#check in

It had been a week and a half since you and Harry kissed for the first time. Everything felt like a dream. He was so much more open now—the flirty texts, the nicknames, the dates, all of it. It felt different from every guy you’d dated before. This felt mature. It felt easy to talk, to feel comfortable, to share emotions and have them received just as openly.

“Mail,” said Gwen, handing you some papers. Before you could absent-mindedly take them, she snatched them back with a grin. “In exchange for you telling me who the secret guy is.”

“I’m not dating anyone,” you replied, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, yes you are,” she shot back. “You really expect me to believe your Uber yesterday was a black Range Rover? Since when are you splurging on Uber Comfort?” She raised an eyebrow, knowing way too much. “Come on… thought we were friends.”

And honestly? You and Gwen were basically best friends. She’d seen you without makeup, on good days and bad, crying and excited… but this—him—was something you were scared to even think about outside your apartment.

“I can’t tell you, Gwen…” you sighed, offering an apologetic smile.

“You’re dating someone from the government?” she guessed dramatically. “No wait—oh my God. You’re dating a mafia boss.” “Gwen!” you whispered sharply. “I’m not. It’s just… someone who values privacy.”

She exhaled, then smiled knowingly. “Okay… then tell this privacy-loving mystery man to take good care of you.” She leaned in and sniffed your jacket. “And tell him he has amazing taste in cologne.” She winked and dropped your mail on your desk.

You felt a pang of guilt. You didn’t want to hide this part of your life from her, but you understood how important privacy was for Harry—even if he never asked you to hide anything, or sign an NDA. Everything since discovering he was your wrong-number stranger had felt so easy, so natural. Almost too natural. You still questioned why he had trusted you so quickly. Why he let you in so suddenly. A stranger, out of nowhere.

But you tried not to overthink it. He was with you, and that was what mattered. And then, a new text.

“Morning my tulip. Finally Friday, and I’m picking you up at 5. We head to your place, you pack a bag for three days, and then we head to mine.”

STOP. NO. NO, NO, NO. IT’S HAPPENING.

Pack a bag? For three days? His place? Yep—this was it. This was the thing you've been thinking about. The thing you were trying very hard not to think about. The thing you thought you still had at least… three more dates to mentally prepare for.

You two hadn’t had the chance to be alone for a long stretch of time yet—no lingering nights, no slow mornings, no opportunity for a heated kiss to go a bit further. And now it was coming. And hell, you were incredibly nervous.

It wasn’t that you weren’t good in bed—actually, you’d never had any complaints. But he was Harry. The Harry. He had probably slept with tons of models, and you could practically list his ex-girlfriends by name. What were his expectations? And HOW were you supposed to meet them?

Your stomach flipped, your palms went sweaty, and suddenly packing a bag felt like preparing for a nationwide televised performance instead of a romantic weekend. And now, you needed backup.

“It’s Harry Styles,” you blurted out, turning toward Gwen, absolutely terrified.

“What do you mean it’s Harry Styles?” she said, still typing, barely processing. Then she slowly swiveled to face the window. “Like… he’s right here?” She started scanning the street like he might magically appear outside your office.

“No, Gwen…” You stood up, grabbed her shoulders, and stared into her soul. “It’s. Harry. Styles.”

You could practically see the gears turning in her head. First confusion. Then realization. Then full shock—mouth dropping open, eyes widening like a cartoon “Wait—no. What? You’re kidding. You HAVE to be kidding,” she sputtered. “You’re being catfished.”

“Gwen…” you said more firmly, watching her brain glitch like a buffering video. “How would I be getting catfished? You literally saw me getting into the cars.”

“Maybe he looks EXACTLY like Harry,” she argued, desperate for logic to return to her life.

“Gwen.” You yanked out your phone and shoved a whole camera roll in her face—selfies from your dates, photos in the car, pictures he had sent you. Real. Casual. Never-before-seen. Undeniable.

Gwen stared, gripping your phone like it was a hostage negotiator's microphone.

“Shit… SHIT.” She blinked. “SHIT.” “YES, SHIT,” you hissed. “Look — I’ll tell you everything when I get to talk to him, but right now I need help with this.” You snatched your phone back, opened your messages, and showed her the most recent text. Her eyes skimmed it, rapid and wide.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD YOU ARE FUCKI….!” she screamed with a grin, then stopped mid-word. You clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Shhhh!” you warned, afraid someone might hear.

