A whispery ‘fuck’ tumbled from your lips, cueing Harry to the imminence of your orgasm. He admired the way your eyes screwed extra tight, momentarily blocking out the rest of the world as you focused just on the pleasure he was giving. Flushed, chest heaving, so close– he slipped his fingers from inside of you. 

You thought maybe he was just switching his angle, so you gave him a moment, but when his touch didn’t return your eyes shot open, earning Harry a warranted ‘Harry what the fuck?’

‘Goodmorning baby,’ he cooed, not a trace of remorse woven into his voice. He kissed your cheek, then your nose, following a familiar path along the topography of your face, before landing on your lips. Halfheartedly, you tried to push him off as he slotted his hips between your own. The kiss grew heated as you sank under the familiar weight of his body, reveling in the softness of his lips on your own. 

In the shower Harry made you kneel before him while he jerked himself off, ‘hands to yourself baby, no not like that, no touching’. The tile was cold beneath your knees but the warmth of the water and the heat of the sight above you kept you warm. You had once sworn you could watch him play with his cock for the rest of your life and be happy, but this, this felt like a new layer of cruelty. 

You watched patiently, your hands on your thighs, as he tugged on his long, hard cock. Admiring the way the water droplets splashed on the defined muscles of his torso, rivulets running down the concave of sinew and flesh his muscles had carved, creating endless mosaics of glass on the dark ink that framed his pelvis. Only once did he threaten when you’d begged to get just a small taste of his skin on your tongue, ‘if you don’t behave I’ll blow my load down the drain.’

As his breathing labored his hand found your face, grasping at the plush of your cheeks to pry your lips apart. He did let you taste, briefly, the tip of his thumb between your pink lips. As his moans grew, echoing off the cavern of the shower stall, you didn’t have to be asked to open wider. He spilled his cum on your tongue, salty, abrupt– a treat. 

The question had been gnawing at your throat since the shower. Harry had always been one to tease, and while at times frustrating, you had grown to love it. As you admired the musculature of his back as he pulled a t-shirt over his head you finally gathered the courage to ask. Your voice was weaker than you wanted, but you mustered through, ‘Harry, are you uh, are you gonna take care of me soon?’. The grin that crept across his lips should have been a warning to the sadist that lived beneath the soft exterior of his cheerful and soft demeanor. 

He was still soft though, recognizing the apprehension woven into your visage, ‘Oh baby, m’so proud of you for asking. You’re allowed to cum whenever you’d like,’ your eyes lit up, shoulders falling with ease at the permission. Never had he given you such a clear cut go ahead. You nodded, turning to finish picking out your clothes for the day. ‘But I have one rule, okay?’ 

Rules, rules can be such a wonderful thing in a relationship rooted in domination and submission. There’s the comfort of knowing that in your formal or informal rule list, that your dominant will always take care of you, health and safety above all else. There’s the thrill of rules made just to be broken, no desert before dinner is an easy and harmless one to disregard and a punishment for something so menial exists merely to fulfill masochistic tendencies.

Your head knocks up and down, eager to hear what Harry has put in place for the day. ‘You’re only allowed to cum if you’re humping something ‘n it can’t be me. Panties stay on.’ His grin only grew wider as your jaw dropped. The frankness in his tone tells you he isn’t playing, and while this is not the meanest thing Harry has ever done to you, there’s an edge of cruelty rooted in humiliation that feels unfamiliar. 

‘But– you– but, Harry!’ you sputter in disbelief. 

‘Darling, either way I’ll take care of you really good tonight, but you know the rules for today, do with them as you please.’ You’re frozen, imobile as he steps around the bed, placing a chaste kiss to your forehead before turning to exit the bedroom. Standing in shock at the exchange you try to wrap your head around the exchange. On one hand he’s given you permission to take care of yourself, and while not your favorite it's a rarity that brings a level of excitement. On the other hand the means of which he’s dealt you for dealing with the ache you seemingly woke up with holds an air of unseemly humiliation. 

You’ve ridden his thigh, ground yourself over the taut musculature of his leg countless times. How bad can humping something that’s not him really be? 

By the time breakfast was over you felt flustered all over again. His touches had started off soft and seemingly benign as the two of you ate breakfast, his hand found your thigh, a reassuring and domestic touch. But his fingers crept higher and by the end of your meal (and with many warnings from Harry to be ‘be good and finish your food’), his hand had slipped past the elastic edge of your underwear, index finger toying with your slick and puffy clit. 

‘Harry!’ you’d whined, ‘that’s not nice, you know I’m not allowed to cum’. In response he flashed an innocent smile before adding more pressure to the painfully slow circles he’d been rubbing on your nub. You didn’t push his hand away though, only knuckled the edge of the table harder as you let him carry on with his ministrations. You figured maybe if he was the one to technically break the rules by making you cum it wouldn’t count. 

Just as you felt the familiar tight knot beginning to coil tighter in your belly he withdrew his hand. You whined in response, it was only breakfast and you’d never felt more frustrated in your life. ‘Never said you’re not allowed to cum baby, you know the rules’. You sat in disbelief, chest heaving, as Harry walked away from the dining table. 

By the early afternoon tears came, prickling, hot and desperate as they welled in your eyes. Harry had perched you in his lap, a hand on your hip guiding you in grinding against the hardness beneath his pants. Blooms of petechiae formed in the wake of his mouth against the column of your throat. Once again his fingers slipped past the flimsy lace of your underwear, gliding through your soaked lips with ease, ‘awe baby, you’re so wet, really want t’cum don’t you?’

The beg fell quickly from your lips, ‘please’, a simple plea, as your hips continued to rock against the slick on his fingers. He stilled you, the pads of his fingers digging gently into the fleshy skin of your thigh. Puffing out his lower lip, a faux pout that was only followed by further mockery, ‘I know, I know, y’want it so bad don’t you? You know the rules, y’can end this at any time.’

You did know the rules, and yet you still had a glimmer of hope that Harry would forget to stop himself while he was toying with you, resulting in an unwarranted but technically permissible orgasm. He kept his gaze heavy on yours, fingers notched into your heated skin, as he began to toy with your clit again. You felt your flush rise, chest pinked and heaving as he started guiding the roll of your hips against his hand once again. It came too easily, the innate drive to seek pleasure. Even though your movements felt like betrayal, a false promise, you couldn’t stop. 

Your whimpers grew pathetic, gasping– breathless, and Harry just watched in admiration as you began to come apart on top of him. He knew toying with you like this was devious– painful. He knew that the second he’d pull his hand away you’d be flooded with a fresh wave of frustration– grief of the orgasm that could have been. Despite this, he wasn’t going to stop. He wasn’t one to magically breach into the realm of tenderness (unless needed). He’d stop if you safed, he’d stop if he felt that as your dom you couldn’t handle anymore, but you both knew that you were far from that threshold and he wasn’t going to let up easy on you just yet. 

You reveled in the respite that his hand gave, and Harry let you. He let you ride out the waves of your pleasure until he felt the first muscles in your hips and abdomen begin to contract, and just for a second he let you think that at best you’d get to cum on his fingers, and at worst maybe get a ruin. He did all this while whispering praises into the tepid skin beneath your ear, ‘Getting my fingers all sticky love, y’so desperate to cum aren’t you baby, doing so good grinding against my hand like the filthy little thing y’are’. 

At the brink, nonsense tumbling from your lips, you wondered if maybe, finally, Harry had grown a soft spot for the dire of your situation. He gripped your hip again, the firm clutch of his hand grounding, and slipped his fingers from your warmth. 

That’s when the tears came. 

Your mouth fell agape, brows furrowed. You could feel your flush growing, not out of excitement but disappointment, and he smiled– smiled at your rubicund features. Smiled at the wobble of your lip. Smiled at the sticky mess he held in the palm of his hand. 

He wiped away the fat salty tears that spilled in bourn runs from your wide eyes, movements soft and tender. His tone though, was anything but, ‘don’t cry m’love, it’s not worth crying over, s’just an orgasm’. 

You excused yourself after that, your movements rigid and fueled with an untapped rage as you retreated to the couch in the office. You thought, maybe, just maybe if you holed up as far away from him as you could, you’d be able to make it through the rest of the day. But Harry was quick to follow, settling himself down into the plush office chair to get some ‘work done’. 

He seemed focused on his work, intent and diligent as he read over emails and typed away. He paid no mind to you, and for the first time ever that felt like a blessing. But he had other plans up his sleeve. ‘Can you c’mere lovie?’ He asked, eyes still glued to the screen in front of him. 

