#ceorry

No one knew he was engaged before she appeared, not that they would've had the gall to ask such a personal question of their strict, no-nonsense boss. Rings always adorned his fingers so they never suspected anything. But when the tall, brunette woman with crystalline blue eyes asked if her fiancé was in his office, it didn't take long for the news to travel throughout the whole building.

Outside his office, you stare at an empty Word document, unable to get any work done as you impatiently wait for this stranger to leave. You had debated over whether or not to listen at the door, desperate to satisfy your curiosity, ultimately deciding the risk wasn't worth it. So you anxiously tap your finger against your knee, accidentally snagging your nail in your tights, ripping a small hole in them. You'd have to throw them out now, Mr. Styles' dress code didn't allow for imperfections such as ruined pantyhose.

Why was she here? There were a number of perfectly normal reasons why someone would like to visit their fiancé, but you were concerned that the reason may have to do with what had happened two weeks ago, when your boss had shoved his cock down your throat in his office, then took you back to his place and made you orgasm so many times you lost count. All of that occurred after the week prior when the two of you had ended up sleeping together at a work event.

Since then, over the past two weeks, Mr. Styles' behavior towards you has been inconsistent. Some days, he treated you as any other employee, reserved and irritated. Other days he did everything he could to keep himself from needing your assistance, sometimes to his own professional detriment. Once, he'd brought you coffee in the morning, a gesture that spread throughout the office gossip chain like a plague.

Mr. Styles being nice to an employee? It’s unheard of.

As worried as you were that she was here to confront him about his infidelity, you couldn't help but think selfishly while you waited. From the way his hand caressed your body, and the thick pulse of his hard cock in your mouth, to the dark look in his eyes while he watched you touch yourself…

She emerges out of his office, quietly closing the door behind her. With a polite smile and a brief nod, she walks past you without much care.

“Have a good rest of your day,” you call after her, remembering your role here. Impatient as you were, you make yourself stay in your seat until you hear the elevator doors close, making sure she’s gone before you dare to stand up and go into his office. There was something you had to ask your boss.

His office is empty when you sneak inside, the only evidence of him is the jacket wrapped around the back of his chair. The privacy is a relief, allowing your professionalism to slip away as you sigh. Safely tucked away in this room, away from the inquisitive stares of your colleagues, you feel like you can breathe freely. They'd want to know what happened, hoped you would give them intel, more gossip to share, but that wasn't why you had come in here.

The sound of water catches your attention, coming from his private bathroom. You contemplate waiting, before deciding to just march on in. Whichever version of him you were about to see, you want to confront it head on.

Mr. Styles is in the middle of drying his hands, when you barge in. His sleeves are rolled up, showing off the ink he usually hides, his tie is thrown over his shoulder, and his hair is perfectly styled, not a strand askew. The look of surprise on his face shifts into a tired defensiveness, guarded and tight. “What are you doing in here?”

Swallowing, you say, “I wanted to ask you something.” It comes out meekly, absent of all the courage you had summoned to come in here.

“It's none of your business,” he dismisses you, assuming what you were going to ask. His hands grip the sink edge as he ignores your gaze.

“That wasn't what I-” you insist, stepping towards him but he interrupts you, accosting you with a harsh glare through the mirror.

“I don't have to explain myself to you. If you can't get over it, if you can’t keep quiet, then you can pack your things.”

Shaking your head, you're only marginally concerned about your job as you press, “I'm not going to say anything.”

“Then what do you want?” he asked exasperated.

“I just…” you falter over your words. It sounds silly now, the reason you came in, the rationale that led you in here, alone with your boss. “I just wanted to feel your cock one last time.”

Spinning around to face you, Mr. Styles cinches his eyebrows, looking you up and down incredulously. “Let me get this straight.” His voice is quiet, restrained, if not for the echo of the tile, you probably wouldn't hear it even in the tiny space. “You just watched my fiancée walk out of here and you decided now would be the time to come in and ask me to fuck you?”

Your cheeks burn with shame. It sounded worse when he put it like that. “You… you didn't give it to me last time,” is your only excuse, bouncing pathetically around the bathroom. If this was your last chance to feel him, you needed to take it.

But all he does is stare at you, slack jawed, his chest slowly heaving, the only sound in the room is the hum of the overhead lighting. The longer he does nothing, the more uncomfortable you feel, running your hands over your skirt with agitation under his judgmental stare.

“Forget it. Forget I said anything,” you dismiss, turning to leave, planning on packing up and going home early for the day, faking a sudden bout of whatever cold had been going round the office.

You’re pulling open the door when it suddenly slams shut in front of you, your body forced up against the wood as Mr. Styles presses against your backside.

“Where do you think you're going?” he growls, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I thought you wanted this.” He ruts against you, his cock sliding along your ass, teasing you with the exact thing you wanted. You moan as he does it again, loving the way it feels to be crushed between him and the door. “You are a slut, aren't you?” he asks as his hand snakes its way between your bodies, curving around your ass until he reaches the warmth emitting from your pussy. Through the tights and the string of your thong, you feel his fingers pushing against the confines, smearing your arousal until it’s seeping through the mesh fabric, wetting his fingers. “Did you get this wet while you were waiting for me? While I was busy with my fiancée?”

As perverted as it is, the mention of the other woman, the other person who knew him like this, riles you up further. Did he touch her like this, you wonder, did he talk to her the way he did you? Or was this cruelty saved for only you? You selfishly hoped so.

Tangling his hand in your hair, he uses his grip to control your movements, turning you around. You nearly trip in your high heels as he directs you, leaning you over the sink counter, making you face yourself in the mirror. In the reflective glass, your hair bunches up in his grasp, your pupils are already blown out, but, most importantly, you have the perfect view of your boss as he slams his hips into your backside.

“Are you gonna let me have my way with you?” Mr. Styles asks, pulling your skirt up until it was gathered underneath your breasts, his hands snaking over your spine.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter. Then your ass stings, making you gasp at the unexpected ache.

Mr. Styles glares at you through the mirror, rubbing his palm over the spot he had just smacked. “Did you forget the rules?”

“N-no, sir,” you respond, stumbling over your words, quick to correct yourself.

A wicked smirk curls up on one side of his face. “That's my babygirl.” Without warning, his nails pierce through your tights, ripping through the thin fabric. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps from the stale bathroom air as he keeps tearing through the mesh, widening the hole until your entire ass is exposed. Pushing the string of your thong aside, shoving his fingers into your sloppy pussy, you watch as both of your mouths drop open into soft moans. “Filthy fucking thing,” he grumbles, working his fingers inside you. “You’re my little slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you whine.

“Mine to play with.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mine to do whatever I want with.” He slowly pulls his fingers out, collecting as much of your slick as he can, then applying it over your other hole, intently aware of the way your body clenches instinctively at his gentle prodding. “Have you let anyone touch you here before?”

Gulping down, you see the blush creeping across your face as you admit, “Yes, sir.”

“Are you gonna let me?” he questions you, raising his brow as he meets your gaze in the mirror. There was a hunger in his darkened eyes, want in his shallow pants, an animalistic need emitting from his touch, which grew tighter, harsher, rougher as he waited for your response.

Sinking down onto your elbows, you bend over more, offering him more access, his finger nearly slipping in as you display your enthusiasm. “Yes, sir.”

His middle finger dips in experimentally, only to the first knuckle before pulling back out. Then he presses back in, going a little deeper, reaching a little further into you. Your eyes want to flutter shut but you don’t want to miss anything, especially if this will be the last time you’ll get to see him like this, the last time you’ll get to feel his hands on your body, the last time he’ll bring you to pleasure. When he finally pushes his whole finger in, you let out a hearty groan at how deep his finger is.

“Yeah, that’s it babygirl, let it out,” Mr. Styles encourages you, sliding his finger smoothly through your asshole. “Don’t worry, no one out there can hear how much you sound like a whore.” He leans forward, kissing the back of your head, before whispering, “My own dirty little whore, getting her asshole wrecked in the bathroom, you’re dirtier than I thought.” He waits until your body starts pushing back against his hand to push his other finger in, stretching you out more. “Need to make sure you’re good and stretched out. You remember how big it is, don’t you, babygirl?”

The intrusion of his fingers has an edge of pain to its pleasure, only making you squirm more, only making you more whiny. “Yes, ye-yes, sir.”

“That’s why you came in here, because you missed it so much.”

“Yes, sir,” you respond. It wasn’t a question, but you needed him to know just how badly, how desperately you’ve thought about his dick. That this was necessary for you, you had to come in here, you needed his cock.

“Reach into that top drawer, there's some condoms and lube in there,” he orders, his gaze barely flicking away from where his fingers disappear inside you, a cocky smile pulling on the corner of his lips.

Your hand pats along the counter top, curving around the edge, fumbling to find the drawer handle. When you feel the cool metal, you yank on the handle, the items clattering around at the forceful movement. If you tore your gaze away from the mirror, you would find what you were looking for easier, but then you ran the risk of missing the way Mr. Styles revered your body, the spark of lustful hunger in his dark eyes, the slow drag of his tongue across his lips. Eventually, you grasp the foil square, handing it back to him before searching for the lube. You briefly get distracted when he undoes his pants, savoring the sound of the dragging zipper, the view blocked by your own ass. When you find it, the bottle is slippery, escaping your hold several times before you successfully lift it out of the drawer.

“Can barely follow simple instructions and you think you deserve my cock?” he teases you. Sliding his fingers out of you, you're left gaping and empty as he rips open the foil with his teeth, spitting out the excess, letting it flutter down to the floor. You're able to catch glances of his dick while he rolls the condom on. Arching yourself back, your spine twinges in pain but you just want to get a look at him before he fucks you. Caught up in your desperation, you don’t notice him opening up the bottle of lube, squeezing some out onto his hand. Once you feel the chill of the lube being smeared over your hole, you’re startled back down onto the counter. Rocking yourself back to meet his finger as he spreads the lube, your boss just laughs. “God, how’d I get so lucky in finding such an eager whore?”

Resting your head on your arms, you whine as he starts scissoring his fingers inside you. You’ve grown so impatient for his dick, tired of all the prep work, you almost believe he won’t even fuck you, this whole thing a farcical punishment to torment you. If so, you don't want to see him deny you, wanting to be oblivious of his impending refusal.

