After a brutal breakup, your influencer best friend hands you a Raya invite code as a distraction, and somehow you end up matching with the one person you never expected to see on a dating app.
word count: 8.5k
You are sitting on Camille’s kitchen counter while she rearranges a cluster of candles on her dining table, muttering to herself about lighting.
“Don’t move,” she says, angling her phone toward the window. “You’re accidentally in frame and it looks candid.”
“I refuse to be background texture in your oat milk sponsorship.”
“It’s not sponsored. It’s aspirational.”
You swing your legs idly and watch her fuss with the tripod. Camille has always been like this. Confident in a way that looks effortless but is actually engineered. She calls her job lifestyle content, but it’s really just her life filtered through better angles and cleaner fonts. A few years ago a video of her ranking iced coffees in the city blew up, and she never quite stepped out of the spotlight after that. Now brands send her candles and oversized blazers and she goes to events she claims she hates and somehow leaves with three new contacts and a story.
She stops recording and glances at you. “You look sad.”
“I am not sad.”
“You are aggressively neutral. Which is worse.”
You pull at the sleeve of your sweater. “It’s been three weeks.”
“Three weeks since the breakup,” she says, hopping onto the counter across from you. “And you are still defending a man who thought oat milk was a personality.”
You huff out a small laugh despite yourself. “He was not that bad.”
“He was that boring.”
The thing about Camille is that she could have said I told you so months ago. She saw the cracks before you did. Instead she let you figure it out, and now she is careful with you, even when she’s teasing.
“You need a distraction,” she says, softer now.
“I have work.”
“You write about city council meetings.”
“I like writing about city council meetings.”
“I know you do,” she says quickly. “I’m not diminishing your civic passion. I’m saying you deserve something that makes your stomach flip in a good way.”
You give her a look. “That sounds dangerous.”
She grins and reaches for her phone. “It is.”
You already know that expression. It’s the one she gets right before she convinces you to do something you swore you wouldn’t.
“Camille.”
“Raya.”
You laugh immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because that is for models and DJs and men who own boats. I am a writer for an online newspaper. I am painfully normal.”
She slides off the counter and comes to stand in front of you, arms crossed. “First of all, you are not painfully normal. You are emotionally literate and hot. That’s a rare combination. Second, I have an invite code.”
“How do you just have an invite code?”
She shrugs. “It circulates.”
“That is not an answer.”
“One of the stylists I worked with last month had extras. Influencer privilege. It resets every so often.”
You stare at her. “Your life sounds fake.”
“And yet here I am, using it for good.”
She types something quickly and your phone buzzes in your hand.
“Camille.”
“Just download it. You don’t have to use it. Think of it as exposure therapy.”
“I do not need exposure therapy. I need to stop wanting to text my ex.”
“Exactly,” she says, like you just proved her point. “This is you moving forward without actually moving forward. Low stakes. No expectations.”
You look down at the string of letters and numbers on your screen. A code. A tiny door you did not ask for.
“You’re going to make fun of every man on there with me, aren’t you.”
“Respectfully,” she says. “Yes.”
You slide off the counter and open the app store before you can overthink it. Camille watches like she’s overseeing a soft launch.
When the app opens and asks for photos, you hesitate.
“Use the one from Emma’s birthday,” she says immediately.
“I look shiny.”
“You look dewy. Big difference.”
You scroll anyway, choosing three that feel honest. You laughing mid sentence. You walking down a street. You at your desk with coffee and a stack of papers.
It asks for your job.
You type: Writer, online newspaper. You pause, then add: Painfully normal.
Camille leans over your shoulder and smiles. “That’s charming.”
“It’s true.”
“It’s self aware. People love self aware.”
“I do not want people loving anything. I want them mildly intrigued at best.”
She nudges you. “You say that now.”
You finish setting it up. The profile exists. A version of you sitting in a digital room full of strangers.
“Now what,” you ask.
“Now nothing,” she says. “Close it. Let it breathe. You don’t have to dive in tonight.”
You study her for a second. “You’re being surprisingly chill about this.”
She softens. “I’m not trying to throw you into chaos. I just don’t want you shrinking.”
The words land heavier than the joke did.
You swallow and nod once. “Okay.”
That night, the app sits on your home screen. Small. Unassuming. You open it once, just to look. Profiles slide past. People with glossy photos and inside jokes in their bios. It feels like a room where everyone already knows each other.
You close it. You are not ready. The next day you don’t open it at all. Or the day after that. But you don’t delete it either. You don’t open the app again.
Not when you’re bored on the train. Not when you’re half tempted to text your ex and need a distraction. It just sits there, tucked between your news app and your notes, quietly existing.
A week passes.
Then Camille texts: Girls night. Emergency vibes. Bring pajamas.
You show up at her apartment with a tote bag and low expectations. She’s already in matching satin shorts she claims were gifted but absolutely bought herself. There’s a charcuterie board that looks suspiciously sponsored but isn’t, and a bottle of wine breathing on the counter.
“You look alive,” she says approvingly as you kick off your shoes.
“I showered.”
“Growth.”
You roll your eyes and accept the glass she hands you. The apartment smells like whatever expensive candle she’s currently pretending not to be emotionally attached to. Music plays softly in the background. It feels easy.
You talk about work first. You tell her about a piece you’re drafting and how your editor keeps asking for more bite. She tells you about a brand dinner where a micro celebrity tried to explain crypto to her for twenty minutes.
By the second glass of wine, you feel looser. Not reckless. Just less tight in your chest.
Camille studies you from across the couch. “Did you delete it?”
You know exactly what she means.
“No.”
Her eyes light up. “So you kept it.”
“That does not mean anything.”
“It means you’re curious.”
“It means I forgot.”
She gives you a look that says she does not believe you for a second.
“Open it.”
“Camille.”
“Open it. We’re in a safe environment. I will curate.”
“You are the least neutral curator alive.”
“Correct.”
You hesitate, then reach for your phone. The app opens faster than you expect, like it’s been waiting.
Profiles start sliding past. A director in Berlin. A DJ in Miami. A guy whose bio is just a single black square emoji.
Camille narrates like it’s a sport.
“Absolutely not.”
“He looks like he says ‘let’s circle back.’”
“Oh he owns a boat. You were right about the boats.”
You laugh more than you have in days. It feels harmless. Distant. These are just faces on a screen.
You swipe left. Left. Left. Then you pause.
Camille notices immediately. “What.”
“Nothing.”
“Show me.”
You turn the phone toward her.
The first photo is candid. Slightly blurry. Sunglasses. A half smile that feels familiar in a way your brain takes a second to process. The second is him on what looks like a boat, wind pushing his hair back. The third is simple. Black shirt. Direct eye contact with the camera.
There’s no over the top bio. Just his name. Harry. A few understated details. A song playing in the background of the profile that you recognize immediately.
Your stomach drops in a way that has nothing to do with wine.
Camille blinks. Then blinks again. “Is that…”
“Yes.”
She grabs your wrist. “Oh my god.”
“It’s fake.”
“It does not look fake.”
“It’s absolutely fake.”
The photos don’t look like press shots. They look like someone handed a friend a phone. The prompts are understated. Almost boring. Which somehow makes it worse.
Camille leans closer to the screen. “Location?”
You glance at the top. It lists New York, but there’s a small note about frequent travel.
Your heart is beating faster now, and you hate that it is.
“This is stupid,” you say, more to yourself than to her.
“Swipe right.”
“No.”
“Why not.”
“Because what if it matches.”
“That is the point of the app.”
“Camille.”
She softens, just slightly. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. But if you’re going to tell this story one day, you’re going to wish you swiped right.”
You stare at the screen. At the small, digital version of a man you have only ever seen on stages and magazine covers. It feels ridiculous. Unreal. He is just another profile. Just another person in a room full of people.
You swallow.
“This is insane.”
“I know,” she whispers, grinning.
You swipe right.
The screen barely has time to settle before it flashes.
It’s a match.
You and Camille freeze at the exact same time, staring at the glowing words like they might rearrange themselves into something more reasonable.
“No,” you say immediately.
Camille grabs your arm. “No way.”
The phone is still in your hand. Still warm. Still real.
You both scream. It’s not cute. It’s not controlled. It’s loud and sharp and slightly panicked. Camille knocks over her wine glass in the process and you fling the phone onto the couch like it just burned you.
“Oh my god,” she says, half laughing, half hyperventilating.
“This is not funny,” you say, backing away from the couch like the phone might start speaking.
“You matched with him.”
“It’s fake.”
“It literally says matched.”
“That does not mean anything. People hack things.”
She lunges for the phone. You lunge too. You both miss and it slides off the couch and lands face down on the rug.
You stare at it.
“Pick it up,” she whispers.
“You pick it up.”
“It’s your life.”
“It was your code.”
She laughs in this nervous, stressed out way that makes everything feel ten times more unhinged. “Okay. Okay. Breathe. This is fine. You’re fine.”
“I am not fine.”
She scoops up the phone and flips it over. Still there. His name at the top of the screen. The little notification bubble waiting.
“You have to message him,” she says.
You actually yell. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No. Absolutely not. I am not messaging him.”
“You cannot match with Harry Styles and then just sit there.”
“I can and I will.”
She shoves the phone toward you. “Say hi.”
“I don’t know how to say hi to that.”
“You say hi like you would to anyone else.”
“That is objectively untrue.”
You grab the phone from her and clutch it to your chest like you’re protecting it from her.
“What if it’s not him,” you say quickly. “What if it’s someone pretending to be him and I say something normal and they screenshot it and it’s humiliating.”
Camille squints at the profile again. “The photos look real. The prompts look real. It’s understated in a way that feels real.”
“That is not comforting.”
She tilts her head. “Do you want him to message first?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t control that.”
You glance down at the screen like it might betray you at any second. “This was supposed to be funny.”
“It is funny.”
“It is not funny. It’s deeply stressful.”
She grins despite herself. “You are glowing right now.”
“I am panicking.”
“Same,” she says brightly.
Your thumb hovers over the message bar. Blank. Waiting.
“Okay,” Camille says, suddenly serious. “If you don’t message him, you’re going to think about it all week. If you do message him, worst case scenario he doesn’t respond and we move on.”
“And best case.”
She smiles slowly. “We get a story.”
You look at the phone. At his name. At the tiny space where words are supposed to go.
You feel ridiculous. You feel curious. You feel a small flicker of something that does not feel like your ex.
“I hate you,” you tell her.
“I know,” she says sweetly.
Your thumb taps the keyboard. Then you panic and throw the phone back onto the couch again.
“No. I can’t.”
Camille bursts out laughing and dives for it before you can. “You are impossible.”
“Do not send anything,” you warn, scrambling after her.
“I won’t. I promise. I’m just looking.”
You both collapse onto the couch, shoulders pressed together, staring at the screen like it’s a live wire.
The message bar is still empty. Waiting. You stare at the blinking cursor like it’s personally judging you.
Camille is practically vibrating next to you.
“Okay,” she says carefully, like she’s negotiating with a wild animal. “Give me the phone.”
“No.”
“You are spiraling.”
“I am thinking.”
“You have been thinking for ten full minutes.”
You glance at the clock. She’s right. It has been ten full minutes of you typing something, deleting it, typing something else, deleting that too.
“What if I say something weird,” you say.
“You won’t.”
“What if I black out and accidentally propose.”
She snorts. “Then at least it would be memorable.”
You press your lips together and look back down at his name. It still feels surreal. Too big for the tiny screen.
“Okay,” you say slowly. “You can send it.”
Her eyes widen. “Really.”
“Yes. But nothing embarrassing. Nothing flirty. Nothing that sounds like I’ve ever listened to music in my life.”
She grabs the phone gently, like it might shatter. “Relax.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
You watch her thumbs hover over the keyboard. Your heart is pounding again, which is ridiculous. This is a dating app. People message each other every day. This is normal.
Painfully normal, you remind yourself.
“Just say hi,” you whisper.
“That’s boring.”
“Boring is safe.”
She thinks for a second, then starts typing. You crane your neck to see.
Hi. I was told this app was for models and DJs and men who own boats, so I’m slightly confused.
You stare at it.
“That’s actually good,” you admit quietly.
“I know.”
“It sounds like me.”
“Because I am a genius.”
She looks at you one more time. “Last chance.”
You take a breath. The worst that happens is nothing. The worst that happens is it is him and he doesn’t respond. The worst that happens is you wake up tomorrow and your life is exactly the same as it was this morning.
“Send it,” you say.
She taps the screen. The message flies off into the void. You both immediately scream again and she drops the phone onto your lap this time.
“It’s done,” she says, laughing in that stressed out way that makes everything feel unreal. “You did it.”
“I didn’t do it. You did it.”
“You approved it.”
You stare at the chat. The message sits there, small and harmless looking. Sent. Now you wait.
Camille leans her head against your shoulder. “See. That wasn’t so bad.”
You swallow. “It was terrible.”
She smiles. “Admit it. You’re curious.”
You are.
There isn’t an immediate response. Of course there isn’t.
You and Camille stare at the screen for a full minute like something dramatic is supposed to happen. It doesn’t. The chat just sits there with your message hanging in polite, digital silence.
Camille eventually clears her throat. “Well. He’s busy.”
“Right,” you say quickly. “He’s… him.”
“He could be in a studio. Or asleep. Or on a boat.”
“Stop mentioning boats.”
She laughs, but after another minute of nothing, the intensity fizzles. The wine settles. The night moves on. You order takeout. You watch something mindless. You do not check the app again before you fall asleep on her couch.
The next morning, you half expect a notification. There isn’t one. And weirdly, that makes it easier.
Life resumes.
You go to work. You draft headlines. You sit in meetings where someone says the phrase content vertical without irony. The Raya message drifts to the back of your mind, filed somewhere between embarrassing and funny.
Every few days, Camille checks in.
“Any movement?”
“No.”
“Are you checking?”
“Not obsessively.”
“That is not what I asked.”
You roll your eyes at her texts and keep walking down the street, coffee in hand. It becomes a bit. A running joke. The time you matched with Harry Styles and nothing happened.
You stop opening the app altogether. You don’t want to see the unchanged chat. It feels cleaner to leave it unopened than to confirm the silence.
A week passes. Then another.
The sharpness of it dulls. You stop imagining what you would say if he responded. You stop replaying the message in your head. It becomes a story you’ll tell someday. Remember when.
One evening, you’re walking up the stairs to your apartment, juggling your tote bag and your keys. It’s been a long day. You stayed late finishing a piece and your brain feels like static. All you want is a shower and something easy to eat.
Your phone buzzes in your hand.
You don’t even look at the screen at first. You assume it’s Camille. She tends to text around this time, usually something chaotic like I have a new theory about men.
You push your door open with your shoulder and glance down casually.
It’s not iMessage blue.
It’s the Raya icon.
Your heart drops so fast you actually miss the doorway and bump your hip against the frame.
You stare at the notification. Harry sent you a message.
For a second, you just stand there in your dim apartment hallway, door half open behind you, keys still in your hand.
You genuinely consider not opening it. Preserving the possibility instead of facing whatever is actually there.
Your phone buzzes again. Another message.Your throat goes dry.
You step inside slowly and close the door with your foot, like you’re trying not to disturb something fragile. The apartment is quiet. The only sound is your own breathing, suddenly louder than it should be.
You unlock your phone.
Your thumb hovers over the app.
You think, absurdly, I thought this was Camille.
It isn’t.
It’s him.
You open it before you can talk yourself out of it.
The chat loads.
Your message is still there at the top, slightly smug now that it has company.
Below it:
I don’t own a boat. Feels important to clarify.
You stare at it.
Then the second message.
But I am slightly offended I got lumped in with DJs.
You let out a sound that is half laugh, half something close to hysteria.
It’s him. It has to be him. The tone is dry. Understated. Not trying too hard. Not grand.
You drop your bag on the floor without meaning to.
Your brain immediately starts overanalyzing. How long ago did he send this. You check.
Three minutes.
Three.
He is currently on the app.
Your heart begins beating in a way that feels wildly disproportionate to a dating app notification.
You pace once across your living room. Then back.
You consider calling Camille. You absolutely cannot call Camille. She will scream and make this worse.
You look back at the messages.
There are no emojis. No exclamation points. Just clean, simple sentences.
You sit down on the edge of your couch and type.
I appreciate the clarification.
It feels neutral. Slightly amused. Safe.
You hesitate for only a second this time before hitting send.
The message delivers.
You immediately lock your phone and toss it onto the couch like distance will regulate your nervous system.
It buzzes.
You freeze.
You turn slowly and pick it up.
That was faster than I expected. I thought you might have forgotten about this place.
Your stomach flips.
You type back before you can overthink it.
I did. Briefly.
Three dots appear almost instantly.
Fair. I disappear for weeks at a time. Occupational hazard.
You swallow. Occupational hazard. He’s referencing it without naming it. Casual.
You lean back into your couch now, letting yourself settle into it.
Hazard implies danger. Should I be concerned.
The typing bubble appears. Disappears. Appears again.
Only if you’re afraid of slightly inconsistent texting habits.
You actually smile.
That feels honest. Not polished. Not trying to charm.
You decide to push, just slightly.
And what exactly is the occupation that causes that.
You stare at the screen after sending it. It’s a normal question. Completely normal.
The three dots take longer this time.
Then:
I sing sometimes.
You laugh out loud in your empty apartment.
Sometimes.
You rest your head back against the couch and type:
Ah. Casual.
A pause.
Then:
And you’re painfully normal, if I remember correctly.
Your cheeks warm.
Writer. Online newspaper. I cover city council meetings sometimes. No boats involved.
Three dots.
That sounds more interesting than boats.
You blink at the screen.
You weren’t expecting that.
Before you can respond, another message appears.
How did you end up on this app if you’re so painfully normal.
There’s no judgment in it. It reads curious. Respectful.
You hesitate for a second, then decide honesty is easier than crafting something cool.
A friend passed along an invite code. She said it would be character building.
You add, after a beat:
I haven’t decided if she was right.
The typing bubble appears again.
I respect a friend with connections. Sounds efficient.
You smile at that.
Your apartment feels different now. Lighter somehow. Charged in a quiet way.
It stays small. Contained. Two people in a digital room, testing the edges.
And for the first time in weeks, your chest feels full of something that isn’t grief.
It’s curiosity.
And it feels dangerously close to excitement.
You stare at the screen for a second longer than necessary, letting the fact that this is happening settle somewhere in your chest.
You decide to keep it light.
She would be thrilled to hear that. She considers herself very well connected.
The typing bubble appears almost immediately.
Sounds intimidating. Should I be worried about her vetting process.
You smile.
She’d absolutely run a background check if she could.
That feels fair.
The ease of it surprises you. There’s no heavy flirting. No performance. Just conversation.
Another message appears.
So. Writer for an online newspaper.
You shift on the couch, tucking one leg under you.
Yes. Very glamorous.
What do you write about.
You consider giving him the short version. Instead, you answer properly.
Local things. City council meetings when they matter. Housing issues. Small business stories. Restaurant openings. The kind of pieces people actually click on at eight in the morning while they’re drinking coffee.
You pause, then add:
Sometimes it’s more human. I interviewed a man last month who’s been feeding the same stray cat outside a laundromat for nine years. That one did surprisingly well.
The typing bubble appears quickly.
That sounds more interesting than most things I’ve read today.
You blink at the screen.
It’s not glamorous. But it’s real.
A moment passes.
Real is better.
You feel that one land somewhere you weren’t expecting.
Then:
What got you into it.
It isn’t surface level. He keeps asking follow ups like he actually wants to know.
You think about it before answering.
I like paying attention to things that would get ignored otherwise. Small decisions. Small people. The stuff that doesn’t trend but still matters.
You hover over the screen, suddenly aware you might be revealing more than you planned to.
You send it anyway.
The typing bubble lingers.
That doesn’t sound painfully normal to me.
Your cheeks warm.
You’ve exchanged maybe fifteen messages with me. That’s not a thorough character study.
I work well with limited data.
You laugh under your breath.
You decide to pivot.
And you. You “sing sometimes.” Is that what you put on tax forms.
A beat.
Depends who’s asking.
I’m asking.
There’s a slightly longer pause this time.
I travel a lot. I write songs. I spend more time in airports than I’d like.
It’s understated. No résumé. No ego.
Then another message appears.
I’ve been spending a lot of time in Italy lately. I’m there now.
You sit up a little straighter.
Oh.
Work. I tend to stay longer than planned.
You picture it without meaning to. Warmer air. Different language. A life that moves at a different speed.
That sounds better than New York in February.
It’s quieter. Less arguing outside the window.
You smile.
On impulse, you switch languages.
Quindi ora sei ufficialmente italiano?
(So are you officially Italian now?)
You immediately wonder if that was too much.
The typing bubble appears. Disappears. Appears again.
Capisco un po’. Not enough to get in trouble.
(I understand a little.)
Your eyebrows lift.
That’s suspiciously vague.
It’s strategic.
You laugh.
How much is “un po’.”
(“A little.”)
A beat.
Enough to order dinner. Not enough to win an argument.
You shake your head, smiling into your phone, alone in your apartment but suddenly not feeling it quite as much.
You stare at the last message for a while.
Enough to order dinner. Not enough to win an argument.
You type a response. Delete it. Type another. Delete that too.
You don’t want to overextend it. You don’t want to drag the conversation into the early morning just because you can. He said it was late there. You can feel the natural pause settling in.
So you send one last thing.
That feels like the correct level of fluency.
The message delivers.
You lock your phone before he can respond.
Not in a dramatic way. Just deliberately. You don’t want to sit there watching the typing bubble. You don’t want to turn this into something frantic.
You set your phone on the coffee table and lean back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.
Your apartment is quiet again.
It feels different though. Charged. Like the air shifted a few degrees.
You tell yourself you’re being normal. You had a conversation. That’s it. People have conversations every day.
Still.
After a minute, you reach for your phone again.
You don’t open the chat.
You open his profile.
The first photo loads. Slightly blurry. Sunglasses pushed up into his hair. A half smile that looks unguarded. The kind of picture that feels like it was taken by someone standing too close, not a press photographer.
You swipe.
The boat photo. Wind in his hair. Sun on his face. He looks relaxed in a way that feels almost private.
You swipe again.
The black shirt. Direct eye contact with the camera. No exaggerated expression. Just him.
You exhale slowly.
He’s beautiful.
Not in a distant, untouchable way. In a human way. In a way that feels almost unfair when it’s paired with the quiet, thoughtful messages you just read.
You zoom in slightly before you can stop yourself, studying details you would absolutely make fun of Camille for noticing. The curve of his mouth. The line of his jaw. The softness in his eyes that doesn’t fully translate on stage but shows up here.
Your stomach flips again.
You close the app.
Open it again.
Just to look one more time.
You’re not desperate. You’re curious. There’s a difference, you tell yourself.
You set your phone down for good this time and stand up, pacing once across your living room.
This is ridiculous, you think.
You give it a few days.
Not on purpose at first. Just life moving the way it does. Work piles up. Your editor sends back notes. You spend an entire afternoon interviewing a bakery owner who insists on telling you her full life story before answering a single question.
You do not open the app.
You think about it, though.
In line for coffee.
On the train.
When your phone buzzes and your heart does something irrational before you check the notification and it’s just a news alert.
You tell yourself this is healthy. Measured. You are not spiraling. You are not glued to a screen waiting for a typing bubble.
You are taking it slow.
By day three, you’ve convinced yourself that leaving space makes you mysterious.
By day four, you realize you are just nervous.
Camille texts you on Thursday night.
Are you alive.
You stare at the message.
Yes.
That’s it? she replies. Suspicious.
You hesitate, then type:
He messaged.
There are three dots immediately.
WHAT.
You call her before she can send anything else because you know she will escalate.
She answers on the first ring.
“You cannot just text ‘he messaged’ and leave it there,” she says, already breathless.
“It was normal,” you say quickly. “Very normal. Calm. Human.”
“Define human.”
“We talked about work. Italy came up.”
“Italy,” she repeats, like it’s a plot twist in a show she’s invested in.
“He’s there.”
“I hate that.”
“I know.”
She goes quiet for a second. “So what’s the problem.”
“There isn’t one.”
“Then why do you sound like there is.”