As much as you wanted to say no, curl yourself further into a ball with your back to him, you couldn’t. You got up, silently cursing your betraying feet as you walked over to his desk.  He didn’t look up, paid you no mind, as he politely requested ‘knees please, want ya’mouth’. 

You were thankful he didn’t look up, thankful he didn’t see how excited and eager the request made you. He was finally letting you taste him, and the ache between your thighs was worth it for a glimpse at one of your favorite parts of his body. Plus maybe, just maybe this would distract you for a little while. 

You welcomed him onto your tongue with a moan, heavy and velvet. He sat thick– corked. Your hand found the base of his cock, coarse hair a nest for your hand, your tongue laving over the underside of his crown. But Harry halted your motions, swatting your hand away with a tsk, ‘just keep me warm baby, unlike some people I can control when I want to cum’. 

A rumble of disappointment crept up your throat, vibrating around his shaft before dissipating into the air around you. But still, you obliged. You laid your head against his thigh, making sure to be careful to cradle him on your tongue. 

Saliva pooled on your tongue, a deluged run of spit and precum. You tried not to care as it began slipping past the gates of your lips in rill lines, and you tried even harder not to care about the incessant thrum running from your core up your spine. 

Spit slicken and messy you sat, patiently, idly admiring Harry as he studiously worked above you. When he finally peered down at you he looked so endeared. He loved how all you’d done was sit there with his cock in your mouth and you already looked fucked out. For the first time today he thought you actually looked content.

His fingers slipped around the curve of your jaw, running against the taut skin of your cheek as he praised, ‘doing so good baby, finally finished up my emails, y’can take care of me now’. 

Finally he granted you the solace of pulling his cock all the way into your mouth. Not only did the sensation of his cockhead slipping past the back of your throat feel like an accomplishment but it was also one of your favorites. You loved watching his expression as you pleased him, brows drawn tight, chest rising in puffs. You reveled in the feeling of his fingers smoothing through your hair, pulling the strands into a makeshift ponytail so he could guide you. The praise he sang was only an added bonus, ‘Doin so good f’me, always take such good care of me, that’s it lovie, just a little more, I know, I know y’can make it fit, c’mon’.

Transfixed solely on pleasing him you didn’t even realize that you’d begun to grind against the floor. It took his coos turning derisive for you to attune to your motions, ‘does sucking m’cock turn you on that much that you’re humping the floor, dirty little thing y’are, so desperate to cum you’ll get yourself off on anything’. 

Your whimpers muffled around the base of his cock as you sucked Harry closer to an orgasm, and to no one's surprise the floor wasn’t enough to get you over the hill you’d been teetering on all day. Harry pulled you off, fixing your head just below the tip of his cock as he continued stroking himself. ‘You’re gonna swallow everything like a good girl,’ he grunted, hot ropes of his cum painting your tongue. 

‘Always so good f’me, did so good,’ he leaned down, placing a quick peck on your lips before pulling you to your feet. As you stood before him, soaking in the warmth of his praise, you couldn’t help but to cross your shaky legs, squirming in an attempt to stifle the ache between your legs. 

‘Awe, did sucking m’cock get you all wet and achy pumpkin? I bet it’s so hard being such a desperate lil mess, yeah? Y’know what to do if you want this to be over m’love.’ Harry smirked as you pouted, but he saw the gears in your head turning as the reality sunk in that you would have to take care of herself in the one way Harry was offering. 

You excused yourself once again, feet scurrying out of the office to your shared bedroom. Harry had chipped away at your resolve, piece by piece. You were overtaken by the overwhelming obligation that Harry had planted in your mind to finally cum. 

Hesitating, you grabbed a pillow from the top of the bed. You slotted it between your thighs, the slight bump of your clit against the cushion shouldn’t have sent shockwaves through your body– but it did. 

You huffed as you settled onto the saddle of the pillow, willing away the hot flush of embarrassment that threatened to climb along the surface of your skin. You’d tried so hard not to succumb to Harry’s rule, but he was too good at fracturing your equanimity. Subservience was the goal after all. 

Harry knew exactly what you were doing when you’d scurried out of the office, it was clear as day, written all over your face, but still he didn’t come chasing. He waited, thumbs drumming, until a breeze of moan carried through the hallway. 

Thinking back to all the times Harry had ushered you into riding his thigh, you did your best to imagine that the pillow between your legs was him. Past words of his encouragement consumed your mind, an inkling of your orgasm fresh on the horizon, ‘be a good girl n get y’self off on my thigh, that’s it, making such a pretty little wet patch on me, filthy girl, gonna be a good girl n cum on my thigh?’

Harry watched you, shoulder pressed into the molding of the doorframe, mirth woven into the coy smile he’d seemingly worn all day. You looked so pretty perched up on the bed. He liked the way your features warped, twisting in pleasure. How your cheeks and chest were rubicund, nipples perked against the cotton of your shirt as tiny gasps and mewls of his name fell from your lips. He could only imagine what images were running through your pretty little mind. Most of all though, Harry liked that you’d finally caved. 

You tried so hard, rolling, grinding, working so hard to reach that orgasm you’d been desperate to have all day. Frustration– exhaustion– exacerbation, wrapped around the cords and muscles of your body, burrowing deep in your sinew and marrow. Your motions slowed, pants no longer of pleasure puffed from your lungs. 

It came of no surprise to Harry when, once again, tears began to well in your eyes. Hot– biting. His sonorous voice filled the room as you gave way for the tears to fall, ‘is that all you’ve got?’ 

It wasn’t a question, it was a gibe, a torturous sneer for you to continue. He joined you on the bed, perched on the edge, his hand finding your thigh to give a reassuring squeeze. You did your best to swallow the sob choked in your throat. You gathered each fragmented piece of composure, scrambling to assemble the jagged splinters as your hips started rolling again. 

‘Gotta be s’close, just keep rubbing, I know you can do it’. Even with his encouragement, the precipice still felt light years away. A fresh set of sobs wracked through your body, the pleads falling before you even registered the height of your desperation, ‘I can’t, please, it’s not you, just want you Harry, please– please Harry’. 

His thumb stroked along the soft expanse of skin exposed just below the hem of your skirt, idly, admiring how pretty you look when you cry for him. ‘Must not really want it if ya haven’t cum yet’. 

It stung, manchineel in your veins, and still, you kept going. Swallowing your tears you rocked, miniscule shocks and sparks of fire kindling in your belly. Prideful, Harry sat, admiring your unspool, ‘that’s it baby, y’gotta be close, just keep rubbing lovie, doing so good,’ 

Finally, with the help of his succored encouragement you were getting close to that escarpment you’d been aching for all day. Your gasps and moans began to tumble with ease, thighs tensing around the fluffiness of the pillow. A heaving moan wracked through your ribcage, scurrying through the tight cords of your throat. It was an anticlimactic rise, trudging– pushing– climbing, to the dullest view in the world. 

Harry didn’t give you any time to recuperate though, flipping you, a near tackle, on to your back, he settled between your thighs. Desperate– grabby hands found the crotch of your panties, tugging the lace to the side his mouth finally made contact with where you’d so desperately wanted him all day. 

To an outsider Harry would have appeared to have been a starved man by the way he was lapping at your cunt. ‘Harry!’ you gasped as his lips suctioned to your clit. 

Your legs clamped around his ears, a makeshift Ridell, as his tongue lapped at your wet heat. 

Animalistic grunts and shrieks crawled up your throat. Sparkling– champagne bubbles in your veins. This time the climb was worth it: a vista, hot pleasure, scorching. ‘Fuck!’. Clawing, gasping– shrill. 

Panting, spent, Harry kissed his way up your mons to your belly button. Wiggling his hips he pushed down the waistband of his trousers to his knees (he doesn’t think his erection even had a chance to go down after your blowjob). You looked at him with wide eyes, knees snapping closed in an attempt to deter his obvious next course of action. 

Your efforts were futile, his body unyielding in the bifurcate of your thighs. He shifted his hips forward, the crown of his cock prodding at your puffy lips, ‘Harry I can’t’, you whined. 

With one arm stationed on the mattress next to your waist he propped himself up, ‘you can and you will’, he grunted through clenched teeth, sliding  his cockhead through your wet heat. 

Toying– teasing– taunting, he slid himself between your lips, nudging against your oversensitive clit with every pass. You were whimpering and he’d barely began. He tsked, ‘thought all you wanted was to cum pretty girl.’ You were speechless, brain devoid of any reasonable thought due to the overstimulation coursing through your spent nervous system. ‘Begged for it all day lil lovie, isn’t this what you asked for?’

You bit down on your lower lip, as he pressed just the first inch of himself inside of you. It was an involuntary movement, a spasm of uncoordinated overworked synapses and nerves, when your legs attempted to clamp closed around him. Pushing him away, getting him closer, neither of you could tell. 