But then you feel it, the weight of his cock, resting between your pussy lips, and hope is restored. His knuckles carelessly brush over you as he strokes his cock, coating himself in lube. “I can feel how wet you are. Can feel how badly you want this.” Mr. Styles inhales sharply, the exhale coming out choppy and sporadic, like he’s holding himself back. Grinding his teeth together, he allows himself to rub himself over your lips, collecting some of your arousal on his cock. “It's a shame, if you weren't so greedy, I probably would've begged you to come back to my place, and I would’ve fucked you good and proper. I should've known better.” He leans over you, nipping at the shell of your ear, his cock sliding up between your lips, nearing your prepped asshole. “Should've remembered how you like it, my filthy little slut.”

That's when you feel his tip, circling around your pulsating hole, the head of him warm even through the condom. He doesn’t offer any words of warning, doesn’t prepare you for what is to come. Instead, he presses into you, slipping through your clenching muscles without pause. Your body can’t keep up, just as you’re accommodating to his length, he’s pushing further into you. Without the time to adjust, you’re left panting and gasping, unable to form words or even sounds as he thrusts deeper into you. He doesn’t stop until his hips are flush against your backside, your ass jiggling at the contact.

“Ohh,” Mr. Styles sighs, pushing himself upright, looking at where his body merges into yours, your plump cheeks enveloping him. “Aww, fuck babygirl.” Experimentally, he drags himself back, watching himself slide out of you before plunging back in, enjoying the way you let him in so easily, how your muscles wrap around his dick, pulling him back inside you. “God you’re so tight,” he complains with a groan. “Can barely fit, fuck.” His movement speeds up, ramming his cock into you, pounding your crotch into the edge of the counter. “Oh, but you take me so well, don’t you babygirl?”

Your face is pressed into the countertop, making your words come out strange and muffled. “Ye- yesh, nnn, yesh, shir.” It’s important to follow his rules now. Any deviation and he might stop, might leave you bent over in his bathroom, your tights torn open, and arousal dripping down your thighs.

Even though he had stretched you out with his fingers, it wasn't enough to prepare you for the girth of him, the thick pulse of his cock thicker than his two fingers. Through the mirror, you watch as Mr. Styles kneads your cheeks in his grasp, gripping the flesh to pull you back, to meet his thrust, to slip even deeper into you. The edge of the counter pierces into your pelvis, your tits ache as they're smushed into the marble, there's no escape from the dragging of his cock or the slapping of his balls against your pussy. You're entirely under his whim.

“Can't get enough of you, babygirl,” he praises. “Did you really think I'd let you go? That I'd be done with you?” Threading his fingers into your hair, he forces your face up, makes you watch as your eyes blearily blink open, your hair disheveled within his twisted hold. “Answer me, dirty girl,” he purrs, leaning over top of you, slowing his hips down to a gentle rhythm. “Did you really think I was going to stop fucking you?”

With his sluggish pace, you feel like you can breathe, take your time to let his words sink in, understand what he's asking of you. It was inevitable, wasn't it? You were just a plaything, his toy, meant to be used, waiting to be replaced. Surely, his fiancée would be the one to take your place. “Yes, s-sir,” you answer.

“But I haven't grown bored of you, yet,” he whines, condescension echoing in the room as his lip juts out in an exaggerated pout. Nuzzling into your neck, he smiles at the surprised look on your face. “I can't lose you just yet. There's so much I wanna do with you still.” His teeth sink into your collar as his hips quicken, ramming into you recklessly while he lists off his fantasies. “Haven't seen you tied up yet. Or watch you struggle to ride my cock.” He leans back and smacks your ass, the clap reverberating off the tile walls. “Last week, fuck, last week when you kept biting your pen during that meeting, I couldn't stop fantasizing about making you wear one of those remote controlled devices, making you squirm in front of everybody, my needy little slut begging me to let her come in front of a whole room full of people.” Mr. Styles pauses, taking a moment to groan as he fucks you. “Haven't even seen what it looks like when you're covered in my come. No, I'm not done with you, not yet,” he vows, sealing it with a kiss to the side of your head, “not yet.”

The promise of more only brings you closer to your release, getting wetter at each image he conjures in your mind. Every fantasy he mentioned, you had imagined them as well, had even pleasured yourself as you thought about it. Had he done the same? Did he not think about the woman he was engaged to while he touched himself? Did you occupy his mind while he jerked off? The thought of him rubbing his cock while fantasizing about you leads to your undoing.

Your eyes roll towards the back of your head as you cry out, your moans amplified in the small room, vibrating in your ears as your orgasm hits. Squished between your boss and the countertop, your body shivers through your release, your movements restricted underneath his confinement.

“Aw fuck, babygirl, fuck yeah, shit.” Mr. Styles groans behind you, his grip tightening. You focus your gaze back on the mirror just in time to catch his eyes screw shut, his mouth drop open, watching him come undone as he releases into the condom, his hips stuttering against you. The blissful relief that washes over him is striking, the bathroom light catching on the spit that lingers on his lips when his tongue darts out to wet them. As he pants, his chest pressing into your back, his green eyes lazily open, sweeping over to the mirror, meeting your wide-eyed stare.

There's a moment, a flicker of time, where you're both watching each other, both of your faces flushed, your breaths rushing out in thick heaves. Your hair sticks up in awkward strands from his twisted grip, your mascara has melted around your eyes, you look just as dirty as you feel, yet he can't tear his gaze away from yours.

Until he blinks, slowly then more rapidly, straightening himself up. He sniffles then clears his throat as he slips out of you, disposing of the used condom in the trash before zipping up his pants. Then he steps up beside you, turning on the faucet and washing his hands, eyes cast downward. You’re still bent over the counter, frozen stiff as the moment passes, soreness taking over. Wiping his hands clean, he doesn't cast a glance towards you before spinning around. “Throw out those tights, they're ruined,” he orders over his shoulder, clicking the bathroom door shut behind him.

Pushing yourself up onto your elbows, you hold back a whimper as the adrenaline dissipates. Your breasts ache, your tights are destroyed, your asshole is stretched out and tingling with pain, but there's a smile blooming across your face. Maybe you’d feel bad for his fiancée later, after the guilt had chewed away your glee. For now, though, you were content, already anticipating the next time you’d get to see Mr. Styles’ dick.

Tag list:

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✨ @harrywavycurly ✨ @sparklejumpropequeen1113 ✨ @happywhirlwindpraetorian ✨ @mema10 ✨ @escapismatbest ✨

You knew that dating Harry also meant dating the little girl who came with him. Ema. A three-year-old copy of her father, with the same piercing green eyes, chubby cheeks, and a head full of messy chestnut curls. Overflowing with stubborn frowns and quiet watchfulness, she made you feel like you were being tested from the moment you met her. And honestly? You couldn’t really blame her. If you could, you’d try to keep Harry only to yourself too.

Harry was fiercely protective over his daughter, his little treasure, as he called her, along with a million other nicknames that made your heart skip a beat every time.

You didn’t know much about her mother. He had only mentioned her briefly, once or twice, and not wanting to pry, you let it slide. After all, it wasn’t your place to ask. Maybe in time.

When Ema happened, Harry hadn’t been ready for fatherhood. He thought kids would come at least 5 years later, maybe more, not at the age of 30. His whole life was work and business, not babies. Some days he still felt like a teenager himself! Life had thrown a lot at him early on, but he took it all, even if it meant shedding a few tears along the way. And yet, he couldn’t have been happier. His little sunshine turned his mostly stereotypical life upside down. Turned him upside down.

Gone were the nights of wine, replaced with baby formula, 70s rock music changed into lullabies, nonfiction books were swapped for picture books and his polished suits got shoved in the back of the wardrobe in favour of plain shirts (that he had to change multiples times a day anyway, because he and his daughter were messy people).

At first, Harry stayed at home with his little girl until she was old enough for kindergarten. He was wealthy enough to afford this luxury, choosing to watch Ema grow every day. But he was a businessman at heart, and even on paternity leave, he couldn’t help himself. A contract here, a quick visit to his office there, until his assistant had to kick him out after “just a few minutes” turned into an hour, with Ema playing between stacks of important documents.

After Ema celebrated her third birthday and started visiting kindergarten more regularly, without any fussing in the mornings and sleeping for the whole time after lunch, Harry started feeling the creeping of loneliness. He knew Ema needed to play with other kids and socialize, to learn and experience things on her own without his helping hand. But it didn’t stop him from missing her terribly and squeezing her little body tightly in his arms each time he came to pick her up after work. ”You’re silly, daddy!” She laughed loudly every time.

One interview for a world-famous magazine about Harry’s huge impact was at the start of you and him. Three hours of talking turned into exchanged numbers and whispered promises of a date, filled just the night after. Who would have thought that a journalist with an ordinary life could mesmerise a successful man who could’ve had any other woman?

The bond of trust between you two formed almost instantly. He was consumed by you. One look and he was a goner. There was no need to put an effort in perfect makeup and flawless curls, he had already fallen in love with you on day one. The girl with a big coffee stain on her shirt, hair messier than a bird’s nest and not even a hint of mascara because she’d been running late.

Harry was desperate for your first date. That much was certain. There was something so beautiful about you, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, that he had to discover, to claim. He wanted you so badly, his heart ached with it. He made a reservation at the finest restaurant in the city, making sure it would be just the two of you in the whole place. He brought you a huge bouquet of flowers, with a small note ’their beauty smells like you’. He remembered the afternoon you were leaving his office and he smelled your perfume as he kissed your cheek goodbye and your sweet flowery scent hit him hard.

No other woman had caught him the way you did. And oh boy, he was all in. He tossed aside every rational thought that should’ve held him back for his sake and Ema’s. Because the thought of life without you in the picture felt impossible. He didn’t want to flip through photo albums years from now and not see your pretty face there. Call him crazy, but he was determined to have you. He needed you.

Your smile lit up the whole room, even during the inner storm. The effortless elegance that seemed to follow you everywhere you went, the kindness that felt almost unreal every time you spoke. It was all too much. You were it for him. And he didn't even need to know you, because somehow, he already did. Maybe it was the absence of woman's presence, the hormones messing with him, or the longing for love, for giving Ema a mother figure, and himself a wife. But in the end, did it really matter what the reason was? He knew he wanted you, and that was enough.