“There’s no one here,” she muttered, removing your hand and taking a deep breath to calm herself. “Eeeek!” she squeaked again, all giddy.

“Gwen!” you whined.

“Okay, sorry, sorry, but you just dropped the biggest bomb ever,” she said.

“We shared some kisses,” you explained, “and one got a bit heated three days ago, but then he got a call and I had to go. I feel like I’m a virgin again and I know nothing about sex.”

“But what if this isn’t even about sex? Maybe he wants a romantic weekend,” she mused.

“Oh yeah, totally. We’ll play board games until he falls asleep and he’ll make me sleep in the guest room,” you said through your teeth.

“I was kidding, okay,” she chuckled. “Look — it’s just sex.”

“It’s not! It’s sex with HIM,” you shot back, worried.

“And? He’s with you, isn’t he? He kissed you more than once, took you on dates, let you take selfies… andddd he calls you ‘tulip’ — awwww,” she trailed off, overdramatic. “It’ll be fine.” She squeezed your hand. “And if it’s rubbish, at least you got to bounce on it.”

“GWEN!” you laughed. “I need to be good. I need to blow his brains out.”

“Sex isn’t just about blowing someone’s brains out,” she said, standing and grabbing his coat and car keys. “This is about connection — foreplay, feeling like you’re truly with each other.”

“Yeah… I mean, but—” you started.

“Stop. You’re overthinking,” she cut in.

“Where are you going?” you asked, confused.

“We’re going to Julia’s Drawer,” she announced like it was a run to the corner shop.

“WHAT? No — I’m not spending 200 pounds on a bra,” you protested.

“Exactly. You’re not spending £200 on a bra. You’re spending like £500 on luxury lingerie to blow your stupidly hot and famous boyfriend’s mind,” she said, mischievous.

Gwen practically dragged you into Julia’s Drawer. The shop smelled faintly of powder and something floral; soft lighting made everything look expensive and slightly forbidden. Lace and silk glinted from satin hangers. Your heart was doing weird little flips just from being in the same room as garments that felt written specifically for a “stupidly hot and famous boyfriend.”

“Okay, no nervous faces,” Gwen commanded, already rifling through racks. “We’re doing three options: cute, dangerous, and ‘oh my God who is she?’”

“You just made categories for my underwear,” you muttered, but you let her pick.

In the fitting room, the mirror threw back a version of you that made your stomach warm in a different way. Gwen held up pieces like if they were a million bucks. A soft-blush set that looked like it belonged in a rom-com. A black lace number so daring you felt your knees get soft. And a deep green one that somehow made your skin look alive.

“Try them all,” Gwen insisted. “And for the love of God, pick things that make you feel good, not what you think he expects.”

You tried on the blush set first. It was sweet and made you feel like a secret. Gwen clapped. “Cute. He’ll want to spoon you all night.” The black lace made you stand straighter; it hummed danger. Gwen whistled. “Okay, killer. He’ll be putty.” The green—surprisingly—you loved. It felt like you, but elevated: bold without screaming for attention. Gwen nodded, approving. “This one says you like yourself a lot. That’s sexy.”

She coached you through poses like she’d studied this professionally. “Arch your back. Chin up. Let your shoulders relax. Smile with your eyes.” She handed you a robe and a ridiculous amount of confidence. You laughed — real, light, buoyant laughs you hadn’t let out in a while.

“You know, breathe,” she added, softer now. “This isn’t a performance. It’s just you showing up for you. If he can’t handle that, he’s lost the plot.”

You felt oddly brave. You picked all three, with a matching silk robe because Gwen argued that a robe equals “dramatic exits and entrances.” At the register Gwen paid half with a flourish and a “consider it an investment in your future happiness.” The walk back to work felt different, like your steps were taller and firmer. Gwen squeezed your hand once before entering the office again

“You deserve beautiful things,” she said simply.

Her words followed you up back to your desk. You tucked the delicate pieces into your tote with careful hands and tossed the shopping bag into the recycling bin like it was evidence. They felt like you were packing secrets — breath-stealing, stomach-twisting, heart-racing secrets. At some point pretending to work stopped working — nerves and excitement tangled in your stomach.