He slapped your thigh, a cursory action and you fought against your own muscles, spreading yourself open for him.

He was slow, tenderly so– a scary thing to be at the receiving end of, as he inched his cock inside of you, the thew of your body slowly relaxing to give way for the width of him. 

His hands hooked under your knees, folding, bending– shaping you how he saw fit. He pasted your thighs to your chest, pressed in on yourself. This position always got him the deepest. His resolve was quickly abandoned, hips snapping, tensile force cracking. Teeth bared– mirrored snarls, he bore. The pretty noise that mauled its way from your throat was unconditioned, primal and gaspy. 

He was so deep, where you’d wanted him all day, and it was overwhelming. Tears began to prick at your eyes, no longer hot and desperate like they had been all day. When he angled himself just so, hitting that spot that always made your brain go hazy and your toes curl, you couldn’t help but let the tears fall along a mindless beg. ‘Please, please, please’, for what or who didn’t matter. 

Your body felt overworked, oversensitive, spent after so many hours of being on edge to then have come twice in such a short amount of time. It was too much, far too much when Harry’s thumb pasted to your clit, the pressure almost unbearable in combination with how deep and perfectly he was pounding at your insides. ‘Look so pretty when you cry f’me, c’mon lemme see you cum again, I know you have it in you’. 

Harry’s request felt inordinate as you groaned under his touch. The words ‘I can’t’, falling from your lips over and over again, because truly you didn’t know if you could. Your imploration was disregarded by Harry, as surely you could and he knew it. He was only going to work harder for what he wanted.

It was mocking, meant to get under your skin in the way Harry was so good at and that you loved so much, ‘pretty little thing begs for me to fuck her all day and then can’t take it when I finally do, how sad’. The gibe ignited fire in your skin, your nerves lighting ablaze with overwhelm. 

He could see it, see it in the flush of your skin, how your tears carved pools in the ruddyness of your cheeks. He could feel it, feel the way your lungs fought for air underneath the weight of your thighs pressed to your chest, how your hamstrings attempted to grow taut beneath his fingertips and how your walls began to pulse around his cock. He smirked, smirked at how much his locution conditioned your frame. 

His thumb worked faster against your clit, your physiological responses fuel to his own burning fire, the one that ached in his chest to make you cum. Your vocalizations meandered into gibberish, cock dumb and overwhelmed. And finally, finally you crumbled at his fingertips. 

It was blinding, a tidal wave of pleasure that shook you to your core. Your muscles spasmed, voice shaking, as you came– hard, gushing. The noises where your bodies were connected grew wet, sloppy, your orgasm slick against the top of Harry’s thighs. 

‘That’s m’good girl’, he cooed, pressing a kiss to your salt kissed skin. ‘Always look so pretty when y’cum for me’. He released your thighs from his tight grip, allowing your body to flop how it needed as his own thrusts grew sloppy. You were practically dead weight beneath him when he came, body almost too spent to process that he was cumming. The fresh wave of heat from his cum along with his own rambling nonsense your only cue. 

You hissed as he pulled out. ‘So good, always so good f’me’, he mumbled, ‘look so pretty with my cum stuffed so deep inside’. 

It was a blur as he slipped off the bed, returning moments later with a warm washcloth to wipe you up. You whined as he peeled your slick panties from your body and started to clean up the mess between your thighs. Somewhere deep inside your sex scrambled mind you were sad that he was wiping away the combination of the two of you– a sacrosanct of your relationship. ‘I know, I know, gotta clean ya up, y’messy girl’. 

He helped position your body into a more suitable arrangement for a cuddle. Each press of his fingers into your skin was soft and warm. As the warmth of his chest pressed against your back you couldn’t help but whimper again. His grasp was so warm, so safe and you wished you could be curled up in his arms forever. 

He kissed along the protrusions of your scapula, whispering sweet things into the hair that hung over your shoulders. His grasp was so cozy– so secure and you wished you could be curled up in his arms forever. You couldn’t tell if you loved soft, sweet, cuddly Harry or tormenting, snide, mean Harry more. Both versions served such distinct roles in your life, ultimately not one was better than the other. 

♡ ♡ ♡

Harry’s silent when he steps in, you can only tell he’s there by the bristling of his feet against the carpet. A subdued threat. His gaze cuts, tracing and cold as he follows the lines of your body. He’s checking your form, ‘tummy tucked, mhm, fingers straight, good, hold your head up, that's right’. You silently attune to every part of your body, his words echoing in the cavern of your mind. Once he told you not to think, so you try not to. 

He doesn’t greet you, he doesn’t have to. This is all purely routine by now. You feel the heat from his body when he comes to stand beside you and you revel, revel in the brief respite of warmth his presence brings. 

His index and thumb grip your cheeks, twisting you to look at him. It’s cold, a mechanical motion, still under his grip, the sight makes your muscles attempt to flex in a smile. His features are sharp, expectant, but still the epidote of his eyes hold a warmth– a fondness as he looks at you. 

“Open,” his voice is low, traces of sleep still laced in the timber. 

His grip loosens, the pads of his fingers denting in the plush flesh, just enough for your lips to part, for your tongue to roll out– flat, a presentation for him. He waits, patience is nothing more than a virtue to him. 

Spit pools, you want to swallow, but you don’t. ‘Hold it’, he’d once said. You let it fall, sticky rivulets from the corners of your mouth, the tip of your tongue. He nods, the closest you’ll get to a sign of approval. When the two of you had started this routine he used to praise as he went, but he likes the quiet, and praise– praise only brings way for distractions. 

Two straight fingers press to your tongue, there’s not warning when they knock against the back of your throat, unyielding. You feel the prick of tears behind your eyes, the urge to cough is strong but it is not an option. You focus on the taste of his skin and how the metal from his rings feels cold against your lips. 

You’re primed, ready, when he nods again– his cue for you to suck. He inches his fingers back, just enough for you to work with. You wrap your lips around his knuckles, tongue laving at the creases. Your teeth knock against his rings. Silver, gold and ruby kisses you back. 

He pulls them from your mouth, glistening– wet, dripping with your spit. 

“Up,” it’s a simple command, one that you follow on shaky legs. He watches, brows furrowed as you climb on the bed, eyes focused on your cunt as you part your thighs for him. You wish you could watch him, follow the contours of his body as he moves, but he told you once to look at the ceiling, so you do. 

Harry’s eyes focus on your cunt, puffy lips and weepy hole on full display only for him. You clench around nothing when you hear him step closer and that only fuels the pride he has welling in his chest. It’s only routine, but still his heart swells at your obedience.

There is no warning when his fingers touch you, spreading your lips apart. Open, an exhibit with admission for one. The cool air makes you shiver when he pulls back the hood of your clit, your muscles tensing beneath his touch. The only sound, a breathy air of approval from Harry. 

You’re soaked when his first finger presses in, slipping with ease into your wet heat. He prods, finger curling into that spongy spot that makes your toes curl. You press your lips together, seeling back the moan that wants to escape when he adds a second finger– same story. He wipes your wetness– slick, on the inside of your thigh. 

He taps your hip once, your next cue. You flip over, hands and knees, arms sprawled before you. The opalescent gemstone sits snug between your cheeks, catching the dusky hue of the room– glittering, a prize. 

His fingers slip under the flare, tugging. He pulls it halfway out, accustomed to its former position you feel the stretch in your toes. Your pulse is in your throat, hammering, slipping down your ribcage like a mallet. Your teeth grit, bone on bone. You breathe through it– in and out. Harry twists the plug, pulling– toying. You are his toy afterall. 

He pushes it back in, metal biting at your warm skin. “Exemplary marks.” He concludes, voice echoing in the quiet of the room like a lecture hall. 

You breathe out a sigh of relief, emotions flood: pride, confidence, dignity. He's never failed you, but still you feel like a kid in school yearning for their teacher's approval. 

Inspections over, but he’s not done with you– yet. 

His hand presses to your bum, stabilizing, the touch almost feels domestic. The teeth of his zipper grind, a runway for what’s next. You keep breathing, in and out, in and out– steady– rhythmic.

His knees dent the bed beside yours while his cock sits heavy in his hand. He spits, warm and goey– viscid, it drips down from your ass. There are no frills, as the crown of him nudges you open, parting– blunt. His hips snap before you can register it. He fills you, full– fuller– fullest. You whine, it’s permissible now. 

He cudgels at your ache, the one that’s deep. The snapping of his hips a kindling for the embers in the hearth of your tummy. Glowy, warm, it runs deep in your veins. 

