewhat makes up for the dig at his ego. “I’m sorry, that’s just...Well, it’s the biggest compliment I’ve ever gotten, if I’m being honest.” “Nice damage control.” He huffs sarcastically with a light roll of his eyes. “I’m serious! I’m really flattered, Har.” His ears perk at the nickname and now he wants to hear her scream it more than ever. “I love the way that sounds coming from your mouth.” “Yeah?” She smiles softly. “Yeah...” He nods, side-grin buckling his face. “Wanna hear it again...and again...and again...Preferably while I have you shaking under me...headboard ramming against the wall...” Harry’s hand has coasted up her inner thigh, massaging it deeply as his lips bristle down from her eyelids to her cheek and across the underside of her jaw. “Can I touch you?” Y/N releases a stuttered, semi-laughing gasp. “Would be a crime if you didn’t.” Harry hooks his fingers into the waistband of her jeans, running them along the rim towards the button as he liters sparse pecks along her throat, his voice coming out low and sultry. “Wanted this since the moment you walked into my office.” Y/N swallows thickly, feeling the metal bit of her pants pop open and he pauses for a second to roll up a single sleeve of his grey jumper to get any possible obstacles out of the way. It’s something so trivial, yet it only makes the dampness between her thighs grow. “Wanted to just spread you over my glass table, hike up the pretty pencil skirt, and sink my face between your legs until all I could taste and smell was you.”    His fingers ghost over her abdomen, crawling past the restraints of the denim and tracing over the cotton material of her panties. “Watch your chest heave as I marked my teeth across your inner thighs, my rings staining the rest.” Y/N’s eyes roll to the back of her head as Harry confesses all he has ever wanted to do to her, his lips searing passion into her neck with every bite. His fingers are now cupping her over her underwear, two middle ones pressed up against the thick of her swollen clit and there is not doubt in her mind that she is soaked well through. “You’re already dripping and I’ve barely done a thing. S’cute how horny you are, really. Never imagined you to be so messy.” The whimper that strings Y/N’s vocal chords comes from deep in the pit of her stomach, pushed forward by utter need and the wish to fulfill a long-desired fantasy. His fingers start moving in long, teasing circles. “Harry...” “Bet you’re tight, too, aren’t you? Haven’t been fucked right in so long, you need someone to stretch you out nice and proper, yeah?” All Y/N can do is nod her head, hips bucking forward against his fingers, her head tilting down so that their foreheads flush against one another. The pine of Harry’s glossy irises stares up at her through his thick lashes, full of sly smugness at being able to dismantle her so easily. He kisses lightly at her quivering mouth, digits speeding up under her clothes. “‘M gonna fuck you all night long, angel. Make up for all that lost time.” Y/N feels a third finger hook around the crotch area of her panties, moving the fabric to the side to allow full on skin-to-skin contact. Harry can’t help the way his mouth drops open as his digits sink down between her folds, the warmth and wetness enveloping him as he teases one inside her. “Christ, you’re so dirty, pet.” “Harry, please...” Y/N tries to go in for a full kiss, but he pulls back, shaking his head mockingly and she’s so slick he manages to coax in a second finger. “Want you to look at me while I finger-fuck you.” His words leave her cheeks itching and her teeth numb, whimpering as he stretches her out. “I’m gonna do so many things to this perfect cunt. Gonna fit myself between your thighs and fuck you on your back so I can see how cute you look cumming. Then I’m gonna flip you around and take you from behind so I can mark my hands across your ass.” Harry’s picking up the pace against her heat, and his arm and wrist are starting to become sore but he knows it’ll be worth it if Y/N keeps squeaking and writhing the way she is. His eyes twinkle dangerously with another idea. “You ever been fucked out on a balcony, petal?” Y/N doesn’t trust herself to speak, settling for shaking her head drunkenly and letting out a muffled mm-mm.  “We’ll change that, then.” She can’t stop herself from making a coy remark, more to herself but his ears manage to catch it. “Not surprised you’ve got an exhibition kink.”   