You slipped into the bathroom, locked the door, and pulled out the lingerie. Your fingers shook as you changed, lace hugging you like a secret promise. When you stepped to the mirror, you barely recognized your own expression — nervous, yes, but glowing. Brave.

“Please let this go well,” you whispered, not sure if you were talking to fate, the universe, or yourself.

Then you stepped out of the bathroom and back into the office, trying to walk like nothing had changed — even though everything felt different. The world looked the same… Gwen scribbling something on a design, people outside walking somewhere…but you were carrying a secret under your clothes.

And then you heard it — the soft beep of a familiar car outside.

“That’s him,” you whispered, panic and excitement colliding. “Don’t peek. Seriously, don’t — he’ll know. I swear I’ll introduce you soon, I promise, just—”

“Hey.” Gwen’s voice softened. She squeezed your arm, then pulled you into a hug. “You’ve got this.”

You exhaled into her shoulder, grounding yourself for a second before pulling away.

“Okay,” you breathed, mostly to convince yourself. “Okay.”

You grabbed your bag — your secret-laced bag — and headed toward the door, pulse loud in your ears, lungs tight in your chest, every step echoing with one very real, very terrifying, very thrilling thought:

It’s happening. “Hey,” his soft voice greeted you the moment you slid into the car. He leaned in instantly, kissing you like it was already a habit—like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey,” you breathed back, melting immediately.

“Looking cute as always,” he murmured, starting the engine. “How was your day, tulip?”

“Great… Gwen helped me a lot today,” you said. Technically not a lie.

“That’s nice. Can’t wait to meet who you spend all day with,” he said, an easy smile tugging at his mouth as he pulled into the street.

“You… want to meet her?” you asked, surprised.

“Yeah. I want to meet your friends. And you’ll eventually meet mine,” he said, so casually, like it was already a given.

That was the thing with him—he spoke with certainty. No hesitation, no guessing games, no room for doubt. Just… clarity.

“Oh! Sure,” you said, still processing.

“Unless,” he added, eyes still on the road but tone playful, “you’re hiding me because you have another boyfriend.”

Boyfriend.

Another.

As in — he just confirmed he’s yours?

“I don’t!” you laughed. “I just… we haven’t really talked about… labels. And you’re very private, so I didn’t know if you’d want—”

“I’d like to let everyone know,” he said, voice warm and steady, his hand sliding onto your thigh, still watching the road but sounding impossibly sure. “That I’m dating you. And you’re dating me. That you’re my girlfriend… and I’m your boyfriend.”

For a moment, everything went soft and quiet. You felt your chest swell, your heartbeat climb, warmth flooding your ribs like sunlight.

Silence, but a good one — the kind that fills you instead of empties you.

“Did I say something bad?” he asked, glancing over briefly.

“No,” you said quickly, unable to stop the smile pulling at your lips. “No, that’s… perfect. I agree.”

You placed your hand on top of his — not nervous now, not hesitant — just certain. And he gave your fingers a slow, gentle squeeze. When he dropped you off, you told him you’d be quick. You practically flew up the stairs, heart pounding in your throat. Three days. Three whole days. You grabbed the essentials first: clothes, toothbrush, skincare, charger. Then three extra pairs of panties because… why not? Insurance. Emotional support underwear. Whatever worked.

You added your cutest pajamas — the ones that were cute but not trying too hard — then tossed in hair products, socks, and stood there for a second, trying to think of what else someone brings when going to Harry Styles’s house for a maybe-romantic-maybe-we’re-finally-going-to-do-it weekend.

And then your eyes landed on the bathroom drawer.

The condoms.

Bought months ago for a situation that never came. You paused, then cracked it open. Two were still there, untouched. He must have some, you told yourself. Obviously. But also… what if he didn’t? What if you got there and the universe was like, “Oops, no sex, try again later”?

No. You were not letting logistics ruin this.

You checked the expiration date, nodded to yourself like a prepared adult, then tucked two into your bag between folded clothes like they were contraband or expensive jewelry. You took a slow, steadying breath in front of the mirror. You didn’t look different, but inside everything felt electric. New. Fragile. A little terrifying in the best way.

Okay. Ready as you’ll ever be.

“All ready?” he asked as you hopped into the car again.

“Yeah,” you said, fastening your seatbelt. “I guess.”