Harry lets himself soak you in now, you were so good for him afterall. His hands are grabby, they dig in your flesh. The pads of his fingers bite at your skin, dimpling you with bruises that show his love. 

Because he does love you, he loves you enough to dip his toes into the murky and complex pools of power and submission. Enough to trust you with his fantasies and vice versa. Enough to know that the both of you will always be safe when it comes to how the two of you play.

“So– fucking– good–”, he grunts, teeth bared, primal. “Always take me– so– fucking– good.” His voice swarms in your head, syrupy, treacly, sweet like honey in your veins. 

Every grunt that claws at his throat, slithering into the air around you– intrinsic unrestrained approval– sinks into your skin. Your body hums, a buzzing in your nerves. You can feel the force of his thrusts in your fingertips. 

His hand comes down on your ass, a crack in the symphony of the orchestra your bodies create. “Fuck,” you seethe through clenched teeth. It’s fire– fire in your bones. Marrow alight in his ministries, it crackles. 

He can feel you clenching, siphoning him in. Your body a siren call, wanting– needing in the night. “Y’gonna cum for me?” He grunts, even though he already knows the answer. 

You want to scream yes! As the pleasure is rolling, licking at your frame. All consumed, you whine instead. 

“Better ask permission,” it’s not a suggestion coming from Harry, it’s a command. 

You beg, desperate, the pitch of your voice one only heard when the two of you are like this, “Please– please– please.” 

“Go on then, don’t be so whiny ‘bout it,” he gibes, his own thrusts beginning to grow sloppy– worn out. 

And you do, it’s hard not to when he’s been ramming into you the way he has– a perfect blunt force. The hearth spills over. Hot and ablaze it coils through the frame of your body, the flames licking at your every fiber, wrapping around the timber of your soul. Consuming. 

Haphazardly he chases, following close behind. It’s wet, sticky where you’re joined, You’re attuned to the noises shared between you, gushing and vulgar. It brings a new bloom of heat as he pumps you full, filling you in a different fashion. 

His chest is hot on your back as he falls forward, sweaty and spent. He kisses your shoulder blade– tepid. “Exempilary marks, as always,” he accolades, his chest vibrating with a murmur of laughter. 

♡ ♡ ♡

Seth shakes his head, a loose, weary sort of amusement gracing his features, “I think you’re just disgusting.”

“And the pot meets the kettle,” Niall challenges, eyebrows pinching as his eyes narrow at his considerably swarthier counterpart, “You had that weird toe thing with… what’s-her-name. The one with the teeth?”

At the errant dig towards his ex-fling, (admittedly a nice person, as Harry remembers) hooking into the discussion strictly as collateral, Seth blinks blankly, deadpanning, “Her name was Bianca, and she had perfectly normal teeth.”

Art picks up his drink, muzzling a string of snickers at his own quip by tucking his straw between his teeth, “Sure, sure. She also had a canine sharp enough to open packages.”

As Seth rolls his eyes up to the wooden beams detailing overhead, Niall directs his attention onto Harry, who sits across from him. “What’s your take on it, then?”

Halting the soft, steady drum the face of his ring had taken against the body of the glass, Harry gears his gaze onto the other brunette. A half-lidded, nonchalant glaze coats his expression as he clarifies, “Spitting?” He shrugs, pursing his lips to bottle his mirth, “Well, it’s context-dependent, isn’t it? I’ll wait for her ask for it before giving her a fucking hurricane.”

Art, with the straw still slotted between his lips, snorts and nearly chokes on his drink. 

“It was a bit!” Niall defends hotly, exasperation worming into his tone at the ridicule. He lays his palms flat onto the sticky tabletop, then picks one up to motion with it, pinky parallel to the surface, as if chronologically walking the rest of his friends through a particularly uncomfortable series of unfortunate events, “She texted me a link to one of those Bang casting roleplay and said ‘I want this.’ I. Want. This,” Niall repeats, emphasizing each word with another, firm tap against the table, eventually resorting to gesture out with the same palm, “And I was spitballing.”

At the unintended softball, Harry nudges with his chin, feigning understanding, “Right.”

For a moment, Niall bristles. The dewy (courtesy of the shots the cohort had kicked off the night with) noctilucence of his gaze sharpens to a dagger point as it narrows. Finally, he sits back against the chair, correcting himself flatly, “Improvising.”

“Why do all your bits end in trauma?” Seth notes, a crinkle forming between his brows almost pensively.

“It’s almost impressive,” Art tacks in. When the redhead finally sets his drink onto the table, it’s half-nursed. He snorts, luring a scowl from the Irishman diagonal to him, “You’ve got the bedside prowess of a drunk magician.”’

“Pick a card, any card,” Harry drawls dramatically, stretching his arm out in a display of theatrical mystique, only able to stifle the full extent of his dimples with the drink he takes after the deadpan punchline, “Now, open your mouth.” 

Unlike the rest of the table, Niall doesn’t seem to bask in the same mirth. A ruddy smear inches over the bridge of his nose, speckling his cheeks, and dusts the tips of his ears as his friends cackle. 

“Where would you have done it, then?” the Irishman counters irately, once more focusing his inquiry onto the curly-haired brunette across from him, who seems to have taken the lead role in the ribbing. 

Harry muscles down his laughter, schooling his expression into something more sober and casual, “Where would I have done it?”

Niall bobs his head firmly, the edges of his lips downturned in lingering childish offense, “You get a link to an aggressive porno with a text tied to it that says ‘I want this.’ Where are you spitting?”

Although the answer (common sense, in Harry’s opinion) rests on the tip of his tongue like a ready swimmer on a diving board, he bats his lashes at his friend in mocking innocence, “I wouldn’t degrade a woman like that. I’m a good boy.”

“Oh, cut the shit,” Niall scoffs, his face screwing, “You basically degrade women as a hobby and document it. You’re a sick freak.”

“Consensually,” Harry stresses over the breathless wheeze of laughter that surfaces from the stool beside him, pausing for effect, “Which is the key here, young Niall. And I’ve already, basically given you the answer, haven’t I? If she asks for it, as in, she says ‘I’d like you to spit on me,’ well then, …mouth’s nice.” He shrugs nonchalantly, and a slow-seeping, seedy kind of grin trickles over his lips at the thought, “I’ve got a soft spot for the lower back, too, though. Feels a bit like writing your name in the snow.” With all-seriousness, now (interlaced, of course, with pitying concern that’s meant to condescend), he blinks, shaking his head slowly, “But, mate, I think she just wanted you to pull her hair a bit.”

You took a deep breath, feeling both excitement and a hint of pain as Harry began to work. The buzzing of the needle grew louder as it pierced your skin, creating the outline of the word 'kitten'. You couldn't help but whimper a little, but Harry's gentle strokes and soothing words kept you grounded. After every wipe away of ink, he would place a kiss on your other cheek, you both laughed at first, but the gesture made your heavy breathing softer.

As the minutes ticked by, the adrenaline of the spontaneous decision started to wear off, and the exhaustion from the long day began to set in. You felt your eyelids growing heavier, your body succumbing to the comfort of Harry's touch and the rhythmic buzz of the tattoo gun. "You okay, kitten?" he checked in, his voice a gentle rumble in the quiet room. You nodded with your eyes still closed. "You're doing so well. Just a little more, then we'll be done." he cooed.

With a few more precise movements, Harry finished up the shading on the 'N' in 'kitten'. He rolled his chair back to admire his work, his eyes filled with satisfaction as her looked at your ass, now marked by him. You felt a shiver run down your spine as he leaned in and placed a tender kiss just below the fresh ink. "So beautiful," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

He stood up, and you felt his hands slip your dress to gently lift it up your back, leaving it bunched up just under your shoulders. Harry's gaze never left yours in the mirror, and you watched as his pupils dilated with desire. The air grew thick with anticipation as he took a step closer, his tattooed hand sliding around to cup your cheek and turning your face towards him. "You're so beautiful, baby," he whispered before capturing your mouth in a slow, sensual kiss. His tongue danced with yours while his other hand trailed down your spine to rest on the small of your back.

With a low growl, Harry's demeanor shifted from gentle to dominating. He gripped your hip, his hand moving to pull down your thong. He stepped back, admiring the view of your now bare ass with the new ink.

"Spread your legs for me, but stay laying on your tummy." he ordered, his voice firm yet tender. You complied immediately, feeling a rush of vulnerability as you exposed yourself to him. He stepped closer, his hand moving to cup your wet core before his thumb began to circle your clit with expert precision. "Look at how eager you are, baby." He leaned in and spat on your pussy, the warmth of his saliva making you gasp.