Harry’s eyebrows quirk up in amused surprise, his motions halting for a second. “S’cuse me?” Y/N licks across her chapped bottom lip, swallowing to regain some moisture back in her throat. “It goes hand-in-hand with a praise kink, which you obviously have, as well.” Harry pulls his hand out completely from under her jeans now, despite her small whine of disapproval, much more interested in the psychological analysis she has conceived of him. “Some interesting assumptions. Please,” he brings his fingers up to his face, examining the glossiness across his skin before shoving them into his mouth, “do go on.” Y/N yelps quietly at the sight of him tasting her and her reaction reminds him of a startled puppy, for some reason. It’s absolutely endearing. “No, please,” Harry removes his soaked fingers from his mouth with a wet pop, licking over the middle one more time calmly just to push her right up to the edge. “Continue.” And Y/N does, with a shaky tone and buzzing tummy. “When you give speeches and stuff at work and rallies, or when you talk at career fairs, you always love to hear the people applaud you at the end. You encourage it, actually. It doesn’t take much to guess that it translates into bed, as well.” “And you’d be right.” Harry smirks, tongue sweeping over his top teeth slowly to end up pressed against the inside of his right cheek cockily. “But here’s the difference. At work, I strive for it. In bed, it comes naturally. I never have to ask someone if they like it because by the end, they can’t stop screaming about it.”    “I’ll make sure to add that to my psychosexual research journal.” Y/N forces out the words with a tight smile as he gives her a gradual, predatory-like once-over, licking his flushed lips distractedly. Harry belts out another boyish, heart-fluttering giggle. “Go right ahead. Can’t wait to see your segment on the Discovery Channel.” And then he’s back to tonguing beneath her upper lip, the palm of the bare arm cupping her jaw as the other hand presses flat against the cold marble of the kitchen island beside her thigh. His mouth tastes of the buttery coffee cake and he smells like cinnamon and his lips are like silk as they glide wetly over her skin and Y/N can confirm that heaven really is a place on earth. Her being who she is, she’s already calculating everything down to the minute. If she stays over tonight and he makes good on his promise to work her down to a pool of lube and tears, then they will probably end up sleeping in tomorrow morning, plus it will take her a while to get used to the soreness. Consequently, this means she’ll miss the latest rerun of The Vampire Diaries (she’s rewatching the whole show for a hindsight analysis and she hates to admit it but Elena can be so fucking annoying sometimes). She will also have to push back the brunch with her mom into an actual lunch, and her car was due for an emissions check but she guesses she could miss the appointment and reschedule since her mechanic was a family friend. Grocery shopping would run late, which means that grouchy old cat lady with the purple highlights she always runs into would beat her to getting the freshest blueberries available since the market restocks late Saturday afternoons. She’ll just have to survive without blueberries for another week. All of this is whirring through Y/N’s head as Harry trails his hypnotizing mouth to the thumping pulse in her neck, mumbling something about how sweet her skin tastes.   Her eyes flutter, high on his touch and nearly imploding as he presses between her thighs, hissing against her throat as his crotch braces her’s. “So warm f’me...” Y/N thinks that she’s mentally gone through every errand she has tomorrow and decides she is willing to fuck up her schedule if it means getting fucked herself, preferably more than once and possibly in many different compromising positions. Acting on impulse, she begins to undo the tie on Harry’s his mesh shorts and she can feel his hot mouth spread into a wide simper against her juglar. But then, as her responsibilities are locking themselves away for the night in a little door in the back of her mind, something else emerges from her subconscious— something she had totally let slip. It was triggered by her thinking about her schedule, specifically because Saturday mornings, as she watches her show and crams down a bowl of Lucky Charms, is when she organizes Niall’s own schedule for the upcoming week. Thinking about Niall’s schedule is a direct correlation to work, and now that tiny annoying thought is inflating into a full on freak-out as all the alarms in Y/N’s head— which had been muted by Harry’s homey scent and the feeling of his clothed back muscles flexing beneath her fingertips— are blaring loud and proud in her ears. There’s no way she can go through with this. “H-Harry...” The word comes out choked. “Fucking hell, say it again. Say my name again like that, all breathy and soft. Please, angel.” He purrs, hips bucking