Double meaning. But he didn’t need to know that part yet.

-

Arriving at his place felt unreal. Before you could even grab your bag, he’d already taken it from your hand, carrying it inside with ease. He disappeared down the hallway, and you caught a glimpse of where he dropped it — a room that looked very much like his. Not a guest room. Not temporary. His.

You inhaled slowly, steadying yourself.

He returned, smile soft and impossibly warm, and slid his hands around your waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“You look cute,” he said, voice gentle, eyes very clearly not talking about your outfit.

“You look cute too,” you replied, a little too quickly, nerves rushing up again.

He chuckled, brushing his nose lightly against yours. “You didn’t have to say it back.”

“But I did,” you said, laughing softly with him.

Dinner was easy — quietly magical in a way that made your chest ache. He made pasta with chicken, simple but thoughtful, and you both talked like you had all the time in the world. You felt giddy, warm, stupidly happy. Every now and then he’d lean in and kiss you — soft, lingering kisses — the kind that made your stomach flip but didn’t push anything further.

And in the quiet moments between, your mind wandered — Is this when? Are we doing this right now? What if I mess up? Then a touch or laugh from him would bring you back to earth, back into this safe orbit you didn’t know you could have.

He opened a bottle of wine and poured for both of you, the room hushed and golden with warm lamp light.

“To us…” he said, voice barely above a breath, lifting his glass toward you.

Your smile came before the words did — big and a little disbelieving, like you were finally letting this moment sink into your bones.

“To us,” you echoed, clinking your glass to his. After another round of wine, you ended up kissing on the couch. His hand rested behind your waist—gentle, but sure. The kiss began slow, romantic, then after a few seconds, he tried to slide his tongue in, asking without asking—and you pulled away a bit too quickly.

“Can I use the bathroom really quick?” you asked, breath uneven.

“Sure… Is everything alright?” he said, concern flickering in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I just need the bathroom,” you insisted.

“Down the hall, in my bedroom,” he said.

You slipped into the bathroom and locked the door behind you, heart beating way too fast. The mirror caught you — flushed cheeks, wide eyes, like you’d just run a marathon on pure adrenaline. You turned on the tap and splashed cool water on your face, gripping the edge of the sink as if it could steady you.

For a moment, the world went quiet — no thoughts, no spiraling, just you in a tiny bathroom reminding yourself you could do this. You smoothed your shirt, inhaled deeply, and gave your reflection the smallest, nervous smile. Then you opened the door and walked back out, trying to look like you hadn’t just had a full-blown internal earthquake in the span of sixty seconds.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“Don’t apologize. You sure you’re okay?” he asked gently, rubbing your knee.

“Yeah… don’t worry,” you said. Knowing the lingerie was beneath your clothes made you feel braver—bolder. So you leaned in, and kissed him again.

His lips met yours again, warm and sure this time, a little hungrier than before. The wine, the nerves — everything melted into that kiss. His tongue brushed against yours, a slow, teasing sweep that made your breath catch. You mirrored it, shy at first, then bolder, and soon you were moving together in a quiet rhythm, mouths learning each other, tasting, exploring.

His hand slid up your side, fingertips barely pressing, just enough to feel your body beneath the fabric. He kissed you deeper, tongues tangled, soft sighs between breaths, your hands gripping his shoulders without thinking. You felt him smile against your mouth, like he could feel your nerves and wanted to soften them with warmth.

Then his hand slipped under the hem of your shirt — not rushed, not greedy, just patient, gentle curiosity — and he grazed your waist, slowly tracing up, getting dangerously close to lace you weren’t ready for him to find.

Your heart jumped.

You pulled back — not abrupt, but enough that the air shifted between you. His hand froze, his forehead still resting against yours, breathing a little heavy, eyes searching yours with concern and softness.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice low, warm, careful. “It’s okay. I’m sorry — is it too soon? We don’t have to do anything.” He looked worried, genuinely worried.

“No… I mean… don’t apologize.” You sighed and closed your eyes for a second. “I’m sorry, I’m just… really nervous.” You admitted it quietly, gaze dropping to your hands.

“Hey.” His voice softened more, thumb brushing your knuckle. “It’s alright, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I want to…” You swallowed. “It’s just…”

He leaned closer, gentle, and patient. “What is it?”