By the second date, you understood how delicate the relationship you were in the process of building was. It was also the first time Harry told you about Ema, because in his words, “I didn’t want to scare you off, you are too precious to lose”. And it made you fall for him even harder. He treated you like a goddess you in his eyes were. All soft touches and sweet words, he could never settle for less.

After you started seeing each other more regularly, he became truly obsessed with you. His generosity was intensive as if he was trying to fill every corner of your life with reminders of him. A surprise delivery of flowers here, perfumes there, a lovely set of lingerie in the burgundy colour you mentioned just once in front of him delivered right to your apartment.

When you made your relationship official, he bought you the golden necklace you eyed for so long in the small jewellery shop near your block, and made you cry so hard for the first time in front of him.

“I swear you are crazy, Harry,” You sobbed into his suit-covered shoulder, staining it slightly with your tears mixed with mascara.

“Only crazy for my girl,” Harry murmured softly as he kissed your hair, making you cry even more in response. You’ve never felt this loved before.

Yet after all this time, you still hadn’t met the reason of his restless nights, the bright mornings and toys he nursed in his leather briefcase to work. You knew Ema only from photos he shared with you and all the stories that made him smile widely every time he talked about her.

One evening, when he invited you to stay for a night, you finally decided to ask him the question that’s been gnawing on your mind for a while. “Does Ema know about me?”

She was staying with his sister Gemma for the weekend so he could have some alone time with you that wasn't just a few hours per week you usually found on each other given your busy jobs and Harry’s family situation.

The question came unexpectedly. You were snuggled on the big velvet couch under the shield of a fuzzy blanket in each other’s arms, a romantic comedy playing on the TV, creating a relaxing atmosphere.

Harry, caught mid-sip of his red wine, froze. “I umh… well, I’ve mentioned you a few times. I’ve shown her your pictures, tried to hint at us. But you know how she is…”

Ema was daddy’s girl. And he belonged to her only. He was her sun, her moon, and the only person allowed to tie her shoes. She was a little girl. She didn’t understand the world yet, but the idea of sharing Harry’s lap, hugs, or his attention with another woman was a foreign concept he feared would end in a heartbreak.

“You know I respect your boundaries as a parent, Harry. I do,” You sat up straighter next to him, pulling away from the warmth of his chest to look him in the eye. “But shouldn’t she know about me? We’ve been dating for 6 months,”

“I know. I know, baby. She should know.” Harry sighed and tightened his grip around your waist, pulling you back in his side immediately. Your closeness comforted him in a way he couldn’t explain and he buried his face in the crook of your neck to soothe his nerves. “I’m gonna tell her. I promise. I need you in our lives.”

The soft peck on your lips that followed made you blush as well as his words. At this point, you were used to his heartfelt confessions and affectionate touches but it always brought flush to your cheeks and made butterflies fly wildly in your stomach.

But not everything went as Harry planned. It went completely the other way. He wanted to ease Ema into the big change slowly. Having another person around was a serious thing he didn’t want to take lightly. But his job made it’s significant presence in the worst moment.

Harry was in his office, the skyline of London sprawling behind the floor to ceiling windows. He was packing his briefcase, done for the day. A small smile played on his lips as he thought about his daughter he was about to pick up from the kindergarten, excited to see her again, when his assistant, Veronica, stormed in the room.

“Patrick Stevenson is here!” She panted, her knuckles white as she gripped the doorframe.

The echo of the name made Harry stop in his tracks. Stevenson was a businessman of similar power as Harry’s. He was a titan, not really a rival but a best friend neither. His signature on a contract could mean the best deal of the century as well as an amazing partnership between the two men. Harry had been chasing this meeting for months.

“What? But he didn’t have a scheduled meeting, did he?” Harry slowly set a stack of documents back down on the wooden table, sparing Veronica a confused look.

“No, no, came unannounced. He’s waiting in the conference room right now.” Veronica shook her head a few times and stepped further into Harry’s office, closing the door behind her so no one could overhear them.

“Fuck but I have to pick up Ema! The kindergarten closes in- 30 minutes…” He sighed when he noticed the little hand on the clock by the door slowly reaching number four and ran a hand over his face in frustration. He promised Ema to be on time since she was staying there longer than usual and he knew too well how his little girl was. All pouts and hiccups when she missed him a little bit more.

“I could pick her-” Veronica started, but Harry’s sharp voice cut her off before she could even finish a thought. He hated prioritizing work over his daughter.

“No, I need you here with me. I- just give me five minutes, okay? Go get him water, or wine, or whatever he wants…” He waved at her dismissively and waited until she disappeared before he picked up his phone, his fingers flying quickly across the screen. His mom lived three hours away, there was no way she could pick Ema up, and his sister had a swimming lesson with her daughter. There was only one last option.

“Hey, baby, are you free right now? It's an emergency,” Harry rushed out as he paced around his office anxiously, the rhythmic thud of his polished shoes echoing in the otherwise quiet room.

“Harry, what’s going on? Is everything okay? Is Ema alright?” The worry in your voice clear as day, making Harry’s chest tighten with guilt.

“We’re okay. Sort of. You remember the Stevenson guy I was talking about the other day? He just appeared here. For a meeting. And you know how good this deal could be for us but- I can’t pick up Ema from kindergarten.” He sunk into the leather chair, rubbing a hand over his stubbled cheeks in distress.

“Oh I can pick her up. It’s no problem. She knows how I look right? I don’t want her to panic or something,” You sprung from your chair so fast you almost tripped over your feet and threw a hoodie on. Ema’s kindergarten wasn’t far away from your apartment and Harry’s office. You walked around the place often even before you started dating Harry, always admiring the garden and playgrounds.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. She knows you’re my girl,” Harry let out a sigh, a mixture of relief and sadness swirling in his gut, “I’m sorry this is how you’re gonna meet her, I really wanted it to be more special, not rushed and hectic,”

“It’s not your fault, Harry,” You murmured in the reassuring tone that always got to Harry, soothing every single worry that was left in his head and tension in his body, “I’m happy I can help. Now go make the deal, yeah? I’ve got her,”

“Yeah,” He laughed quietly at the encouragement, “Come to mine office after you pick her up. I know I’m saying this all the time, but you’re an angel, my love. Thank you,”

It didn’t take you long before you were standing in the doorway of Ema’s kindergarten. The building looked like it was made in the last century, but was freshly renovated. You were surprised Ema wasn’t in the top-notch place with a silver spoon in her mouth but rather normal surroundings. Ema’s education was really important to Harry and just because he had the privilege of a wealthy life, he didn’t want to raise a spoiled brat. He wanted her grounded, not crying every time she didn’t get everything she wanted.

“Hello, I’m here for Ema Styles,” You smiled brightly at the teacher. She looked about the same age as you, and she greeted you excitedly.

“Oh yes! Mr. Styles called ahead. Ema is already waiting on you!” She pointed at the small table where she was sitting, clutching a crayon in her small fist, finishing her drawing. “ Ema your- you can go home finally!”

The call of her name got Ema’s attention and she looked up from the paper, her pigtails bobbing slightly when she looked up at you. Her expression was blank, her green eyes unreadable. She didn’t smile or cry. Without saying anything, she got up and started getting dressed all by herself.

“Hello,” She said to you quietly when you stepped out onto the London pavement. She had a purple sweater on, partially hiding her light pink dress, and pink ballet flats, the picture she drew in her hand. Harry loved to dress her up like a proper princess. “Made this for daddy,”

“That’s beautiful, Em! Daddy’s gonna love it. Puts it in a frame and on a wall for sure!” You crouched down to her eye level and looked at the paper. The drawing was a chaotic mess of lines and circles in bright colours, but you could make out two stick figures holding hands, resembling the picture of her and Harry.

You walked mostly in silence to Harry’s office. You tried to have a conversation with her, asked her various questions from “What did you have for lunch?” to “What is your favourite animal?” but her answers were short, barely any. It’s been ages since you took care of a child. You couldn’t mess this up!

The skyscraper where Harry’s office was stood right in front of you just over the street, it’s top hidden somewhere between the clouds. “C’mon Ema, we’re almost here!” You took her small hand in yours when you reached the crosswalk, the evening rush hour at its peak.

But Ema didn’t like this. In the split of a second she pulled at your hand and bit down on the flesh of your wrist.

“Ema! Ouch!” You gasped, pulling your hand away to check the mark. The half moons of her teeth cut deep in your skin, some of them drawing blood. Ema didn't look sorry at all. She looked defiant, her lower lip trembling as she clutched her drawing tighter.

You didn’t dare to scold her, nor touch her. Your hand throbbed in pain for the rest of the walk and the ride in the elevator, a painful reminder of her territorial love for her father.

“There are my girls!” Harry walked in his office with a wide, yet slightly tired smile about an hour later, his tie loosened at the collar. You were sitting in the leather armchair that was probably more expensive than your whole kitchen, watching Ema play on the couch with the toys she had there.

“Daddy!” She shrieked, running into his open arms. Harry caught her mid-air, spinning her around as she erupted into peals of delighted laughter. The cold, silent child from the walk was gone, replaced by a radiant, giggly girl.

“Hey, my darling,” He murmured, kissing her forehead before walking over to you. He tucked Ema under one arm and used the other to pull you into a brief but firm kiss. “Thank you so much, baby... Was she a good girl?”

“Mhm, yeah she was,” You lied at his question and tugged at the sleeve of your hoodie to hide the mark Ema imprinted on you from Harry, forcing a small smile instead. “I should probably get going, though. I still have to finish some articles and umh, I can see someone missed you a lot,”

“You don’t want to grab dinner with us? I wanted to celebrate the deal with both of you!” Harry pouted at you, his thumb grazing your cheek. He could see you weren’t completely at ease, but he didn’t want to push it. After the few months of dating, he knew your body language like the back of his hand as well as every sign of your uneasiness.

“Would love to, but I really can’t. Call me later?” You got up on your feet and gently rubbed his arm, hoping he would let it go.

“Okay,… text me when you get home then,” He pulled you in another kiss that lasted just a few moments before Ema decided to disturb you with an insistent tugs at Harry’s shirt, clearly wanting attention again, making you pull away with a sad smile.