With a predatory grace, Harry aligned his hardened length with your entrance and pushed in without hesitation. You moaned into the bench pillow as he filled you up completely. His grip tightened on your hip, guiding his thrusts deep and slow. Each time he pulled out, you felt the stickiness of his spit mingling with your arousal, heightening the sensation of his thrusts.

"Daddy," you whimpered, your voice muffled by the leather. Harry's response was a low, animalistic grunt, his pace increasing as he claimed you with every powerful stroke. He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back as his other hand snaked up to play with your nipples, pinching and rolling them until they were hard peaks of pleasure.

His hand moved back to your ass, his thumb tracing the fresh ink as he fucked you, marking his territory with every thrust.

"Are you Daddy's good girl?"

You nodded, your voice trembling as you murmured, "'m Daddy's good girl." The words sent a jolt of electricity through your body, the kink of the scene only adding to the intensity of your arousal.

The smell of ink and sex filled the air as Harry's grip on your hips tightened. He leaned in closer, his hot breath fanning against your neck as he whispered dirty, degrading things in your ear, pushing you further into your submissive role. "You like it when Daddy's rough with you, don't you? You like being my slut?" he groaned. You could only nod, as he picked up the pace, pounding into you with a fierce need that made the bench shake.

With every thrust, Harry's spit-slicked thumb circled your clit, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of orgasm. "Come for me, baby," he urged, his voice thick with desire. You felt your body tighten, the pleasure building until it was too much to handle. You let out a muffled scream as your climax hit, your muscles clenching around his cock, sending him over the edge as well.

With a final, powerful thrust, Harry pulled out, his cock glistening with your arousal. He reached down and painted your un-inked ass cheek with his cum, leaving a sticky, hot trail across your skin. "So perfect," he murmured, his eyes never leaving the mess he'd made.

Harry grabbed his phone from the nearby counter. He snapped a picture, capturing the moment with a sense of ownership and pride. The image was a stark contrast: the delicate 'kitten' tattoo on one side, his hot, white cum on the other. You felt a thrill at the thought of the photo, the evidence of his claim on you, his brand of love and dominance.

Harry took a paper towel and gently wiped the warm cum from your ass. His touch was surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to the raw passion that had just consumed both of you. He threw the towel away and reached out to stroke your hair, his hand moving in slow, calming motions that made you melt into the bench. "Did a good job for me, baby," he murmured, his voice soothing as he praised you for your obedience and the pleasure you had brought him.

Despite the tenderness, his grip on your hair was firm, reminding you of your place. "You're so beautiful, kitten," he said, his thumb tracing the line of your cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "And now, you have a permanent reminder of who you belong to."

Inside, the house was exactly how you imagined a vacation house should be, with wooden floors, large windows looking out at the pool. The kitchen was stocked with all sorts of goodies, courtesy of Sofia's mom.

With the sun peeking through the windows, the temperature outside was perfect for a swim. You followed Sofia's lead and headed to the guest room where your bags where you placed your bag on your bed. You threw open her suitcase and pulled out a bikini.

You both immediately jumped in the pool after running down the stairs, letting the water cool you down.

"This is heaven, I haven't been in a pool in so long." you sighed as you floated on your back, your eyes closed.

A sudden ding from Sofia’s phone broke the moment. She climbed out, swiping at the screen. “Oh, my brother’s stopping by.”

You cracked an eye open. “Your brother?”

“Yeah, Harry. He’s just going to drop something off to store in the garage.” She tossed her phone onto a pool chair. You nodded, but a small part of you suddenly wished you’d packed a swimsuit with a little more coverage. Not that it mattered.

You and Sofia continued to lounge by the pool, letting the sun dry your skin, the warmth making you lazy. The sound of the backyard sliding door caught your attention, and instinctively, you lifted your sunglasses, eyes locking onto the man who stepped through.

He was tall, his broad shoulders were tanned from the sun, a sleeve of tattoos trailed down his muscular arm. Brown hair that was just messy enough to look effortless, and when his green eyes flicked to you, a jolt of something sharp and sudden shot through your chest.

“Sof,” he called, his voice deep and easy. “I’m just moving some stuff into the garage.”

"Okay, that's fine." She nonchalantly replied. Harry's eyes continued to glance at you. You caught his eyes wandering up and down your body multiple times. "Oh, Harry, this is Y/N."

Harry smiled and walked from the door over to where you were lounging. "Pleasure to meet you." He said, charisma shining through his words and smirk. He stuck out his hand and gave you a firm handshake. "I'm Harry."

You felt your cheeks warm up a little. "Nice to meet you too," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"So you two are gonna be here all week?" Harry asked, his eyes never leaving yours.

Sofia nodded. "Yep, just us and the great outdoors. You're not staying, are you?" she said, hopefulness in her tone.

"Nah, I've got my own plans," Harry replied with a wink. "But I might drop by again if you don't mind."

As Harry disappeared into the garage, you couldn't help but steal glances as he left. His shorts were short enough to see the couple tattoos he had on his legs, his t-shirt was snug enough to reveal the outline of his abs. You quickly turned your gaze away, not wanting to be caught staring at him or Sofia.

“Sorry about that…he’s such a play boy. He flirts with anyone and everyone.”

You chuckled, suddenly feeling less special. “No worries.”

The next few days at the house were full of relaxation. You and Sofia swam in the pool, watched movies, and would only leave to go shopping. Harry did drop by a couple more times, mostly to grab or drop off stuff, but each time his visits grew longer. You found yourself looking forward to his visits, and he always made a point to sit and chat with you whenever he could.

Though, as Sofia made sure to remind you, you knew he was being as friendly and flirting as he would with any girl Sofia could have brought with her.

One evening, as the sun began to set, Sofia suggested a night out in the nearby town. "We should hit up the local bar," she said with excitement. "A couple of my friends from here want to meet up."

"I'm not sure, I'm pretty tired," you admitted, your voice a bit weak. "Don't let me stop you though."

"Are you sure? It's just going to be a casual hang out."

You nodded. "Yeah, I think I'll just chill here and catch up on some reading." You picked up the novel you had brought along. "You go have fun, I'll be fine."

"Alright, if you're sure," she said, squeezing your shoulder. "Text me if you need anything."

As the door closed behind her, you settled back into the plush sofa with your book. The lake house was so peaceful, and the thought of the noisy bar was less than appealing.

You had been reading for a few hours when your phone buzzed with a text from Sofia.

Hey, sorry to bother you but Harry's on his way again. He's got some more stuff to grab. I can come back if you want.

‘No worries! I don't mind.’ You replied, your mind wandering to Harry, and him being here with you...alone. You shook your head, trying to get rid of any inappropriate thoughts, that's your best friend's brother.

A few minutes later, you heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Harry's footsteps echoed through the house, and soon he was standing in the doorway of the living room. "Hey," he said, his eyes lit up immediately after finding you. "I didn't know you'd still be up."

"Couldn't resist the peace and quiet," you said, setting your book aside. "How's your night going?"

"It's been good," Harry replied, stepping into the room. He was dressed casually in a band tee and jeans that fit just right. "But I figured I'd come by and grab a couple more things before the weekend gets hectic."

You nodded, trying to ignore the way his voice made your heart flutter.

"How has your spring break been?" Harry asked, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. "It's been pretty good, just relaxing mostly."

"That's the way to do it," Harry said, his eyes scanning the room before returning to you. "You know, it's funny, I'm surprised we haven't met before."

You felt your cheeks heat up. "I've met your parents...Sofia and I only met this year though." You shifted in your seat, your stomach turning in a knot. "I guess it was bound to happen eventually."

Harry chuckled, his eyes lingering on you. "I guess it was." He leaned closer, his gaze intense. "So, you're all alone here?"

You nodded, swallowing hard. "Sofia went out with some friends from around here."

"Ah, so it's just us then," Harry said, his voice dropping a notch. The air between you felt thick with something unspoken, and the room seemed to shrink with each passing second.

You nodded, feeling your pulse quicken. "Looks like it," you managed to murmur, your eyes flicking over to him.

The silence between you grew heavier, until Harry broke it with a smirk. "You know," he began, his eyes not leaving yours, "I've heard a lot about you."

Your heart raced as he moved closer, his arm brushing against yours. "Oh? Good things I hope." you asked, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice. You couldn’t tell if he was flirting with you, or if that was his natural tone.

"Very good things," Harry said, his eyes never leaving yours.

You felt your heart flutter again, and a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. "Well, I hope I can live up to the hype."

Harry leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "I'm sure you can." His hand reached over and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You know, I've been wanting to get to know you better for a while now."