“I’m scared I won’t be… enough. Like I won’t meet your expectations.”

His brows pulled together, not in frustration — in tenderness. “Y/N…” he murmured, voice like warmth breaking open. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to — he saw it in your eyes.

“I don’t have expectations of you,” he said softly. “You already passed anything I ever imagined for someone I wanted in my life. You’re everything. You’re hardworking, you’re kind, you’re sweet, you have that cute laugh I’m obsessed with, and you make me feel… real.”

Your throat tightened. His eyes didn’t leave you — steady, honest, sincere in a way that made you feel like you were standing in sunlight.

“I’m nervous too,” he admitted quietly. “Not because of who I am — but because I want to give you my best. In every way.” He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear with the gentlest touch. “You already are more than enough. There isn’t a single expectation you need to meet.” “Okay… I’m sorry,” you breathed out.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmured. “You still want to? Because I’ve got plenty of stories to tell instead,” he teased lightly, easing the air.

“I do,” you said, stronger this time. “I want to. I want you.”

“C’mere,” he whispered, hands sliding to your waist as he guided you to straddle him — not rushed, just showing you, grounding you. “Just you and me. Nothing else.”

You kissed again — soft for a few seconds, then hotter, like the reassurance unlocked something in both of you. Tongues brushing, teasing, learning. His mouth trailed along your throat in slow, open-mouthed kisses and you couldn't help the quiet sounds leaving you, hips shifting forward instinctively in tiny, needy movements you couldn’t control.

He sat back just enough to pull his shirt over his head in one smooth motion — and you stared. His torso, the tattoos, the warmth of him under the dim light… it was unreal. He took your hands, placed them on his chest, guiding you like he was saying feel me, I’m here, we’re good.

Then he tugged gently at your shirt and this time you let it happen — lifting it over your head. The pink lace underneath, soft and delicate, hugging you perfectly — when he saw it, his breath stopped in his throat.

“Holy…” he whispered, like he’d just seen something sacred.

You were already so flustered, the sentence spilling out before you could stop it. “I bought them today ’cause I wanted to—” You didn’t finish. He cut you off with a hungry kiss, almost like he had to.

“You could wear a trash bag,” he murmured against your lips, voice thick, “and I’d still look at you exactly like this. But right now? Shit…” His eyes dragged over you, slow and awestruck, “I feel like I’m in heaven.” The kiss continued, and he softly touched the lace, just under your breasts where it began. You had both your hands beside his head, now letting yourself go.

His fingers skimmed the hem of your pants, and just as the lace peeked through, he paused — eyes flicking up to yours with a slow, knowing smile.

“Is that a matching set? You really went all out for me, huh?”

You were already flushed. “Maybe…” you whispered against his mouth.

“Well,” he said, kissing you again, softer this time, “this is heaven after all…” his thumb brushed the lace, reverent You laughed breathlessly, nerves melting into heat. “I wanted to surprise you”

“And I’m very, very glad you did,” he whispered — then lifted you effortlessly, like his body had decided for both of you. “Har—”

“We are not fucking for the first time on my couch… I want to give you everything, remember?” he said as he gently set you down on the bed. He leaned on his knees, still watching you, and you watched him. He slowly removed his belt and then his jeans dropped down. He kicked them aside, but your eyes couldn't look elsewhere, only at the bulge and the unmistakable shape of his cock beneath his underwear.

“Let me show you… how much I care for you… how much I want you,” he said His body hovered above yours, warm, solid, real — You could feel his fabric-covered cock against your thigh, and the pressure made your breath tremble, your hips move before you thought about it.

He paused. His forehead touched yours, breath mingling with yours, giving you every chance to stop him, or pull him closer, or just breathe. “Can I?” he said as you felt his hands and fingers curling around the hem of your pants. You nodded.

“No, i need you to communicate with me when we’re like this” he said gently.

“Yes, please,” you whispered, closing your eyes and lifting your hips so it was easier for him. With one soft pull, he took your pants off and, again, watched you as if you were an angel. His eyes traced everything: how your nipples were hard now, and then down to your crotch. The lace was divine, but what held his whole attention was the wet patch in the middle, making the tulle of your underwear almost translucent.

“Gosh…” he breathed, leaning back down to kiss you softly, one hand going over your crotch and feeling the undeniable wetness. “Do you get this wet all the time?”