Not having sex with Harry was torturing yet a respectful and delicate thing at the same time. Even though he was head over heels for you, he was taking this part of your relationship very seriously, though his hands and eyes slipped more than once. During your steamy makeouts, he gripped on your waist a little more tightly, or even let his hands wander underneath your shirt. When you were straddling his lap, he buckled his hips to meet yours, creating some friction. And a few times he even gripped on your breasts, which made you giggle. He loved to mark your skin, dig his fingers in your flesh, cling to you until you had to pull him off. You didn’t have many chances to do something more, but when you did, it had you ruined.

It took Harry many relentless attempts before you finally found the courage and agreed on staying over again, for the first time with Ema under the same roof, especially after her angry bite he still didn’t know about. He bought the excuse within the first second and smothered your hand in soothing kisses, living in the reality your friend’s dog attacked you.

You had a ‘family’ dinner first. Harry was the one who talked most of the time but neither of you seemed to mind. He was in his element. He told animated stories about his work, adjusted just slightly so Ema could understand it too, and enjoyed spending the evening with people he loved the most.

After that, Harry was quick to usher Ema in bed. He didn’t want to neglect her but he was so excited about you he couldn’t contain himself. He pulled her dress over her head quickly, making her curls bounce around her face as he searched for her pyjamas with unicorns.

“Daddy,” She squirmed in her bed from the sudden cold and wrapped her arms around her body to warm herself.

“I’m coming, sweetheart! Adorable unicorns for an adorable girl!” He huffed out a laugh and kneeled back in front of her on the floor, helping her dress up. He knew all too well she was clever to do it all herself but he wanted to save some time.

“Read me?” She pouted when he tugged the little pair of leggings on her wiggly legs and smoothed the wrinkled fabric with his palm.

“A story?” He let out a sigh, but smiled immediately, not wanting to look annoyed with her.

“Mhm. From grandma,” Ema crawled over her bed to hand Harry the book her grandma, Anne, wrote. She fell in love with it immediately after Anne read it to her for the first time, and ever since then Ema demanded it from Harry.

“Okay, but just one chapter, yes?” Harry took the book from her and ran the back of his hand over her cheek. “Now get under the covers, bug, so I can start,”

To Harry’s luck, she was out like a light by the third page and with a good night kiss to her forehead and a whisper of “I love you”, he turned the moon shaped lamp on her bedside table off and closed the door of her room with a quiet thud.

You were just getting out of the ensuite bathroom, your body wrapped in a fuzzy towel Harry got warmed up on the radiator for you, steam followed you out of the door as you patted your hair dry.

The shelves in the shower were full of fancy sounding bottles bought just for you to make you feel at home, or like a princess given the expensive brands from Dior to other French and Italian names you've never heard before and could only dream about with your paycheque. In Harry’s eyes, it was the bare minute he could do for you.

Your body smelled like orange blossom, creamy vanilla and cedar. A mix you found made Harry feral.

Suddenly a solid weight pressed against you from behind, strong tattooed arms sneaked around your middle and held you in a firm grip against his chest. “Did you have a nice shower, love?”

“Mhm” You hummed with a soft smile he couldn’t see, and slowly turned around in his arms so you could see him. “Really nice,”

“You used the body wash I bought you, didn’t ya? You smell,” Harry buried his nose in the crook of your neck and took a long whiff, basking in the smell of your freshly washed body. “Divine. Delicious even. So good for me.”

You giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close as he pulled you up in the air, making you squeal and kick your legs. “Harry! Ema is right down the hall!”

“So responsible,” He moaned in your skin and set you down on the king sized bed, his body hovering over yours in no time, his knees parting your legs. He trailed kisses all over your neck and jaw before he settled on your lips, kissing you deeply.

“Yeah, that’s why you should keep little Harry in your oh-“ You whimpered in his mouth when you felt his bulge press against your thigh, excitement obviously proud in his sweatpants.

“Baby,” Harry huffed like a child that couldn’t have his lolly and tightened his grip around your waist in protest, not wanting to let you go, preferably ever. “Please. We’ll just have to be quiet,”

“What’s got into you?” You grinned at his eagerness. You’ve never seen him this giddy. His fingers shook and little moans escaped his lips with every grind of his hips against yours. You cupped his cheeks with your hands, the stubble stung your palms pleasingly as you turned his head to look at you.

“I don’t know. You- you just smell so nice! And I’ve been thinking a lot about this, us, and we’ve been together for so long… I want to move our relationship on another level,” Harry murmured, his voice taking on almost a shy tone.

You haven’t done more than cunnilingus, fingering or blowjobs. Harry was very strict about sex. He knew the birth controls nowadays were very effective and with minimal chances of getting pregnant, but he needed the assurance of your relationship. It was a living hell for him and his cock, he couldn’t count the number of times he jerked off to the images of you, but he didn’t want to risk unplanned pregnancy too.

“Yeah?” Your cheeks turned red at his confession, “Are you sure? You know I don’t mind doing just the other things, we don’t have to have sex,”

“No, no, no,” He shook his head abruptly and covered your hand on his cheeks with his own, keeping it in its place. “I want to make love to you,”

You leaned forward and pecked the corner of his mouth softly before focusing on the centre of his lips and kissed him deeply, trying to communicate the love and care your heart held for him.

“Is that a yes?” He nuzzled his nose in your cheek and pressed a few kisses behind.

“But we really have to be quiet. I don’t want to traumatise Ema on our first time,” Your hands slowly moved over his broad chest and under the hem of his worn out shirt, tracing his abs with your pointer finger before you tugged his shirt over his head and threw it somewhere on the floor..

“I’m so lucky,” Harry sat down on his shins only to take a look at you sprawled underneath him, your body hidden just under the fuzzy material of the towel. “Such a beautiful girl and all mine,”

He toyed with the edge of the towel before tugging at it lightly, unwrapping you like a gift on a Christmas Day. Your nipples perked up at the hit of cold air, goosebumps appearing on your skin immediately.

“Oh and look at those tits,” Harry groaned and dived in without even checking with you. He needed his mouth on your skin like oxygen for breathing. He wrapped his lips around your nipple and started sucking as he palmed on your other breast.

You wrapped your legs around his middle, digging your heels in his lower back, keeping him as close as possible. Your back arched from the mattress at the feeling of his tongue on your sensitive bud and you let out a quiet moan.

“Daddy?” The small, tiny voice from the doorway was like a bucket of ice water.

“Fuck,” Harry cursed under his breath and rested his forehead against your shoulder to contain himself.

He was so excited about spending the night with you in a new way. Not just with his head between your legs, but also with his cock filling you up to the brim. It’s been more than three years since he had sex.

You scrambled up under Harry and immediately wrapped the towel back around your body, your face flaming hot, as you hid yourself from the innocent eyes of the little girl.

“Hey, bug. What’s wrong?” He sighed and pulled away from you when he was sure you were decently covered.

“Can’t sleep,” Ema stuck out her bottom lip, pouting at Harry with the biggest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. It wasn’t something new for her. She had a few sleepless nights and craved the warmth and comfort of her dad from time to time. Just like tonight.

“Oh baby,” Harry stood up from the bed and obtrusively tugged at the fabric of his sweatpants around his crotch, trying to hide the tent a group of scouts could camp under, before he crouched in front of her.

You used this moment to change into something and took Harry’s discarded shirt from the floor and put it on, accompanying it with a pair of fresh panties.

The steamy night was officially over. You didn’t mind Ema staying with the two of you. At the end of the day she was still Harry’s daughter and the most important little human, but deep down you feared her, as if you had to be on your toes any time you were in her presence.

“Get in the bed then, you can sleep with us tonight, yeah?” He encouraged her softly with a gentle rub on her shoulder and stood back up, making his way to you.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I will make it up to you. A weekend, just the two of us, this little monster at my mum’s or sister’s,” Harry pecked your lips, his hands cradling your face gently. “Now get in the bed too so we can cuddle,”

You moved to the edge of the mattress to give her space, letting Ema take up the whole middle Ema, but she didn’t want your generosity. As she climbed in, her small foot lashed out, a deliberate, sharp kick landing right in your stomach, making you cry out in pain.

“Oi, little girl! What was that?!” Harry’s voice raised to the tone you only heard him use in work, but never with his daughter. He rounded the bed quickly, his expression stern.

“We don’t kick other’s, it could really hurt them. This wasn’t nice from you. And here I was thinking you could get extra cuddles tonight, but I’m not really sure you deserve them now when I saw this.” He shook his head disapprovingly and rested his hand gently on her back.

“Sorry, daddy,” Ema whispered, her gaze dropping to her lap.

“No, sweets. Don’t be sorry to me. Why did you do that?” Harry brushed a few messy locks from his daughter’s forehead as he held her close to his side with his free hand. He had a frown on his lips and his brows were furrowed, a clear disappointment by what his daughter did to you was written all over his face. Ema never acted like this. She was always a sweet and kind girl, just like Harry raised her. This behaviour didn't make any sense to him.

Ema only shook her head in an answer and wrapped her chubby arms around Harry’s torso, burying her face in his bare chest. He looked up from his daughter back at you with confused expression, not really sure how to deal with the situation on his hands, and only subconsciously tightened his grip around her small tired body and pressed her closer in his side in an attempt to soothe both of them.

“Remember what we said, darling? That we treat each other with kindness and respect? If you don’t want to talk about it right now, okay, it’s past your bedtime anyway... But we are gonna have a big talk tomorrow. I won’t let this slide. Can we agree on that, sweetheart?”

You watched Harry handle this unusual situation with grace and calm mind, his patience not flinching at all, not even for a split of a second. And you slowly started to realise that maybe you were the cause of Ema’s behaviour.

Every single bone in your body screamed ’leave!’ at you. You were stuck in your thoughts and Harry’s bed, unable to do anything. Staying made you feel bad because of Ema but leaving would hurt Harry.

In no time, Ema’s body grew limp against him and quiet snores were escaping her lips, signalling she was soundly asleep again. You watched the situation that normally made you coo with a heavy heart, knowing this all was your fault.

“I have a hard on,” Harry mouthed when he was sure his daughter was out like a light, and stuck his bottom lip out enough to pout at you.