Your cheeks grew hotter and you swallowed, trying to find the right words. The chemistry between you was palpable, and it was getting harder to ignore. "Yeah? Did you have something in mind?" You replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

With a mischievous grin, Harry leaned in closer. His eyes dropped to your lips.

"I have a few ideas," he murmured, his hand resting gently on the sofa beside you. His thumb brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, Harry leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss. His lips were firm and insistent, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he pulled you closer. You smelled his strong cologne, which caused you to melt into him. You felt your body react instinctively, leaning into him as his other arm wrapped around your waist.

The kiss grew deeper, his tongue slipping between your lips to explore yours. He stood, pulling you to your feet, and you wrapped your arms around his neck as the kiss grew more intense.

"Come with me," Harry murmured against your mouth, his hand sliding down to grip yours. He led you through the house and up the stairs to a room you hadn't been in before. "This is my old room," he said, pushing it open.

The room was like a time capsule of Harry's youth, with posters of old rock bands on the walls and a queen bed covered in a plaid comforter. When you turned back to him, you picked up right where you left off.

Without breaking the kiss, his other hand slid down to the small of your back, pressing you closer to his body. His dominance was surprising but thrilling, making your legs feel like jelly. You stumbled backward slightly, and he took it as an invitation, walking you backwards until the back of your legs hit the bed. He leaned over you, his weight pressing you into the soft mattress.

You felt the heat of him, his chest against yours, his thighs between your own. His hand trailed up your side, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin under your arm, sending goosebumps across your body. Harry's kiss grew more demanding, his tongue exploring yours with a passion that made you gasp for air. He took advantage of the moment, deepening the kiss even further.

With a gentle yet firm touch, Harry's hand began to travel upwards under your shirt, his fingers tracing the line of your ribs. You felt a thrill as he reached the clasp of your bra, flicking it open with surprising ease. His hand cupped your breast, his thumb circling your nipple, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. His kiss grew more insistent, his tongue dancing with yours as he explored your body.

You felt his body shift and before you knew it, your shirt was being pulled over your head. Harry's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of your bare chest. He leaned down and kissed your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You felt his teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck, and you gasped, arching your back to give him better access.

His hands slid over your body, sure and confident, as if he had done this a hundred times before. You couldn't deny that his experience was a turn on, and your body responded eagerly to his touch.

With a wicked smile, Harry kissed down your body, his mouth tracing a path from your neck to your navel, making you squirm with anticipation. You felt his hands slip down to the waistband of your shorts, his thumbs hooking into the fabric. He paused, his eyes searching yours for permission. You nodded immediately.

He kissed the skin just above the band of your shorts, his breath warm and teasing. His hands began to tug at the fabric, sliding it down over your hips, revealing your underwear. His eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight of you. "God, you're gorgeous," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Without wasting a moment, Harry pushed your legs up to your chest, his strong arms holding you in place as he leaned in. His mouth found the damp fabric between your legs, and he bit down lightly, making you gasp. You felt his tongue slip beneath the material, tasting you for the first time. The sensation was intense, and you squirmed, trying to get closer to him. His grip tightened, keeping you in place as his mouth moved in a rough, insistent rhythm. You felt a buildup of pleasure, your muscles tensing as he worked his magic.

He hooked his thumbs into the sides of your panties and tugged them aside, revealing your wetness to the cool air. Harry groaned, the sound vibrating against your skin, making your hips lift off the bed. He didn't hold back, his tongue plunging into you, stroking and teasing until you were writhing beneath him. You could feel his strong hands gripping your thighs, keeping you open to him as he feasted on you. You were lost in the feeling, your moans filling the room, your nails digging into the bed sheets.

Your body arched off the bed, but Harry's grip on your legs was firm, keeping you in place as he ate you out. His teeth grazed your sensitive skin, making you squirm and gasp. He seemed to take delight in your reactions, his tongue becoming more demanding as he lapped at your clit, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thighs to keep you still. Your hand fell to his hair, tugging on it as he tongue continued to masterfully work over you. He groaned out at the harsh pull.

"Do you like that?" he murmured against you, his breath hot and his tongue continuing to dance against your sensitive flesh.

You could only nod, unable to form coherent words as his mouth worked its magic. His grip on your legs tightened, his thumbs digging into your inner thighs as he pushed them further apart. Harry's tongue grew rougher, his teeth grazing your skin as he devoured you with an animalistic hunger. You felt your body responding, your hips rocking up to meet his mouth.

He took two fingers, slowly sliding them into you before immediately pushing into your g-spot at a lightening fast pace.

Your moans grew louder, and you felt your body tightening around his digits. Harry's eyes watched you with a mix of pleasure and hunger, his strokes becoming more aggressive. He was in complete control, and the feeling was intoxicating. You felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

But just as you were about to climax, Harry pulled away, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Not yet," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. You whimpered in protest, your body begging for release.

"Patience," he said, his fingers tracing patterns on your thighs as he sat up and pulled off his shirt. His abs were defined, a sprinkling of hair leading down to his shorts, which were now tented with his arousal. You bit your lip, trying to control the desperate need pulsing through you

Harry noticed your gaze and smirked, unbuckling his belt.

"You wanna suck my cock, slutty girl?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

You blinked, the vulgarity of his words a stark contrast to the sweetness of the moment. But the heat in his eyes and the hardness pressing against his shorts told you that he was dead serious. Your heart raced as you nodded, his dominance a surprising turn on. Harry smirked, his hand reaching down to unbuckle his belt and pull his shorts down.

As he revealed himself, you took a deep breath, your eyes widening at the sight of his large, thick cock. You slid off the bed, dropping to your knees and leaning in.. You wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft, feeling his pulse against your palm.

"That's it," Harry said, his voice a low growl of approval. "Suck it like you mean it."

You leaned in, taking him in your mouth, feeling the weight of his cock on your tongue. Harry's hand found your hair, his grip tightening as he guided your movements. He was not gentle, pushing deeper into your mouth with every thrust. You felt a mix of fear and excitement, his dominance making you wetter than you had ever been. You took a deep breath, focusing on pleasing him, feeling his cock hit the back of your throat with every bob of your head.

"That's right," Harry groaned, his hand tightening in your hair. "Take it all." You could feel his muscles tensing, his thighs trembling with the effort to hold back. His eyes stared into yours, his gaze never leaving you as he watched you suck him off. You moaned around his cock, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through his body. He began to move his hips in a steady rhythm, fucking your mouth with increasing force.

You felt your jaw ache, but the desperate need to please him overrode any discomfort. Harry's grip grew tighter, his hips moving faster as he approached climax. "I'm gonna cum," he warned, his voice strained. You nodded, eager to taste him, to feel him come in your mouth. With a final thrust, Harry's body stiffened and he released into your mouth. You swallowed, feeling the warmth of his cum slide down your throat.

Pulling away, you sat back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Harry leaned back, a smug smile on his face. "I want to see you on your hands and knees, on the bed, facing away from me," he said, his voice still rough with passion. He stood and stripped off the rest of his clothes, revealing his still fully erect cock.

You scurried to the bed, doing as he said. The mattress dipped as Harry climbed onto it behind you. Running a couple fingers up your slit, causing your whole body to shudder. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "You liked sucking my cock, didn't you?"

"Uh, huh," you breathed, the only thing you were able to choke out, barely audible.

"Good," Harry said, his voice thick with desire. He positioned his cock at your entrance.

With a firm grip on your hips, Harry pushed into you, his size making you gasp. He didn't hold back, thrusting deep and hard, his cock filling you completely. Each stroke sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making your toes curl and your nails dig into the bed. His dominance was like a drug, and you found yourself craving more.

"Is this what you wanted?" Harry asked, his voice a low growl as he fucked you. "You want my cock deep inside, don't you?" You could only nod, your eyes screwed shut as you tried to process the intense feeling of fullness. He was so deep, his cock hitting places that no one else had ever reached.

"I could tell from the moment I first saw you the other day...your pretty eyes staring at me."

You felt his hand on the back of your neck, he kept fucking into you, relentlessly. The power play was something new, something that sent a thrill through you that you hadn't felt before.

"Show me how much you've been waiting for this," he murmured as he pulled out of you and lay against the headboard.

With trembling hands, you climbed onto him and reached between your legs, gripping his cock and guiding it to your entrance. You felt the tip brush against you, and he groaned.

Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, his thick length filling you up, stretching you wider than you'd ever been. You threw your head back, a guttural moan escaping your lips as you took all of him.