You sit on the edge of your bed, twisting the hem of your shirt around your fingers.
“I just… I don’t want to ruin it.”
“Ruin what.”
“I don’t know. The tone. The ease.”
Camille softens.
“You’re allowed to enjoy something without pre ruining it.”
“I’m not pre ruining it.”
“You’re rationing it,” she says gently.
You look at the floor.
She’s not wrong.
“I haven’t opened the app in a few days,” you admit.
“On purpose?”
“Kind of.”
“Why.”
You search for the right words.
“Because if I answer too fast, it feels like I care too much. And if I answer too slow, it feels like I’m playing a game. I don’t want to play a game.”
Camille exhales.
“You are overthinking this.”
“I know.”
“He is a man. On a dating app. You are a woman. On a dating app. You are allowed to respond when you want to respond.”
“It’s different.”
“Because he’s famous.”
You don’t answer.
She continues, softer now.
“Is he talking to you like he’s famous.”
“No.”
“Is he acting like you should be impressed.”
“No.”
“Then stop assigning weight to it.”
You lean back onto your bed and stare at the ceiling.
“I’ve just been taking it slow,” you say finally.
“Slow is fine,” she replies. “Slow is sexy. Slow is mysterious. Slow is emotionally regulated. But slow is not avoidance.”
You laugh quietly.
“Which one am I.”
“A little of both,” she says.
You glance at your phone on your nightstand.
It hasn’t buzzed.
But you know the conversation is still there. Waiting. Not in a demanding way. Just existing.
You shift on your bed, tucking the phone tighter between your shoulder and your ear so you can free up one hand.
“Don’t,” Camille says immediately.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to. I can hear it.”
You roll your eyes even though she can’t see you. “I’m just looking.”
“You are absolutely about to open the app.”
You don’t deny it this time. You pull the phone away from your ear for a second, switch to speaker, and open Raya.
The screen loads.
Your thumb hesitates before you tap the chat.
Nothing new.
The last message is still there. Calm. Unmoved. No typing bubble. No fresh notification.
You stare at it longer than you should.
“Well?” Camille asks through the speaker.
“Nothing.”
There’s a small pause.
“That’s okay,” you add quickly. “He’s busy.”
Camille hums in a way that says she’s watching you spiral from miles away.
“Yeah,” she says. “He probably is.”
You exit the chat but don’t close the app right away. You linger on his profile picture at the top of the screen like it might offer some kind of reassurance.
“He said he disappears for weeks sometimes,” you say, trying to sound unaffected. “Occupational hazard.”
“You remember the exact phrasing,” she points out.
“Stop.”
You finally lock your phone and set it on your nightstand.
“I don’t want to be the girl who waits around,” you admit.
“You checked once,” she says calmly. “While actively talking to me.”
“That still counts.”
“It counts as being human.”
You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling.
“It’s fine,” you say again, softer this time. “He’s in Italy. It’s late there. He probably has a life.”
Camille laughs gently. “I hope so.”
You smile despite yourself.
“It was one conversation,” you continue. “A good one. But still.”
“And if that’s all it is, that’s still nice,” she says.
The week stretches longer than you expect.
Not in a dramatic way. Just quietly.
You stop checking every day. Then you stop checking at all. Work fills the space. You finish the bakery piece. You sit through a zoning meeting that runs forty minutes past what it should. You have dinner with Camille where neither of you says his name out loud.
It settles into something that almost feels finished.
You tell yourself that was nice. A good conversation. A small reminder that the world is bigger than one breakup.
You don’t delete the app.
You just let it exist.
It’s the following Tuesday when it happens.
You’re on the train, wedged between a woman reading a thriller and a man aggressively eating almonds out of a plastic bag. You’re half listening to a podcast, half staring at nothing.
Your phone buzzes in your hand.
You glance down automatically.
Raya.
Your stomach drops so fast you actually miss your stop announcement.
You stare at the notification without opening it.
Harry sent you a message.
The train keeps moving. Someone coughs. The world continues like this is not a seismic event.
You open it.
The chat loads.
The last message is still yours. Then below it, new.
Sorry. I disappeared.
Your throat tightens.
Another message comes through.
You were right about the argument thing. I lost one in Italian. Very humbling experience.
You let out a soft, startled laugh on the train, earning a brief look from the almond man.
It’s been a week.
A full week.
And yet the tone is exactly the same. Dry. Casual. Like no time has passed.
You type slowly, deliberately.
That does sound humbling.
You stare at it.
Then add:
I assumed you were busy.
The typing bubble appears almost immediately.
I was.
A pause.
Didn’t mean to vanish.
There’s something in that. Not defensive. Not overly apologetic. Just acknowledging.
You lean back against the train pole, trying to keep your expression neutral.
Occupational hazard, you write.
Three dots.
Exactly.
Another pause.
How’s New York.
You smile to yourself.
The fact that he remembers where you are.
Still cold. Still loud. No progress on the arguing neighbors.
The typing bubble.
I admire their commitment.
You laugh softly.
The train lurches and you grab the pole with your free hand, heart still beating faster than it needs
The train rattles forward and you stay where you are, letting two stops pass without even thinking about it.
Your phone buzzes again.
Did you write anything interesting this week.
You blink at the screen.
It’s such a simple question. And yet it doesn’t feel like filler.
You shift your weight and type carefully.
I wrote about a bakery that almost closed because of a rent increase. The neighborhood showed up for them. It worked.
There’s a pause.
Then:
That’s a good story.
You smile.
It felt like one.
Another message appears before you can overanalyze.
Do you ever want to write something bigger.
You hesitate.
Bigger how.
More glamorous. More visible. Less local.
You decide not to shrink.
Sometimes. But I like knowing exactly who I’m writing for. It feels less abstract.
The typing bubble lingers.
That makes sense.
Then:
Abstract gets lonely.
That lingers quietly.
You swallow.
The train announces the next stop. Yours. You step off, weaving through people while still holding your phone low against your chest.
Lonely in what way, you type as you climb the stairs to street level.
A longer pause this time.
You reach the sidewalk just as the reply comes through.
You play to a lot of people. It doesn’t mean they know you.
Your steps slow.
The city noise rushes around you. Taxis. Conversations. Wind cutting down the block.
You type carefully.
Do you want them to?
Three dots.
Disappear.
Reappear.
Not all of them.
There’s something steady in that answer. Not self pitying. Not dramatic.
You walk toward your apartment, pulse still elevated.
Selective, you write.
Almost instantly:
Exactly.
You smile.
There’s a rhythm now. A comfort.
Another message comes through.
What are you doing right now.
You glance around at the sidewalk, at the guy walking a dog in a tiny sweater.
Walking home. It’s disgustingly cold.
Italy would like to offer an alternative.
You laugh.
That feels like a marketing pitch.
It is.
You shake your head.
What are you doing?
A beat.
On a terrace. It’s late. I should be inside.
You can almost see it without trying. Warm air. Quiet. Different sky.
And yet, you type.
And yet I’m not.
There’s a softness to that.
You unlock your apartment door and step inside, shutting out the noise of the street.
Why not, you ask.
The typing bubble appears almost immediately this time.
Because I’m enjoying this conversation.
Your breath catches just slightly.
You sit down on the edge of your couch again, like your body instinctively knows you need to brace for impact.
You stare at the screen.
Then, slowly:
Me too.
There’s no immediate response.
Just the quiet hum of your apartment and the faint echo of traffic outside.
Then:
Good.
It continues like that.
Not intense. Not dramatic. Just steady.
A few messages in the morning. Sometimes late at night. Sometimes nothing for a full day, then a casual reappearance like no time has passed.
You fall into a rhythm without meaning to.
How’s the bakery.
Thriving. The power of carbs.
Impressive.
—————
How’s Italy.
Still warm. Still confusing me grammatically.
Have you won an argument yet.
Absolutely not.
—————
What are you writing today?
Housing piece. Slightly less charming than stray cats.
You make it sound charming.
—————
Some days it’s just:
Morning.
Morning.
Or:
You alive?
Barely.
It never tips into too much.
He disappears occasionally. Reappears with something small and thoughtful.
Heard a song today that felt like something you’d write about.
Saw a café that would make a good scene in an article.
You don’t ask for proof. You don’t demand consistency. You just let it exist.
Camille notices the shift before you say anything.
“You’re calmer,” she observes one night over dinner.
“Am I.”
“Yes. You’re not spiraling. You’re just… talking.”
That’s exactly it.
You’re just talking. Having fun even.
No declarations. No flirting that feels forced. Just pieces of each other exchanged in manageable amounts.
He tells you about long studio days without naming locations. You tell him about a zoning vote that got unexpectedly heated. He sends a photo once, unprompted. A blurry shot of a street at night. Warm lights. Stone buildings.
It’s quieter than New York, he writes.
You send back a photo of your street. Snow piled against the curb. A bodega glowing under fluorescent light.
It’s louder, you reply.
The time difference becomes familiar. You start to recognize when he’s likely awake. He learns your routine too.
You’re usually on the train around now, he texts one morning.
You pause at that.
Observant.
Limited data, he replies.
You smile.
It’s been three weeks.
Three weeks of casual conversation. Of checking the app without panic. Of feeling something build slowly instead of crashing all at once.
There are no grand gestures.
Just consistency.
It’s a random Wednesday afternoon when it shifts.
You’re at your desk, halfway through rewriting a paragraph for the third time, when your phone buzzes.
You glance down automatically.
Raya.
You open it without thinking now. No dramatic pause. No pacing.
I’m coming back to the States for a bit.
Your fingers still over the keyboard.
You stare at the message for a second.
Then:
Oh?
The typing bubble appears quickly.
Yeah. A few weeks.
Your heart picks up, just slightly.
Where.
A pause. Not long. Just long enough for you to become aware of your own breathing.
Los Angeles.
You lean back in your chair.
Of course.
Work? you type.
Promo. New album coming out. Record meetings. The usual chaos.
You smile at the understatement.
That sounds mildly busy.
It’ll be fine, he replies. Just loud.
You glance around your small office. Your muted computer screen. The hum of fluorescent lights.
You thrive in loud, you write.
There’s a pause.
Sometimes, he replies. Sometimes it’s just noise.
You sit with that for a second.
Then:
When are you back.
Next week.
Your stomach flips. You hate that it does.
Next week feels close. Close in a way Italy never did.
You try to sound casual.
That’s soon.
Yeah.
Another pause.
Will you be in New York at all, you ask before you can talk yourself out of it.
There’s a slightly longer beat this time.
Possibly. Not sure yet. Schedules are still moving around.
You nod to yourself like that makes it less vague.
Fair.
The typing bubble appears again.
Would you want to know if I am?
Your breath catches.
You read it twice.
It’s not a grand gesture. Not an invitation. Just a question.
But it feels like one.
You swallow and type carefully.
I think I would.
There’s no immediate response.
Just the faint hum of your office and your own pulse in your ears.
Then:
Okay.
Life keeps moving.
He flies back to the States and the day he lands your phone buzzes mid afternoon.
Made it. LA is aggressively sunny.
You smile at your desk.
Welcome back to chaos.
A photo comes through. Blurry palm trees from the window of a car. Another of what looks like a studio. Cables. A mic stand. Nothing flashy.
Proof of life, he writes.
You send one back without overthinking it. Your laptop open. Notes scattered across your desk. A coffee cup with lipstick on the rim.
Proof of deadlines.
He replies almost instantly.
Yours looks more organized than mine.
That’s a generous interpretation.
The weeks in LA settle into the same rhythm you built before. Messages between meetings. Late night replies when he’s done for the day.
Long one today, he texts one evening.
Good long or exhausting long.
A bit of both.
He sends a photo of a sunset over the hills. The sky pink and unreal.
You send back a photo of your street in the rain. Reflections in the pavement. A taxi splashing through a puddle.
Still louder, you caption it.
Still warmer here, he replies.
It feels steady. Not performative. Just two lives running parallel with small windows into each other.
You don’t talk about meeting. Not directly. It floats unspoken between you.
Until one night.
It’s late afternoon. You’re already in bed, half asleep, when your phone buzzes on your nightstand.
Raya.
You squint at the screen.
You up.
You blink, suddenly awake.
Unfortunately yes.
The typing bubble appears immediately.
I’m in New York.
You sit up in bed so fast you almost knock your lamp over.
What.
Another message.
One night. Early meetings tomorrow. Flying back out after.
Your heart is pounding now. Loud in the quiet of your apartment.
That’s… random.
Very.
You stare at the screen, trying to slow your breathing.
Where in the city, you type.
A pause.
Midtown. Hotel near the park.
Of course.
You swallow.
The distance between Italy and New York felt theoretical. LA felt far enough to be safe.
But this.
This is different.
Another message comes through.
Thought you’d want to know.
You stare at that one for a long time.
Your city. His one night.
The possibility hanging there.
You stare at Thought you’d want to know until the screen dims.
Your heart is beating too loud for how quiet your apartment is.
You could ignore the implication. You could say that’s exciting, hope it goes well. You could play it safe.
Instead, you sit up straighter and type carefully.
Busy schedule? Or do you get to pretend you’re a normal person for a few hours.
You erase it.
Too pointed.
You try again.
Any plans after your meetings.
Neutral. Almost casual.
You hit send before you can overthink it.
The typing bubble appears quickly. Disappears. Comes back.
I was hoping you might ask that.
Your stomach flips.
Then, another message.
No plans yet.
You inhale slowly.
He doesn’t leave it there.
Do you want to get a drink?
There’s no hedging. No vague maybe we should. No soft landing.
Just direct.
Your pulse kicks up again.
You stare at the message, reading it twice to make sure you didn’t invent it.
This is real. He is in your city. For one night.
You type back, forcing your fingers to stay steady.
That depends.
A pause.
On what.
You smile despite yourself.
On whether you’ve improved your argument skills.
Three dots.
I can lose in English too. Very versatile.
You laugh quietly.
Then you type what you actually mean.
What time?
It takes a few seconds longer this time.
I’m free after nine. I can come to you. Or we can meet somewhere you’re comfortable. If that’s not too late.
There it is again. Direct. But careful.
Not assuming.
Your chest feels tight in a way that isn’t panic. It’s anticipation.
You glance around your apartment like it might offer guidance.
There’s a place near me. Quiet but nice. Not Midtown chaos, you write.
The reply comes quickly.
Send me the name.
Another pause.
See you at nine.
Your breath catches at the simplicity of it.
No overcomplicating. No dramatic build.
Just a plan.
You lock your phone slowly and stare at your reflection in the dark window.
One night.
Nine o’clock.
The second you lock your phone, the calm dissolves.
You stand in the middle of your bedroom staring at your closet like it personally orchestrated this.
“This is ridiculous,” you mutter.
It is one drink. One man. One normal human interaction.
Except it is not normal and you know it.
You start pulling hangers aside too fast. Sweater. No. Too casual. Black dress. Absolutely not. That feels like you’re trying too hard. Jeans. Maybe. But which ones. The good ones. Obviously the good ones.
You sit on the edge of your bed and take a breath.
Cute and comfy. Well dressed. Effortless.
You settle on high waisted tailored trousers and a soft cream button up that drapes just right. Simple gold hoops. Loafers. Hair down, brushed out, not overly styled.
You look at yourself in the mirror.
You look like you. Just slightly steadier.
“Okay,” you whisper.
At 8:45 you’re pacing. At 8:50 you grab your coat. At 8:55 you’re walking faster than necessary.
The bar you chose is dim and narrow and usually quiet on weeknights. You push the door open at exactly 9:00.
No one else is there.
Just the bartender wiping down the counter and a couple in the corner booth speaking in low voices.
You swallow and walk to the bar, sliding onto a stool.
“Can I get you something?”
“Just a glass of red.”
Your phone sits face down on the bar in front of you.
9:02.
That’s fine. Two minutes means nothing.
You take a small sip of your wine and try not to look at the door every time it opens.
9:05.
He’s in Midtown. Traffic exists. Elevators exist. Security exists.
9:08.
Your stomach starts doing something uncomfortable.
You flip your phone over casually.
No new messages.
You open the app.
Nothing.
The last thing he said still sits there.
See you at nine.
You swallow.
9:10.
The bartender glances at the door when it opens. It’s not him. Just someone picking up a takeout order.
Heat creeps up your neck.
This is fine. You are early. Or he is late. That happens. That’s human.
9:12.
You open his profile again without meaning to. The same photos. The same half smile.
A ridiculous thought creeps in.
What if this is the long game.
What if you have been talking to someone who is not him. What if this is the punchline. What if you are about to become a story Camille tells at dinner parties.
9:15.
Your chest feels tight now.
You pick up your phone and hover over the chat.
You could send something casual.
You alive.
Too pointed.
All good.
Too needy.
You lock your phone again and place it back down carefully.
You will not spiral in public.
9:17.
The door opens again.
You look up automatically.
And for a split second, before your brain catches up, you think you might actually be getting catfished.
The door closes behind him and the cold air follows.
For half a second your brain doesn’t register anything except tall.
Then the details come into focus.
Black coat. Slightly windblown hair. That same half smile from the photos, only less curated. More real. His eyes scan the room quickly, adjusting to the dim light.
And then they land on you.
Recognition is instant.
Not confusion. Not hesitation.
Recognition.
Your stomach drops in a completely different way.
He walks toward the bar without rushing. Calm. Almost casual. Like this is just another Wednesday night and not the culmination of three weeks of careful conversation.
You are suddenly very aware of how you’re sitting. Of your hands. Of your face.
He stops a few feet away.
“Hi.”
His voice is softer than you expected. Warmer.
You blink once like your body needs to reboot.
“Hi.”
There’s a flicker of something in his expression. Relief, maybe. Like he wasn’t entirely sure either.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Elevator situation.”
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “That tracks.”
He smiles properly at that.
Up close, he looks exactly like himself and not at all like a screen version. There’s texture. Movement. A small crease near his eyes when he smiles.
“Is this seat taken?” he asks, nodding to the stool beside you.
You shake your head. “No.”
He slides onto it and shrugs off his coat, draping it over the back. The bartender appears immediately.
“Whiskey,” he says, then glances at you. “That okay?”
You nod, like you have any authority over it.
There’s a small beat of quiet once the bartender steps away.
This is the moment that could be awkward.
It isn’t.
He turns slightly toward you.
“You look like yourself,” he says.
You blink. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means I wasn’t catfished.”
You laugh before you can stop yourself.
“That was absolutely my fear fifteen minutes ago.”
His eyebrows lift. “Really.”
“9:15 was dark for me.”
He laughs softly at that, shaking his head. “I should’ve sent a message. That’s on me.”
“It’s fine,” you say quickly. “You’re here.”
The simplicity of that lands between you.
He studies you for a second in a way that doesn’t feel invasive. Just present.
“You’re real,” he says quietly.
“I could say the same.”
He smiles again, smaller this time. Less public. More private.
The bartender sets his drink down. He thanks him absentmindedly without breaking eye contact with you.
For a moment the noise of the bar fades into the background.
It’s just the two of you. No typing bubbles. No time difference. No distance.
Just this.
He takes a sip of his drink and tilts his head slightly.
“So,” he says. “Hi.”
And somehow it feels like the beginning all over again.
Authors Note: Thank you to my friend @zclhes for making the new cover photo for this story!
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Summary: "The handcuffs were digging into his wrists, metal biting tight, rattling the headboard as he strained against them. You could tell he was eager to touch you, to bury his fingers in your thighs or your ass, anything that could give him more power, but you kept him pinned beneath you, squirming for a helpless venture he would never achieve. Because you liked the way he writhed under the weight of your body. You liked knowing you held all the power, the cuffs turning him into your plaything, your exquisite, beautiful victim."
A/N: THIS WILL HAVE A PART TWO!!! I PROMISE!!!
Word Count: 6.8K
Warning: Filthy Face Riding. SMUT!!!
The second your eyes landed on him at the bar, you knew he was the one—the perfect target—easy on the eyes, sturdy build, the exact profile to fit the bill, and who knew, maybe even sad enough to end his evening with you. Even from across the room, his stare was magnetic, drawing you in. In fact, you knew it the moment you met eyes, him sitting alone, downing the end of his dark liquor as he held your gaze, that you would need to play it cool. So you stood near the entrance as if searching for someone, and you looked away long enough to avoid seeming desperate.
But, god, you were desperate, and when you met eyes again, he slyly pulled out the bar chair next to him, then turned back to the bartender to order another drink. You took the invitation, making your way toward him as the stares of the other patrons burned through your flesh, but you paid them all no mind, keeping your gaze fixed on the stranger running a hand through his chestnut hair.
When you finally slid onto the stool, neither of you spoke. Not right away, but you knew even in the thick barrier of silence, that there was something intrepid in the pull of his energy, that there was something in his presence without even looking at him that was drawing you in. There was a fervor in his features that made the warmth spreading from his arm—now only inches from yours—make you want to scoot closer to warm the heated chill rushing over your skin. That’s when the faint trace of cologne hit you in waves, filling your senses every time he shifted, the smell woody and earthy, something only a rich man could pull off, and you knew that type all too well—the kind of scent that clung to hotel sheets long after the person had left.
Still, you kept your eyes forward, tucking your clutch into your lap, feeling the onset of your pulse hammering under the cool composure you had spent years perfecting, because this was a job, and you were good at your job—but dammit, something about the power rolling off this man was making it difficult to remember the rules, let alone the fake name you would soon be giving him.
When the bartender appeared, he set two glasses down on the bar top, calling out a whiskey neat, placing it in front of the stranger, then a vodka soda for you, and your eyes traced over the salt-kissed rim, noting the thin wheel of lime perched on the edge, just the way you liked it, and your eyes flicked to the stranger with a curious gaze—
“How did you know?” You asked, the words leaving your mouth before you could rein them in, and you cursed yourself internally because rule number one was to never seem surprised, to never give anyone the upper hand before you’d even started playing.
But the stranger just smiled, his grin slow and lazy, while his eyes stayed fixed on his glass, and he brought it to his lips, the easy gesture making your mouth run dry, and he said, “Don’t know, really… You just seemed like the type.”
Fuck, that was when you knew you were screwed. Because even his voice was going to be a problem. That slow rasp, moving low and unhurried, his British accent enveloping each word with a soft sheen, making your head hazy, and you had to press your knees together under the bar because this was business, not pleasure, even if the line between the two was already getting dangerously blurry in your mind.
“And, what type is that?” you questioned, turning toward him now, giving him just the right angle, the one you knew worked best—chin tilted, one brow slightly raised, giving the light the perfect chance to catch the gold of your earrings. “I’d love to hear your guess…”
That’s when his eye searched your gaze, really taking you in, silently assessing your character, and you tried not to flinch when his gaze lingered a beat longer than it should, then it drifted down the slope of your neck—across the neckline of your old dress, and maybe on anyone else it would have shown. But on you, it looked like it cost a fortune, as if it cost too much for you to be sitting at a bar so casually, but then his eyes were tracing the curves you had poured into it with intention, because you knew more than anything a dress like this was a weapon, and you knew exactly what you were aiming for.
“Well…” he started, and the corner of his mouth twitched, deeming that almost imperceptible smile again, making your stomach flip; making you question whether you should abort now before you gave yourself away or follow through with the task at hand.
He looked away again, straightened his posture as he placed his elbows on the bar, “Well…to me it looks like you’ve got the kind of body that says you enjoy yourself, but maybe you’re selective about where you fit your sugar in.” He told you, eyes shifting back to you, then they fell to your breasts as he swirled his glass.
“And believe me when I say, I mean that in the best way possible. You’re definitely the sexiest person in this room by a mile, and I don’t think anyone else in here could’ve pulled that dress off. Trust me.” His eyes flicked back to yours, then dropped to your mouth, and he paused, his tongue dragging slowly across his bottom lip. “And something about your mouth… even from across the room, it looked perfect. That pretty red lipstick lining the shape just right…”
As you held his gaze, you held your breath, letting the words land exactly where he seemed to be intending to hit, and then you smiled, crossing your legs, trying to satiate the pulse of your clit—and as you smiled back, you realized it was genuine, the kind you weren’t supposed to use on the job. “See…inviting,” he said, lifting his glass, “that’s exactly what I was looking for tonight.”
“Then I’m glad I nailed it,” you forced, and you sat smiling as you both took a drink.