“Not usually,” you replied softly, groaning at the feeling of his fingers there.

“Just for me?” he smirked, tempting you by using his fingers to pull the fabric aside.

“Just for you,” you said in a small whine, bucking your hips again and letting him do what he wanted. He curled a finger around the lace and pulled it aside, letting your glistening pussy spill out. You felt a small draft of cool air, but then the warmth of his fingers as he explored your folds, moving up and down and teasing at your clit.

“Mmh,” you let out a louder sound.

“That’s right…right there, yeah?” he said.

“Yes, please,” you answered, your voice a little shaky.

“So polite,, my good girl,” he said, letting a bit of a lustful smirk play on his lips.

He teased your slick entrance and then pushed one finger inside, exploring. You were moaning softly, squirming around, a delicious mess. All thought of not being enough was instantly replaced with the rush “F-f-fuck,” you moaned, your breath catching as you felt a second finger curling deep inside, him reaching that gummy, delicious spot. “Oh god, Harry.”

He leaned down, his mouth near your ear “There you go, baby… that’s the spot, isn’t it? Tell me what you feel right there.”

You arched your back, trying to push harder against his hand. “So good, don’t stop, please.”

“I wouldn't dream of it. Look at you, all mine, you’re trembling for me, Y/N.” He pressed his thumb against your clit on the outside, matching the deep pressure of his fingers inside.

“H-Harry…” you gasped, the dual sensation sending your pleasure skyrocketing. You grabbed a handful of the sheet beneath you.

“That’s it, baby… let go for me,” he whispered, his voice a commanding presence right in your ear, his movements never stopping. He paused his thumb for a second only to move his fingers a fraction deeper and faster.

“Ah! Harry!” you cried out, squeezing your eyes shut as the sensation became too intense. You felt a wave of pleasure take hold of your body, your insides clenching and pulsating around his fingers as you came. Your face was flushed, stray bits of hair stuck to your cheek, and your breath came in ragged gasps. It was a vision for him.

“You look incredible like this,” he said, planting a soft kiss on your damp cheek.

“I want to make you feel good too,” you said, a bit out of breath. You propped yourself up on your elbows to unclasp your bra. With a small movement, you tossed it aside, letting him see your peaked nipples.

“I’m feeling so good right now,” he murmured, his gaze locking with yours as he took one of your breasts in his hand and kneaded it softly. Without breaking eye contact, he pushed his briefs aside, letting his cock spring free, the tip pink and already slick with pre-come against his abdomen.

“You’re so big,” you whined before you could even think, then shook your head slightly, realizing how dirty you sounded. He saw the slight flush of your embarrassment, but only tilted your chin up softly.

“We have all weekend” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. He hooked a hand under your ass, pulling you closer until you could feel his hard, pulsating cock press against your abdomen, already wet.

“Fuck me,” you whispered, a desperate plea.

“No please? Where’d my good girl go?” he teased, pushing against you again, nudging his cock against your clit.

“Please… please,” you begged, biting your lip. He kissed you quickly, pulling away just enough to grab the condom from the nightstand. Without thinking much, he tore the wrapper open and rolled the latex over his erection.

“We can still stop” he reminded you, his voice thick.

“Please. Harry. Fuck. Me,” you commanded, pausing sharply between each word.

He didn’t need another green light. He took your leg, hooking it around his waist, and lined himself up at your entrance. Everything was so wet and slippery that his cock slipped inside easily, filling you up in one smooth motion. He threw his head back, letting out a sharp inhale as he held your thigh, trying not to explode right then and there.

“Y/N…” he breathed, his voice raw, and began to move—slow, deliberate, and so delicious.

“More,” you whined, reaching for his hips.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he growled, picking up the pace. With each thrust, he was going deep, you could feel your insides quickly getting used to his size and rhythm, your wet core taking him fully and reaching every sensitive spot inside.

“More!” you repeated, your hips bucking to meet his. He groaned, a sound deep in his chest that vibrated through your joined bodies, and complied. He was driving into you now, hard and deep, finding a rhythm that had your head spinning. The friction was electric, and you felt that familiar, tightening deep in your core.

“Look at you, baby” he panted, leaning down to kiss your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. His hips never stopped moving. You reached down and scratched gently at his lower back, urging him on.