But as soon as you were fully seated, Harry's hands were on your hips, his grip tightening. He didn't let you set the pace, instead pulling you back down onto him before pushing you back up again. His strokes were powerful, his cock sliding up into you with a force that had you seeing stars. You tried to keep your eyes on his, but the pleasure was too intense, and they slammed shut as you threw your head back. He didn't even last one minute not being the one in control.

"Fuck, you're tight," he grunted, his eyes locked onto the place where your bodies connected. You could feel the tension in his muscles as he held onto your hips, his thrusts becoming more erratic. You grabbed his arms to keep yourself steady, feeling his hard biceps.

Without warning, Harry's grip tightened, his hands moving to your waist. He lifted you slightly before slamming you back down onto him. His eyes never left yours, watching as your mouth formed a silent 'o' of pleasure with every impact. You could feel him swell even more inside you, his cock pulsing with every thrust.

"You're so fucking perfect," Harry murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Riding me like a good little slut." He leaned forward, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "You like it when I use you like this, huh?"

You nodded, unable to form words as he continued to fill you completely with every stroke. The dirty talk was something you never knew you liked, but with Harry, it just felt right. You felt your cheeks flush with both pleasure and embarrassment, but you couldn't help but crave more.

But just as Harry's pace grew even more aggressive, he abruptly stopped, his hand coming up to cup your face, gently tilting it to look at him. His eyes searched yours, concern flashing across his features. "You okay?" he asked, his voice softer now. "Is this too much?"

You took a moment to catch your breath, the intensity of the moment making your heart race. "No, no" you panted, nodding. "It's just...I've never...it's great." Harry chuckled with a smirk on his lips.

"I’m corrupting you ," Harry groaned, his eyes never leaving yours. "I can't help it," he murmured, his voice strained.

"I need to see your face when I fuck your slutty pussy." He pushed you down onto the bed on your back, his hands moving to grip your thighs and roughly pull you to the end of your bed. The change in angle was intense, his cock hitting your g-spot with every thrust.

You couldn't help but whimper, your body reacting to his words and actions. You felt so exposed, so used, but in the best way possible. His strokes grew deeper, his cock hitting a spot inside you that made your toes curl. Harry's eyes searched yours, watching your reactions with a hunger that only grew with every moan that left your lips.

Your inner muscles started to pulse, your stomach started to churn, your orgasm was very close, and Harry's quick pace wasn't going to delay it.

"H–Harry." You stuttered quietly in an attempt to warn him of your nearing climax.

"Mm, I know," he murmured, his eyes dark with need. "I can feel you getting tighter around me." His thumb found your clit, circling it with the perfect amount of pressure to push you over the edge. "'Gonna scream my name? Let the neighbors know whose fucking you good?"

You screamed out his name over and over again, begging him not to stop. A smirk was painted on his face, his name continuously leaving your mouth inflating his ego.

You bit your lip to stifle the cry that wanted to escape as your orgasm washed over you, your body shaking with the intensity of it. Harry's eyes never left yours, watching you fall apart beneath him with a mix of satisfaction and hunger.

As the final waves of pleasure subsided, Harry leaned down, his body pressing you into the bed. His cock was still hard, still deep inside you, and he began to move again, slower now, savoring the feel of you around him. His kisses grew more gentle, his hands caressing your body as he whispered into your ear.

"Where can I cum, baby? Your tits? Your pretty face?"

"Inside me." Without thinking the words left your mouth, you froze in shock...you had just met this man days ago. For whatever reason his dominance made you think before speaking. "If-if you want to...I'm on birth control...you don't have to..."

He looked at you for a moment before a smug smirk grew on his face. "Here I was thinking you were a little innocent girl."

Without giving you time to process his words, Harry started to pick up his pace, his cock sliding in and out of you with renewed vigor. You felt your body respond, your hips rising to meet his thrusts. The feeling of his bare cock inside of you was something new and thrilling, and you found yourself getting lost in the moment.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "You want it all, don't you? You want to feel me fill you up."

Your body responded with a desperate nod, your legs tightening around his waist. Harry chuckled darkly, his grip on your ankles never wavering. "Good girl," he murmured, his thumbs pressing into your hips. He began to move faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. The pleasure was almost unbearable, the friction of his bare cock against your sensitive walls making you scream his name.

With each stroke, Harry's eyes grew darker, his breaths more ragged. You could feel his muscles tensing, his body preparing for his release. The anticipation was exhilarating, and you found yourself giving him the sweet submissive look he was looking for, urging him to his release.

"Fuck," Harry groaned, his hips moving faster, his cock sliding in and out of you with a wet, slapping sound. "You're gonna make me cum, baby."

You felt your walls tighten around him, the sensation of him getting closer to climax making you even wetter. You nodded eagerly, your voice breathy and needy. "Fuck, Harry," you encouraged, the words coming out in a rush. "Cum inside me."

Harry thrust one last time, his cock swelling and pulsing as he emptied himself into you. You felt the warmth of his release fill you up, the sensation of his hot cum sending another wave of pleasure crashing through your body. He collapsed onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he rode out the last of his orgasm.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breaths mingling in the quiet room. The air was thick with the scent of sex, your bodies damp with sweat. Harry's heart pounded against your chest, and you could feel his breath against your neck as he kissed you softly.

He pulled out of you, his eyes searching yours, and you could see the gentle concern in them. "You okay?" he murmured, his voice tender. But even as he asked, there was a hint of the playboy in his tone...you could tell that was something he had asked plenty of girls before, a reminder of who he was and what this was.

"Yeah," there was an awkward silence between you. "We should get cleaned up...before Sofia gets home."

You felt Harry's weight shift as he stood up, leaving you feeling empty and cold without his warmth. He offered you a hand, helping you to your feet. His gentleness was surprising after the raw passion you had just shared, and it left you feeling a little off-balance. You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts.

He grabbed a towel from the floor, handing it to you before grabbing one for himself. Harry's gaze was still intense, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush hair from your face. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you again, but instead, he leaned in and whispered, "You're something else."

The words hung in the air, leaving you feeling both flattered and a little unsure. He was still Harry, the playboy, but for a brief moment, you had seen a glimpse of something more vulnerable beneath the surface. He stepped back, the mask of nonchalance slipping back into place.

The sound of the front door opening downstairs jolted you back to reality. "Shit," you hissed, your eyes widening. "Sofia's home."

"Fuck," you whispered, your eyes darting around the room. You grabbed you clothes off the floor and began to quickly get dressed. "I better get back to my room." Before Harry could say anything, you left, peeking behind the door, before racing to your room when you saw the coast was clear.

You barely had time to sit down on the bed, your heart racing when you heard Harry's footsteps descending the stairs. His voice grew clearer as he approached the living room where you knew Sofia was waiting. "Hey," he called out, the sound of his voice so casual it was almost jarring after what had just happened. "Just dropping off some stuff in my old room."

Sofia's voice followed, a mix of curiosity and annoyance. "Okay, where's Y/N?"

You could hear Harry's footsteps stop, the beat of his heart echoing in the silence. He took a moment before responding, "Oh, she went to bed like an hour ago."

You had just had sex with your best friend's brother, in the house where you both would be staying for the weekend. The gravity of the situation settled heavily in the pit of your stomach, making you feel sick.

The sound of their conversation grew muffled as you lay back on the bed, trying to catch your breath. You had to play it cool, act like nothing had happened. You couldn't let this ruin your friendship with Sofia, or Harry's relationship with his sister.

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“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, sir,” she returned politely. “But as I said, the library has recently implemented a new policy to cover the costs of paper and ink."

The man scoffed. “That’s absurd!” His voice rose, sharp enough to draw the attention of a few nearby patrons. “It’s extortion.”

Mabel’s cheeks burned, but she kept her tone professional. “Please don’t raise your voice in here, sir.”

"What do you even know? I want to speak to someone in charge."

Before she could respond, a smooth, assured voice cut in.

“I believe she’s handling it just fine.”

The shift in energy was immediate. The man hesitated, his posture stiffening as he turned toward the source.

Harry.

He stood behind the man, watching the exchange with a composed, unwavering expression. He wasn’t aggressive—he didn’t need to be. He simply existed with an authority that made people think twice before pressing their luck.

The old man turned his attention to Harry. "And who are you?" he snapped, though his tone had lost some of its bite.

Harry’s face remained unreadable. "Just a concerned citizen wondering why you're making a scene over a few cents, mate." His voice was calm, clipped—cutting in a way that left no room for rebuttal.

The man’s mouth opened, then closed, face mottled with frustration. He let out a huff, clearly realizing he’d lost whatever imaginary battle he thought he was fighting. With one final grumble, he retrieved his receipt from the counter.

“Fine,” he muttered under his breath, shoving the paper into his pocket before stalking off.