forward lightly as her fingertips remain perched on the waistband of his shorts. As much as it pains Y/N, she musters up all of the will power left within her (which isn’t very much) and puts it into her voice, her tone vehement. “Harry, we have to stop.” In all of his life, Harry doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything as heartbreaking as those five words. Heartbreaking because he knows exactly what is going to come after them. Y/N is going to say that they can’t do this because of work. Because he’s her boss. Because it’s wrong and completely unprofessional. And she would be right— Harry knows this. But his business has taken up so much of him as it is— his youth, his peace of mind, his ability to let go for a bit and do something out of his nature— so he outright refuses to let it stomp all over his love life, as well. It’s the one thing he has left, and much to the comedic irony of the universe, Y/N happens to be at the center of it all. People can’t control who they fall for, but if he had seen it coming, he would have done everything in his power to try and stop it. But he didn’t see it coming. Y/N just crashed right into his life, quite literally, with her gentle smile and her witty personality and her hilarious Vine references and Harry was done in long before he even realized it. They are so close. He is so close. Y/N is in his house, his bedroom is right there. He doesn’t just want to sleep with her, he wants everything that comes with it. He wants to wake up with her in his arms, still fast asleep with her hair in tangles and her lashes resting perfectly atop her soft cheeks. He wants to make her French toast every morning and see her walk out of his room, dressed for work in her favorite pair of black dress pants and a frilly creme blouse, heels clicking against the kitchen floor. He wants her to scold him for still being in his Spider-Man pajama pants rather than ready for the office and to shove him towards the bathroom as she says she’ll finish up breakfast. Harry wants Y/N to have to use his shampoo when her’s runs out, resulting in a playful fight about how her forgetfulness causes him to always have to buy three bottles instead of one, lest he end up having to use the body wash to get the job done. Harry wants her in his hole-ridden band t-shirts, in his lap as they watch Cupcake Wars, and pressed against his back as she attempts to braid his curls but fails because of her limited hair skills. He wants to drive her to work every morning and stop by the small café down the block. Wants to order their coffees, preparing her’s with extra whipped cream, a dash of nutmeg, and exactly 3 tablespoons of honey, all just to mock her sweet tooth as they stop at a traffic light, squeezing her hand over the center console and rolling his eyes while she sticks her tongue out at him. Harry wants all the strings attached that come with being so gone for someone that the very idea of seeing them makes everything negative dissipate. It’s because of this— because of how whipped she has him— that he forces himself to back off, pulling his mouth away from her and trying to hold back the scream of sad frustration that is itching at the roof of his mouth, threatening to squeeze between the cracks of his teeth.   Even though he well knows the answer, he still asks. He needs to hear it so that he can fully draw away and detach his hand from her supple cheek and his emotions from her’s. “Why?” It’s just one syllable, but Y/N can feel that it is packed heavy with all of his longing anger. “Because of work.” And there it is, word for word verbatim. The thing is, Harry did see that coming, but it hurt the same either way. “Right.” He whispers, sighing heavily to hide the wobble in his voice. He takes a few steps back from Y/N, his hands coming up before him with his palms forward to signify surrender. Y/N wishes she didn’t miss the warmth of his touch as much as she does. When she speaks, it is nasally and sorrow, her fingers fiddling glumly in her lap. “I’m sorry.” Harry shakes his head a tad, releasing a quick laugh to try and lighten up the mood but it comes out humorless and somewhat bitter. “No, it’s okay. You have a point. It’s not appropriate.” Y/N can’t stand to see him so upset. It’s obvious he is trying to hide it. His face is cast down, gaze focused on the ground with a deep grimace tilting the corners of his lips in the wrong direction and carving his dimples into his cheeks for the opposite purpose of what they’re made for. His eyelashes keep fluttering, meaning he is trying to blink something out of his eyes. The possibility of it being tears makes it feel as if someone were trying to wrench Y/N’s heart from her chest. “I don’t...” Her words strain the lump in her throat. “I don’t know what else to say...”   