When you set your glass down, you let your eyes drift slyly to his left hand resting on the bar. No ring. But the tan line was there, the obvious ghost of a band, pale and noticeable against his sun-warmed skin, something unmistakable if you knew where to look, and you always knew where to look. So, either he was married and pretending not to be, or recently divorced and still carrying the evidence. Either way, it made him vulnerable, and vulnerability was the most expensive currency a man like him could offer. Now you were hoping his wallet matched the bill.
“So…” you said, letting the word stretch, “are you waiting for someone, or…?”
“Not anymore,” he answered, and there was a heaviness in his voice, something tucked beneath the charm, a weariness maybe, a pain that seemed to live behind those mysterious green eyes even when he smiled, and you watched as he turned his glass in slow circles on the bar. “Recently divorced, actually.” He added.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” you offered, and even you almost believed your false empathy to feed the narrative.
“Don’t be—” He pushed, then took a long sip. “It was a long time coming. I’m just…” He exhaled a breathy laugh, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “I guess I’m just trying to figure out how to forget...” his eyes met yours then, making your heart stop cold in your chest.
All you could do was nod, trying to soften your expression into something that showed the slightest sign of sympathy, even though every nerve in your body was already doing the math, tallying up how the end of your night would add up—eyes catching the Rolex in the low light on his wrist, definitely real, vintage, which was even better, like it was a family heirloom, the kind they didn’t make anymore.
When he reached for his wallet to settle his tab, you caught the fat stack of bills casually wedged inside, as if money were an afterthought, as if it were limitless in his world, something that happened, rather than something he chased. That’s when you tried not to react, taking a deep breath to calm your racing heart, which was climbing by the second, but your face stayed still, your expression warm and open, completely interested.
“I’ve heard forgetting can be easy,” you told him, and you let your hand drift to his forearm, just your fingertips grazing the fabric of his sleeve, feeling the muscle tense beneath it. “Sometimes, you just have to find the right distraction...”
His eyes dropped to your fingers resting on his arm, and when he looked back up, there was a flicker of something unraveling through his mysterious composure, a curiosity cutting through the melancholy. “Is that what this is? A distraction?”
“It could be anything you want it to be….”
He laughed then, a genuine smile that changed his entire face, crinkling the corners of his eyes, and softening the hard line of that sharp jaw, and yet, somehow making him look younger and infinitely more dangerous because now he wasn’t just handsome, he was likable, and likable was a complication you hadn’t budgeted for.
And there you were, so caught up in this guy that you hadn’t even noticed him order another round of drinks, because then the bartender was setting your second drink down. His third, you guessed. And somewhere between the first sip and the second, the air between you seemed to thicken into the syrupy warmth that only a cocktail could bring on an empty stomach, bringing with it the kind of tension that made the rest of the bar fade into distant chatter, you couldn’t even hear after a while.
At some point, his body had angled toward yours, the movement so smooth and effortless that neither of you acknowledged it, and now his knee was brushing yours, narrowing the gap between your stools until the tedious space left seemed to be conspiring against your better judgment—and you let your knees part slightly, just enough for his knee to rest between yours, and you both scooted closer, feeling that invisible string pulling taut.
“You know…” he started, and his voice dropped again, low enough this time for him to lean in closer, and as he moved, so did his hand, the motion slow and intentional, letting his index finger trace a single line down the outside of your thigh. As the featherlight touch ghosted over the fabric of your dress, you felt the feeling spread, and you clenched your thighs, the feeling nearly making your body tremble, and then he whispered. “I have a room upstairs...”
And then your eyes darted to his finger just as it was reaching your knee, then he paused, teasing you as it retreated, and you wanted to grab his hand and pull it back, which was a problem because this was the part where you were supposed to be in control—yet your thighs were pressing together as you slid them back under the bar, your silk panties already sticking to your pussy.
“So is that your move?” you asked, confidently, especially for someone whose skin was still buzzing from a single fingertip. “One line down my thigh and you offer an invitation? That easy, huh? Thought it would be harder...”
He laughed, flashing you a boyish grin, something shy. “To be honest…I don’t really have any moves,” he admitted, and he looked over at you, almost embarrassed, rubbing up the back of his neck, while glancing at you sideways. “Honestly, I haven’t done this in… I don’t even know how long. I’m not even sure if I’m doing this right...”
And that was what you needed—that nervous energy, the way his confidence kept flickering like a candle in a draft, made him even more perfect. Because nervous meant trusting, and trusting meant careless, and careless meant that by the end of your night, his Rolex would be in your bag along with whatever else he was dumb enough to leave on the nightstand.
But when he looked at you again, those green eyes catching the amber light of the bar, something tightened in your chest that had nothing to do with the job, and everything to do with your pulsing clit—but you pushed it down. Took a sip and smiled.
“You know,” you said, leaning in, letting your lips faintly brush the shell of his ear, “for someone who says he doesn’t have moves, that thing with your finger seemed to be effective… I’m not gonna lie.”
And dammit, that smile was back, dimples that you were trying not to acknowledge this whole time, and all he had to say was, “Yeah?” And you were a puddle, right there in that seat.
“Mhm… if you do it again. I might just follow you anywhere…” You poked.
“Careful, love,” he warned, but his hand was already back, this time resting on your knee, his thumb tracing a lazy circle that was making it increasingly difficult to think. “I might just hold you to that…don’t dare me.”
“Maybe, I’ll let you hold me to anything…” You began, resting your hand over his on your knee, taking hold of his grip. “If it means I get to follow you to that room…” You breathed, dragging his hand further up your thigh, watching his pupils dilate. Then you tilted your head, shifting gears, keeping the energy playful because you knew tension was only useful if you knew when to break it. “Fair warning, though—I brought handcuffs.”
His hand stilled as both his eyebrows shot up. “Wait—You what?”
“Handcuffs,” you repeated coolly, swirling the ice in your glass. “Yeah, I always keep them in my bag...”
There was silence as he digested this new bit of information, then his laugh broke through, an almost shocked, slightly breathless gasp—and he pressed his hand to his chest like you’d physically winded him. “I’m sorry, I just need a moment to process the fact that you carry handcuffs in that little clutch... or that they even fit...”
“Well, a girl’s gotta be prepared for anything.” You shot back.
“Prepared for what? A citizen’s arrest?”
“Don’t play coy, sir… something tells me you might be interesting behind closed doors,” you shrugged, biting back your smile. “Plus, you never know where the night could take you... It’s good to have an open mind.”
And he stared at you for a long second, that crooked grin settling into something smoother, something heavier, his thumb still making those breath-takingly slow circles on your knee. Then he leaned forward, and his voice dropped to something barely above a whisper as he stood, leaning into your ear so only you could hear.
“Bring them… I'm up for a little adventure.”
The elevator was a mistake. Or maybe it was exactly where you needed to be. Because the second the doors closed, his mouth was on yours—hot and corrupted with whiskey, his hand sliding to the small of your back, pulling you into him like he had been holding his breath all night and you were the first gasp of air. And god, he could kiss, lips moving with the kind of kiss that made your brain short-circuit, as his tongue found yours with an ease that solidified your welcome, your lips parting, familiar almost, and you had to remind yourself that you didn’t know this man, that this was a job, even as your fingers curled into the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer.
“You move fast for someone who isn’t sure of what they’re doing,” you mumbled against his lips, and he laughed into your mouth, the vibration of it traveling down your spine, making your pussy clench.
“You’re the one pulling me in, love.” He offered, pushing his body into yours, and all you could think was, fair point, because if you said another word, you might stop yourself.
When the doors slid open on his floor, you barely made it down the hall as he tugged you along, his lengthy strides forcing you to keep up in heels that were not designed for this type of urgency, and when he fumbled with the key card—twice—you bit back a grin because this man, this beautiful, nervous, rich, soon-to-be-robbed-blind man, couldn’t even get the door open, and something about that made your chest tight, but you tried to force the thought away as soon as you heard the beep of the door and his smoldering green eyes met yours.
The second you were inside, the city unfolded before you through floor-to-ceiling windows, the glittering lights and dark sky nearly stealing your breath. But you didn’t have time to admire it because his mouth was on your neck, his hands gripping your waist, your hips, walking you backward until your calves hit the edge of the bed, and you let yourself fall, heels slipping off as you pulled him down with you, letting the weight of him pressyou into the mattress, letting him anchor you—his hand already moving to the hem of your dress, and you sucked in a sharp breath—
“Wait—” you exhaled, pressing a hand to his chest, and he froze instantly, pulling back to search your face, concern already softening his features, and dammit, that only made it worse—that even now, even half-drunk and desperate, he would stop the second you asked.
“You okay?” he questioned, his voice careful, concern etched in the furrow of his brow.
“Yeah…more than okay…” You whispered, reaching into your clutch on the bed beside you. “I just don’t want you to forget about these…”
And the cool metal of the cuffs caught the low light as you dangled the handcuffs from one finger with a playful smile, listening to the soft clink fill the space between you. His eyes went wide, then dark, his throat bobbing on a swallow as he leaned up and slid his jacket off, then started unbuttoning his crisp collard shirt, with a grin that had your thighs pressing together hard.
“So you were serious about those things,” he said, already halfway down his chest, and you sat up leaning into your elbows, watching as he exposed the tatted skin of his upper body, the lines barely visible in the faint light. He walked over to the bedside lamp and clicked it on, then reached for his belt with bold fingers, his confident demeanor filling the space, making your knees go weak, because the way he was easily undressing himself, taking the lead in a situation you thought you would have complete control over, had your fucking knees going weak, as you stood to your feet and faced him.
“I’m always serious about these things...” You told him, twirling the rings of the cuffs around your fingers. He tossed his belt aside, the metal echoing in the silence of your gaze, his stare unwavering as he reached for the button of his slacks. That’s when your eyes dropped to the hard bulge pressing at his crotch, and you thought, this was going to be fun, that you might actually enjoy this.
“Get on the bed…” You told him, eyes traveling over all the tattoos scattered across his body, especially the butterfly at the center of his chest, bold and beautiful, expanding and contracting with every controlled breath in, and you wondered what a man like him did for a living. How could he get away with such a look?
He was calm and collected, pants dropping to the ground, leaving him in only his briefs as he stepped out of them and crawled onto the bed, your gaze tracing over the lean muscles bending and flexing with every move. This guy was hot. By far the hottest man you had ever gotten to a hotel room.
“What’s your name?” You asked, walking around to the side where he was just standing.
He laughed, “Harry… wasn’t sure if we would get to that part.” He answered, settling in the middle of the bed, lifting his lower body to adjust the tight boxers at his bulge. With a smile, he slung his arms over the pillows, relaxing into the bed, far too trusting, completely unaware that once you had him cuffed, he was yours, and so was everything he had.
“And yours?” He countered, eyes moving with the zipper you were unzipping at your side. You wiggled out of the tight fabric clinging to your curves, shimmying the dress over your hips, letting it drop to the floor next to Harry’s pants.
You took a step, pressing a knee into the bed, watching his body tense as his eyes raked over your nearly naked body—the black lace bra giving your boobs the perfect lift, thong silk panties covering just enough, ass on full display. When his hand went to reach for you, you pushed him back, gently, clicking your tongue, “Well, Harry…the way were going to play this game, I promise you won’t need my name at all…”
You were straddling his hips now, teasingly pressing your hot center into his hard buldging dick. Distracted, his glance flicked to where your bodies met, and you took that opportunity to grab hold of his wrist, guiding one above his head, the hard metal clicking into place around the headboard’s iron bars. That’s when he said, “Fine…we’ll play your way…I just hope you’re gonna make this worth my while… because there’s so many things these hands can do, darling… I just don’t want you to miss out…”
With a laugh, pressing your breast into his face, you muffled any further words, pinning his other wrist close to the other, then looped the last cuff around it, locking it in place. Once you were done, you sat back to admire your work—the gorgeous man whose chest heaved with his own want rising to his eyes, wrists bound, looking up at you with a plea that fed the mutual attraction blooming between you, and you had to remind yourself why you were here.
Yet that reminder was getting quieter by the second, and you were lifting off his body, about to finish the job—get all his shit and yours, and go, because you never followed through with this part, the sex, and he stopped you—
“I want to taste you first, before you do whatever you’re thinking…Before you take off my briefs. Want you to sit on my face, give it a little ride. Want to get you nice and wet so you can take me, love.”
You swallowed, heart racing, panic streaking through you like you were about to get caught, but it wasn’t like he could do anything, not cuffed to the bed like that. You could climb off this bed, take everything, and walk out of here. Yet as you gazed into his eyes, your curiosity got the best of you, curious how his pretty little mouth could make your aching pussy feel.
“You’ve got a big dick, don’t you?” You asked. Then his eyes flicked from you to his dick, lifting a brow slightly.
“Look for yourself…” He answered, nudging his hips toward you, granting you permission to peek.
So you did it, unable to help yourself, half-expecting that he was boasting, bragging just to keep you there, but not… this. Because when you looked, allowing yourself to really take it in, there was already a dark, swollen imprint straining at his briefs—a perfect outline, clear as daylight in the lamp-lit room of his hearty cock. As you reached for the band, your knuckles dragged over the sturdy muscle of his thighs, making you bite your lip to suppress the smile. Because he had to be flexing for you, his stillness cocky but controlled, letting you savor the reveal.
As the boxers slid lower, you nearly laughed, an involuntary sound that bubbled in your chest when the head of his dick came into view. There it was, thick and hard, revealing the kind of dick that made you want to drop to your knees just to see how deep you could take it. Yeah, you thought there was no way you were leaving. Not yet. Not before you could ride his mouth and ruin that polite little British accent, just to say you did.
So you stood, slowly rising above him, peeling yourself off the bed as if you already knew exactly where his eyes would follow. Because you did. Because you could feel the heat of his stare burn right through the desperate ache between your legs, and you drank it in, taking your time, reaching for the band of those silk black panties and dragging them over your hips with the kind of show that would make any man lose his fucking mind.
You rolled them down slowly, letting them tease over the curve of your ass, letting him see every inch of your glistening pussy, letting the ruined material slide all the way to your ankles before you stepped out of them and tossed them aside, a wet, sticky scrap of proof that you weren’t here to play any more games. That’s when you dropped to your knees by his head, ass arched, knees going wide over his, heart beating so crazy it nearly leapt into your throat as you angled yourself over his mouth, letting him get an up-close look at what he was doing to you.
You grabbed the headboard, white-knuckling the ledge, needing stability as you hovered over his face, and you stared down at him, ready to lose all your composure, when he looked up at you with eyes so fucking eager and hungry you felt your whole body break open.
“Yeah, that’s it, sit on my face. Want you to smother me, gorgeous. Want you to fucking use me ’til you cum down my throat,” he forced, voice a violent rasp that twisted straight into that ache between your legs, and then his tongue was out, hot and wet, pink and long, a tongue perfect for the filth he was ready to bestow.
The instant you lowered yourself, his mouth was right there, locking onto your dripping cunt. He didn’t tease, didn’t waste even a fucking second, he just dove in, lapping you like he knew exactly what you wanted, fists balling in the straining cuffs, already fighting to touch you, so you rocked your hips lower.
Before long, your first desperate moan echoed through the room as his tongue flicked and circled and fucked, each sound filthy and wet, so nasty you thought you might go brainless right there. You were letting him devour you, letting him spit and suck, as the headache of your need crescendoed into something that left you shaking, already helpless, feeling that wild rise.
You reach down with one hand, spreading your lips to give him better access, and the way his mouth latched onto your clit had your body bursting with a bright surge of pleasure, the suction of his mouth perfect, so good that you gasped out his name as every ounce of composure splintered at the ruthless pressure and the dirty, unrepentant way his tongue lashed over and over, circling, flicking, then flattening wide as his hungry mouth latched so hard heat flushed to your face.
You loved how vocal he was, how every sound that left his mouth was filled with the salacious slurp of an adventurous mouth, wet and frantic, pussy drenched and dripping, your arousal leaking onto his tongue without a doubt. Your thighs were trembling around his stubbled jaw, as your mind tried to remember where you were, who you were, as you rocked your hips down against the eager heat of his face, the tip of his nose pushing into your clit as his tongue swiped over your entrance, ready to dive in.
Your moan was louder this time, your voice unrestrained, not caring if the whole city heard you, because it was impossible to keep quiet, not when Harry was saying, “Yeah, that’s it, don’t be shy, use me, fuck my face, love, want to hear you,” as he devoured your pussy raw. Suddenly, your voice didn’t even sound human anymore, more animal than anything, a cry of need as you ground yourself against him, chasing that orgasm that was already burning through your bloodstream like fire, the feeling uninhibited, premature, so close you felt tears sting the corners of your eyes—
“You’re good at that…” You told him, swiveling your hips, “That tongues fucking magic—fuck—”
Harry mumbled something as he buried his face into your pussy, the vibrations only adding to the sensation. He was getting malicious, the way he was working his tongue inside you, not bothering with slow or bashful or any pretense of politeness, his only mission to consume and take, break you open, suck every drop of slick from your cunt until you were left gasping and eradicated, a shaking fucking mess above his ravenous mouth.
The handcuffs were digging into his wrists, metal biting tight, rattling the headboard as he strained against them. You could tell he was eager to touch you, to bury his fingers in your thighs or your ass, anything that could give him more power, but you kept him pinned beneath you, squirming for a helpless venture he would never achieve. Because you liked the way he writhed under the weight of your body. You liked knowing you held all the power, the cuffs turning him into your plaything, your exquisite, beautiful victim.
He was groaning into your flesh, each sound swelling through your soaked slit, vibrating against your clit until your whole body arched. Christ, his fucking tongue was so good. Then he drove it so far inside you that your grip slipped on the headboard and fumbled straight into his hair, seizing him by the roots, tilting his face up into your pussy, so deep and hard you felt his nose drag against your swollen clit, smearing you everywhere, as you ground your cunt into his mouth with a frantic, filthy abandon.
You could have been suffocating him, but you didn’t care. Yet the way he sounded, the way he moaned into your body, you knew he fucking loved it—could tell by the way he gasped for air and dove right back in, tongue thrashing, lips sucking, teeth gently nipping at your folds as if he needed you to smash yourself open over his face.
And you did.
You were using him, dragging your cunt against his jaw, fucking out every last trace of sweet misery his mouth could hold—could offer. Because you needed it, was going to take it, was doing it every time you ground yourself down onto his tongue with a roughness that threatened to shatter you both. Even if you were setting the pace, you were both on the same page, both of you breathless, as you bore down and fed him every untamed, trembling pulse of pleasure you could drag from your own body.
Because there was nothing else but the wetness of his mouth and the satisfaction of his frictioning tongue and stubble, nothing but the electric burn of your clit mashed to his nose as he swiped and licked and sucked, his wrists still twisting in the cuffs, still fighting, wanting, and you felt it, that dizzy, spiraling heat, the way it built from your toes to your scalp, the pressure so pure and filthy that you thought you would black out right there, burst down his throat like he wanted—like every flick was him begging in the silence of his usefully trained tongue, that you were going to be his.
Fuck, this stranger’s mouth was everything, and you moaned out again, the sound catching in your throat. He released a breathy laugh against you, allowing you your own free will as your slick dragged over his chin, back and forth. It was enough to make you forget you ever lied for a living, ever pretended, so when the orgasm hit, you screamed out his name, voice rough and ragged, as your pussy seized around nothing but his delving tongue, shaking so hard you lost all sense, clawing the headboard until your nails left marks—until the only thing in the world was his mouth milking every second of your come, licking you through your own destruction, like he would never let you leave that bed, at least not in that moment.
But then you were diving off, dazed and trembling as you collapsed onto the mattress beside him, your thighs quivering as if you had just run miles, and you just lay there panting, your skin buzzing everywhere, every inch of you alive and shivering, your heart thundering in your chest, so loud you wondered if he could hear it over the sound of his own erratic breathing.
You were beat, legs sprawled wide and soaked pussy still pulsing with aftershocks, every muscle limp and raw, vision blurring at the corners, and you barely registered the sweet, fucked-out sound of Harry’s voice crooning for you as he said, “Fuck, baby, your so gorgeous, you ruined me—face is dripping,” as you tried to remember your own name, tried to remember what the hell you were doing in this hotel room, why this stranger’s mouth felt like the only thing you had ever needed—
Then, without warning, you found your fucking senses, remembered why you were here, the feeling alarming, electric panic bursting through you as you rolled away from his heat and launched up from the bed with a wild energy; the shift so abrupt you left him blinking, dazed, trying to figure out what the fuck you were doing as you snatched the panties off the floor and slicked them back over your bare cunt, letting the silk cling to your mess, letting him watch, his eyes wide and a little bit lost. His wrists were still chained to the headboard, his cock thick and leaking against his stomach, pulsing, probably desperate to be touched.
You reached for your dress, fingers curling into the fabric on the floor, and that’s when you heard the sharp, metallic rattle of the cuffs, the scrape of iron against the headboard as his whole body shifted.
“Wait—” He tried, voice rougher than before, stripped of that easy charm as something more urgent brewed beneath it now. “What are you doing?”
Of course, you didn’t answer. You owed him nothing; you had a job to do. You shook the dress out, stepping toward it, and the cuffs rattled again, harder, the sound filling the quiet of the room as he pulled against the restraints, testing them. You could feel his eyes burning a hole straight through your back, but what could you do? He was a fool for trusting you. He was the one who asked you to sit on his face after all. It’s not like you had planned to say.
“Hey—” He attempted again, and the desperation in that single word wrecked through you. “Hey, where are you going? Are you leaving?”
When you turned, he looked devastatingly hopeless. His dark hair had fallen forward into his face, one curl draped over his eye, the rest of it disheveled from your hands, from the pillow, from the whole mess of the last hour. He blew the strand from his forehead with a frustrated breath, wrists twisting in the cuffs, his biceps flexing as he pulled again. The Rolex caught the lamplight as he strained—glinting gold, sitting right there on his wrist, close enough to take—and fuck, his cock was right there too, thick and angry, the head glistening against his stomach, shining in the dim light, and your mouth watered just looking at it.
God, this was so stupid.
“Go,” you told yourself internally. “Just grab the fucking dress, grab the watch off his wrist, grab whatever he’s left in his jacket pocket, and walk out that fucking door. This is what you do for a living. This is how this ends… You know better than this.”
Yet your legs weren’t moving, and the dress was still hanging from your fingers as Harry stared over at you with his hair in his face, his chest heaving, cock so fucking hard it had to hurt, and you felt the pulse of your clit like a second heartbeat—wet and swollen, still aching for something his mouth had only started, something his mouth couldn’t have fulfilled like that dick could have.
He opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it, jaw tightening, like he was trying to find the right thing to say and coming up empty. Instead, his eyes searched your face, reading something there you hadn’t meant to leave out in the open, as the silence between you stretched taut.
Just as you were about to step back into your dress, he spoke, “What was your plan, to get me up here and leave me here like this?”
You let the silence sit for a moment, then exhaled slowly, something loosening in your chest as you tilted your head. “You want the truth?”
“Well… don’t you think I’ve earned it?” he said flatly, tugging at the cuffs for emphasis.
“Umm… I guess some would call me a con artist if we want to get technical… but I would say I’m more in the realm of customer service… maybe like a sales associate of some sort.” You told him sarcastically, “I find men in bars—Men like you—who buy me drinks… and I don’t know… I guess, the kind of guys who’re dumb enough to flash their wealth out in the open like you…” You gestured toward his jacket, crumpled on the floor, wallet peeking out.
“I get them up to their rooms, I get them cuffed to something sturdy, and then I take what I came for.” You finished with a smile.
You couldn’t help but laugh when you saw the look on his face. He blinked. Once. Then, twice, his mouth opened, then closed. His eyes moved to his jacket, then to his Rolex, catching the light, then back to you—and you watched the entire sequence of realizations flicker across his face like a faulty projector.
“So you were never actually going to fuck me?” He asked, pissed.
“No.”
“And the handcuffs—” He asked, shaking his head.
“Umm…occupational tool, I guess you can say...”
“Right.” He nodded slowly, pressing his lips together, processing. Then he looked down at his cock, still painfully, indisputably hard against his stomach—and then back up at you.