The corners of your mouth quirked up slightly at the reassuring revelation that Harry wasn’t mad at you, but the clear opposite. You let out a quiet chuckle at the irony and looked down in your lap, your cheeks turning a tint red.

“Come here,” He laid back in the silky pillows with Ema half sprawled over his bare chest and made a grabby hand, pulling you in his free side. His strong tattooed arm sneaked around your shoulders and cradled you close to him, his lips found the crown of your head and pressed a kiss there. He could tell you were a little thrown off by Ema and wanted to soothe your worries. “I’m so sorry, baby”

“It’s okay,” You let out a long sigh and nuzzled in the croak of his neck, hiding under his chin. You still felt a shooting pain in your stomach, sure there would be a big bruise, but tried to overcome it. You had a perfect view on Ema, her face lacking the anger and envy she held against you a few minutes ago. It almost made you tear up. You wanted this little girl to love you just as much as you already loved her.

“It is not okay. She can’t hurt my girlfriend. That is forbidden in my book.” Harry huffed. It was obvious in his tone how upset he was, even though he tried to hide it for both yours and Ema’s sake.

“I swear she’d never kicked anyone. She’s always been a good girl.” He added, now much more quietly, as if he had to convince you.

“I’m not mad at her, Harry,” You mumbled against the skin of his neck in reassurance, but maybe the words were meant more for you than him.

“She’ll come around, I promise…” The words were determined, but you could hear a hint of uncertainty somewhere between the syllables. Harry took your hand in his gently, your fingers soft against his rough ones, and covered Ema’s curled fist that’s been resting in the middle of his chest with it. “She’s gonna love you before we both know it.”

The talk came right after breakfast. You were planning on leaving as soon as you could after opening your eyes, not wanting to make Ema even more upset, but Harry insisted on your presence and the apology Ema had to give you.

“So,” Harry started after all tummies were full and the dishes were cleaned up. “What are you gonna tell me about last night, Ema?”

The three of you were sitting together in the living room on an L-shaped couch, you by Harry’s side, his grip around your waist tight enough to prevent you from pulling away, and Ema across from you. This was the first time Harry had to have such a talk with his daughter. His hands were sweating a bit and his knee was shaking as he was thinking about how to approach this situation.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” She mumbled with a quiet sigh and looked down at Mr. Snuggles, her plush bunny you gave her, in her lap.

“Sweetheart,” He tutted at her apology, “Why did you kick her? You know this isn’t nice. I’m very disappointed.”

Ema stayed quiet, her gaze focused only on her bunny, not daring to look up and show her tears filled eyes. Harry didn’t pressure her to talk, he knew he had to give her little mind some space.

“You like her more,” Ema whispered finally.

The quiet confession broke Harry’s heart. He knew jealousy could play a part here, but not in that significant amount.

“Ema…” Harry murmured her name sadly, his arm tightening subconsciously around you at the revelation. “I love you both so much, and you both make me so damn happy, bug. And it doesn’t mean I love one of you more or less.”

You watched the quiet exchange with bated breath and guilt creeping up your back. The last thing you wanted was to have Ema feel like this about you.

“Come closer, gimme a snuggle, darling,” He reached out his free hand to her and patiently waited until she crawled over and hid in his chest.

“I want her to live with us someday, be a proper family,” Both of yours and Ema’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at Harry’s words, not expecting this in the slightest, but he didn’t seem to care or notice and only cradled Ema closer. “Wouldn’t you want that too? Be a big happy family?”

“Like Olivia’s family?”

“Yeah,” Harry let out a small laugh at her question about her friend from kindergarten she spent a few afternoons with, “We could have a mommy too, you know, like Olivia has,”

“Do you love me, daddy?” She asked in a small voice, her lips quivering with tears she was trying to fight.

“I love you so so so so so much, Ema. You’re my sweet girl, my little treasure,” He murmured in her curls, still untamed and messy just like his own. “Remember this, okay? I’m gonna love you forever,”

“Does she love me?” Ema peeked up at you. Her eyes were glassy and lips dropped in the most heart breaking pout that would make you give this girl the whole world. Harry followed her gaze and turned his head himself, watching you with a hopeful expression.

“I love you too, Ema.” You said softly, as if a louder tone could startle her, and hesitantly reached up to cup her cheek. “I don’t want to make you sad, sweetheart. And I don’t want to take your daddy from you. But he makes me happy too, just like you. Maybe we could share him?”

The almost silly offer lingered in the air filled with nothing but quiet sighs and your breathing for a few moments. Harry’s eyes were moving between you and his daughter as if he was watching a tennis match, not wanting to miss a single emotion and reaction from either of you. And then finally, Ema nodded.

“Okay,” She took the peace offering with a small nod and covered your hand with her smaller one on her cheek.

“One more thing Ems,” Harry gave her little body a squeeze. The main point of this conversation still unfulfilled.

“I am sorry for kicking you,” Ema whispered with a sad pout.

“Thank you, Ema. I forgive you.” You said and ran your fingers through her hair, tugging a loose strand behind her ear.

Day Off

“Can you grab table 6 for me?” you asked Mandy while balancing three cocktails on a tray, your fingers trembling slightly from the weight. It was Valentine’s season, and Velours et Flamme was packed to the brim. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses echoed through the gilded dining room, where even the flickering candlelight seemed to exude wealth.

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t Valentine’s Day yet—everyone wanted their moment under the chandeliers. For them, it was romance; for you, it was a chaotic shift.

You’d been working at Velours et Flamme for a year now, and you knew the drill: smug diners with wallets thicker than your rent, checks that could pay off your student loans, and that absurd scotch on the menu—£1,500 a pour. To this day, you were waiting for the kind of client who would actually order it. 

“Sure thing,” Mandy said with a wink, swooping past you with practiced ease. She had a knack for smoothing things over, whether it was with a picky customer or a stressed coworker. If Mandy wasn’t here, you weren’t sure how you’d survive these shifts.

London was unforgiving, and the pay barely covered the essentials—your rent, your transit card, and the occasional discount coffee from the café down the street. Your shoes, now with a small but growing hole near the toe, told the story of just how tight things had become. God forbid you needed to replace anything.

As Mandy headed for table 6, you stole a moment to glance around the room. The scent of truffle oil and roasted lamb was in the air, mingling with the sharper scent of overpriced cologne. Couples leaned in close at every table, champagne glasses raised, their conversations drowning in the clinking cutlery and soft piano music. Mandy, as usual, glided effortlessly between the chaos. She was stunning—like she belonged on the cover of Vogue instead of weaving through tables at Velours. The way she carried herself, you wouldn’t guess she was struggling just as much as you were. But you knew better. Beneath her flawless smile and the perfectly knotted apron, she was just like you: one bad week away from disaster.

You adjusted the tray in your hands and sighed. This was your life now. Maybe someday you’d climb out of this rut, but for now, it was all about surviving one shift at a time.

Just as you turned to deliver the drinks to table 9, the heavy oak doors of the restaurant creaked open, and the cold London air swept in. You glanced toward the entrance, catching sight of a man walking in. His tailored coat was with some raindrops, and his dark hair was just long enough to curl at the edges.

He was greeted by the host, and you caught his name—Harry Styles. You watched as the host confirmed his reservation.

Harry was alone, which was odd for this time of year. Valentine’s season practically demanded companionship at a place like this. But maybe his date was running late. Or his wife? You glanced at his left hand, but from this distance, it was impossible to tell.

He looked about 33, though it was hard to pin down exactly—youthful yet mature, effortlessly put-together in a way that suggested his wardrobe cost more than your yearly salary. His tailored black coat hung perfectly over broad shoulders, and when he ran a hand through his hair, the movement seemed practiced, like he was used to being observed.

And worth a million dollars? That part wasn’t in question. Everything about him screamed money—the subtle watch peeking out from his cuff, the polished leather boots, the way he carried himself like the room was his even though he’d just walked in.

The host gestured for him to follow, leading him straight to a table in your section. Your section.

You felt a flicker of something—nerves? Annoyance? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. All you knew was that your curiosity had been piqued. You adjusted your apron and reached for the notepad tucked into your pocket, readying yourself to take his order.

Before you could take a step, Mandy appeared at your side, her lips curving into a sly smile.

“Think that’s the guy who’s finally ordering the scotch?” she teased, nudging you with her elbow.

You snorted softly, shaking your head. “If he does, I’ll frame the receipt,” you muttered.

Mandy’s grin widened, and she winked before sashaying off toward table 6.

You took a steadying breath and made your way toward his table. As you approached, you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze briefly flicked up from the menu he’d been scanning

“Good evening,” you said, forcing your voice to steady as you reached his table. “Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

He looked towards his phone on the table “Just water for now, thanks,” he said, his voice rich and smooth, but maybe with a tired undertone

Not the scotch, then.

“Of course,” you replied, scribbling it down. You walked towards the bar and Mandy was there patiently waiting

“The scotch??” she asked, her smile mischievous as her eyes flicked over your shoulder in the direction of his table.

“Water,” you said, your voice tinged with mock defeat as you plopped your notepad on the counter.

Mandy looked at you for a moment before the bartender slid the glass of water across the counter. She grabbed it and handed it to you with a knowing smile. “C’mon don’t be so sad, we will find that scotch guy”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you headed back to his table. As you approached, you couldn’t help but glance at him again—his fingers tapping idly against the edge of the table, his eyes scanning the room but never settling on anything. There was something about him, something you couldn’t quite place.

“Here you go,” you said, placing the glass of water on the table.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Can I get the smoked salmon, the asparagus salad, and…” He paused, finally looking at you. The pause lingered longer than you expected. “A Blackthorn Reserve. Neat,” he finished, his gaze still fixed on you.

“Smoked salmon, asparagus salad, and Blackthorn Reserve,” you repeated, trying to read him, but his expression gave nothing away.

“Thanks…” he said going back to his phone No date, no wife—just him, casually dining in an absurdly expensive restaurant while everyone else was tangled in whispered conversations and candlelit stares. He was the only one alone, a stark contrast to the Valentine’s frenzy buzzing around.

Something about him tugged at your curiosity. Why was he here, of all places? Who was he? How much was his coat, and why did it cost more than your rent? Rich men came and went every day, dripping with smugness and entitlement, but he was different. There was no show, no pretense. He treated this place like it was McDonald’s—calm, unbothered, as if the exclusivity and extravagance meant nothing to him. That nonchalance only added to the mystery, making it impossible not to wonder what his story was.