Suddenly he pulled himself almost all the way out, letting out a heavy breath, He gently took your hips. “I want you on your hands and knees for me. Come on.”

A thrilling shiver went through you at the command. You quickly scrambled to obey, positioning yourself on all fours beneath him. The shift was exciting, exposing you and giving him a completely different view. You felt his heavy hands on your waist as he guided himself back in.

“God, yes,” he whispered against the back of your neck.

The thrusts were slower now, more deliberate and penetrating. You could feel him hitting that sweet spot with every stroke. He lifted one hand from your hip and brought it down with a soft smack on your ass cheek, the sound echoing in the room.

“Good girl,” he rasped. Smack. “So obedient for me.” Smack

The soft sting combined with the intense pressure inside sent your senses into overdrive. You pressed your face into the pillow, unable to stifle the choked sounds escaping your throat. You were so close again, the pleasure overwhelming, building faster than before.

“Harry, I’m…i’m…” you gasped out.

He leaned in, his body pressing against your back, his voice a low, encouraging growl right next to your ear. “Let it go, let go for me, Y/N.”

He increased his speed to a blurring, desperate pace, your hips rocking violently as he drove into you with everything he had. You felt the wave break over you—hot, convulsing, and consuming—and you screamed his name into the pillow, your entire body clenching around his cock.

Seconds later he let out a guttural moan, his body tensing, and poured himself inside the condom with three final, crushing thrusts. He collapsed forward, his weight heavy and satisfying on your back, burying his face in your neck as his heart hammered wildly against you.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice exhausted and utterly fulfilled. “That was… everything.”

Then his hand found the back of your neck, lifting you just enough to press a flurry of soft kisses all over your face. You giggled, cheeks hot, trying to hide in his chest but failing when he chased you with another kiss and another.

He slowly rolled off you, taking his weight with him but keeping one arm draped securely over your hip. He was panting, his chest rising and falling heavily as he caught his breath. He turned his head and kissed your cheek softly.

“You are everything and more,” he breathed out. He squeezed your hip before pushing himself up.

You blinked up at him, suddenly bashful now that the haze had settled. “Yeah?” you whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I just… I hope it felt good. I wanted—”

He cut you off with a soft laugh, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. “Wanted what? To ruin me?”

Your face warmed, and you tried to hide in the pillow, but he caught your chin gently and made you look at him.

“It was perfect,” he said, voice low and warm. “You were perfect. Every second. I couldn’t stop touching you. I didn’t want to.”

His thumb stroked your cheek, gaze soft like you were something precious. “You’re magic, tulip. Truly.”

He then stood up, you watched as he grabbed the edge of the used condom, quickly rolling it off, and moving towards the trash bin. The sound of the wrapper and condom being tossed away was a mundane contrast to the profound moment you’d just shared.

A moment later, you heard the distinct rush of running water. The scent of something warm and sweet—maybe lavender or vanilla—began to drift from the ensuite bathroom.

“We’ll take a bath in a minute, okay?” he called out, his voice slightly muffled but still husky. “I’m pampering you after that.”

You smiled, the simple offer of care touching you deeply. You closed your eyes and sighed contentedly into the pillow, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“Where did you buy this?” he asked, looking at the delicate lace bra “Julia’s Drawer… Gwen helped me pick it out,” you explained.

“Quite pricey, I bet,” he commented, still inspecting the fine stitching and lace detailing.

“It’s alright, it was worth it, wasn’t it?” you countered with a smirk, chuckling softly.

“Remind me to reimburse you for what you spent on these,” he said, towering over you again with a knowing smile.

“Why?” you asked a bit confused

“‘Cause I’m the one that will probably ruin them,” he said, leaning down to seal that claim with a soft, lingering kiss.

He then stood straight, his eyes full of affection. “Come on, love. Time to get warm.” He held out his hand to help you up.

-

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Very good.

You are doing really well then!

Training the girl so slowly and steadily.

So how about we test that today?

First, make the girl want to edge today, at least for an hour.

So it is a proper edging session.

And then, at one point, make her kneel in front of a mirror, edging like that.

I am sure you will make her know that she does it because of you.

So make her record it that she can watch it later on.

Seeing herself like that helps as well with it.

Very good!

You are doing well!

And you have your task.

Now let the girl slowly wake up again.

And then

Pulse

Throb