“Okay,” he said. “But here’s my thing…”
Then, you crossed your arms. “Harry—”
“No, hear me out,” he pushed, and the arrogance in his voice almost made you laugh again. “You could take the watch. I’ll give you the watch. Take the whole bloody wallet, I don’t care.” He nudged his hips, and his cock bobbed with a candid enthusiasm.
“But my dick is still hard. Genuinely, embarrassingly hard. And I haven’t been this turned on in—I don’t even want to tell you how long because it’ll make me sound tragic—” Then he winced. “It’s been a while. That’s all I’ll say. Could you maybe just—You know…”
“Wait—Are you seriously negotiating with me right now?”
“I’m a businessman, for fucks sake,” he said matter-of-factly, “I know a deal when I see one, and if there’s any indication that you might ride my dick like you just rode my face…we both might get something out of it…”
You stared at him for a long moment, him staring back at you, his gaze hopeful and ridiculous, his messy face stupidly gorgeous with his hair all over the place, his chest still flushed, wrists rattling the headboard every time he shifted.
“So let me get this straight,” you questioned, brows drawing together. “You still want me to fuck you.”
“Yes—” He blurted immediately, his answer resolute and sure. Then his hips tilted again like his body was casting its own vote.
“And then you’ll let me take your things?”
“Listen, I got myself into this,” he reasoned, and the corner of his mouth pulled into something almost self-deprecating. “Didn’t I? Fair’s fair. You earned it. At least make this worth both our whiles.”
Your decision was final the second he shifted his wanting hips, jutting his dick toward you, his dick pointing hard in your direction, pointing as if it were beckoning you. “Fine—” You huffed. Then your eyes shifted from him to the watch again. Then to his cock, eyes trained as you clenched your thighs together. That’s when your dress hit the floor.
“But if we’re going to do this, the cuffs stay,” you announced, stepping toward the bed, then climbed onto it again, “Those bad boys aren’t going anywhere, and neither are you.”
The Space Between Takes | (Celebrity! Harry × journalist)
Y/N is just trying to do her job as an interviewer when she sits down with superstar Harry Styles. But what starts as a normal press quickly turns into a game of intense chemistry and blurred lines.
◦ Part One
◦ Part Two
◦ Part Three
◦ Part Four
◦ Part Five
Imagines
Behind Closed Doors | (Famous! Harry ×f!reader)
When Y/N ends her secret arrangement with Harry Styles, she thinks she's doing the right thing. But seeing him at a gala with someone else pushes her to the edge.
Fourteen Hours to You | (Famous! Harry ×f!reader)
Loving him meant surviving on rushed FaceTime calls and empty rooms. You were fully prepared to endure the rest of his press tour alone, until the sound of a key turning in the lock at 3 AM changes everything.
My Favorite Nightmare
While Y/N acts bored and "bratty" at an elite industry party, Harry is completely mesmerized, choosing to cater to her whims rather than his professional obligations.
Apartment 202 | (Neighbor!Harry x f!reader)
Harry is the new boy next door. Y/N couldn't find the nerve to say hello, until thin walls and open curtains made them get to know each other in a very different way.
Midnight Relapse | (Architect! Harry x f!reader)
Ending a boring relationship doesn't require mourning—just the perfect excuse to go right back to the exact bed she never should have left.
Best friends. A fake relationship. One weekend in Edinburgh—and maybe a shot at something real.
Author's note: This is a repost of the original story I first shared on Patreon. I’ve done a bit of light editing throughout—tightening up the prose, tweaking a few lines, and adding in some original text that was previously only on Patreon (including a few extended moments I really loved). Thank you so much for reading (or re-reading!)—your support means the world. I hope you enjoy this version just as much, if not more. 🤍
wc-> 4.5K
📌 pls, let me know if you would like to be tagged!
📌 Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon
The soft hum of the evening surrounded them as they sat on Harry’s plush couch, nestled in the heart of his spacious home. The minimalist decor of his living room reflected the careful balance between his hectic life in the spotlight and his need for peace. His house, though large, was warm, with low lighting that gave it a cozy, intimate feel. The air was thick with the scent of the coffee table candles he’d lit earlier—notes of sandalwood and something sweet.
Harry sat next to Y/N, his body half-turned toward her as he read a book, legs tucked beneath him like a cat seeking comfort. There was a distinct softness about him when he was in his own space, away from the flashing cameras and curious eyes of the public. His hair, dark and messy, tumbled over his forehead, catching in the dim light, giving him a boyish charm that contrasted sharply with his usual confident and polished public persona.
He wore a simple white t-shirt, the fabric clinging loosely to his lean frame. His broad shoulders spoke of strength, but his posture, slightly hunched as he leaned into his book, gave off an air of vulnerability. His long fingers traced the edges of the pages absentmindedly, and now and then, his green eyes flicked up from the book, studying Y/N with a kind of quiet amusement, like he was aware of the unspoken understanding that lay between them.
Harry had always been attentive, almost in a way that felt second nature, as though he knew more about her moods than she did. There was something undeniably magnetic about him—his laugh was a little softer here, his voice a touch lower. His fame could never overshadow the gentle heart he showed her when they were alone.
Y/N’s eyes hovered over the same paragraph for what felt like the hundredth time. The words blurred together, the meaning lost as her mind wandered to the man sitting beside her. She was supposed to be reading a novel on leadership—something meant to inspire her as she navigated her demanding corporate job—but her thoughts kept drifting back to him. It was ironic, really. The book talked about control and decisiveness, yet here she was, lost in the one thing she couldn’t control: her feelings for Harry.
She had always found him attractive. No—more than attractive. Beautiful in the kind of way that felt effortless. His messy hair, the way his lips quirked into a half-smile, those green eyes that seemed to see straight through her… It all added up to someone she could never quite believe was real. He’d always been larger than life to her, even before the fame. Back when they were younger, when they were just two young adults with dreams and no idea where life would take them.
But then, his life had soared into stardom, and hers had stayed grounded in the corporate world. He became Harry Styles—the Harry Styles—and she remained his best friend, hidden away from the glamour of his world. She had watched as women swooned over him, throwing themselves at his feet, and she had silently swallowed her feelings. She knew she could never compete. He was out of her league, in every possible way.
And yet, sitting here next to him, as close as they were, it was impossible not to be reminded of just how deep her feelings for him ran. His presence had always had this effect on her, an electric undercurrent that made her skin tingle and her heart pound just a little harder. She stole a glance at him over the top of her book. He was engrossed in whatever he was reading, completely unaware of the thoughts swirling in her mind.
That’s what made it all so painful—he would never see her that way. She was just Y/N, his best mate, his confidant. The one person who was always there, but never the one he looked at with desire. She felt a knot tighten in her chest as she allowed herself, for just a moment, to imagine what it would be like if things were different. If she were someone else. If he saw her the way she saw him.
As if sensing her gaze, Harry suddenly looked up, catching her in the act. His lips twitched into a small, knowing smile, and he set his book down on the coffee table.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked, his voice low, breaking the silence between them. His eyes locked onto hers, and the way he studied her made her feel exposed, as though he could read her thoughts without her saying a word. “You’ve been staring at that same page for ages.”
Y/N quickly dropped her gaze, closing the book to avoid his probing eyes. “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, though the heat rising to her cheeks gave her away.
He tilted his head, not buying it for a second. “Come on,” he coaxed, a teasing edge to his voice. “Spill it. I know you. You’ve got that look.”
She shifted uncomfortably, trying to laugh it off. “What look?”
“The one where you’re overthinking everything,” he said, leaning back against the couch, still watching her closely. His gaze softened. “Talk to me, Y/N. What’s going on?”
Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as Harry’s green eyes bore into hers, his expression filled with gentle concern. She had always struggled to lie to him. Whenever he looked at her like that, like he truly cared, she felt like he could see right through her. The panic rose quickly, threatening to bubble over, and she knew she had to say something—anything—to steer the conversation away from the thoughts that were tangled up in her mind.
She blurted out the first thing that came to her. “My cousin’s getting married.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. “Which cousin?”
Y/N let out a long sigh, glad for the distraction, though the topic she’d chosen wasn’t much better. “The worst one. Out of the three, I mean. You know, the one who’s always got something to say about everything. Perfect life, perfect fiancé, perfect job… perfect everything.”
Harry’s expression softened into one of amused sympathy. He knew exactly the kind of family pressure Y/N was talking about. He stretched out his legs, making himself more comfortable, as if settling in for a story. “Ah, her. That sounds like fun,” he teased, his voice laced with sarcasm.
Y/N rolled her eyes, tucking her legs beneath her as she faced him. “It’s not just her. It’s the whole family. They’re all so excited, and for some reason, they’re all hell-bent on me bringing a date.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “I don’t even have a boyfriend, but everyone keeps asking if I’m bringing someone. They’re already assuming I’m going to show up with a ‘plus one,’ and I just… I don’t want to deal with the humiliation of telling them I’m still single. Again.”
Harry’s brow furrowed slightly as he listened, a small frown tugging at his lips. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at her thoughtfully. “Y/N, you don’t owe anyone an explanation. If you don’t want to bring someone, then don’t. Your family’s expectations shouldn’t dictate your happiness.”
Y/N smiled weakly, appreciating the sentiment, but her heart was still heavy with the weight of the situation. “I know, but it’s just… hard. It’s like they see me as incomplete because I don’t have someone.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t understand that I’m happy with my life. But at a wedding, it’s like a flashing neon sign that I’m alone.”
Y/N smiled weakly, appreciating the sentiment, but her heart was still heavy with the weight of the situation. “I know, but it’s just… hard. It’s like they see me as incomplete because I don’t have someone.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t understand that I’m happy with my life. But at a wedding, it’s like a flashing neon sign that I’m alone.”
The room fell silent for a moment as Harry absorbed her words, his gaze softening even further. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but then paused, seemingly deep in thought.
Y/N bit her lip, realizing she was rambling, but it was easier to talk about this than the real issue she was trying to avoid. And with Harry sitting so close, his concern for her so palpable, it made her feel even more off-balance. Every time he cared, every time he listened so intently, it reminded her of how much she longed for something more than just friendship.
But that wasn’t an option. Not with him. So, she buried it all under the wedding invitation and the pressures from her family, hoping it would be enough to keep him from asking more.
Harry studied her for a long moment, eyes searching her face like he could sense there was something more she wasn’t saying. He tilted his head slightly, lips pressing together in that way he always did when he was thinking hard.
“Is that really why you’re freaking out?” he asked gently, his voice laced with quiet skepticism.
Y/N felt her stomach twist, the question catching her off guard. She hated how easily he could see through her, but she wasn’t about to crack. Not when it came to her deeper feelings. So, she nodded quickly, clutching onto the family wedding excuse like a lifeline. “Yes, it is. It’s a big issue, Harry. Every time I visit my family, it just… it tears me down a little more. They make me feel like I’m somehow falling behind because I don’t have someone. It’s exhausting.”
He sighed softly, his eyes softening with sympathy, though there was still a trace of doubt in his gaze. Without saying anything more, he leaned back against the couch and picked up his book again, his fingers absently running along the spine.
For a few minutes, silence fell between them, the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of turning pages the only sounds filling the room. Y/N watched him out of the corner of her eye, heart still racing from the close call. She didn’t know what she’d do if he pushed further—if he managed to pry open the lid she’d been keeping on her feelings. She shifted in her seat, trying to focus on her book, but the words refused to make sense.
Then, just as she was beginning to lose herself in her own anxious thoughts, Harry broke the silence.
“I’ve got an easy solution,” he said suddenly, his voice calm and casual, like he hadn’t just spent several minutes in contemplative silence. He didn’t even look up from his book. “I’ll go with you.”
Y/N blinked, his words not quite registering at first. “What?”
He glanced over at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll be your date. To the wedding,” he clarified, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Problem solved.”
Her heart skipped a beat, her mind racing to catch up. “You… you’re serious?” She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Harry Styles, her best friend—and secret crush—offering to be her date to her cousin’s wedding?
“Of course,” he said, shrugging as if it were no big deal. “If it’ll make things easier for you, I’m in. I’ll go, smile for the family, and be the perfect distraction. You won’t have to deal with any awkward questions about being single.”
Y/N stared at him, stunned. He made it sound so simple, like it was no trouble at all. But for her, it was anything but simple. Having him at her side, pretending to be her date, while she tried to keep her feelings under control… It sounded like both a dream and a nightmare all at once.
She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. “Harry, you don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he interrupted, closing his book and turning his full attention to her now. His gaze was steady, sincere. “You’re my best friend, Y/N. If this is stressing you out, let me help. I’d be happy to go with you.”
Her heart swelled at his words, warmth spreading through her chest at the thought of him being there, by her side, at a time when she felt most vulnerable. But at the same time, the reality of pretending—of standing next to him, feeling things she shouldn’t, knowing it was all just for show—made her feel dizzy.
“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost unsure.
Harry’s smile widened into that familiar, mischievous grin. “Positive. And besides, who wouldn’t want to show off a date like me?” he teased, his tone light, but his eyes still holding that warm, comforting sincerity.
Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, her anxiety easing just a little. Maybe, just maybe, having Harry with her wouldn’t be so bad. It might even be the perfect distraction—from her family, and from her feelings. If she could keep them in check, that is.
“He’s going with you?!” Maddie’s voice echoed through the apartment, loud and full of disbelief.
Y/N, sitting cross-legged on the floor in her bedroom, groaned and yelled back, “I know!”
Maddie appeared in the doorway a second later, her eyes wide with shock and excitement. “Harry Styles—your best friend and international superstar—is going to a wedding with you. As your date. This is… this is insane!”
Y/N let out a half-laugh, half-sigh as she flopped back onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Trust me, I’m still trying to process it.”
Maddie crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Okay, let’s go over the logistics because this is a lot to unpack. First of all, the wedding is a whole weekend, right?”
“Yeah,” Y/N muttered, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. “It’s in Edinburgh, so we’re going up on Friday, staying until Sunday. Two full days of family, dinners, receptions, and a ton of small talk.”
“And Harry knows this?” Maddie asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.
Y/N bit her lip, her voice dropping to a quiet murmur. “No, not exactly.”
Maddie’s eyes widened even further. “Wait, so you haven’t told him it’s a whole weekend thing? What if he backs out when he realizes it’s not just a one-night event?”
Y/N sat up straighter, her anxiety returning in full force. “I mean, I hope he won’t. He offered so casually, but I didn’t get into all the details.” She winced, feeling a bit guilty for not being completely upfront. “It’s just... he said yes so easily, and I didn’t want to overwhelm him with everything all at once.”
Maddie shook her head, pacing the room in thought. “Okay, well, you’ve got to tell him. He’s going to need to know what he’s signing up for. The last thing you want is him backing out last minute.”
“I know,” Y/N agreed, sighing. “I’ll tell him tomorrow. I just… I really hope he doesn’t change his mind. It’s already going to be awkward enough dealing with my family, and having Harry there is the only thing keeping me sane.”
Maddie stopped pacing and turned to her with a mischievous smile. “Well, there’s something else we need to focus on.”
“What’s that?” Y/N asked, dreading the answer.
“Your outfits!” Maddie exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “This is a wedding weekend in Edinburgh with Harry as your date. You need to look absolutely perfect every single day.”
Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Maddie, please don’t make this into a fashion show. I’m already freaking out as it is.”
Her roommate crossed the room and sat down on the bed beside her, nudging her playfully. “Listen, if you want your family to shut up about you being single, you’ve got to show up looking like the best version of yourself. And besides…” She shot her a knowing look. “It wouldn’t hurt for Harry to see you in a new light.”
Y/N peeked up at her through her fingers. “What do you mean?”
Maddie grinned. “Come on, Y/N. You’ve had a crush on him for as long as I’ve known you. Maybe this is the chance to finally turn his head, you know? If he’s going to be by your side all weekend, you might as well look stunning while you’re at it.”
Y/N’s heart fluttered at the thought, but she quickly shook her head. “Harry doesn’t see me that way, Mads. He’s going because he’s a good friend. That’s it.”
“Maybe. But maybe not,” Maddie said with a wink. “Either way, we’re going to make sure you look incredible. Now, where’s that suitcase of yours? We’ve got some planning to do.”
The next day, Y/N stood outside Harry’s house, a small bouquet of flowers in her hand. She smiled as she reached for the familiar key in her pocket, the one Harry had given her ages ago. She slipped it into the lock, the click of the door unlocking bringing a sense of comfort. Harry’s house had always felt like a second home to her—sometimes more of a home than her own apartment, if she was honest.
Walking inside, the familiar scent fresh linen greeted her, making her feel instantly at ease. She made her way into the kitchen, glancing around at the cozy space before setting the flowers down on the counter. After a quick search for a vase, she arranged them carefully, letting out a satisfied sigh once they were settled. The bright colors of the flowers added a little warmth to the room, something she liked doing whenever she visited.
“Harry?” she called out, already heading towards the back of the house and into the familiar hallway that led to his bedroom.
“Closet!” his voice echoed, slightly muffled, from somewhere in the bedroom.
She stepped inside, smiling to herself. His bedroom looked like it always did—neatly chaotic, with a mix of designer clothes and random bits of his life scattered about. But one thing caught her eye immediately: his Gucci suitcase, already lying open on the floor, ready to be packed.
He’s really going through with it, she thought, a mixture of excitement and nerves bubbling up inside her.
As she approached the closet, Harry emerged, fresh out of the shower, a towel slung low around his hips. His damp curls clung to his forehead, and water still glistened on his skin. He caught her eye and grinned.
“Didn’t hear you come in,” he said, toweling off his hair as he glanced down at the suitcase. “I figured I’d start getting things ready for this weekend. here we come.”
Y/N chuckled, leaning against the doorway of his closet. “You’re already ahead of me. I haven’t even started packing yet.”
Harry shot her a playful look. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you choose your outfits. You know I have opinions.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, her heart lightened by his teasing. But as she looked at him—standing there so casually, like this whole wedding weekend was no big deal—a knot formed in her chest. It was all starting to feel very real, and the idea of spending an entire weekend with him, pretending he was her date, was starting to feel overwhelming. Still, she couldn’t deny how good it felt to be in his presence, the one place where everything seemed a little less complicated.
Y/N lingered by the doorway of Harry’s closet, watching as he continued to dry his hair, the smell of his cologne mixing with the steam from his shower. She glanced again at the Gucci suitcase on the floor, neatly positioned and ready to be packed. A wave of guilt hit her. She hadn’t told him everything yet—about the wedding being an entire weekend event.
Clearing her throat, she shifted her weight. “So, uh, Harry… there’s something I need to mention about the wedding.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, still toweling his hair, his grin never faltering. “What’s that? Do I need to brush up on my dance moves?”
She let out a small laugh, then bit her lip. “It’s not just the wedding ceremony, you know. It’s kind of… a whole weekend thing.”
He stopped drying his hair, the towel resting on his shoulders as he turned to face her fully. “A whole weekend?”
Y/N nodded, her heart picking up its pace. “Yeah. It’s in Edinburgh, and there’s a dinner on Friday, the ceremony and reception on Saturday, and a brunch on Sunday. It’s like… a three-day event.”
For a moment, Harry just stared at her, blinking. His eyes searched her face, processing what she’d just said.
“Wait, so it’s a full-on wedding extravaganza?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.
Y/N nodded again, suddenly feeling sheepish. “Yeah, I should’ve mentioned that before. But I didn’t want to scare you off.”
Harry let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Scare me off? Y/N, I’m already committed to this. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He tossed the towel aside and crossed the room, leaning casually against the wall beside her. “A weekend in Edinburgh with you? Honestly, that sounds like a good time.”
Y/N’s eyes flickered with relief, though a part of her was still nervous. “You sure? I mean, it’s a lot—my family, the pressure… all of it.”
Harry shrugged, giving her a reassuring smile. “I’ve done crazier things. Plus, I’m kind of looking forward to charming your family.” His grin widened, eyes sparkling. “So, when do we leave?”
Y/N smiled, her chest filling with warmth. He really wasn’t backing out. He was in this with her, and somehow, the weekend ahead didn’t seem so daunting anymore.
Y/N and Harry sat cross-legged on the floor of his living room, plates of Indian takeout spread across the coffee table. The comforting aroma of curry and naan filled the room as they half-watched How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days playing on the TV. They had seen it a million times, but it never got old—Harry always laughed at the same parts, and Y/N always teased him for knowing the lines better than she did.
As Y/N scooped up a bite of butter chicken with a piece of naan, she noticed Harry glancing at her with a mischievous look in his eyes. She raised an eyebrow, already suspicious. “What’s that look for?”
Harry grinned, leaning back against the couch, plate balanced on his lap. “I was just thinking about the wedding.”
“Please don’t remind me,” Y/N groaned, shaking her head. “I’m still processing the fact that you’re actually going.”
“Don’t worry, I’m still all in,” Harry assured her, nudging her playfully. “But I had a thought… Why don’t we drive to Edinburgh?”
Y/N blinked, lowering her fork. “Drive? Like, from here to Edinburgh? That’s over eight hours, H.”
“Exactly!” he said, his eyes lighting up like it was the best idea he’d ever had. “Think about it—if we drive, we have complete control. If things get weird at the wedding, we’ll have a getaway car. No waiting around for flights or relying on anyone. We can just leave whenever we want.”
Y/N gave him a skeptical look. “You’re planning our escape before we’ve even arrived?”
He shrugged, popping a piece of naan into his mouth. “I like to be prepared. And besides, it’s not just about the escape plan. We’d get a proper road trip! Snacks, music, random stops at those little roadside places—remember the last time we did a long drive?”
Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “Yeah, and you made us stop at every service station just to try the food.”
Harry’s grin widened. “Exactly! Imagine all the snacks we could pack—crisps, chocolate, samosas. And the music—oh, the music! I’ll make the ultimate road trip playlist. We’ll sing along the whole way, windows down, no stress.”
Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “You just want an excuse to sing loudly and off-key, don’t you?”
“Hey, I have excellent taste in road trip tunes,” he said, pointing a fork at her in mock offense. “Besides, don’t you think it’d be fun? Eight hours in the car, just us, no rush.”
She tilted her head, contemplating the idea for a moment. As much as she loved the thought of a carefree road trip with Harry, she was more focused on practicality. “Look, I get it. But it’s just… flying is so much quicker. We’ll be there in less than two hours, and we won’t be exhausted by the time we get there. We need our energy for my family and the whole wedding thing.”
Harry leaned back against the couch, pouting playfully. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
She looked over at Harry, who was now munching on a piece of naan with an expectant grin on his face. He seemed to sense her change of heart and glanced up, eyebrows raised in question.
“You know,” Y/N said, breaking the comfortable silence, “Let’s do it!”.
Harry’s eyes widened in surprise and delight. “Really? Are you serious?”
Y/N nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, why not? It could be fun. And I guess having the car would be good for flexibility. If we need a quick escape or just want to explore a bit…”
You and Harry, your best friend, take your friendship to a different place after you become the star of his dirty dream.
Mature Content: dirty talk, foreplay, praise & size kink (if you squint). Nothing too crazy. Pretty light and fluffy. For an 18+ audience only.
Word Count: 5k
Thank you to the anon who requested this! I hope you enjoy :)
You don’t care what other people say. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with or weird about being spooned by your boy best friend.
No matter how many times you and Harry have tried to persuade those close to you otherwise, they’re all still convinced that how cuddly and touchy you are with one another means you’re a couple keeping their relationship under wraps. That just because you occasionally sit on his lap on nights out, hold onto his arm or cling onto his hand in crowds, and end up snuggled against his side after he’s thrown his arm over your shoulder just because he can and he wants to and he knows you like it, you’re secretly dating. But that just isn’t, and never will be, the case.
The dynamic you and Harry have is clearly something not everyone understands, because you’re simply just platonic soulmates after forming a best friend relationship years ago. You’re a naturally affectionate person. He’s a naturally affectionate person. Naturally, you’re going to be affectionate with each other.
You wouldn’t ordinarily give any of this a second thought, but you’re a little hungover from last night's pub crawl celebrating Harry’s birthday and the pretty severe interrogation over your relationship with him is playing on your emotionally sensitive mind. Of course your friends weren’t being malicious when they pressed about the ‘real reason’ for how physically expressive you both are, which happened a lot only several hours ago given how adorably clingy Harry is when he’s drunk—something he very much was, being the birthday boy and all—but it was still frustrating.