The bar hummed with activity, a low symphony of clinking glasses, muted laughter, and the occasional scrape of chairs against polished wood. You navigated the crowd, the weight of the tray in your hand feeling oddly grounding amidst the chaos.

“Can I get a Blackthorne Reserve, neat?” you said to the bartender on call. He barely glanced up, focused on shaking a cocktail for the group at the other end of the counter. The momentary wait was a blessing—giving you a second to steal a glance at him again. He sat at the corner table, the one slightly shrouded in shadow. His posture was relaxed, one hand tracing the rim of the empty glass in front of him.

When his drink was ready, you balanced the tray carefully and made your way over. The coaster slid neatly onto the table before you placed the drink on top.

“Blackthorne Reserve, neat,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt.

He looked up, his expression calm yet unreadable. “Thanks... Can I get your name, please?” His tone was casual, but his words carried a strange weight that made your heart stutter.

“Y/N, sir,” you replied, meeting his gaze for a second longer than you intended.

“Thanks, Y/N.” He smiled then—a small, soft smile that you could feel, inexplicably, in your chest.

You nodded and turned away, heading to the next table, though you were suddenly more aware of the way you moved. You kept busy—taking orders, clearing plates, laughing politely at some table’s joke. Yet, every so often, your gaze wandered back to him. He wasn’t demanding, not like some of the regulars who snapped fingers or tapped glasses. No, he sat with an air of quiet patience, occasionally checking his phone, occasionally glancing around the room. You wondered what had brought him here tonight. A celebration? A distraction?

When his dinner order was ready, you rushed to the kitchen pass, grabbing the plate with a precision born of habit. You steadied your breathing as you approached his table, placing the dish down with care.

“Smoked salmon and asparagus salad,” you announced.

“Perfect, Y/N. Thank you so much,” he said, and there it was again—the faint curve of his lips, his voice as soft as it was warm.

The evening rush began to taper off, leaving the restaurant quieter but no less busy. You caught sight of him still at his table, the remnants of his meal neatly pushed to the side. His glass sat empty now, save for the last amber droplet at the bottom, and you found yourself wondering if he was ready to leave.

Before you could approach, he raised his hand slightly—a small, deliberate gesture that seemed to summon only you.

“Another Blackthorne Reserve?” he asked when you were close enough to hear.

“Of course, sir.”

“Drop the ‘sir,’ please,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a barely-there smile. “Harry, my name it’s Harry”

You felt a flush of warmth creep up your neck but nodded. “Coming right up, Harry”

At the bar, you relayed the order, watching out of the corner of your eye as he leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting lazily around the room. By the time his drink was ready, you were certain he had no intention of rushing out. You placed the glass in front of him with the same careful precision. “Blackthorne Reserve,” you said softly.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said, his voice quieter now, as though the dimming energy of the restaurant had reached him too. “Anything else?” you said softly

He didn’t immediately answered instead, he cradled the glass in his hands, staring down at the dark liquid for a moment before lifting his gaze again. His eyes roamed the room, landing briefly on each table. Couples sat scattered around the restaurant—some leaning close, sharing quiet conversations; others laughing over shared plates. A few tables sat in comfortable silence, the kind that came from years of companionship. And then at you.

“Busy night,” he murmured, catching you lingering nearby.

You looked around as if you didn’t knew it ws a busy night, then nodded. “Always is, especially with so many couples out. Valentine’s coming up”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice carrying a wistful note. He swirled the drink in his glass before taking a slow sip. “Guess I picked the wrong night to dine alone.”

The words caught you off guard, but you managed a polite smile. “Some people prefer it. A quiet drink, good food—it’s not a bad way to spend an evening.”

He looked at you then, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “What about you? Do you get much time for quiet evenings like this?”

The question was unexpected, and you faltered. “Not much,” you admitted. “Work keeps me busy.”

He nodded, as if that answer satisfied him, but there was something in his gaze that lingered. It felt like he wanted to say more but didn’t. As the evening wore on, he stayed longer than most, nursing his second drink and watching the world around him with a quiet attentiveness. You found yourself glancing his way more often than you meant to, wondering what kept him there—and whether he might ask for something else before the night was over. The restaurant was nearly empty now, the hum of conversation replaced by the clatter of plates being cleared and the occasional murmur of the remaining people. You passed by his table one last time, noting the way he stared into the near-empty glass, lost in thought.

As if sensing your presence, he looked up and offered a faint smile. “Can I get the check, please?”

You nodded, quickly retrieving the bill and placing it on the table. “Here you go.”

He glanced at it, pulled out a sleek black card, and handed it back to you. “Thanks, Y/N.”

The transaction was quick, and when you returned with the receipt, he stood, slipping the signed copy back into your hands.

“Have a good night,” he said softly, pausing just long enough to meet your eyes before heading toward the door.You watched him leave, his figure disappearing into the cool night air. The faint sound of the door closing behind him was a strange punctuation mark to the evening—unremarkable, yet lingering all the same.

And then, the rhythm of work pulled you back, but you couldn’t quite shake the weight of his presence. “Y/N? C’mon there’s a lot of mess here” you heard Mandy and glanced at her, plates, glasses, napkins. It was going to be a long week.

-----

Valentine’s day arrived and the soft murmur of conversations filled the elegant space of Velours et Flamme. You were just adjusting a neatly folded napkin at your station. It was already late, just 2 hours before closing, couples were coming and going, but this was the last shift of reservations

“Good evening, welcome to Velours et Flamme. Do you have a reservation?” the host asked.

“Yes, Styles. Harry Styles,” came the reply. His voice was smooth, distinct, and enough to draw your eyes toward him. Standing tall in a sleek coat.

“Table 11, if possible,” he added with a polite nod, his gaze drifting briefly over the dining area.

“Table 11 is currently busy, but I can offer you 19. It’s a lovely table by the window.”

There was a brief pause “19 it is,” he said, his voice tinged with reluctance.

The host gestured toward the far side of the room, leading him past softly glowing tables and couples lost in intimate conversations. He sat down, still looking for you but his perspective was interrupted by Mandy, the epitome of calm under pressure, She greeted him warmly, placing a menu on the table. “Good evening, sir. Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Can I start you off with a drink tonight?”

He looked up from the menu, his polite smile softening as he spoke. “Thanks, but before I order… Is Y/N working tonight?” 

Mandy blinked, caught off guard, but quickly recovered. “Y/N? Oh, yes, she’s here tonight. She’s been covering the other section.”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, his expression unreadable “Do you think she could take my table instead?”

Mandy’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Of course. Let me check with her, and I’ll be right back.”

As Mandy walked toward you, you noticed her smirking like she was holding onto some juicy secret. “You’ve got a request,” she said, her tone teasing.

Your brows furrowed. “A request? For what?”

“For you,” she said, nodding toward table 19. “Mr. Styles wants you to take his table. Any idea what that’s about?”

Your stomach flipped at the mention of his name. You clearly remembered him from two nights ago. You wiped your hands on your apron, trying to steady yourself. “I’ll take it and you can take table 10 for me” you said, as you headed toward his table.

When you arrived, he looked up, his expression softening into a warm smile. “Y/N,” he said, your name sounding effortless on his lips. “Good to see you.”

“Good evening, Mr. Styles,” you replied, your voice steady despite the quickening beat of your heart. “I’ll be taking care of your table tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?” “Wine, Soléne Blanc, Truffle-infused Fettuccine and sparkling water” he said not even looking at the menu “Coming right up” you said smiling, you somehow felt happy, you had your usuals clients, but they were cold, smug, mostly annoying, him? totally different vibe. You kept serving him with a small smile, always checking in case he needed something, but he didn’t ask for much. He ate quietly, sipping his wine and enjoying his pasta like it was just another evening out. Like if the restaurant wasn’t all decorated with heart balloons and cupid stuff.

The night went on, and the restaurant slowly emptied. Couples left hand in hand, tables were cleared, and the soft hum of conversation faded away. Eventually, it was just one other customer in the far corner—and him. You busied yourself wiping down tables and resetting for the next day, glancing at his table now and then. He didn’t look like he was in a rush, finishing his wine and leaning back slightly in his chair.

Finally, he raised his hand, and you walked over, thinking he was ready to leave.

“Would you like the check, Mr. Styles?” you asked politely, ready to grab it for him.

But instead of nodding, he looked up at you, his expression calm but curious. “Not just yet,” he said. “Are you allowed to sit down for a bit?”

The question caught you off guard. “Yes, of course,” you said, glancing around. The manager and the host had gone home early that day to be with their SOs, but you? Along with the servers, chefs, and cleaning staff? Yeah, no such luck.

You sat down across from him, feeling a bit nervous, not sure what this was all about.

“You know,” he started, his tone hesitant, “I don’t know if this is weird at all—and you can tell me to fuck off if it is—but...” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t have many friends, and tonight... I just need to vent.”

“Well, I’m a good listener,” you replied, suddenly way more curious than before.

He exhaled deeply, his hand still resting on the base of his glass. “It’s Valentine’s Day, you know?” he started, glancing out the window. “Supposed to be about love, connection... all that.” He let out a dry laugh. “But here I am, eating dinner alone, wondering if I’ve got it all wrong.”

You tilted your head slightly, encouraging him to go on.

“My love life?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s... nonexistent. And it’s not like I haven’t tried. But most people don’t stick around. They see me, and they assume—‘CEO,’ right? So they’re either intimidated or they expect me to be some larger-than-life, perfect version of myself. I end up pushing people away because... what’s the point? I’ll never be what they want me to be. And even if I could... it wouldn’t feel real.”

He paused, his expression softening. “It’s stupid, isn’t it? A room full of people earlier tonight, and I’ve never felt lonelier. Sometimes, it feels like there’s this... wall between me and the rest of the world. Like I’ll never find someone who’s really... my person.”

Your heart ached a little at his words. “I don’t think that’s stupid at all,” you said softly. “I mean, I get it... in a way. Maybe not from a CEO perspective,” you added with a small laugh, “but... I get it.”

You leaned forward, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the table. “I’ve been working as a waitress for years now. Just trying to make ends meet, you know? And between shifts and side jobs, there’s no time for... anything else. No time for dating or even dreaming about a real future.

