#harrystylesao3

The silence inside the apartment was heavy, vibrating with the leftover adrenaline from the club. Y/N stood by the door, her arms locked tightly over her chest. Her heart was still racing, partly from the scene Harry had caused and partly from the way he had driven home—silent, fast, and radiating a cold, sharp energy.

She couldn’t get the image out of her head: Harry, usually so composed, snapping in an instant. She had been trying to navigate the crowded hallway to the bathroom, and a man had lingered a second too long. In the suffocating heat of the club, that stranger had let his gaze wander down her body, his hand almost brushing her lower back as she tried to squeeze past. Harry had seen it from across the VIP section, and he launched himself at him.

The sound of Harry’s fist connecting with the man’s jaw had silenced the music for her. Mitch and Sarah had rushed in, grabbing Harry’s arms, trying to pull him back as he snarled like a wounded animal. But the damage was done. The bouncers swarmed in and took Harry into the cold night air.

Harry kicked the apartment door shut now, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the dark. He didn’t turn on the lights. He began to unbutton his shirt, his movements jerky, precise, and dangerous.

"If you had just waited for me, none of this would have happened," Harry snapped, his voice a low, vibrating growl.

Y/N turned to face him, her eyes stinging. "It’s not my fault, Harry! I had to pee, and you ruined the entire night! You made a scene for nothing!"

Harry stopped. He took a step toward her, and for a moment, the anger in his eyes flickered, replaced by something raw and desperate. He reached out, cupping her face with a hand that was still trembling from the fight.

"It wasn't for nothing," he whispered, his voice cracking just a fraction. "I saw him looking at you like you were something he could just take. It makes me sick to my stomach, Y/N. The thought of anyone even thinking they have a right to you... it kills me."

Y/N looked into his eyes, and the wall she had built up over the last hour began to crumble. She saw the fear behind his possessiveness—the fear of losing her. Her anger melted into a heavy, thick desire. She leaned into his touch, her breath hitching. "You're crazy, Harry."

"Only for you," he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips.

"I can't always be by your side," she whispered, her voice trembling but defiant. "I don't belong to you."

Harry let out a dark, dry chuckle that sent a shiver straight down her spine. He moved with the speed of a predator, his hand closing firmly around her throat—not to hurt, but to claim—as he pinned her against the wood. He hooked a finger under her chin, forcing her to look up at him, his eyes dark and dilated with a primal, territorial fever.

"Maybe not your mind, love," he murmured, his lips ghosting over hers. "But this body? Every curve, every inch of skin, every sound you make... that is all mine. I mark it, I use it, I take care of it. And after seeing that piece of shit look at you, I’m going to spend the rest of the night reminding you exactly whose touch matters."

He let his hand slide down her body, slow and deliberate, until it reached the edge of her underwear. She gasped as his index finger found her favorite spot, grazing her expertly through the thin fabric. He leaned in until his lips were just centimeters from hers.

"Isn’t that right, sweetheart? Or has someone else ever made you feel this good?"

He pushed her underwear aside, sliding his index finger along her slit, feeling her get wetter with every passing second. Her expression shifted; the anger was gone, replaced by a raw desire.

"Tell me, love... or do I need to remind you?"

Y/N’s knees went weak, her resolve crumbling under his gaze. Harry didn’t wait for an answer. He hiked her dress up and lifted her, carrying her into the bedroom. He tossed her onto the mattress and suddenly pulled back, his breathing ragged. He stripped out of his clothes, and she followed his lead, her movements hurried and desperate. He lay back on the bed, pulling her close.

"Sit on my face," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "Right now, love. I want to taste every bit of the pleasure I’m giving you."

She hesitated for a moment. They had stopped trying this position for a while because it made her feel so exposed, but Harry’s hands were steady, and his lips began to murmur sweet words of encouragement, making her surrender.

Guided by his hands, she straddled him. Harry closed his mouth over her clit, his tongue working with expert precision while his hands held her hips steady.

"You like that, hmmm?" Harry murmured against her skin, the vibration humming through her core. "Fucking use your words, baby."

"Fuck... yeah, Harry... oh God" she sobbed, her head falling back as the waves of a massive climax began to crawl over her.

He used two fingers to drive her closer to the edge. "That's it, love. Give it all to me. Fuck my face."

She began to move her hips, the friction of Harry’s nose against her clitoris making her legs shake. One of Harry's hands reached up to squeeze her breast, anchoring her even more firmly against him. When she finally shattered, it was violent, her whole body shaking. Harry stayed right there, relishing the way she came apart for him.

When she finally shattered, it was violent and all-consuming. She could barely breathe, her voice whispering his name over and over. Harry stayed right there, relishing the way she came apart for him. He eventually pulled back, his face flushed and his lips damp, looking up at her with a smirk that was both smug and deeply, obsessively loving.

"Fucking love you, baby," he whispered, kissing her inner thigh. With a gentle nudge, he prompted her to get up, but he wasn't finished. "Come on, baby. On your knees."

With what little strength she had left, she got on all fours and arched her back. Harry gave her a sharp slap. "This ass is only mine."

He positioned himself at her entrance and took her with a deep, decisive thrust. She was so sensitive that she cried out instantly. He flattened his hand against her spine, forcing her to stay still as he moved in and out of her. The sound of their bodies meeting was the only thing in the room—a wet, rhythmic sound that made Harry groan.

"Tell me," Harry commanded, his voice dropping an octave as his hand moved to her throat, pulling her up so she was at his level while he was still deep inside her. "Tell me who knows exactly how to make you fall apart like this."

"You, Harry," she gasped.

"Louder, love. I want to make sure I’m not the only one who hears it."

"It's only you!"

He smiled, a dangerous, beautiful sight in the gloom. He let go of her, and she braced herself as best she could while he moved with a fierce, demanding rhythm. His hands marked her hips, his fingers tangled in her hair. Every touch was a reminder. Every groan he forced from her was a victory.