Harry agreed so too, expressing his own annoyance by loudly telling everyone out for his big day to shut the fuck up. But they didn’t, so you both left, his hand grabbing yours to pull you out of the pub and back to his place where he’d go on to spoon you to sleep.
While they didn’t know the destination–but rather correctly assumed–your friends still hooted and hollered, whistled and whooped, clapped and cheered as the pair of you staggered away together. A few of them even sent joking texts about it that made you roll your eyes after reading each one out loud in the back of the taxi Harry hailed.
You imagine there’ll be a few more to read, but you’d have to pull yourself away from the strong, tattooed arms wrapped tightly around you–one through the gap between your neck and the pillow your head rests on, the other slung over your waist–and that’s just something you can’t quite bring yourself to do yet. You’re much too comfortable all cosied-up against your best friend. Much too happy, too. Hangovers don’t feel so bad with Harry around. Nothing does.
You only woke up a few minutes ago, his soft snoring in your ear your alarm clock. You smiled at the sound, which was as adorable as the way he unconsciously snuggled into you closer, like you aren’t close enough. Which simply isn’t true considering you can feel his sleepy heartbeat against your back, your legs are tangled with his long ones and oh my god… is he hard?
A slight wriggle of your hips confirms that yes, he is. Very much so, the bulge in his boxer briefs solid and pressed right up against your shorts-covered ass—though they aren’t covering much.
Immediate guilt washes through you over your invasive investigation, the urge to finally get out of bed strong. You’re not uncomfortable that he’s rocking morning wood—it’s a totally natural, normal thing—but he might be if he wakes to find himself still excited, and you still so close by.
So with that, you start to slowly, carefully move by untwining your limbs from his, not wanting to disturb his slumber and more than happy to pretend this didn’t happen. You can keep your mouth shut. Harry will never know.
But you don’t get far at all, your escape prevented by arms locking you in, pulling you back against a muscled bare chest. A face sporting faint scruff nuzzling against the nape of your neck and a pair of soft lips lightly kissing it. A rigid length digging into your ass once more, firmer this time, given the gently grinding of hips conducted by a still-sleeping Harry.
You’re now completely frozen in place. Totally stunned. Absolutely turned on, your whole body tingling and suddenly desperate for sex. For sex with your best friend, a brand new desire. One you never in a million years expected to have.
And then Harry groans, the sound gravelly and gorgeous and enough to drive any woman insane. You’re no exception apparently, your belly now alive with butterflies and hazy mind growing that little bit hazier.
Several long minutes tick by and Harry’s movements grow a little faster, a little more feral, with every passing one. Heat courses from your dizzy head to your curling toes, your thighs squeezed together to suppress the almost painful throb between them.
It’s not until a whine leaves your mouth, your hand clamping over it in a silly, no-good attempt to swallow the sound back down, that you realise this is all so wrong. You’re feeling feelings that shouldn’t be felt, at least not for your best friend.
You should stop him. You need to stop him. You have to nudge him awake. Lightly hit or kick him if a nudge doesn’t work, because he wouldn’t do this while conscious. Harry is simply dreaming something dirty, and you’re simply a warm body conveniently nearby that his raunchy mind is seeking pleasure from in the depths of REM.
But you don’t get a chance to stop him, because he stops himself. Nudging him, lightly smacking or kicking him awake isn’t necessary either, because he is; two words merged into one spoken in a raspy voice letting you know so. Turning you on some more, too. If that’s even possible.
“G’morning.”
Your gulp is audible, though not as loud as your pounding heart. “Hi.”
He squeezes his arms around you a little tighter like he’s scared you’ll leave, the sight of his flexed biceps ensuring you never will, given how delicious they look in this new, non-platonic lens you’re now seeing him through, and lets out a soft, happy-sounding sigh followed by a loud, adorable yawn. You close your eyes and pray for mercy. You need it. This is torture.
“What time s’it?”
The fact he’s acting and talking as though he wasn’t just dry humping you makes your stomach drop, a part of you hoping he knew what he was doing and was awake the whole time. That he wanted to, and would, keep going.
But feeling that way, wanting that, is definitely wrong of you. Something you’d both regret. You’re just worked up, which is technically Harry’s fault, but he couldn’t help it. He was asleep.
God, you’re confused. So, so confused.
“I’m not sure.” His room is bathed in hues of rouge, violet, and amber; the telltale signs of a winter sunrise. You swallow hard again, trying to ignore the way your body yearns for him. The way he’s got you so perfectly moulded against his own. “Seven o’clock? Maybe eight?”
“Perfect.” There’s a purring-like cadence to his tone, goosebumps skittering across your skin in response. “We can catch some more shuteye and keep spooning for another hour or two if you fancy? Unless you have other plans?”
Before you can stop yourself, you’re shaking your head. “No, nowhere at all.” It’s the truth, however it shouldn’t be. You should leave, make an excuse. Any excuse. But you can’t. You don’t want to. You want this. Want him, in whatever capacity that may be. “I’m good to stay for a bit.”
“Atta girl.”
That phrase paired with a wriggle, hiss and then a shy-sounding laugh from Harry sends your spiralling mind spiralling some more. “Oh fuck—shit. Sorry, babe.” He’s finally realised he’s hard, as embarrassed by it as you imagined he would be. Thank God he doesn’t know about the grinding, he may never recover. “Lemme move–”
“Don’t.”
It isn’t just Harry that stops moving now, but time. The whole fucking world. Everything is frozen aside from the frantic way your chest heaves. His, too.
Silence swallows you both up, a thicker blanket of it than the literal one you’re tucked under. The longer it goes on, the hotter with humiliation you become. The redder your face grows, though you’re thankful Harry can’t see that.
You shouldn’t have said what you said and now you can’t say anything at all, rendered speechless. Feeling stupid. So, so stupid.
“I dreamt of you,” Harry murmurs, shattering the silent spell, taking down with it every negative emotion and effect you were just experiencing.
The revelation sends your mind through a loop, but not enough that you can’t ask “When?” because that’s really important for you to know. Not ‘what’ or ‘why’. A timeline of events needs to be established, even though a part of you already has an inclination, and another part of you is praying with all your might that you’re right.
“How long has it been since I woke up?”
You rack your fuzzy brain. “Five minutes?”
“Then ten minutes ago.”
Shit. He was dreaming of you and it made him hard. Made him grind. Made him pull you back for more when you tried to pull away. Innocently on both ends, of course. Well, as innocent as dirty dreams can be.
Harry might not have been aware he was doing all of that, but he is aware of his sleepy thoughts and was brave enough to admit them out loud to the person who starred in them. Aware of the hard-on they gave him, that you gave him, even if that realisation was a little delayed.
You’re both treading precarious waters right now, waters you’ve never explored before being just friends and all. The love you’ve had for one another has simply been platonic this whole time, and it still is that. For the most part. You think.
There’s only one way to find out, and it’s only fair that Harry finds something else out, too. The truth.
So after sucking in a deep breath for some much needed bravery, you give him it, hoping he catches your drift. “You were, um, moving around a bit in your sleep. Against me.”
“I was?” You nod slowly, eyes fluttering closed in ecstasy upon hearing that shy, breathy laugh from him again. He got it, and he’s okay. You hope. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I guess I was… never mind.”
“Tell me.” Your response is so fast, you’ve surprised yourself. Harry too, given the way he gulps.
A pregnant pause, nothing but your unsteady breaths and thrumming heartbeats filling the silence before it’s broken again by the husky voice that, as of this morning, makes you utterly weak. “I guess I was trying to make my dream a reality.”
“Then do it.” Another zero hesitation response for you, because you want this, want him, though that doesn’t feel like a strong enough word. Neither does need. The way you feel now is on a whole new level you’ve never experienced before and likely never will again. There’s no time for doubt anymore. You’re incapable of it. Not when this feels so right.
You can tell Harry feels the same way without him even having to say so. Actions speak louder than words, and his, in the form of tugging you closer to his chest, how much harder his cock is and how it twitches and throbs against your ass felt through the two thin barriers of his underwear and your shorts, the ragged breaths puffed out of his pretty mouth fanning across your neck, are screaming that he wants, needs—whatever the word is—this and you, too. That he isn’t experiencing doubt. That he feels how right this is as much as you do.
And while his desperation and desire is tangible and as strong as yours, he’s still a gentleman to his core. An angel on earth through and through, shown in the way he cautiously whispers, “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” you say and nod, taking a second to catch your breath and collect your thoughts before adding, “We can worry about the after, after. Though I don’t think we’ll have anything to worry about. We love each other. We’re good. Solid. Nothing can break us apart. Hell, this might make us even closer.”
A laugh from Harry; your favourite sound in the world now closely followed by the way he groans when experiencing pleasure. You’ll never forget that for as long as you live. “Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?”
“A little of both, I think.” You shrug, smiling softly. “Are you in need of more convincing?”
“No,” Harry murmurs, hand on your sternum venturing down to your stomach. “If anything, I’ve been convinced about this for a long time. So much so I couldn’t escape you and all I wanted to do to you even when asleep.”
How weird all of this doesn’t feel feels weird, but you won’t dwell on it. Not when Harry’s confession has filled a void in your chest you didn’t know existed. Sent you to the stars when you thought you were already living among them just by having him as your best friend. Made you smile so hard it hurts, though it’s in the best kind of way.
Carefully, flirtily, you push your ass back and circle your hips, bottom lip tucked behind your teeth while Harry sucks in a hiss through his. His fingers against your tummy flex and tremble, much like his stomach and cock do, too.
Another low groan slips out from him when you do it again, his hand continuing its journey down, down, down until the tip of his middle finger reaches the waistband of your shorts. His face once buried in the nape of your neck now hovers beside it, shaky breaths harmonising with yours.
“In my dream.” Harry’s voice is so rough and ragged, a complete contrast to how soft and smooth the pad of his finger lightly tracing the skin above the elastic is, though the back and forth, back and forth, back and forth is driving you round the damn bend. Making you squirm and whine and pant, close to begging him to both stop and keep going. “You were dripping. And I mean really, really dripping. Panties soaked. Pussy begging for a fucking.”
You clutch his forearm draped over your chest with one hand, the other reaching to grab the back of his neck, fingers touching curls and the chains of his various necklaces. You need all the stability you can get, lying down simply not enough. No, you need to be grounded, your soul close to leaving you. You need an anchor, and Harry’s always been exactly that for you, even if he is the reason you’re now floating.
His grin is a mile-wide, the dimple popping kind you love so much, and there isn’t a hint of shyness left in him. He’s exuding pure confidence. Pure sex. “Got me wondering if that’s followed me into the real world,” he teases. “Shall we check?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
A kiss to your cheek makes it harder for you to stay calm, even though you’re doing a piss poor job of that as is. “Perfect girl. Thank you.”
You fully expect Harry to dip his hand down your pants and find the soaked state of your cunt that way, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he moves back a fraction—just enough to slip his hand between you and him and also watch what he’s doing—pinches the hemline on the leg of your shorts, and peels it away from your pussy. Yes, peels, because the material is stuck to your skin from how goddamn wet he’s made you.
“Well would you look at that,” he mutters, sounding awestruck and so damn pleased with himself. “Dreams do come true.”
Another hard swallow from you, all the moisture in your mouth seemingly upped and left to accumulate between your squeezed-together thighs. Down them, too. “What happened next?”
“A slow tease.” A groan from him, his thumb, with a featherlight touch, smoothing over your folds making you whimper. “A bit of a mess, too. Slid my cock between these pink ‘n pretty lips over and over again until it was covered in your juices.”
“Oh god.” You arch your back, pussy seeking his dick to do exactly that. “Please, H. I want it.”
“Thought you might.”
After a little manoeuvring, Harry’s cock springs free from the confines of his tight briefs, the heavy, solid length slapping against your ass. There’s a moan from you and a hiss from him at the feeling, his hand that pulled your shorts to the side now felt lazily stroking his shaft while the fingers hovering over your chest teases your peaked nipples poking through your shirt.
He’s breathless and beautiful when he so lovingly asks, “You ready, babe?”
You answer non-verbally, pushing your hips back again while parting your legs, bending one at the knee until you’ve got a foot flat on the mattress and Harry has all the access he needs.
Chuckling softly into your neck is his response to that along with, “Needy girl. Can’t blame you, though. ‘M feelin’ just as demented, ‘n it’s all your fault.”
And with that, he brings the second act of his dream to life by slowly sliding the thick, drippy head of his cock through your soaked slit, moans and groans from you both growing louder with every passing second and every passing inch of his veiny, velvety skin exploring uncharted territory like a goddamn pro. Like it’s finally where it’s meant to be.
You’ve known Harry is well-endowed from the occasional accidental glimpse at his crotch whenever he’s walked around in just his underwear or the grey sweatpants that most women—yourself included—are weak for.
But to experience it now, to know that his whole cock well beyond exceeds the length of your lips—his tip knocking your pulsing clit and way past it in order to get his base saturated with your arousal, just like he wanted—you’re a goner. And also slightly worried that should sex happen next–or at any point–you won’t be able to take him all. He might not fit, or at least not without some serious foreplay first.
Like he wanted, a slow teasing takes place. A whole fucking mess too, not just a bit. Harry slips his dick through your folds over and over again, your whines and whimpers as loud as the wetness pouring out of you and all around him. You’ve never heard such a salacious sound. Had such a filthy experience. You never want it to stop.
“So wet ‘n warm, fuck—” he murmurs, more like he’s talking to himself. Like he can’t believe all of this is happening and it feels so good. You know you can’t either. “Don’t think I’m gonna last long ‘n I’m not even inside you.” A growl from Harry vibrates against your skin, his teeth perforating your flesh a tad evoking a whine from you and a clench of your walls around nothing. “Shit, just thinking about that nearly knocked me out.”
His admission is music to your ears, the ultimate ego boost. You giggle, the laugh as delirious as you are. “That’s okay. More than okay. It’s fuckin’ hot, actually.”
“Yeah?” He’s grinning now, hands no longer guiding his cock through your puffy lips. His hips have taken over, slow and steady strokes pushed that make your head feel light and your bones feel liquid.
You nod fast, as fast as your heart pounds. “Yeah. Would kinda rather you came all over my pussy instead of inside it, anyway. At least for now.”
As much as your body craves actual sex with Harry, there’s still a little hesitancy on your behalf to fully let go, because there’s no turning back once that boundary has been crossed.
You’re confident that your friendship can withstand such a change, but there’s still a small seed of worry that things could fuck up if you fuck, no matter how much doubt you stopped feeling before and how right this still feels now. Not to mention the slight fear you have regarding the size of him. What you’re both experiencing is working wonders for you both anyway. Why fix something that isn’t broken?
Another guttural groan from Harry, this one punctuated with a purposeful nip to your neck that has you simpering, shaking and soaking his length some more. “You tryna kill me?”
“Not at all,” you mumble, fingers stroking through his unruly curls while you work on regulating your breaths. They’re broken and hard to come by; the pleasure he’s giving you as much as he’s receiving from you truly is a whole new level of euphoria. “Tryna make your dream come true, remember?”
“Mm, and what about yours?”
“My dream?”
He nods, hair tickling your skin. “Mhm. Tell me what you want, babe. I’ll give you it. Give you anything. Just say it, ‘n it’s yours.”
“Play with me,” you whisper, cheeks flooded with blush. Whole body mush. “Make me squirm. Make me yours.”
Within a second, Harry is playing with your clit, a master at work. He still fucks through your folds with leisurely thrusts, but the pads of his long, deft fingers now circle your swollen pearl with firmness and determination; your climax and dreams just as important as his, if not more.
All the teasing done to your g-spot from his thick tip means that you’re all pent up and so close to popping. It won’t take long before you’re unravelling. Even quicker, thanks to his expertise.
You hit your high in no time at all, eyes wiring shut, jaw falling slack, whole body wriggling and wanting the nirvana to never end. Harry relentlessly rides you through it until you’re pulling your hips forward for him to stop, oversensitive and oh so fucking satisfied.
He leaves your clit alone, kiss after kiss pressed against your sweaty neck broken up with praises along the lines of ‘Good girl, so proud of you’, ‘Made such a mess for me. Made such a mess of me’ and ‘That was stunning. You’re stunning.’ You feel like you could come again just hearing his silky voice speak such compliments.
And a part of you has a feeling that if Harry had his way, if you two were a little more familiar in bed and this wasn’t the first time you were stepping over the friendship line you’ve had drawn up for years, you would be coming again. Over and over and over again until you physically couldn’t. He’s holding back on you right now. You're holding back on him.
But that’s okay. Something tells you that when you’re both ready, there’ll be another opportunity to let loose together again.
Or at least you’re now definitely hoping so. You’ve had a sip of bliss, but it’s only exacerbated your thirst.
Sensing his orgasm approaching based on the suddenly sloppy nature of his rolling hips, his grunts and whimpers seeping into your skin and his fingers restlessly toying with your nipples and digging into your hip, it’s now your turn to get him there with your words. And while it can sometimes be uncomfortable to talk dirty with someone new, you don’t currently feel that way. Not with Harry. Never with Harry.
“You feel so good, H,” your murmur, meaning every damn word no matter how quiet your voice is. The truth is loud. The evidence of it covers you both. “Got me feeling so good, too. Had me all wet and turned on grinding on my ass earlier. Made me all desperate and drenched fucking through my pussy now.”
“Fuck-” he hisses, picking up the pace of his hips like he can’t get enough. Like he’s as hungry for you as you are for him. “Keep going. Keep sayin’ shit like that.”
“Really want you inside me sometime, but you’re so big. So fuckin’ big. Not sure it’d all fit. Not sure I’d be able to walk after, either.”
“I’d take such good care of you, baby. Promise.”
You smile at that. Forever the gentleman. Forever the earth angel. “Mm, I know. But until then, until the day comes that you’ll stretch me out and fuck every drop of cum into me, fuck it all over me now. Give it to me, Harry. Cover my cunt in it. Please.”
And he does, the most delicious groan rattling in his chest and out of his mouth as he shudders and shakes and pumps rope after rope of his hot load onto your mound and clit, through your folds and over your entrance he’s yet to dive in and explore; his still-thrusting hips smearing the milky liquid all around, claiming you as his just like you wanted.
That moment comes to a natural end a few long, breathless minutes later. You’re spent and smiley. Harry is spent and smiley. The world hasn’t imploded since you took your friendship on this completely unexpected, unbelievably hot journey. Everything feels normal and nice, made all the more normal and nice by the way Harry holds you against him with one arm, presses lazy kiss after lazy kiss to your neck, and wipes the mess between your legs with tissues found in his bedside table drawer.
“Best birthday weekend ever,” he hums between pecks once you’re all cleaned up, to which you giggle and grin, pleased and happy that your best friend is pleased and happy.
But still you’re curious, a question on the tip of your tongue. You know Harry won’t mind you asking it, that he’ll be upfront and honest. He always is.
“Earlier on, when you said you’d been convinced about this for a long time…” you pause to swallow, to give him time to see where you’re going with this line of inquiry. “What did you mean exactly?”
A breathless laugh from Harry, the kind you wish you could bottle up and wear on a chain around your neck, uncapping it whenever you need the serotonin boost. Though you’re hardly in short supply of that with him around as often as he is.
“I meant exactly what I said, babe. That doing what we just did is a variation of many things I’ve thought about us doing many times. Too many times.” He’s the one to pause now, giving you a moment to digest this. “You know I love you. That you’re my best friend, a person I’d literally kill or be killed for…” A hand of his smooths over your stomach again, an act of comfort as much as it is of possession, “but for a while now, there’s been something else I’ve felt. Attraction. Lust. Need. ‘M haunted by you, to be honest, ‘n the more our friends badgered us about our friendship being inappropriate, the more I wanted that friendship to be inappropriate. But I just didn’t say anything because I didn’t think those feelings would be mutual. I’d rather have you as my best friend than nothing at all, y’know?”
You nod, because you do know. You get it, and you’re grateful that he didn’t say something sooner. Those feelings weren’t mutual then and you won’t pretend they were for his sake, but they are now. They are now.
Turning in his arms, you’re met with that bright smile you love so much anchored by its usual laugh lines, two dimples and a sweet freckle. Sleepy green eyes that explore your own sleepy pair, a twinkle of excitement in his that you know yours house, too. Beauty and kindness and your best friend; a man you of course have always found attractive–Harry was literally carved by God herself, you weren’t blind to that realisation before–but you see him differently now. You’re seeing every bit of him in a whole new light, and it’s wonderful and scary and so right. You can only hope that he sees you in that way too, even though his confession pretty much confirms he is.
After a moment, Harry breaks the comfortable silence you both fell into. “Just because I said all of that doesn’t mean that’s how things have to be. I meant it when I said I’d rather have you in my life as my best friend than not have you in it at all. You mean the world to me, ‘n I’m sorry if I’ve spooked you with my truth or my actions. Whatever you want next, wherever you want to go… I’ll follow. To the ends of the earth. It’s your call, babe.”
A small shrug from you, an attempt to be cool and casual when you feel anything but. You’re burning up. Practically vibrating with giddiness. “I like the sound of inappropriate. According to everyone else, we’ve been acting that way the whole damn time, so why not make it official?”
Just when you thought the sun outside had risen, you’re proven wrong. The one holding you so close to his chest, smiling at you like you’re his reason for shining eclipses its brightness and beauty entirely. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you say through a smile and a certain breath. “But baby steps, okay? I don’t wanna fuck this up.”
Harry nods fast, looking more excited than you thought possible. “Agreed. That’s the last thing I want to happen.” A pause from him and a flicker of mischief glinting in his pretty eyes. “So what now?”
“Shut eye and spoon?” you teasingly suggest his earlier plans, stealing that mischievous streak from him and displaying it in your grin. There’s no way either of you are going back to cuddling and sleeping. At least not right now, anyway.
“What about fondling and forking, instead?”
You’re quick to cackle, head tossed back and heart so full it could burst. If this is what you have to look forward to in an inappropriate friendship with Harry–non-stop laughter and silly play-on-words, which is pretty much what your ‘appropriate friendship’ with him was like–then you’re in for a treat.
You’ve got nothing to worry about, either. Life just got a little sweeter. A lot sunnier, too.
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y/n surprises her boyfriend of 5 years in Amsterdam on his first show, and things get steamy.
It’s been so stressful. Weeks of tour preps, soundcheck, outfit checks. All of it. And on top of that, I haven't seen you in 5 weeks. Which isn't that long but we if we're being honest, we can't go like 3 days without sex. That's just our life.
So you can only imagine my surprise when I walked back into my dressing room, seeing you sitting on the lounge, a massive smile on your face. I froze. Stopped, and then immediately ran over to you, dropping to my knees in front of you on the couch. I was overjoyed.
"When did you even get here.. babe - what how?!" I gushed out, a massive smile on my face, as I kissed all over your face. My stylist, Gracie, was smiling and recording, obviously amused by my shocked. But I seriously couldn't help it.
"I flew in this morning, I've been setting this up with your team for the past couple days. Of course I had to see you preform for the first show back" You smiled, kissing my cheek, before my nose, and I immediately melted into the kiss.
I heard Gracie chuckle, before I heard her footsteps fading away. "Only an hour until you are on stage harry, don't get too caught up" She laughed softly, before I heard the door creaking, and then a shut of the door, meaning she had left. 'Don't get too caught up', I don't even know what that means.. well, I think I know exactly what she means. She definitely knew something would happen.
"I've missed you.. so much" I smiled against your lips, and you giggled softly.
"I've missed you" You muttered back. I got up, sitting on the couch. I grabbed your hips, flipping you to be straddling my right thigh. I was wearing, you're wearing a fleece sweatshirt, and a white skirt, meaning as you was straddled my thigh, your panties was on my jeans.
I watched you shift slightly against me, and I smirked.
"You needy hmm? It's been a couple weeks." I asked and watched you nodded quickly.
"Did you use anything, thinking of me? hmm" I asked, my hands coming to your hips, slowly rocking you against my thigh, watching you nod.
"Words y/n. Words."
"Y- Yes I did" You said breathlessly. I smirked, nodding.