“The few boyfriends I’ve had?” you continued, shaking your head. “They never got it. They’d complain about me working too much or not spending enough time with them. But they never thought about my goals—what I wanted. And let’s be real,” you added with a small shrug, “it’s not like my paycheck could make those dreams happen anyway. So, yeah, I guess I’ve given up on that, too. What’s the point, right?”

You let out a short laugh, trying to lighten the moment, but he didn’t laugh with you. Instead, he studied you, his expression softening even more.

“It’s different,” you said quickly, “but... I think I understand. Feeling like you’re giving so much of yourself but never really... being seen.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on yours. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Exactly that.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the kitchen winding down and the soft hum of the music filled the space between you.

“Thanks” “Anytime”

-----

After that first night, when he opened up to you, something shifted. He became a regular, showing up more often than you expected. Always in your section. Always polite, Always Harry. with that soft smile that somehow made your stomach flip no matter how much you tried to ignore it. And yet, every time he walked through the door, you felt a tiny pang of dread mixed with curiosity.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t kind—he was. He never made you feel uncomfortable, never crossed a line. But that was exactly the problem. It was too easy to talk to him, to laugh at his dry jokes or share fleeting glimpses of yourself you hadn’t meant to reveal. You’d been down this road before, or so you told yourself. You knew what happened when you let someone in. It started with little things—a laugh, a smile, a shared moment. And before you knew it, your heart was tied up in something messy, something that always felt like it demanded too much of you.

Your exes had taught you that love wasn’t about equal footing, at least not for someone like you. Love had been another job, another place where you had to prove yourself, where your dreams took a backseat because someone else needed more—more time, more attention, more of you.

And now, here he was. Harry. A man who, on the surface, seemed worlds apart from you but had a way of making you feel like he truly saw you. And that terrified you.

Because what if he didn’t? What if, like everyone else, he was drawn to an idea of you—someone kind, patient, maybe even a little mysterious—but not the real you? The one who worked double shifts just to keep the lights on, who barely had time to think about her own dreams, let alone share them with someone else?

So, you kept your walls up. You kept things professional, polite. You smiled, laughed when it felt safe, but you never let yourself think too much about why his visits mattered or why your heart raced when you saw him.

Until that night.

You brought the check over as you always did, a practiced smile on your face. He signed it, handed it back, and thanked you like he always did. But rushed to go out.

When you glanced down at the receipt, your breath caught.

“123-456-7890 Call me? - Harry”

The number scrawled below it was neat, confident, like he hadn’t hesitated for a second. But you did.

You gripped the paper tightly, your mind spinning. This was the moment you dreaded—the moment where things teetered on the edge of something more. And with it came all the fears you’d been trying to bury.

Because what if he meant it? What if he actually wanted something real? What if he saw more in you than you could see in yourself? And maybe worst of all... what if you let yourself hope, only to have it all fall apart again?

You froze for a moment, staring at the slip of paper, your mind racing. He had just walked out the door, and you glanced after him through the window, catching the faintest glimpse of his silhouette.

----- A few nights passed, and you convinced yourself that ignoring the receipt was the right thing to do. The thought of calling him felt too big, too real. You’d gotten good at guarding your heart, at keeping things simple. But deep down, you felt the faint sting of regret every time you thought about it.

Then, on a quiet evening, as the rush died down, there he was.

You saw him before he saw you, his figure familiar now, confident but approachable. He made his way to the host stand, scanning the room until his eyes landed on you. His smile was soft, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t entirely sure he’d made the right decision coming back.

“Table 11 again?” he asked the host.

---

You approached, trying to steady your nerves. “Good evening,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

“Hi,” he replied, leaning slightly forward. His expression wasn’t upset, but there was something thoughtful in his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”

You shook your head, unsure what to say. “Why would i?” 

“I just wanted to check in,” he said. “About the number. I wasn’t sure if I crossed a line leaving it. If I did, I’m really sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”

You blinked, surprised. The last thing you expected was for him to apologize. God you expected an angry response, even pretentious but you even scolded yourself in your mind just thinking Harry was capable of that. “No, you didn’t cross a line,” you said quickly. “Not at all. It’s just...” You hesitated, feeling your walls crack ever so slightly. “It’s complicated.”

“I get that,” he said softly, leaning back in his chair. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I’d want.” The sincerity in his voice made something shift in you. For all your fears about opening up, he was here, not pushing, not demanding, just... waiting. The crack on your walls was now getting bigger.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “For saying that. And for... being patient.”

He nodded, smiling faintly. “I figured it was worth it. You seem worth it.”

The words hung between you, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. Your chest felt tight, like you were standing at the edge of something unknown. And then, before you could overthink it, you made a decision. 

One wall completely down.

You reached into your apron pocket, your fingers brushing against the scrap of paper you’d tucked away days ago. Slowly, you slid it out, unfolding it carefully before placing it on the table in front of him.

He glanced down, his brows lifting slightly as he recognized the paper.

“I didn’t call i did save the number in my phone but..i didn’t call…” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I was scared. I’ve always been scared. But maybe...” You took a shaky breath. “Maybe I’m tired of being scared.”

His eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something you hadn’t let yourself hope for—understanding, warmth, maybe even relief.

“So,” you continued, your voice steadying as you looked him in the eye. “If the offer’s still open, I’d like to start over.”

His smile widened, and he picked up the slip of paper, tucking it into his jacket pocket like it was something precious.

“The offer’s still open,” he said, his tone light but full of meaning.

For the first time in a long time, you let yourself smile back. “Can I start you off with something to drink?” you said going back to your waitress self, but this time with a big smile on your face.

The rest of the night carried an air of something new, something unspoken. You noticed it in the way his gaze lingered as you brought over his glass of wine—a different one tonight, a crisp Sauvignon Blanc.

“You’re not sticking to a favorite?” you teased lightly as you set the glass down.

He smirked, his fingers brushing the stem. “I like variety. Keeps things interesting.”

“Does that apply to everything or just wine?” you asked, surprising yourself with the boldness.

He chuckled “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

The banter flowed easily after that, your interactions feeling more relaxed, almost playful. When you brought out his dinner—tonight, a wild mushroom risotto—you couldn’t help but make a small quip.

“Risotto,” you said, placing the plate down. “Trying to impress someone tonight?”

“Just my server,” he replied smoothly, making you glance away with a shy smile.

As the evening wore on and the restaurant began to empty, you found yourself gravitating toward his table more often. He didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he welcomed your presence with a smile each time. When he finally asked for the check you came quickly and handed it over.

“Thanks,” he said, glancing up as he pulled out his card. “Should i leave another note on the receipt or should i ask right away?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “About what?” 

He handed back the signed receipt, a sly grin on his face. “Well, if we are skipping the middleman. Have dinner with me—somewhere that isn’t here. I promise I won’t make you serve me.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how casually he’d said it. “You’re asking me out?”

“Too fast?” he teased.

“A little,” you admitted, but your heart was pounding. “But i like it this time”

He stood, shrugging on his jacket. “Well, think about it. No pressure. Just... somewhere nice, where we can talk and you don’t have to carry plates around.”

You couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “Okay,” you said softly. “But only if I get to pick the place, no fancy Michelin-star restaurants.”

“Deal,” he said, standing and shrugging on his coat. “But just so you know, I’m good with street tacos or diner burgers.”

The laugh that bubbled out of you was genuine, and as he waved goodnight and walked out into the night, you realized you were already looking forward to whatever came next.

-----

The dates started slow, testing the waters of this new, fragile connection. Their first was at a cozy, family-owned pizzeria, far removed from the polished dining spaces Harry was used to frequenting. They sat in a corner booth, sharing stories over thin-crust slices and soda. You learned that his laugh came easily when he was truly comfortable, and also learned or imagined how wealthy he was. Him telling you about his company didn’t compared how one of your ex-boyfriends talked about a new crypto. He was passionate, honest, not even mentioning how much money he makes in a year, it was pure. As pure as corporate can get.

After that, there was a second date at an indie bookstore. Harry had smiled as you danced from shelf to shelf, excitedly recommending titles, while he kept his hands tucked in his pockets, quietly absorbing your passion. You ended up leaving with two novels you insisted he had to read and a poetry collection he bought, saying, “I thought of you when I saw this.”

Then came the late-night phone calls. You both quickly learned that your lives rarely aligned, but you made the most of the small pockets of time you shared. He’d call after a long day at work, his voice a little tired but steady as he asked about your day. You’d talk quietly from your bed, recounting the chaos of the dinner rush and sharing little anecdotes about your coworkers. sometimes until you fell asleep and he heard your steady breathing through the call.

“Do you ever get a day off?” he joked one night, his voice warm through the receiver.

“Not often,” you admitted. “But I’m used to it. And hey, at least I’m not running a company.”

“Touché,” he replied, laughing softly. “But don’t think for a second I’m not impressed by what you do.”

The weeks passed in a flurry of mismatched schedules and stolen moments. When aligning your off-days seemed impossible, Harry started stopping by the restaurant on his way home from work, not to eat but just to see you.

“Table for one?” you teased the first time he showed up unexpectedly.

“Not quite,” he said with a smile, taking a seat at the bar instead. “Just water, please. I didn’t want to add to your workload. i just wanted to see you” 

You brought him the water, leaning against the counter for a brief moment when the restaurant was quiet. “You didn’t have to come all this way,” you said softly.

“I wanted to,” he replied, his gaze steady. “You’re the best part of my day.” ---

The first kiss came on a rainy night after one of those visits. The restaurant was closing, and he had waited outside under the awning as you locked up. When you stepped out into the night, he was there with an umbrella, holding it out for you.

“Need a ride home?” he asked.

You nodded, and he quickly arrived to your place. At your door, there was a brief pause as you turned to thank him.

Before you could speak, he leaned in, his movements precise, as though giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. When his lips met yours, it was soft and sure, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

It wasn’t hurried or frantic—it was the kind of kiss that made you feel like you had all the time in the world. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe you deserved this. When he pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours, he whispered, “Finally.”

You laughed softly, your cheeks warm despite the cool rain. “Took you long enough.”

And with that, the lines between your busy lives blurred a little more, the moments you carved out for each other feeling less like an interruption and more like a necessity.