She just wishes he’d look at her. “I don’t either.” He sounds icy and distant. Y/N slips down awkwardly from her seat on the kitchen island and this time she makes sure not to lose her footing. Despite his cold appearance, Harry still glances up for a moment to make sure she makes it down safely, though it goes unnoticed. Their eyes catch and Y/N feels her stomach plummet down six stories. His facial expression is something she can’t make sense of. His eyes are devastatingly bleak, emerald irises holding none of his usual sly humor and kind happiness. Instead, they are a muted olive tone, glossy but not in the way she wishes they were. The frown is gone, replaced by him pursing his full lips as if calculating whether to throw her out. His arms have come up to fold across his strong chest, fists tight and tucked into the creases of the inside of his elbows. His stance is very rigid and guarded, as if he is trying to cut away any connection between the two of them. Y/N feels like she is drowning. One of her hands reaches across her body, fingers wrapping around her upper arm and squeezing nervously— an anxious mannerism. She draws into herself to feel safer, not because she feels like he’d lash out at her, but because she feels alone. “Harry, I’m really—” Harry cuts her off, his own voice monotone and stern. “I think you should go.” She allows her parted lips to come together tightly, and despite every cell in her body telling her to take the exit, her feet stay planted. She can’t leave things this shattered between them. Last time, he was drunk. Everything was forgotten and there was no mess to clean up. This time, they weren’t so lucky. “Can we just talk it out? I don’t want to leave with things so bad between us. You’re my friend and I—“ “I’m your boss.” The sentence is sharp and cuts as it intended. Harry had let it out in an overwhelming wave of sudden rage, hurt more than he’d ever care to admit. Y/N stares at him with watering eyes, blinking back her emotions. “You’re right. I’m sorry for insisting. I’ll, uhm—” her voice cracks despite her best efforts to stifle her feelings, and a hand flies up to cover her mouth to keep a sob from spilling out. “I’ll just go.” This time, Y/N’s feet don’t fight her. Her windbreaker whips behind her as she hurriedly paces out of the kitchen and through the living room, making sure her eyesight doesn’t wander towards the lamp she had praised earlier. She pauses by the table where her shoes are tucked, feeling her chest contract at the picture of Harry and his goddaughter. Y/N cannot believe she had fucked up this bad. Getting the door unlocked feels like an eternity and she angrily wonders why someone would need three separate locks on a door when the building has a security guard checking the floors every hour. It slams closed behind her, and though she didn’t mean to be so rough, it helps the gnawing in her lungs somewhat subside. Her legs take her down the dimly-lit corridor of Harry’s floor, her shadow tailing her on both walls, footsteps muffled by the thick, expensive maroon carpeting. The metal doors of elevator glint cruelly at end of the hall. Y/N jabs her thumb into the down button so hard that a flash of pain shoots up her entire hand, but she ignores it. It’s nothing compared to what is boiling at the pit of her stomach. She can hear the soft skidding of the elevator descending to her floor, the gentle thump of its arrival, and she’s squeezing in before the doors are even fully open. Nothing seems to be fast enough as she hits the lobby button and keeps clicking the gold slot that is engraved close doors in cursive.   The elevator lurches down ever so slightly, smooth and soundless and what else can be expected from such an expensive condominium. Y/N watches the buttons of the floors light up as she makes her way down, everything that has happened playing in fast-forward over and over behind her glassy eyes. The picture frame. The cozy clothing. The lamp. The art. The smiles. The cake. The jokes. The flirting. The fall. The giggling. The kiss. The touching. Her stopping him. Harry drawing away. Her dismounting the island again. Harry checking to make sure she got down safely. Y/N apologizing. Harry drawing into himself. Telling her to— Y/N blinks once, and it’s as if she is taking a remote and back-tracking, trying to find a bit in the storyline that she had missed before. Harry checking to make sure she got down safely. And suddenly, she’s flashed back to a conversation they’d had a long while back when she had offered to help him organize his desk while everyone was out for a lunch break.