"Fingers? Toy, which one?" I asked, leaning down, kissing your neck.
"Toy.. the one you brought me.. l - last year" You mumbled, moaning weakly as I felt your hips start to move on their own. I stopped helping you move them, but my hands stayed rested there, as you picked up your pace, moaning.
"Harry.." You pant, as you practically humped (there's no practically) my thigh. This isn't the first time you've dry humped on my thigh, I mean even once on my stomach. But it's not something we do occasionally. But once in a while, when we don't have much time but I know you need a release.
"So good f'me, hmm?" I watched as you moaned weakly, you fingers gripping my shirt, your mouth open, eyes pinched shut as you gasped.
"Good fucking girl, using me. Can't even go a couple weeks without me. Touching yourself at home, not even sending me a video or photo? y'know damn well I was desperate as well" I mumbled, sucking your jaw.
"Why didn't you send me a video?" I asked, nipping your neck before my tongue quickly traces over the bite.
"Wanted - wanted to keep you waiting" You gasped, your movements getting faster, your sounds becoming more loud. I know you're close.
"hmm, you did pretty girl. Want you to come, okay, use me. Make a mess" I kissed you.
your movements sped up, and you moaned loudly, as I felt your movements stutter, as you moaned my name. I could feel your wetness leaking through your panties.
"Good girl" I mumbled, kissing you again, as you tried catching your. breath, giggling.
"I'll fill you all up later. You think you can wait at least 2-3 hours for me baby?" I asked, and you nodded.
"I can give you something if you need?" I heard you pant, and I shook my head, trying to ignore my hardness.
"I 100% would, but this once I have to decline love, I go on stage in 30 minutes. I have to shower, change, all of that jazz."
"unless..." You winked and I was confused.
"unlesssss....?"
"I join you in the shower?" You winked, and I immediately smirked.
"Let's go then." I quickly kissed your lips, as you giggled, getting up, and I followed,
Sorry if it’s rushed, or short. I just didn’t know how to make it longer with what the topic was like if only she was receiving lolll.
As a graduation present to yourself you head to the spa to finally get some relaxation. Lucky for you, your masseuse knows just how to work out that tension.
(this is my first attempt at a one shot so be gentle)
WC: 4.4k
content warnings: strangers, fingering (f receiving), oral (m and f receiving), hand job, riding the tiger
After six grueling years of college, I had finally earned this spa day. Going straight into grad school after getting my Bachelor’s was a decision I knew would be challenging, but I hadn’t anticipated the physical toll it would take on me. The mental hardships I managed with various prescriptions and my nightly date with Lady Indica, but nothing seemed to ease the tension that had been locked in my shoulders for the past three years.
So there I soaked, neck deep in the outdoor mineral bath, as the 104-degree water soothed my aching joints. The spa was hidden away in the mountains, down a winding road flanked by lush greenery. I’d been here for two hours already, cycling between the hot and cold plunge pools and swimming laps. Now I lounged, waiting for my upcoming aromatherapy massage. With the day pass costing upwards of $500, I was determined to make every cent count.
When my 15 minutes were up, I headed inside to the spa’s service area. The receptionist checked me in, handed me a towel, and guided me to the showers to rinse off before my treatment. The hallways were dimly lit and refreshingly cool, infused with the earthy aroma of stone walls, subtly mingled with hints of jasmine and eucalyptus oils. My shower resembled a rock waterfall. This whole place knew how to set a tone.
I quickly undressed, rinsed off, and wrapped myself in the plush towel. My hands lightly shook as I knotted my hair into a silk scrunchie and I felt a flutter of tension deep into my belly. I had never had a massage like this before. I had never spent this much on myself before. But I earned this. I had to keep reminding myself I worked hard for this.
Entering Room 3, I paused to take in the serene atmosphere. The soft, white massage table rested at the heart of a dimly lit room, bathed in a soothing blue glow. The stone-lined walls evoked the serene ambiance of a tranquil cave, inviting a deep sense of calm. I took my place on the table, face up as instructed, and let out a slow, steadying breath.
A soft knock broke the quiet, followed by the gentle creak of the door opening. I turned my head to greet my masseuse and was met with a pair of jade-green eyes illuminated by the room’s soft light.
"Hello," he said, his voice carrying a gentle British accent. "My name is Harry, and I’ll be your massage therapist today."
For a moment, I forgot myself, taking in the sight of him. His soft brown hair was tied back in a bun, mirroring my own. He wore a simple short-sleeved button-down and matching trousers, accented only by a blue name tag. Tattoos adorned his left arm in an intricate array, with just a few scattered on his right. As my gaze traveled back up to meet his eyes, I felt the need to steady my breath.
"H-hi. Hello," I stammered, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that I had nothing but a pair of cotton panties beneath my towel.
"Are there any areas you’d like me to focus on today?" he asked as he moved around the room, setting out lotions and placing a few drops of oil into the diffuser. He was so at ease in his routine and I felt like my world had tilted on its axis.
His words caused an unexpected ache to thrum low in my belly. I clenched my thighs together, hoping to dispel the sensation as discreetly as possible. That particular area hadn't received any focus since the start of my grad program.
By another person that is.
And god three years was a long time to go with only the company of a pink vibrator.
And maybe a dildo…and a purple vibrator that had the thrusting motion…and occasionally a plug but only on special occasions…
But no men.
And certainly not men who looked like him. I’d been here for two hours already, cycling between the hot and cold plunge pools and doing some laps in the pool. His hands seemed capable of molding me like play-doh, with veins running along them and up along his firm forearms… It was easy to imagine them working out…tension.
"My shoulders have been sore," I managed to choke out, wincing slightly at the crack in my voice. My shoulders weren’t any more sore than any other part of my body, but I felt like I had to say something.
"Alright," he said with a reassuring nod. "We’ll start there and see how you’re feeling. Just close your eyes and try to relax."
I did as instructed, taking a few calming breaths. The sound of him rolling a stool closer and the faint squeezing of lotion filled the room.
"Is it alright if I touch you now?" he asked gently.
I nodded softly, and his hands found their place on my shoulders, warm and reassuring. His palms pressed firmly into my traps, kneading with a steady rhythm that radiated a soothing warmth through my muscles. His thumbs traced slow, deliberate circles, each motion dissolving knots of tension that had accumulated from countless hours hunched over a computer screen. The relief was immediate, like all of the weight I had been carrying was slowly lifting away.
His fingers traveled with a knowing precision, working their way across the ridges of my shoulders and upper back. A satisfying pressure built with each movement—firm enough to coax the tension from my muscles but never harsh, as if he intuitively understood my threshold. As he moved his hands to my neck, his touch deepened. He slipped his fingers beneath my shoulder blades, a light stretch accompanying the glide upward.
His hands transitioned seamlessly into my hair, the silky strands parting as his fingertips brushed against my scalp. The sensation magnifying the ache between my legs. His touch grounded me in the moment while leaving my senses heightened.
Slowly his hands began to curl around to the sides of my neck, along my pulse point and up to my temples. My heart rate picked up with each pass, my legs flexing and releasing. As he worked his way up to my jaw, his thumbs gently massaging near my earlobes, an unrestrained moan escaped my lips.
Harry’s hands paused, and my breath caught.
I opened my eyes cautiously, only to find his locked with mine, his lips slightly parted.
"Sorry..." I whispered, mortified.
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly, and with a subtle nod, resumed his motions without a word.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying desperately to calm my racing thoughts and praying he couldn't feel the pounding of my pulse along my throat. But the crimson flush of embarrassment burned across my skin, and my mind refused to settle.
Did I make it weird? I made it weird. Why was he looking at me like that though? I'm sure I just imagined it. It's his job to do this, I doubt I'm the first person to ever make a noise, it's fine. But oh god why is he so quiet? I guess he was quiet before... Was it awkward before? Have I been making this whole thing weird? No, no, it's a spa, you're supposed to relax. It's fine. You're fine. Breathe.
After tending to my arms Harry asked me to turn onto my stomach. I awkwardly maneuvered myself, clinging to the towel as I tried not to tumble off the table. I don't think I could handle embarrassing myself again today. Once in position, I felt a gentle tap on my back.
"I’m going to need you to pull down the towel so I can see your back," he said softly. "I also have this pillow for under your hips."
I shimmied the towel down to my lower back and adjusted the pillow beneath me. To my surprise, it eased a pressure I hadn’t realized had been building in my lower spine.
I looked over my shoulder, daring to make eye contact again. "Is this okay?" I gently ask.
He held my gaze for a moment, his hand resting gently on my calf, before responding, "Perfect." I thought I could see him give a harsh swallow, but surely I must have mistaken it.
Turning to face the ground through the cushioned face hole of the massage bed I felt myself flush again. This man has said little to nothing to me and yet I am disolving into a pile of goo on the floor. Truly pathetic. Call me the Wicked Witch because I, too, will apparently die if I get a little wet.
As Harry gently kneads my legs I feel the ache between my thighs becoming harder to ignore and debate ending the session. This is supposed to be relaxing but I'm so wound up and in my head that I fear I'm making everything worse.
After several more minutes of imagining what other areas my masseuse could work on I let out a frustrated sigh and resigned myself to end the session. I begin to lift myself up when I feel him place a firm hand on the back of my upper thigh. I freeze, my hands gripping the edge of the table but waiting for any indication of what's happening.
"Wh-"
"Just lay back down. I know. I've got you."
I tilt my head in his direction, still too scared to make eye contact for fear that I'm imagining what he's implying.
"Harry what do you..."
He moves his hand up my thigh a fraction of an inch.
Clearing his throat he asks, "Is it alright..." he moves another inch, "if I touch you?"
The question hangs in the air as I try to imagine a world in which things like this happen to people like me.
"Yes," I say in a breathless whisper. Scared that someone will hear. Scared that I'll make him disappear.
He places a hand on my shoulder and delicately pushes me back down onto the table, holding me between the shoulderblades as he slides his hand between my thighs. When I feel the tips of his cool fingers caress me my body tenses on instinct and I clench my legs around him. His minty cool breath hits my face as he bends down and whispers, "relax," in my ear as his index finger begins to glide up and down my now soaked panties.
After a deep breath I begin to ease the tension in my legs, letting them fall farther apart to give him more access.
His hand moves slowly, exploring everything still hidden from him by thin cotton. It’s a dramatic difference from the pounding of my pulse ringing in my ears. My breath comes out in choppy puffs as I harshly swallow and try to calm myself down. The friction of cotton against me sends zings of pleasure through my body and I clench my fingers trying to hold onto this side of the earth as it begins to spin around me. But the pleasure is outweighed by my need to feel him on me. In me.
Without much thought I gently ease my hips up from their propped position on the pillow, my body taking over and letting him know I need more. That’s when I feel his fingers gliding along the seam of my panties, teasing me.
“Can I-”
“Yes,” I let out in a low moan. I’m not above begging at this point. I appreciate the checking in. I do. But if he doesn’t touch me right now I fear I will fall apart, fractured and broken, unable to hold together the ache that's been building inside me.
When he pulls aside my drenched underwear and begins to slide a finger through my arousal everything else in the room turns to fog. There is only the soft glow of blue light, me, and Harry. I am in the clouds and he is propelling me higher. When he finally makes his way to my throbbing clit the ground falls away beneath me.
Harry’s free hand trails up my back until gently tangling with the hair at the base of my neck, giving it a firm hold. His other hand is working slow, torturous circles around my aching nub. Every time I start to feel the pressure build in my lower belly he moves away, collecting more of my arousal before starting the process all over again.
Swirl.
Swirl.
Swirl.
Stop.
Again. And again.
I can’t help it when a whimper escapes my lips as he does it for the fourth time. At the sound Harry gently releases my hair allowing me to look over my shoulder at him, where his sparkling green eyes are already trained on mine. A small smirk is on his lips. He’s enjoying working me up. As we look at eachother I can see the challenge in his eyes. He’s pushing me and I have no stamina to put up a fight. Another desperate whine escaped my throat as I breathlessly choke out a, “please.”
Please is always the magic word.
He keeps our eyes connected as he removes his hand just long enough to drag down my now soaked underwear. One finger slides inside of my dripping pussy, and then a second. My eyes roll back and then close as my jaw falls open, taking in the pleasure and the pressure of the fullness. His fingers are long and hit that spot inside of me that makes stars explode behind my eyes with ease. As he begins to massage my g-spot his thumb resumes the tortuous circling of my clit and I bury my head in the cushions to attempt stifling my moans. My hips begin to rock back, urging him to… I don’t know what. But I need more of him.
Suddenly a firm hand slips around my waist and between my breasts, pulling me up so I’m forced to prop myself on my forearms. His hand continues up and gently locks around my throat. A sob of appreciation escapes me as he begins to fuck me harder with his fingers. Tears pool in my eyes as the pressure in my belly becomes almost too much, begging for release. Harry tightens his thumb and ring finger against my airways, giving me a delicious high as I feel him lean over me again, breathing in sync with me.
“You’re so tense…” he gently pants next to my ear. “You really shouldn’t let it get this bad you know. We’ve got to get all of these knots out…”
Just then Harry releases my throat and tears spill as the headrush overcomes me. I’m gasping, trying to bring myself back to reality, when I’m suddenly pushed back down to the table by my shoulders. Harry holds me firmly to the table as I hear him shuffle around behind me.
Then his mouth is on me.
He moves to wrap his arms underneath my thighs, his rough fingers digging into my soft skin as he spreads me open and buries his face in my cunt, his tongue gliding up and down - savoring me - before settling on my throbbing clit.
I hear a moan escape him as he firmly sucks my clit between his lips. The pressure of his tongue is the only thing keeping me grounded. Everything else falls away and all that matters is that plump pink mouth pulling me towards nirvana.
His left arm remains holding me tight as his right hand slides up the back of my thigh, leaving a train of goosebumps in their wake. A firm hand gently kneads at my ass before sliding his fingers back into my entrance. The feeling of his mouth and his fingers are so intense I try to lock my legs, but his grip is firm. I am at his mercy and god I fucking love it. I bite on my palm to stifle my moans, not wanting to get caught in here.
Harry is all about the tease. Working me up and leaving me wanting again. My body is all stars and electric currents, twinkling so bright and zapping me back into clarity. But if I am the stars, Harry is the sun, blinding me to every sensation except that mouth. That fucking mouth.
The only sounds are choked sobs, panting breath, and the slick slide of skin on dripping skin. My body is sticky with sweat but the room keeps me cool, despite feeling like every nerve ending is on fire.
I begin to move my hips again, riding his fingers and his mouth as he flicks and sucks and slides in and out of me all at once. Harry groans in appreciation, his fingers digging into my flesh harder. I reach back and grab Harry by his bun, holding him to me, too scared of the moment slipping away. With a low chuckle Harry nips at my swollen nub and then applies pressure with his tongue in a pulsing motion.
The sensation starts in my toes, a gentle fizz like bubbles rising in a glass of celebratory champagne. The tingling spreads, climbing higher and higher. As it reaches my legs, they tense on their own, every muscle coiled tight with anticipation. I don’t notice I’m holding my breath until a dark haze begins to blur the edges of my vision.
And then everything inside me shatters.
The orgasm that hits fractures me into a million pieces, too powerful for a sound or a breath to escape. I am frozen with pleasure, completely at his mercy. Harry’s fingers continue to thrust into me, helping me ride out the orgasm as long as I could. Removing his mouth, he blows a cool breath on my sensitive clit and I throb around his fingers as I start to come down. When he finally takes away his hand he softly massages my calves and I work to regain control of my breathing.
Neither of us look at each other for several minutes, the only sound to be heard is our jagged breaths.
In.
(hold)
Out…
In.
(hold)
Out…
I gather enough strength to sit up and remove the pillow from under my hips and look over to see Harry leaning against the stone wall, watching me closely. His hands are at his sides and he’s subtly flexing his fingers, clearly unsure of what to do next. Despite his black pants and the dim lighting of the room I can still make out that he is in need of a release. The bulge beneath his scrubs looks painfully restrained.
I slide off of the massage table and tentatively walk over to him, never breaking eye contact.
Worry crosses his face as he opens his mouth to speak. “I don’t normally…” but his voice trails off as I slowly lower myself to my knees in front of him. I never take my eyes off of his and can’t help but smile inside as I see his chest begin to rise and fall at a rapid pace.
I place a soft hand on his thigh and tilt my head, giving my best doe eyes. “You really shouldn’t let it get this bad you know…” I glance down and back up, repeating his own words back to him. Sliding my hands up his thighs I let my fingers run along the waistband of his pants. “Can I…?”
Harry lets out a strangled, “yes” as his head falls back against the wall. A few strands of hair have fallen out of his bun and gently curl around his face. I almost lose sight of my task as I take in just how beautiful this absolute stranger is. A faint flush creeps up his neck, his lips are full and slightly swollen, and his eyes carry a subtle, dreamy haze.
I attempt to return his torture by taking my time untying the knot from his scrub pants and pulling them down, but when I see the tiger tattoo on his thigh all plans are thrown out the window. I’m suddenly salivating and desperate to see all of him. More tattoos reveal themselves to me - soft words by his knees and jagged lyrics along his ankles, disappearing behind socks. I bend down to press my lips to one knee, then the other, without thinking. Taking hold of his thighs I begin to kiss my way up, savoring the feel of his muscular thighs as the clench in anticipation. I rise over the tiger and past his hips until my mouth landed on the ferns resting just above his black boxer briefs. My tongue traces the lines of the ink as my hands work down his underwear.
Pulling back I take a moment to admire his cock that has so patiently - and painfully - been begging for some attention. His heavy erection twitches as I take a soft lick of the precum that’s starting to drip before sliding my mouth over him and taking him into the back of my throat. Any attempt at going slow was now abandoned. His hips buck at my swiftness and I feel his knee give a tremble beneath my hands. I pull off of him, giving the tip of his cock a swirl of my tongue before sliding back down and setting a steady pace.
As my nails trail softly down his thighs, his hands dart to my hair, gripping it firmly. I can sense the tension radiating through him, his body taut with restraint. Pulling away, I pause, waiting for his gaze to lock with mine. Reaching up, I touch his arms, letting my hands glide down to meet his. With a small, reassuring nod, I signal it’s okay, and his grip tightens in response. He guides me back onto him and gives a few testing rocks of his hips to make sure I’m okay. A shuddering sigh escapes his lips when he finally pulls me to the hilt of his cock and holds me there for a few moments. I swallow around him and he begins to move his hips again.
My eye’s never leave his face as he slides his cock in and out of my mouth. I want him to know my gratitude. I want him to feel as good as he made me feel. I can feel my arousal building again as I watch him, amazed that I’m the one making these emotions of pleasure cross his face. His eyes are closed, his mouth gently hanging open as soft puffs of breath and stuttered gasps fall from his lips. The serenity of his face are a stark contrast to the fevered pace he is keeping. Tears fall and saliva dips down my chin as he roughly fucks my throat, but I’m so turned on I can’t stop myself from reaching down to relieve the pressure between my legs.
When Harry sees me touching myself he withdraws my mouth from him, a string of spit connecting my mouth to his still swollen cock. His eyes are dark as he tugs my head further back and looks from my face to my fingers working fast circles on my clit. Giving him a smirk I lift my fingers to my mouth, but as I go in for a lick I’m met with his tongue already there, desperate to taste me again. For the first time our mouths meet in a desperate kiss and Harry drops down to his knees to meet me. Hands and lips and tongues become tangled as we pull each other closer, closer, closer.
Harry hoists me up and places me so I’m straddling his thigh, his hands tightly gripping my hips and sliding my dripping cunt along his tiger tattoo. I wrap one arm around his shoulder, my fingers fumbling with the hair tie as I release his long curls. I pull away from our kiss and take a moment to admire him before spitting in my hand and gripping his still needy cock. We work our bodies in sync, my hips sliding up and down with every stroke of my hand on him. Desperate moans escape me as my head falls forward and rests in the crook of his neck.
I grind my clit down harder on Harry’s thigh, savoring the blissful friction as I roll my hips but so desperate for a second release. His hips had started rocking into my hand letting me know he was just as eager to come. Without breaking my stride I let the spit pool behind my teeth before releasing it to dribble down, meeting the hand that was frantically working him towards his release. Harry leaned forward and captured my lips again, his hungry togue sliding into my mouth.
Losing control, I moan into his mouth as the champagne bubbles float upwards again. Harry’s grip turns bruising as he pulls me down harder along his thigh while I maintain my rocking motion. When the bubbles finally reached the surface and overflowed I let out a silent gasp, unaware that I had been holding my breath again. I feel Harry’s cock pulsing in my hand and open my eyes to meet his as we finish together. Our hair is stuck to the sweat along our foreheads and our cheeks have a matching flush. I can’t bring myself to break his gaze as we both release soft, uneven breaths, waiting for our breathing to steady.
Several moments pass before a giggle escapes me, followed by another, and another. Harry shakes his head but begin to laugh as well. And so we sit there, naked, on the floor of this massage room, laughing until our stomachs hurt and tears run down our faces.
As I walked back to my car my cheeks still ached from smiling. Harry and I hadn’t spoken a word about it while we cleaned up, just shared quiet chuckles whenever our eyes met. At the locker room, his fingers brushed my arm, lingering for a fleeting moment before he turned and disappeared back into the spa center. I drove away with a sense of calm I hadn’t felt since before grad school, a weight lifted off my shoulders—and a package for five more sessions tucked in my pocket.
After all, some knots need more than one visit to work out.
summary: in which Eden just graduated and spends her summer holiday with her father and stepmother in their italian house, and Harry is the mysterious, older neighbour her father doesn't want her to talk to.
A/N: this has been on my wattpad for a while but i recently rr it and re-fell in love with it, so i wanted her to have a tumblr-moment too :))
word count: 22,915
CW's: age gap, SMUT! oral (f & m receiving), rimming (f & m receiving) spitting, choking, degrading, unprotected sex, public sex, voyeurism, anal play (if you squint), spanking (if you squint harder)
Eden had to admit that standing in front of the house she’d spent the next few months at, she wasn’t seeing what she had expected.
Her shoulder-length chocolate hair was wispy and in her face, her hand hastily moving up to tuck it away behind her ear, “Oh.” She mumbled.
“You like it, hon?” Her father closed the back of the car, “It’s cute, huh?”
Eden nibbled her lip, eventually pushing her sunglasses up in her hair to keep it away a little bit in the warm wind. “Yeah.” She breathed, settling on that answer. Her dad chuckled and walked up next to her, “I know, I know. It needs a little bit of love, but the inside is so charming. We fell in love with it and you will too, promise.” He placed a kiss to her cheek before hauling her suitcases in, “We’re so happy you’re here! Colleen is very excited to spend some time with you.”
Eden exhaled and forced a smile, “I just… I thought you said we were close to the city?” She walked up behind her father towards the small, typical Italian house. Sure it had a lot of character, but for one – it looked tiny and second of all, Eden had paid attention during the car ride to notice they hadn’t passed by anything that looked like a bar or a store in at least forty minutes.
“Yeah, you just take the bike down the hill and then the train. There’s a little grocery shop down the hill with like a coffee house too, but the nearest city is about an hour by train.” He casually explained.
“An hour?!” Eden shrieked, being ignored by her dad who simply kept walking. Eden tilted her head back with a groan, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“You’ll love it here!” He shouted in an attempt to convince her. Eden rolled her eyes and took her bag, walking into the house behind him. Her nose scrunched up at the welcome-mat that said live, love, laugh! in front of the front door.
The coolness of the house welcomed Eden though as she stepped inside with her slippers on. She closed the heavy door behind her. The house was tiled in a reddish-brown colour, which was so typical for a house like this.
Eden exhaled another breath as she carefully stepped in, following the shadow of her father. The house smelled like citrus, Eden noticed. It was fresh and clean and she clutched her bag around her shoulder. She turned the corner to be met with a small kitchen, Colleen by the counter with an apron on.
“Eden!” She gasped, opening her arms wide to hug the daughter of her partner. Eden forced a smile, “Colleen, hi.” She gently hugged her back as Colleen squeezed her painfully. Her bouncy blonde curls smothered Eden and her perfume was heavy in her nose.