----

It happened on an unusually quiet night. You were sitting across from him at his place, a cozy loft that felt miles away from the chaos of the restaurant. The table was littered with the remnants of takeout boxes, and you were laughing at a story he had told about a disastrous business trip. The laughter faded into a comfortable silence, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning your face as if trying to figure out the best way to say something.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his tone casual but his expression serious.

“That sounds dangerous,” you teased, though the look on his face made your heart flutter with curiosity.

“I’m serious,” he said with a small smile, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the table. “I’ve been watching how hard you work. You’re on your feet all day, running around, dealing with difficult customers. And then you come home and somehow still have the energy to take care of everything else in your life.”

“That’s just life,” you said, shrugging. “You know how it is. You make it work.”

“I know,” he said, his voice softening. “But it doesn’t have to be like that. Not for you.”

You frowned slightly, unsure of where this was going. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I’m saying I could offer you something different. A way to work that doesn’t involve twelve-hour shifts and aching feet. Something where you’d have more time for yourself, for your dreams, and…”—his voice faltered just slightly—“for us.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you leaned back in your chair, trying to process his words. “Harry, are you asking me to quit my job?”

“Not asking,” he clarified quickly. “Just… suggesting. If you wanted to. I could offer you a job. Something in my company, but nothing high-pressure. Maybe in admin, or operations, or whatever you’d like. You’d have a flexible schedule, a good paycheck, and, most importantly, time to breathe.” Of course he wasn’t asking, he’s Harry, ALWAYS making sure it was purely your decision.

The weight of his offer hung in the air, and you felt a tangle of emotions—gratitude, doubt, and an overwhelming sense of being cared for in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I don’t know,” you said slowly, trying to find the right words. “I’ve always worked for everything I have. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m just…”

“Stop,” he said gently, cutting you off. “This isn’t about charity. It’s about giving someone I care about a chance to live their life differently. You deserve that. And it’s not just for you—it’s for me too. I want to see you happy. I want to see us happy.”

You looked at him, his eyes earnest and unwavering. “And you think this would make me happy?”

“I do,” he said simply. “But it’s your choice. If you’re not ready, or if you want to keep things as they are, that’s okay. I’ll still come to the restaurant and order my overpriced water just to see you.”

That last comment made you laugh, easing the tension in the room. You stared down at the table, tracing the edge of a takeout container with your finger. “What would I even do at your company?” you asked softly.

His expression brightened slightly, and he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Anything you want. Admin, scheduling, planning events—whatever feels right to you. And we can figure it out together. No pressure.”

You bit your lip, considering his words. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious,” he said, his tone firm but gentle. “You deserve more than what you’ve been settling for. And selfishly…I’d love to have more time with you.”

His honesty warmed you in a way you hadn’t expected. For so long, you’d carried everything alone, convinced that leaning on someone else meant weakness. But Harry wasn’t asking you to lean on him; he was offering to walk beside you.

“Okay,” you said finally, the word barely audible.

His brows lifted in surprise. “Okay?”

You nodded, a nervous laugh escaping. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll work for you.”

The grin that spread across his face was enough to make your heart skip a beat. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

“I better not,” you teased, though the smile on your face betrayed your nervousness. “But just so you know, I’m not going to be some pushover employee. If you’re a terrible boss, I’ll quit.”

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Fair enough. But I think you’ll find I’m quite charming.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself. “We’ll see about that.”

In that moment, the fear you’d been carrying felt lighter. You weren’t just throwing yourself off a cliff—you were trusting that Harry would catch you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe that was okay.

----

Life had changed in ways neither of you could have imagined. The small apartment you'd once called home was now replaced by a shared space filled with light, laughter, and little touches of each other everywhere—his collection of vinyl records stacked neatly in the corner, your books scattered on the coffee table, and the scent of fresh flowers he insisted on buying for you every week.

You had found a rhythm together, a balance between his busy days running his company and your own work, which had evolved into a role that allowed your creativity to shine. You weren’t just an employee at his company—you were a partner, bringing ideas and energy to projects in ways you never thought possible. And at the heart of it all, there was love. Open, unapologetic, and boundless love.

Mornings were filled with teasing banter over breakfast, and nights ended with shared dreams and whispered promises under the covers. On weekends, you’d go on adventures—sometimes exploring new cities, other times simply enjoying lazy days at home. There was no hesitation in showing how much you adored each other, whether it was in the way he’d kiss your forehead absentmindedly or the way you’d hold his hand tightly in crowded rooms.

One evening, after a particularly exciting day of work, Harry had an idea. “Let’s go out for dinner,” he said, tossing his jacket onto the back of the couch.

“Sure,” you replied, grabbing your shoes. “Where to?”

He paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Velours et Flamme.”

You froze for a second, then burst out laughing. “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all,” he said, his grin widening. “It’s been a while. I think it’s time we revisit the place where it all started.”

Despite your initial hesitance, you found yourself walking into the restaurant hand-in-hand with him that evening. The familiar scent of wine and spices filled the air, and the decor, though slightly updated, still held the charm you remembered.

The host greeted you with a polite smile “Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Do you have a reservation?”

“Styles,” Harry said smoothly, squeezing your hand.

You were led to a table by the window, the same spot you’d served him on that Valentine’s Day when everything began. As you sat down, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you.

“This feels surreal,” you admitted, glancing around.

“Good surreal?” he asked, his eyes twinkling as he leaned forward.

“Very good surreal,” you said, smiling and carefully looking at the menu, when an idea quickly popped into your mind. You bit your lip, hesitating for a brief moment before speaking up. “Can I splurge a little? Or maybe… a lot?”

Harry tilted his head, intrigued. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, glancing at the menu with a playful smile.

You took a deep breath, letting your finger trace over the menu’s edges before landing on the words you’d been eyeing. “Cairnburn 18,” you said firmly, looking at him with a small, determined smile.

“Scotch?” he asked, raising an eyebrow but not even glancing at the price.

“It’s something I need to do. Please,” you said softly, a touch of vulnerability in your tone.

He didn’t question it, didn’t protest or ask for a reason. Instead, his expression softened, and he reached for your hand, cradling it gently before bringing it to his lips. The kiss he pressed to the top of your hand was tender, a silent reassurance. “Anything you want,” he said, his voice calm and sincere.

The waiter arrived, and Harry placed the order without hesitation, his gaze never leaving yours. You couldn’t help but feel a swell of gratitude for him in that moment—not just for agreeing, but for understanding without needing an explanation.

As the Cairnburn 18 arrived, the rich, £1,500 a pour, amber liquid catching the light, you smiled and raised your glass to him. “To us,” you said simply.

“To us,” he echoed, clinking his glass gently against yours. ----

You both knew how the rest of the night would go the minute you left the restaurant. Back home, he helped you undress, kissing every inch of exposed skin as he did. When you were bare, he pressed his lips to yours, the heat between you building as his hands roamed over your body.

The way he touched you everytime was unhurried, like he was memorizing every curve. His fingers teased along your collarbone, traced your hips, and softly grabbed your breasts. His hands were everywhere, But nowhere near the place you needed him most.

Finally, he pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire. You let him guide you to the bed, watching as he stripped off his clothes and joined you. The heat of his body was intoxicating, and you found yourself craving more—more contact, more skin, more of him.

He sensed your need because he moved closer, the length of his body pressed against yours, his cock hard and thick against your thigh. You ached for him, the anticipation coiling in you, but he didn't rush.

Instead, he trailed kisses along your neck, his stubble rough against your sensitive skin. His fingers danced along your inner thigh, teasing closer and closer to your folds. When he finally touched you, it was with a firm, confident stroke, his thumb brushing against your clit and making you gasp. "Harry..." you moaned breathless

"Yes puppy?" He asked with an innocent tone and used that nickname that made you weak, and kept up the torturous pace, working you higher and higher until you were a trembling mess beneath him. You moaned, begging him for more, and he finally relented, easing a finger inside of you and setting a relentless rhythm. “More” Your pleasure built quickly, the intensity making you cry out, but just as you were about to tip over the edge, he pulled away. Before you could protest, he positioned himself between your legs, his cock hard and glistening at the tip.

He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on either side of your head and gazing down at you with a look of pure devotion. "I love you," he whispered, the words sending a thrill through your entire body. "And I'm gonna take care of you, puppy. Always."

With that, he thrust into you, filling you completely and stealing the breath from your lungs. The feeling of him inside you was almost too much, and you clung to him, desperate for more.

"Fuck, Harry," you breathed. He didn't respond, instead burying his face in your neck and moving slowly, deeply, as if he was savoring every moment. His hands roamed your body, teasing and caressing as his hips continued their torturous rhythm.

"Do you like it puppy? me being so deep inside you?"

You could only nod, too overwhelmed to form words. The sensations were overwhelming, the pleasure building and building until it threatened to consume you.

Suddenly, he shifted, changing the angle and hitting a spot deep inside you that made you see stars. "it's so....big" you barely said in a moan

"That's right puppy. Take all of it. Just like that"

You writhed beneath him, unable to hold back the moans spilling from your lips. Your release was within reach, and when he finally slid a hand between your bodies, stroking your clit, it was enough to send you tumbling over the edge. "Come on daddy's cock puppy, don't be shy" he murmured

His words were enough to push you over the edge, your body tensing and trembling as pleasure washed over you. You felt him pulse inside you, and he followed soon after, his breath hot on your neck as he came with a groan filling you with his hot cum.

When the last waves of your orgasm faded, you collapsed against him, completely spent. You both stayed there for a moment, tangled in each other's arms, neither of you willing to break the spell.

Eventually, he pulled out and gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nuzzled into his chest, breathing in the scent of his skin and the faint trace of his cologne.

Both of you were now cuddled in bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting warm light across the room. Harry’s arm was wrapped securely around you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your shoulder as you rested your head against his chest, listening to the now steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Your eyes drifted to the two frames hung just above the bed. The first one held the receipt from the night that had changed everything—the receipt where he’d written his number, sparking a connection that had grown into the life you shared now.

The second frame hung beside it, empty but not forgotten. Its purpose was clear—it was waiting for tonight’s receipt, the one with the Cairnburn 18 scribbled on it. The night where everything had come full circle.

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