“Have a great day!” Mabel called after him, lacing her voice with just enough false cheer. He dismissed her with a wave.

Mabel exhaled, shaking her head as she turned back to Harry. "Thank you," she said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He leaned casually against the counter. "I couldn't let you have all the fun," he replied, scanning her face for signs of disquiet.

Mabel rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, because diffusing entitled outrage is my idea of fun."

Harry chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that reverberated in her chest. "Well, you certainly have a knack for it," he commented. "Besides, you might have to remain professional and all. Doesn’t mean I do."

She offered him a small smile. "Well, thank you," she said again. "I appreciate it."

Harry gave a dismissive tilt of his head. "Just doing my civic duty.”

Mabel cleared her throat, shifting her focus to the book in his hand. “Already back for more?"

"Someone told me I should expand my literary horizons," he replied.

Her eyes flicked to the copy of The Alchemist he placed on the counter between them.

She raised a brow, smiling. "Well, that someone must be smart. Good choice."

She scanned the barcode of the book, the machine beeping softly.

He smirked. "What did they call it again?” he asked, feigning contemplation. “A ‘mystical masterpiece’?"

Mabel met his gaze. “Whoever they are, they sound like a genius... Think you can handle such a masterpiece?”

His lips twitched, clearly amused. “I’ll let you know when the enlightenment kicks in.”

Her lips twitched as she slid the book back to him. “There you go,” her inflection lifting just slightly on the last word. “Will that be all?”

Harry looked at her, silence stretching between them like a thread pulled taut.

"Not quite," he said, his voice low, measured. "I was hoping I could take you to dinner Friday night."

Mabel blinked. "Oh… I—"

The words tangled in her throat, catching her off guard in a way she wasn’t prepared for. Her earlier confidence scattered, leaving her fumbling.

She forced a small, polite smile. "That’s nice of you to ask, but I—"

Harry arched a brow, waiting.

"But… I don’t really date."

His expression remained steady, like he expected that response. "Who said anything about dating?"

Mabel’s lips parted slightly, embarrassment and surprise intertwining at how effortlessly he had sidestepped her excuse.

"Just dinner with a friend. That’s all," he continued, holding her gaze as if daring her to challenge such an innocent request.

Friend. The word settled oddly in her chest, a quiet, unexpected sting pressing beneath her ribs. If anything, it was a generous description for what they were. They had shared one conversation over coffee. The rest had been a handful of fleeting glances and pleasantries. And yet, the word landed awkwardly, like a note played slightly off-key.

In what seemed like a last ditch effort to quell her stubbornness, Harry leaned in slightly. "I need someone to talk to about my newfound literary pursuits. Turns out the guys at my office are pretty shit conversationalists in that regard."

Mable huffed out a quiet laugh. "So I'm your designated book club, is that it?"

"Something like that," he said smoothly. "But as club president, I’m enforcing the mandatory addition of dinner to our meetings.”

Doing her best to feign nonchalance, she shrugged. "Well, if you can make it through the mystical masterpiece by then, I suppose I can offer offer my services."

He grinned, slow and self-assured. "Great. I’ll text you the details?"

"That works," she replied, willing her voice to sound even.

Harry reached for the book, then hesitated, glancing back at her. "Oh, and try not to let any more unruly patrons shake you down today, yeah?"

Mabel smiled, "I'll do my best, but you never know when someone's going to take personal offense to the price of printer ink."

Harry flashed her a parting smile, before tapping a hand once on the desk. "I'll see you, Mabel."

She watched as he exited, effortlessly shrugging into his coat.

The rest of her shift slipped by in a haze. As she moved through the motions, each task felt slightly out of sync—like she was trying to retrace steps in a path that no longer existed.

***

Harry leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled as he surveyed the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. The Seattle skyline stretched before him, all sharp angles and steel, the city humming beneath him like a machine he had long since learned how to operate. Everything in his world was ordered, controlled—exactly how he liked it.

Or at least, it had been.

He exhaled slowly, drumming his fingers against his lap. His mind should have been focused on the quarterly reports in front of him, the business deals waiting for his approval, the dozens of emails demanding his attention. Instead, he kept circling the same thought. The same person.

Mabel.

She had been an unexpected variable—one he wasn’t entirely sure how to categorize. Their coffee “date” had been a personal test of sorts—a way to satisfy his curiosity, to identify exactly what it was about her that had lodged itself under his skin. He had walked into that café expecting resolution, a finality that would allow him to move on.

Instead, he had walked out with more questions than answers and more restlessness than resolve.

Harry sighed, rolling his shoulders as he forced himself to refocus on the screen in front of him. A sharp knock on the glass door of his office pulled his attention. Nathan, his head of strategy, stepped in, iPad in hand.

"Numbers from the Valeris deal," Nathan said, setting the tablet on Harry’s desk. "Everything’s in line with projections. We’re set to close by next week."

Harry nodded, barely glancing at the figures flashing across the screen. "Good. Keep the legal team on standby in case we need to push anything last minute."

"Got it." Nathan hesitated. "You good?"

Harry arched a brow. "Should I not be?"

Nathan smirked, stepping back toward the door. "You just seem... distracted. Doesn’t happen often."

Harry gave him a pointed look, "If you’re angling for my chair, you’re going to have to come up with a better strategy than amateur psychoanalysis."

Nathan chuckled, arms raised in mock surrender. "Right, right. Ok. Just checking," he said before making his exit.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong.

It wasn’t like Harry to fixate. He had rules, boundaries—ones he spent years perfecting. Keep things simple. Flings, no relationships. He never let things get emotional, never let them linger longer than they should.

And yet, here he was, staring out his office window like a man who had let something linger.

The funny part was, he had let it linger longer than any of his previous entanglements, and he hadn’t even touched her.

With most women, the chase wasn’t necessary. If he wanted them, they were his. His reputation preceded him. His looks and confidence did the rest. Whether it was a glance across a bar, a well-placed remark, or a passing encounter on a business trip, the outcome was predictable. If he initiated it, they responded. And if they initiated, he indulged. And the second he sensed the faintest tinge of feelings start to surface on their part? That was when he walked away.

It was the dynamic that worked for him. Mutually beneficial while it lasted. No mess after it was over.

But Mabel? Mabel was different.

She held so many contradictions—soft, but not weak. Guarded, but not impenetrable. There was a push and pull to her, an awareness that made him wonder just how deep his instinct ran.

He had seen it in the way she responded to him—the slight hitch in her breath when he pushed just enough, the fleeting relief in her eyes when he took control of a moment, the way she unconsciously melted at the firmness in his voice, her body betraying what her mind refused to. There was something soft beneath her sharp edges, a subtle willingness to let go, to surrender—if only to the right hands.

Then there was the coffee “date.” That was where he first saw the cracks in her carefully constructed walls. When she spoke about her family, her childhood, the sheer exhaustion of shouldering a world that refused to lighten its grip. He saw the way her struggles carved out fiber beneath her simple grace—a challenge she had faced alone for far too long.

Sitting across from Mable in that café, he felt something rare stir within him. It was more than dominance, more than attraction—it was the same pull he’d felt watching that old man berate her in the library. He knew she could handle herself; she always did. But that didn’t stop the instinct, the quiet urge to step in anyway. To take some of the weight off her shoulders. To help her exhale, even if just for a moment.

Harry had always been an attentive dominant—he knew how to read women, how to recognize their needs before they voiced them. But with Mabel, it wasn’t just about fulfilling a role or meeting an expectation.

It was about wanting—no, needing—to be the one who gave her what she’d never been given before.

That thought had settled into his mind like a hook he couldn’t shake loose.

He had a feeling she hadn’t always been granted the space to explore what she needed. She had it in her—he was sure of it. The desire to relinquish control, to find relief in someone else’s hands. Maybe she had even tried before, but with the wrong people. So she had buried it beneath layers of protective resolve, told herself it wasn’t worth the risk.

But it was still there.

And if she let him, he could show her that submission wasn’t weakness. That giving in wasn’t about breaking—it was about trust, safety, release.

And Harry had every intention of proving that to her.

But only if she wanted it.

If she recoiled, told him no, he would understand completely. There would be no coercion, no convincing. Only choice.

Still, he never wanted to be more right about anything.

Fuck.

What was happening to him?

His phone vibrated, pulling him from his thoughts. A message from his assistant.

Board meeting in ten minutes.

Harry exhaled, pushing himself up from his chair and adjusting his cufflinks. Business first. He had plenty of time to get his mind right before Friday.

But as he left his office, the weight of an undeniable truth followed him out the door.

Time had nothing to do with it.

***

Woohoo! Chapter four is in the works 👩‍💻