Colleen’s arms felt tight around Eden and she let go a few seconds after Eden was already uncomfortable. She took a quick step back, having near forgotten how… smothering her stepmother was. Colleen was loud, bubbly and very present in any company. Eden was much more soft-spoken than her and preferred to sit in silence or by herself.
No matter how badly she tried to like Colleen – who essentially did nothing wrong – Eden almost felt like she was too kind. And no one could be that kind. Eden had to do nothing more but let out a little yelp as she stubbed her toe and Colleen was ready to drive her to the hospital.
And Eden felt somehow frustrated by it. And it frustrated her even more that she had no good reason to dislike Colleen who did her best to be liked by Eden, the only daughter of the man she loved and moved to Italy with.
“Welcome to our crib!” Her father grinned as he put her bags down and spread his arms, “Darling, we are so happy to have you here! You’re gonna have the summer of her life.”
Eden forced another smile.
When her father decided to move to Italy a few months ago, Eden had felt multiple emotions at one. She felt sad to be far away from him and not see him as much anymore. At the same time, she saw an opportunity. An opportunity for warm, Italian summers. An opportunity for a tan, lots of red wine, limoncello and Aperol Spritz by a pool as she strolled around little towns and met strangers in hot bars.
What she didn’t expect was a remote, little house with no sign of human life in sight.
Eden let her eyes glide around the house. It was full of personality, like her father had promised. She saw little touches of him and Colleen around the interior, but mostly they had adapted a very typical Italian style and left most of their personal belongings back in England.
“Haven’t even been able to properly congratulate you on graduating.” Her father stood behind Eden, placing his hands on her shoulders. Eden felt a warmth spreading through her chest, welling up with pride as she breathed out a chuckle, turning around, “Thanks, dad.”
“A famous photographer in the family.” He joked and Eden blushed a little, a smile playing on her lips. Colleen smiled as she took the coffee pot in hand, “Any thoughts on what you’re going to do now?”
It was the inevitable question, and one that made Eden’s stomach clench. Her smile dropped immediately and her father shot her a sympathetic look, squeezing her shoulders again, “Eden will find her way. It’s summer break now after studying for years in a row. Freedom, hm? You deserve it.” He softly defended her. Colleen said nothing and Eden smiled at her father, “Yeah. Just a few weeks of uninterrupted sun.”
“You’ve come to the right address.” Her father smiled. Eden tried to feel excited, but standing in the house she was meant to spend a few months in, her enthusiasm deflated a tad. She rubbed the back of her neck, “I’ll just put my things upstairs?”
“Yeah, you can go explore.” Colleen waved her hand to the narrow stairs, “It’s upstairs to the left.”
“Thanks.” Eden softly smiled. She took one of her bags, leaving the other one downstairs for now. The stone steps didn’t creak like the stairs at the house in England did. The heat of the upstairs of the house greeted Eden as she reached the landing.
The hallway was narrow as Eden took a left, glancing into the first room. It was quite the small room and was basically filled with boxes and storage, things her father and Colleen had yet to unpack. Eden exhaled a breath and continued, the second room being much more tidy.
It had a small double bed pushed against the wall opposite the window. White sheets covered the mattress and there was an old wooden dresser and a little desk in the corner. It wasn’t too decorated for the rest, but Eden enjoyed the simplicity of it.
Walking into the room, she realized this was home for the next few months. And all of a sudden, a feeling of homesickness washed over her for no specific reason. She sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the blank walls. Sun came through the cracked window.
Coming to Italy for a few months after graduating was probably the most spontaneous thing Eden had ever done. But it was all fitting in with how she felt right now. Chaotic.
All throughout college, Eden had one goal. Graduating. And it was as if she didn’t realize that she worked towards that for the longest time and once she finally reached it, it felt oddly… unsatisfying.
She had reached that goal, and now there was just a big glob of nothingness, of no perspective, of just… empty. And Eden spiralled. While her friends enjoyed their graduation and their months of holidays and freedom and no more exams or deadlines, Eden bolted.
She broke up with her boyfriend, booked a ticket and left everything and everyone behind. And once again, coming to Italy was her perspective and her goal and now that she was here, it’s like she felt empty again. Eden bit her wobbling lip, overcome by emotions. And she sighed before leaning her elbows on her knees, “What the fuck are you doing.” She whispered to herself.
The loud bark of a dog pulled Eden out of her thoughts, jumping up slightly from the noise. She narrowed her eyes, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before getting up and walking up to the window.
The view from Eden’s window showed the narrow grass path that wrapped around the entire house, connecting the small front yard to the backyard. A fence separated their yard from the neighbour’s, which is where the dog was barking.
It wasn’t just one dog and Eden’s lips curled up into a smile. She saw a large border collie excitedly wagging its tail and jumping around the garden, playing with a much smaller Maltese dog attempting to keep up with the collie’s pace.
Admittedly, the neighbour had the house on the street that everyone wanted and the one Eden was currently in, was like its ugly sibling. It was about double the size of her father’s and Colleen’s house and the yard was even bigger. And to top it off, the house had a pool.
One glance into the backyard of their own house and Eden winced under her breath, realizing there was no pool here. Her chest sunk a bit as she exhaled, really trying to see a silver lining here.
Deciding Eden had to get out of the mood she was in, she simply put her bags down and opened one up, pulling out a pair of denim shorts to change out of her jeans and be a little less dressed in these hot temperatures.
She put on a pair of slippers and redid the clip in her hair, hopping down the stairs again. Her father and Colleen were talking in the kitchen and Eden walked past them, offering a brief smile before her hand reached for the doorknob to find the garden, “I’m just going to check out the garden.” She spoke.
Colleen glanced at her father, who simply nodded and let his daughter exit the house.
The hot, humid air of southern Italy hit Eden’s face after leaving the coolness of the house. She did inhale a deep breath though, feeling as if she needed it. The grass underneath her feet was crispy from the heat and crickets could be heard all around. The house had a beautiful view of the hill with a bunch of grape vines. The little town could be seen from here, all the way at the bottom of the hill.
Eden put her hands on her hips and looked around, her face lighting up when she saw the two dogs again out of the corner of her eye.
“Oh, hi.” Eden cooed, walking towards the fence. The border collie excitedly wagged its tail, jumping up a little as Eden approached. She crouched down, smiling at both dogs who panted and continued running circles. The smaller Maltese stayed close and Eden put her hand through the fence to pet its head.
“Hey!” A voice made her jump up and Eden quickly rose to her feet, seeing a man emerge from the house next door.
The dogs quickly approached him, circling around his legs. He wore a pair of bright blue shorts and a large white button-up, sunglasses on his nose and no shoes on.
“Oh.” Eden swallowed, “M-Mi scusi signore.”
The man continued walking up to her, a thick frown embedded in his forehead, “Shit.” Eden muttered to herself, fiddling with her fingers, “Stavo solo osservando i – uh… i tuoi cani.” She tried in her best italian, “Mi dispiace. Non… non avrei…” She stuttered before exhaling, “fuck, I don’t know how to say that in italian.”
“Your Italian is shit.” His voice sounded deep as he stood a little bit away from her, his hands on his hips.
Eden exhaled a sigh of relief, “Oh, you’re British? Thank god.”
He didn’t respond and Eden cleared her throat, “Like I was attempting to say,” she chuckled, “I shouldn’t have just touched your dogs. I’m sorry. They just looked very cute.”
The man took a step closer and flicked his eyes to his border collie, “Did you give them any food?”
“Food?” Eden raised her brows, “No, I didn’t.”
“Good. They’re not allowed food from strangers.”
There was a moment of silence between them and Eden’s eyes dragged up his body. She saw tan legs, scribbly tattoos around his knees and muscles that bulged without him even flexing.
“I-I just moved here, by the way.” Eden pointed her thumb to the house behind her, “I’m sure you’ve met my father and step mother. I’m Eden.” She extended her hand to shake his. He hesitated for a moment before stepping up to her, “You moved in? You live here?” He checked.
Eden used her free hand to tuck some hair behind her ear, “Yeah, for the summer. I think. I haven’t really decided yet.” She shrugged before nibbling her lip. He swallowed and also extended his hand, shaking hers, “Harry.” He introduced himself.
“Nice to meet you.” Eden smiled. “And sorry again.”
“That’s alright.” His voice sounded a bit softer, all the anger having disappeared from him all of a sudden. Harry even put his sunglasses up in his hair and more of his face came into view. Mossy green eyes met her dark brown ones. The slight wrinkles by his eyes indicated that he was a little older than her. Harry had chestnut hair that was wavy on top of his head.
Eden’s eyes dropped to the moustache above his top lip. She fought her blush, realising that the man in front of her was plain gorgeous and she just got off a flight and didn’t wear any make-up.
“So – uh, have you lived here long? Or just vacationing? Since you’re British.” Eden tried to start a conversation. Harry’s attention went back to his dog circling his legs, his palm brushing the head of the border collie, “A while, yeah. And no, not vacationing. I live here full-time.”
“Oh.” Eden nodded at the information, “Your house is really nice.” Her gaze drifted to the house behind Harry before darting to the pool. She offered him a small smile, “Perhaps you could show me around a little bit?”
Harry glanced at her, tilting his head to the side, “Show you around?”
“Yeah.” Eden casually shrugged. She popped her hip out and pushed her chest up a little, “Or I could go for a walk with your dogs if you want me to. It’s not like I have anything to do here.”
Harry just stared at her for a bit and Eden felt her heartbeat increasing at the depth of his gaze. It felt like he could see right through her and her flirting ways. As a last resort, she shifted on her feet a bit, “Or if you’d ever be so kind to let me take a dip in your pool on a hot day, that’d be appreciated.”
“A dip in my pool?” He questioned with raised brows, a hint of amusement to his voice. Eden breathed out a chuckle, biting her lip again before shrugging, “Yes. It’s not like you can take a dip in mine.”
Harry felt himself near choking on a breath, her words having a clear double meaning and it seemed like Eden realised it too, gauging his reaction. Harry swiftly licked his lip as he exhaled, “We’d have to be acquainted for that. I don’t really invite strangers into my house.”
“Well, we are acquainted, aren’t we? You know my name, I know yours. We shook hands.” Eden tried to joke and Harry narrowed his eyes again, trying to analyse Eden. She was… flirting with him. Bold.
“We’ll see.” He ended up muttering, offering her a small smirk, “You might have to try a little harder than that to be acquainted.”
Eden batted her lashes, “If you’d let me.”
There was silence between them, both staring at the other. Harry was intrigued, for sure. She didn’t have a shy mouth and she was pretty for sure. But he also knew it was a bad idea. Just as he thought that, the back door of Eden’s house opened, her father – Ron – popping his head out, “Darling? Dinner’s ready.” He called for her, giving Harry a stiff, polite nod.
“Yep.” Eden smiled at him before turning back to Harry, “So, I’ll see you around?”
He softly cleared his throat, “Sure.” It was nothing but a mumble, hardly convincing himself. If she was Ron’s daughter, she couldn’t be older than… twenty-five. Chances were she was a bit younger even. And he was well in his thirties.
With that, Eden turned around and headed back into the house. Harry couldn’t help but stare at her ass before exhaling a breath, shaking his head to himself. A young, hot new neighbour wasn’t in his cards for the summer.
“C’mon, girl.” He scratched Sadie over her head, the border collie still circling his legs before they also headed back inside.
“Sooo…” Eden spoke as she pulled back the chair at the table to have her first dinner in Italy with her father and Colleen, “I met the neighbour.”
“We noticed.” Her father mumbled, “sounds like he said more to you in those few minutes than he’s done to us in months.”
Eden raised her brows, “Really?”
Colleen scooped the spaghetti up on her plate, “Mhm. He’s a bit quiet. Which is alright, you know. Rather a quiet neighbour than a bad one.”
“True. But he’s… I don’t know.” Eden’s father shrugged, “He’s unfriendly almost. Like… moody. Every time he says hi or smiles, it’s forced. And he’s always on his own. It’s just weird.”
“He’s just a bit of a loner.” Colleen defended Harry as she sent Ron a slight scowl. Eden started eating her spaghetti, “What does he do for a living?”
Ron shrugged, “See? It’s things like that, that we don’t know. That’s not normal. We have no idea what he does for a living or if he even works. He’s here all the time.”
“Well, maybe he’s got some underlying health issues like you.” Eden softly spoke up, carefully eyeing her dad. Eden’s father had multiple heart attacks in the past which is why he was unfit to work another day in his life. He got paid by the government instead until he retired. Colleen had inherited the entire fortune of her deceased husband who had no other family and they had no children.
Colleen shot Eden a wink, “Exactly. Don’t judge a book by its cover. That man just likes being by himself and he’s not the most sociable person. That’s no crime.”
“Still, I think he’s bad news.” He kept his ground, “So I’d really prefer you not hanging out with him or anything.”
Eden rolled her eyes, “Dad, seriously. I know I’m living in your house right now but I’m twenty-four. You can’t just tell me who I can or can’t talk to.”
Ron just mumbled something under his breath and ate his food as Eden chewed slowly, her thoughts with Harry. Tanned skin, tattoos visible through the white linen of his large shirt, deep green eyes. She kept seeing him and her legs near jittered to go back to the fence and continue talking to him.
He was gorgeous, so, so attractive. And Eden had an instant crush.
Later that night, the fatigue of the flight and travel caught up to her and she tiredly moved up the stairs. Her father had brought her bags up a bit earlier but Eden near fell asleep in front of the television before hauling herself upstairs.
The ventilator in her room was a gift from the heavens as she sat down on the mattress and exhaled a heavy sigh. She stifled a yawn and undid the clip in her hair, running her hand through it. Once Eden got up to close the blinds, she paused in front of the window.
Because there, separated by two little lawns and a fence, she could see Harry through the window in his house. Eden tilted her head to the side, wondering if it was his bedroom. And what it looked like. And if he spent the majority of the time there by himself.
As if on cue – or alerted by the light on in Eden’s room – Harry’s head shot up. He wore the same clothes as earlier and squinted for a bit, making Eden chuckle. She smiled softly and lifted her hand in a wave, noticing Harry breathing out a chuckle before he mimicked the move and waved back.
Maybe summer here would be more fun than expected after all.
***
Harry couldn’t think straight.
It had been a week. A full fucking week of tossing and turning in his bed as he had his mind with Eden. For some stupid reason. She was pretty, sure. But Harry knew there was one more thing about her which is why he couldn’t get her out of his head, yet refused to admit it.
He refused to admit he couldn’t get her out of his head because she was unattainable.
She was at least ten years younger than him and the last thing he needed was yet another woman misreading signals and assuming they were in a serious relationship before he inevitably broke her heart again because love just wasn’t in the cards for him.
Not that he was so hurt by someone it couldn’t happen anymore, but Harry just wasn’t a romantic. People bothered him quickly and he always preferred to be on his own. He sometimes liked dating someone, but after a while they always wanted more. And he could never give it to them.
For most people, it was normal. You like someone, you hang out with them and at a certain point you want to be with them all the time. That point never came for Harry. He liked hanging out but somehow always felt a sense of relief when they left. He just preferred living by himself and controlling when or where he met up with someone.
Which is why he didn’t date, he just fucked. And even then – when he clearly stated beforehand that he wasn’t looking for a relationship – he always ended up being the asshole who broke their hearts.
He couldn’t exactly have a casual fling or a one night stand with the girl who lived next door. Especially because her father always shot him dirty looks and it’d get out. And Harry really liked this house and didn’t want to move. Not even one bit.
He didn’t miss England anyway. He didn’t miss anyone or anything, he never had. Moving countries on his own was the easiest decision ever. The only thing he took with him, were both his dogs.
His finger mindlessly scratched underneath Lola’s little chin, the fluffy Maltese on the bed with him as he stared up at the ceiling fan.
The worst part is that he had seen her all week. Every morning, she jogged past his house and down the hill to get her workout in. Skimpy shorts and a sport’s bra, he could see her physique and forced himself not to drool. And every evening, he saw her through the window. Her waves got a little more spontaneous before she closed the blinds and the lights turned off.
And then he laid in bed, thinking of her. She was forbidden fruit and it only made him want her more. The more he told himself he couldn’t, the more he wondered what she was like.
So luck would have it that when Harry decided to clear his head and walk down to the little village for some groceries, Eden just exited her house in a sundress and slippers, a tote bag over her shoulder.
“Hi!” She bubbled, waving at him. Harry winced under his breath, wondering if he could just… slip back inside his house and leave her be. If he could pretend he wasn’t on his way down and came up with an excuse to not go with her – because he knew that’s what she’d ask.
Eden approached him with a soft smile. Her hair was back in a little butterfly clip and she pushed her funky green sunglasses up in her hair, “Are you also going to the village?”
Harry exhaled a breath, running his fingers through his hair, “Yeah.”
“Oh, great. Me too. Trying to brave the heat by going before noon.” Eden seemed to near have a skip in her step, her excitement and spontaneity something Harry had to get used to. He was by himself so often, he just was used to calm and quiet. Eden was like a hurricane, bubbly and very present. He noticed immediately that when they had walked a few steps, her mouth just didn’t close.
“So how did you end up here?” The inevitable question came and Harry stuffed his hands in the pockets of his shorts. His worn-out Vans slid over the gravel road they were walking down on and he kept a bit of a distance from Eden. Not that he couldn’t inhale her citrus-smelling shampoo from a mile away. She smelled fresh and soft and he forced his thoughts to stay pure. The same way he forced his eyes to not focus on the deep V-line of her sundress that showed off the swells of her breasts and he had even gotten a peek at the lace border of her bra. The same way he focussed his eyes not to stare at the length of her legs when a gust of wind exposed the slit in her right leg to bare most of her thigh.
Instead he just shrugged, “Prefer it here. The weather’s nice, food’s good, people are okay. And the dogs love it here.”
“Hm.” Eden nodded, “And do you work here?”
“My companies are based in London. I own a few but I don’t actively work in them anymore. I appointed different COO’s to do that for me, so I can stay here.”
Eden found herself impressed. He couldn’t be older than thirty-five yet here he was, basically retiring in Italy with his two dogs. He owned multiple companies but didn’t work, just made the money for it.
“And you’re only here for the summer?” He changed the subject. To be fair, it was awkward as fuck between him and Eden. Yet she didn’t even seem to pick up on that, telling stories with wide hand gestures in all her excitement while he was slowly dying inside because he wanted to drag her in a bush and kiss her stupid.
She nodded at his question, “Mhm. I think. I mean, I can stay longer if I want to, it’s not like I have anything or anyone waiting for me.” She shrugged her shoulders, “I just graduated and I’m not sure what to do in life, so…”
“What degree do you have?”
“Photography.”
“Hm.” Harry hummed, “’S a tough field.”
“Sure is.”
It was silent again before he spoke up, “So what kind of photography do you do?”
“So I started out doing portraits but… I don’t know, over the years I just realized I’m better at motion pictures. So things that move, lots of light and people around. Like in clubs or something. I’d really like to be a tour photographer maybe. All of last year I was at this strip club every week to take pictures, that was fun too.”
Harry frowned, “At a strip club?”
“Yeah, like for advertising. I like to take these sort of blurry pictures. So for stripping, that was amazing. Because it’s not too naked or provocative, but more so erotic and artsy. It’s what the owner was looking for so I was in there one night every weekend for the website and socials and stuff.” Eden explained.
He didn’t really say anything, but soaked in the information. Their walk continued in silence until reaching the village, Eden fanning herself with her hand as they slowly strolled around. The markets were still up and so Harry and Eden each took their turn in ordering a few things.
“Red wine?” Harry questioned as Eden put the bottle in her bag. She curled her lips inside her mouth, “Mhm. Dad and Colleen are out tonight, they’re going to this play. So I have the house to myself and I’m cooking and drinking and listening to Arctic Monkeys.”
“Try to keep the volume down.” Harry mumbled, signalling the vendor that he wanted to buy some fish. Eden snorted under her breath, “Yes, dad.”
Harry rolled his eyes and made his order before looking at Eden over his shoulder, “Are you always such a brat?”
“When it’s called for.” She sweetly responded before taking a step closer to Harry again, “But trust me, most of the time I’m really good and do as I’m told.” Her voice took a near purring hint and Harry’s ears turned pink from the way her eyes dropped to his lips before she bit hers and turned around, walking up to where they sold the fruit.
Harry accepted the fish he purchased and strolled behind her, nodding at the vendor as Eden made her purchase of some cubes of watermelon.
“Want some?” She turned around and offered Harry one but he shook his head, “No, thanks.”
Eden shrugged, popping a cold cube of watermelon into her mouth with a soft moan, “Wow, that’s good.”
They eventually moved to sit on a bench, overlooking a square. Harry’s heartbeat bounced as Eden sat close to him, still slowly eating the watermelon. He saw a drop of the juice running down her chin and his fingers dug into his thigh to stop himself from scooping it up.
Eden couldn’t help but behave this way around him. She hadn’t missed the way he looked at her and there was no denying the clear sexual tension between them. She couldn’t get him out of her head, so maybe one night together was just all it took to soothe that ache and have her moving on. So she flirted, and flirted, and flirted some more.
Harry didn’t exactly seem to pick up what she was putting down, but watching her now as she ate the fruit, he near seemed in pain. And Eden loved it. She swept her tongue over her bottom lip as she finished the jar of watermelon and then turned to Harry, “How long have you lived in Italy for?”
“Couple of years.” He responded, taking a sip of the water bottle he had brought. He stretched his legs out, ankles hooked over one another as he leaned back into the bench, soaking up some sun. Eden slowly nodded at his words, “And do you like it here? Or are you just wanted by the police in England or something?”
Harry chuckled, “Not wanted by the police. Just wanted some peace and quiet and it’s not like I left many people behind. I fly back every now and then but decided to come live here full-time about six years ago.”
“And you’ve always lived in that house on the hill?”
“Yep.” He nodded before clearing his throat, “How about you? Are you having fun here?”
“It’s… yeah.” Eden carefully spoke, nibbling her lip. Harry let her take her time and eventually she took a breath, “I just feel like it’s not really the solution to my problem. I thought I’d get more clarity here but in honesty, I’m just running. Graduating is fun and all, but I just feel insanely lost at this moment, and I have no idea what I want to do with my life whereas it seems like everyone around me does.”
Harry hummed, “Trust me, lots of people are faking that.”
“Maybe.” Eden leaned back a little more, her leg swinging a little as she continued, “It’s like I had a bit of a crisis and needed a complete change, thinking it was going to solve everything. But my problems are still here, only now I’m in the sun in Italy.”
“Seems as good a spot as any to think about life.” Harry offered and Eden smiled, “Mhm. I just got sick of my friends all knowing exactly how their life was going to pan out. Some had insane plans for the summer, wanting to do festivals and parties and I’m usually one for that but I just skipped it all this year and came here instead. Even dumped my boyfriend. Just… a completely new start.”
Harry turned his head to face her, “You dumped your boyfriend? How long were you together for?”
Eden puckered her pink lips in thought, “Probably a little over a year, so not that long.”
“Was he a dick?”
“No.” Eden chuckled, shaking her head, “He was nice. We just… didn’t end up having that much in common. Like I was attracted to him and he was attracted to me and the sex was so amazing, but there wasn’t much more than that.”
Harry found himself slightly surprised. It was his issue with any partner ever. The sex was great, the emotional connection just wasn’t there. At least not for him. With Harry though, it never lasted over a year. And especially when he still lived in London, word just got around and no one really wanted to go on a date with him anymore. He was labelled a player and a heartbreaker.
“I mean, sex is an important part of any relationship.” Harry argued softly, “But I suppose it needs more than that.”
Eden nodded in agreement, “It does. But it is an important part.” Her eyes flicked to him, “You know… You could join me this evening. I’ve got plenty of stuff to cook for two.” She innocently shrugged.
Harry exhaled shakily, “For two, hm?” He tilted his head to the side, “Are you trying to seduce me?”
“I wouldn’t dare.” Eden softly smiled, tipping her head back to catch some sun while simultaneously pushing her tits out. Harry quickly looked away and Eden shrugged, “But you know, always welcome at the house of Eden. You know what it means, right?”
Harry swallowed, “What?”
“Place of pleasure and delight.” She murmured.
Harry tried to control the shaking of his leg, flicking his eyes back to her to notice she was staring right back at him already, an amused look on her face. Harry held his composure, staring back, “Is it?”
“You have no idea.”
Harry didn’t respond and Eden nibbled her lip, “Unless – of course – you have a partner or something to get back to, or that you already made plans with.”
“I don’t have a partner.” Harry muttered and Eden arched up a brow, “Really?”
“Why do you sound surprised?”
“Because,” Eden shrugged, “you seem like the person men and women throw themselves at.”
“I am.” Harry agreed before a small smirk formed on his lips, “I guess I’m just hard to please.”
Eden wanted to moan.
Her tummy clenched as she stared back at him. They were close together and she really, really wanted to dip her head and kiss him. It seemed like they had a bit of a power play going on, because Harry now held the upper hand. It was clear in everything. The cocky smirk, the easy eyes, the comfortable position he had.
And Eden wanted control back, “How do you like to be pleased?” She purred.
“I like to be pleased by someone who doesn’t have a smart mouth and doesn’t behave like a brat.” He instantly fired back. Eden held her breath, excitement running through her veins, “So you like control?”
Harry didn’t respond but his lip twitched slightly, his smirk growing. And Eden mirrored him, batting her lashes as she scooted even closer, their thighs touching, “Good. I like being controlled.”
Their eye contact was heavy until Harry turned his head, shaking his head softly with a smirk playing on his lips, “Something tells me you don’t.”
Eden near crawled up on his lap, “Only one way to find out.”
“We really shouldn’t.” Harry stayed level-headed, shaking his head at her. Eden was a little taken aback but rolled her lips inside of her mouth, “Okay.”
“Not that I don’t want to.” Harry shrugged, never really passing on an opportunity for casual sex with a girl as pretty as Eden, who then also was witty and quick on her feet and made his stomach flutter in anticipation. He could picture her with little horns on and he’d take much pleasure in taking her down a peg in the bedroom. She could be a challenge.
But there were too many red flags and Harry had to be the responsible adult. There was an undeniable attraction for sure, but acting it out wouldn’t be a good idea.
Eden could see the hesitation in his eyes and worried she maybe came off too strong. She had to admit that coming to live in Italy, she expected to be closer to a city so she could go out and party and bring home whoever she pleased to have the summer of her life. The only thing here was a very hot neighbour who then apparently refused to go there with her.
And Eden had an itch that needed scratching.
She exhaled shakily, “Well, if you change your mind… you know where to find me.”
***
And Harry was on the fucking verge of changing his mind. If Eden had been on the forefront of his thoughts the past week, it definitely hadn’t gotten any better after their little conversation on the bench.
She liked being controlled and she wanted to please him. Harry came home to put his hand down his pants and rub one out, finishing embarrassingly fast after all the built-up tension. And she fucking knew what she was doing. She knew he was lusting after her, that he found her hot and sexy and that he was attracted to her.
In a way, she was playing him. Acting innocent but being a little devil deep down. They hardly knew anything about one another but somehow they didn’t care to. It was physical and that was that. Harry didn’t need that emotional connection and Eden just wanted to get laid. Still, it was a fucking bad idea. She’d be here the rest of the summer and Harry couldn’t predict how she’d behave. Either she’d start behaving like his girlfriend and he wouldn’t be able to get rid of her, or she’d give him the cold shoulder which would turn things just plain awkward.
Furthermore, he never wanted her father and stepmother to find out she had fucked her much older neighbour. Even if he didn’t necessarily have a connection to them either, they were still neighbours. Harry took it into account, how perhaps one day he’d need to drop off his dogs for an emergency. He needed the reassurance that he could count on them.
He lived a quiet, secluded life here and in no way wanted to fuck that up.
But it wasn’t easy when she behaved like that. Prancing around her room with hardly any clothing on, knowing full well he could see her.
All throughout the evening, he had snuck glances. Walking his dog for the final time that day, he passed by her house to notice the car being gone. Music came from inside, just soft beats which was not what he had expected. He could imagine her dancing around the house with a bottle of wine in her hand in just her panties.
And so Harry stopped himself from knocking the door to go back into his own house and brood some more.
Shit like this always happened. He met someone, got borderline obsessed with them, fucked them and then it was all over.
And so Harry decided to go to sleep and just get her out of his head. Tiredly, he dragged himself up the stairs and into his bedroom, instantly glancing out the window to see if Eden was there perhaps. He was met with a darkened room on her end, and so he walked around to get ready for bed.
By the time he was back in front of his window to close the blinds, his heart near stopped when he noticed her lights were on too. Squinting, Harry could faintly see Eden moving around the bedroom. In lace underwear and nothing else. She held a glass of red wine in her hand that was almost done, and she finished it in one sip before putting it down somewhere.
With her back to him, she then climbed up on her bed.
Harry held his breath, seeing the curve of her behind as she pushed her ass out, on her knees on the bed.
He should’ve looked away, and he knew it. But he was in a trance. In a trance when Eden sat up and split her thighs over one of the pillows she grabbed. He was in a trance when she tipped her head bac and her hips rolled on their own accord. He was in a trance when she was humping the pillow to get herself off.
Harry gulped thickly, watching the way her body rocked itself into the pillow. Eden leaned forward to arch her back but flipped her hair back, her hands grabbing fistfuls of the sheets as she sped up a little bit.
He could see the curling of her toes as she continued riding the pillow, her body moving itself in sultry waves. She threw her head back again, espresso-coloured locks casting down her back as her mouth was open. Harry wondered if she was moaning. Whimpering. Screaming.
He stood completely frozen, watching the girl in the neighbouring house ride herself to an orgasm and before he knew it, his hand was in his pants and Harry wrapped his fingers around his aching shaft. His breaths turned short as he pulled in languid motions from base to swollen tip, speeding up when he noticed her speeding up.
His heart stopped for a short moment when Eden seemed to look at him over her shoulder, but she quickly diverted her eyes again and continued. She leaned back now, hands cupping her own tits as she ground down into the pillow harder.
“Fuck.” Harry whispered, tugging his cock. The house of Eden, a place of pleasure and delight. An fucking hell, it really was.
And as Eden shuddered and shook and her hands turned white from gripping the sheets, Harry finished inside his boxers. He moaned, feeling the pulsing of his erection as he spurted out cum into his pants. His bicep bulged and he hissed through his teeth, trembling on his knees.
Eden seemed to slum down, her chest heaving as she relaxed, her thighs still shivering. Even if Harry’s vision was slightly blurry, it felt like he could see all of her very up close for some reason. Every detail, every ridge, line and bump of her. All the curves, freckles, dips and every clench of her muscles.
He stayed in a trance for a moment longer until Eden moved, and right as she turned around, Harry ducked behind the wall to hide himself. His breaths were heavy and he didn’t dare looking. In fact, he slid down to a seated position against the wall and waited at least ten minutes. With filthy pants, a filthy hand and his heart hammering in his chest. When he finally dared having a look, Eden’s blinds were closed and her room was dark.
***
“So how was the play?” Eden asked as she sipped coffee in the morning.
Colleen and her father had returned in the early hours of the morning after Eden had long gone to sleep. She didn’t hear them return, her mind too dazed on the wine and her orgasm to hear or sense anything.
“Really good!” Colleen chirped, “We had fun, stayed for a drink.”
“Hey – uh, Tony said he saw you and the neighbour at the market?” Her father questioned as he bit his toast. Eden lifted her eyes, “Who’s Tony?”
“He sells fish down in the village. Said he saw you two together.”
She frowned, a thick crevice etched between her brows while putting her mug down, “Are you spying on me?”
“What?” Her father chuckled, “Of course not, honey. He was there too and asked how we were, I said my daughter moved to town for a few weeks or months and he recognized you. New people are a big deal here, Eden. It’s a small town so everyone knows everyone.”
Eden rolled her eyes, “So what if I went to the market with him? We happened to be going in the same direction.”
“I’ve told you before, I’d prefer you to stay away from him.” Ron frowned, “He’s too mysterious.”
“He’s not mysterious.” Eden laughed, staring at her father in disbelief, “You just don’t know him.”
“Oh, and you do?! Eden, he’s literally ten years older than you.”
“What’s that got to do with anything.” She challenged and Ron clenched his jaw, “He’s too old to be your friend or whatever you want him to be.”
She narrowed her eyes, “Whatever I want him to be?” She repeated, pressing her lips together, “Why don’t you just call me a whore while you’re at it?”
“Eden!” He yelled and she raised her brows, “Hm? Seriously, what is the big deal with me having a fucking conversation with the neighbour? Did he piss on your flowers or something? You’re acting like we’re about to get married.”
He let out an aggravated breath, “Enough! It’s seriously impossible to have a bloody normal conversation with you.” He then got up to his feet, “As long as you live under this roof, you’ll do as I say! Or you can just go back to your mother!”
Eden felt like she got punched in the throat, staring up at him in horror. He was breathing heavily, glaring at her while Colleen stood off to the side, holding her breath.
“Seriously?” Eden muttered and he took a breath, “Seriousl-“
“Well, seriously fuck off!” Eden yelled, pushing her chair back before storming up the stairs. Her blood pumped through her body in rage as she harshly slammed the door of her bedroom, feeling fucking seventeen again.
The divorce between her parents was something that would forever haunt Eden. Ever since her mum and dad broke up, she felt like she didn’t belong anywhere. Her mum’s house didn’t feel like home, this didn’t feel like home.
And him saying that, just poured salt in a fresh wound that was attempting to heal up. Eden felt like an intruder everywhere. Her mum had a new boyfriend, her father had Colleen. He had sounded excited when she asked to spend the summer here, and after hardly one fucking week he had told her to go back to her mother.
Who would tell her to go back to her father.
Eden needed fresh air, so after changing into a bikini and putting a cap on top of her head, she headed back downstairs. She avoided the kitchen and living room at all costs, sneaking out the side to find a spot in the garden to tan a little bit. She had a book with her, and headphones to close off the outside world. Perhaps that way, she could pretend she was by herself.
The blue of the water in Harry’s pool looked inviting, but Eden knew better than to jump his fence and claim his garden for her own. She found a corner of the garden where no windows could spot her. She’d let her father think she was brooding in her room until he was ready to come apologize to her.
And if he didn’t, she’d look for a flight tomorrow.
Eden had only been sitting down for about ten minutes until she heard a splash from the side. Sitting up in the sunbed, she squinted her eyes to see waves in Harry’s pool. Only seconds later, his head came up as he shook his hair out and puffed out a breath.
His tanned skin glistened in the droplets, sunlight brightening him up. His two dogs excitedly jumped in the pool too, making an even larger splash. Eden peeked through the bushes to see him grinning and playing around a little.
His smile was beautiful, she felt.
Last night when he looked at her through his window, he wasn’t smiling though. Eden could be mistaken, but if she wasn’t, it’d mean he was jerking off while she was humping a pillow. His lips had been parted, his brow scrunched up in delight. The rhythmic bulging of his bicep could mean he was stroking himself, but Eden hadn’t seen anything below his hips.
If she was correct, Harry had seen everything. And she had wanted him to.
She had sat waiting for him for the largest portion of the evening, hoping he’d come knocking on her door to fuck her into oblivion. Instead, she drank wine and danced around the house, enjoying being by herself for once. And he never showed up, so she decided to let him see what he had been missing out on.
Harry stayed in the pool for a little longer until hoisting himself out. Eden drooled at the sight of his back, so many muscles flexing and making him look absolutely incredible. Harry reached for a towel off to the side of the pool as his dogs also climbed out. He turned around, and the view made Eden’s throat even more dry.
Tattoos, so many of them. A well-defined six-pack of abs. The cross pendant glimmering in the sunlight and resting between small curls of chest hair against his sternum. He was ripped and so fucking gorgeous. Eden hardly realized she was clenching her thighs together as she stared at him.
Harry wrapped a towel around himself and shook out his hair at the same time his dogs shook out their manes. It was a funny sight, the three of them coordinated like that.
And Eden was too horny to let the moment go by, so she got up her feet, “Hi.” She spoke.
Harry was actually rather close to her, but Eden had been hidden by the bushes. He flicked his eyes up, towel wrapped around himself to dry off. He licked his lip, putting on his sunglasses, “Hey.” His voice sounded raspy and the real reason Harry put on his glasses was to check her out without giving anything away.
Eden was in a two-piece. A dark blue one, at that. Matching his own swimming shorts. The panties looked like they were a thong, bands sitting high up on her hips and nothing but a small triangle covering up between her legs.
Her tits near spilled out of the top, a simple bandeau bikini for minimal tan lines which also pressed her chest up more. She looked fucking delicious.
“Getting a tan?” He asked, slowly walking over to her, the fence once more separating them. Eden scratched the back of her neck, “Yeah, something like that. You too?”
“Mhm. ‘M behind the house on the other side so I can hide beneath the trees a little bit. Full sun is too hot.” He explained, pointing to where Eden could see just a tiny sliver of one of the sunbeds on the other side of the house, hidden from the house she lived in for now.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Eden fanned herself, “it is very hot. Our garden doesn’t really have any shade.”
Harry shifted on his feet a bit, “I take it you don’t want to go back inside either? I heard shouting earlier.”
She huffed out, pressing her lips together before shaking her head, “Nope.”
“I have an extra sunbed, if you want. You can swim too, cool off a little bit.” It was out before he realized it, but Harry realized he really was in no fit state to talk normally to her when she stood like that in front of him.
Eden raised her brows, “Really? Oh my god, I’d love that.”
“Sure.”
“Thank you so much, Harry. Let me just,” she turned around and Harry’s eyes dropped to her ass, seeing that it was indeed a thong. He groaned under his breath as Eden picked up the few things she brought. Her book, a towel, headphones and sunglasses. Her slippers were on her feet and she casually threw all of her stuff over the fence.
Harry chuckled as she then put her foot up on one of the wooden bars, “Wait, let me –“ He stepped closer, holding out his hands as Eden gracefully climbed the fence, accepting his hands before she jumped over. Her tits jiggled and she offered him a breathy grin, “Thanks.”
Bending down to retrieve her things again, Harry swallowed thickly. He snuck a glance behind him and led Eden to where the sunbeds were. “D’you want anything to drink?” He checked.
“What’re you having?” Eden took a seat on the free sunbed next to Harry’s after brushing off some fallen leaves. The dogs were sniffling around her legs and she gently petted them as Harry put on a flannel to cover himself up a little bit. It was checkered and he left it open, running his fingers through his hair to comb his wet locks back a little bit, “Sangria.”
“Sounds good.” Eden smiled, her eyes not so subtly drawn to his torso and his chiselled abs. Harry nodded and stepped inside of the house to get her some sangria, giving himself a small pep-talk in the meantime where he vowed to stay strong and not succumb to the flirting ways of Eden. Not even after secretly watching her masturbate the night before.
“Thank you.” Eden smiled as Harry handed her the glass and sat down on the sunbed next to hers again. They were shielded by some trees and off to the side of his house, facing the other direction than Eden’s house. No one could really see them here in Harry’s little side garden, which was the perfect spot for some sun and shade.
“They’re not bothering you too much?” Harry nudged his head in the direction of his two very excited dogs. Eden smiled and shook her head, “Absolutely not. I love dogs. What’re their names?”
Harry leaned back a bit, “Sadie is the big one and Lola is the small one.”
“That’s cute.” Eden murmured, scratching both dogs before taking a sip of her sangria, “Are you sure I can take a dip in your pool? I’m honestly so hot.”
“Mhm, of course. Just don’t piss in it.” He joked and Eden threw her head back in a laugh, Harry smiling along as she giggled, “That’s the first time I’ve heard you making a joke.” She teased, getting up from her seat. Harry’s eyes were glued to her ass as Eden walked up to the side of the pool, graciously diving in.
All he could think of when watching her body, was how she moved when fucking that pillow last night. Delicate lace hugging her figure as she rocked back and forth and touched her own chest, looking so… seductive and sexy.
He took a breather, drinking more sangria as he lounged on the sunbed, hearing Eden splashing around the pool as the dogs joined her. He heard her giggles as she spoke softly to his dogs, petting them. Harry hastily took another sip, downing his glass. He felt blood rushing to his cock, especially when Eden got back out of the pool. She kicked a ball to occupy the dogs before making her way back over to Harry, water dripping down her body.
Harry’s throat ran dry as he diverted his eyes, clearing his throat and pretending to glance at his phone for a bit. Eden stood in front of him, wringing out her hair before tucking it behind her ears. Even just being in the sun for a few seconds, it was like she couldn’t remember the coolness of the water she just came out of.
Or it was Harry’s presence making her feel that hot.
“Your pool is heavenly.” She exhaled. Harry offered her a brief smile but didn’t exactly look at her. Eden put her hands on her hips, “You can look, you know?”
Harry pressed his lips together, shaking his head softly, “I think it’d be inappropriate.”
“But it wasn’t inappropriate last night?”
His head shot up in shock, a hint of pink rising up his neck and his cheeks as he stared at her. Eden smirked softly, “I saw you.” She took a step closer to Harry, eventually sitting down on the sunbed with him. She was so close, he could feel the coolness of her body from the water radiating to his warm skin.
Harry swallowed and tipped his head to the side, analysing Eden until it clicked for him. He narrowed his eyes, “You did that for me?”
“You enjoyed the show, didn’t you?” Eden murmured, scooting a little closer. Harry held his breath, the new information seeping into his brain. She knew he was watching, she wanted him to watch. She did that, knowing he was looking at her through his window.
“You’re insane.” He lowly mumbled and Eden bit her lip, “Well, I was waiting for you.”
“Eden.” Harry warned as she moved, lifting up to sit down on his thighs, straddling him on the sunbed. She pouted, something that made Harry’s heart skip ten beats. With the sun shining behind her, she looked absolutely angelic. The tiny bikini did a shit job at covering her up and her wet skin quickly dried from the temperatures.
“Why not?” She whispered, “I want it, you want it. Just… just once.”
Harry let out a breath and leaned back, swallowing thickly, “How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
Harry narrowed his eyes, “Are you lying to me?”
“No.” She quickly shook her head, “I promise. Twenty-four.”
Harry slowly nodded, “You look younger. And that’s why we can’t do this, I’m thirty-three.”
“I don’t mind.” Eden shook her head, scooting up a little on his thighs. Her eyes dragged over Harry’s toned body, the flannel loosely hanging around his shoulders, “If anything, it’s even sexier.” She rasped, “Boys my age are so immature, I need a real man.”
“You need a real man?”
She nodded, “Uh-huh.” Heat seeped into her bones, blood rushing between her legs at the closeness of their bodies, “I need to be fucked by a real man.”
“God – shit.” Harry cursed, “When I invited you here, I thought you’d behave.”
“I am behaving, aren’t I?” Eden panted slightly, “’M just begging for you.”
Harry’s eyes stared at her, sitting on top of him. Her chest heaved in shallow breaths and he swallowed, “You are. Just a pathetic, little thing you are, hm? Need to be controlled so bad, can’t even keep yourself in check around me. You want me so bad.”
“I do.” She moaned, “Please… I just want –“
“Shut up.” Harry muttered, making Eden’s eyes widen as he stared at her, “I don’t care about what you want. I’m in charge. Always.”
Eden panted out, her eyes hazy as she stared at him. Harry’s eyes darted over her face, “So pathetic.” He tutted, the tip of his index finger dragging up her thigh, creating goosebumps in its voyage, “I could just use you, hm? I could just… do whatever I want to you and you’d take it like a good girl just because you’re so desperate for me.”
Eden’s thighs tensed as she tried to listen to him but the words sounded so hazy to her. She just swallowed dryly and nodded, causing Harry to smirk and exhale a breathy chuckle, “Fucking pathetic little whore, you. Nothing but a little cockslut, hm? Should’ve known.”
“Fuck.” Eden whimpered, scooting up higher on his lap. Her hands found his chest, nails digging into his skin as she urgently rocked her hips into his growing length. Harry’s eyes fluttered at the stimulation, Eden tipping her head back in bliss from the relief of her clit rubbing into his swimming shorts.
“Fuck me.” Eden moaned, arching her back as she continued grinding into him, “Please, fuck me.”
Harry’s tongue poked the hollow of his cheek, “Think it’s that easy? You strip in front of your window and you get my cock?”
His dirty talk was so effortless, leaving Eden shaking and trembling. She could moan when Harry’s hands were suddenly on her hips, pushing her off. Eden was too stunned to react immediately, but found herself straddling just one of his muscular thighs now. She exhaled a sharp breath while staring down, seeing her legs split over the tiger tattoo on his leg.
“Go ahead.” Harry rasped, folding his arms back behind his head as he shot her a cocky look, “Ride me, do what you wanted to do last night. ‘S what you wanted, isn’t it?”
Eden shook her head, “I-I want your cock.”
“Brat.” He hissed, sending her a glare, “Said you’d behave, said you’d take whatever I give you. Well, this is what you get. For now.”
It sounded like a promise. Eden licked her dry lips. Behave now, get fucked by him later. Good. She shuddered just thinking about it, imagining him taking her from behind as she laid immobilized on the bed, perhaps even tied up, and he spoke to her in that low tone with those filthy words as his dick destroyed her.
Eden’s thighs tensed and Harry felt it, smirking slightly as he dropped his eyes to where Eden started grinding into his thigh. Her hands were on his chest still, holding herself up as she rolled her pelvis to rub into him. Just like with the pillow, his eyes were focussed on the way her body moved, the muscles she flexed, the breaths she held and the little moans she let out.
He had expected her to be loud for some reason, but she was biting her lip, whimpering out softly as she closed her eyes and worked herself on top of him. And Eden could feel his eyes on him, making her feel more powerful than she dared to admit.
She moved one hand, cupping her breast over her bikini top to give herself a squeeze. Harry’s eyes zeroed in on the touch, his fingers gripping the sleeves of his flannel to keep himself from pulling her top down and see all of her.
Next, her hand moved lower over her torso and down her hip before she shortly lifted off and hooking her bottoms to the side. Harry’s eyes bulged when Eden exposed her pussy and sat down again. A shaky moan left her lips as she picked up her pace again. Harry saw the glistening of his tiger tattoo, Eden’s wetness and arousal leaving a trace.
He was mesmerized, his arms still behind his head as he let her use his fucking leg to shamelessly ride herself to an orgasm.
“Doing so good.” Harry murmured, eyes gazing in on the way her pussy lips spread over his thigh and her clit brushed his skin. He hummed at the sight, licking his lips, “So hot, Eden… Jesus.”
“Want you,” She panted out, “fuck – please… I need you.”
Harry swallowed, “’M right here.”
“No, you.” Eden choked out the words, “God – just fuck me.” She leaned over him, her forehead leaning against his. Their noses brushed together as she arched out. Harry tasted the sangria on her lips, “Sei così sporco,” He groaned, “implorando il mio cazzo in questo modo.”
“Holy shit.” Eden squeaked, “More.”
“Io che parlo Italiano ti eccito?” Harry smirked, “Puttana del cazzo.” He whispered, “Such a fucking whore, just look at you…”.
Eden moaned, “God – fuck, I’m gonna cum.” She whimpered, “Harry, I’m gonna cum.”
“Good girl. Brava ragazza.” He murmured, “I bet that little cunt tastes so sweet, hm? C’mon, look at me when you cum for me.”
Eden forced her eyes open, her body slumping in fatigue as sweat pearled her hairline. “O-Oh god,” She moaned, “yes!” The choked whimper escaped her throat as she sharply bucked forward and electricity shot through her body, toes curling as her eyes screwed shut.
Harry watched as she came, shaking, whimpering, deliriously grinding. Creamy arousal leaked from her to wet his thigh. He couldn’t even feel the pinching of her nails in his skin, too mesmerized by the sight in front of him.
“’S a good girl.” Harry cooed, brushing his nose into Eden’s as she panted out sharply, her ears ringing. “Harry,” She murmured, cupping his cheeks. His eyes widened in surprise when she kissed him. He hadn’t expected it one bit, her lips on his. It almost seemed like Eden didn’t realize she was doing it, her eyes staying closed, just a soft kiss to his lips before she kissed his chin and then his jaw.
His eyes fluttered in delight of her gentle kisses, sponging up and down his jaw while her hands roamed his chest. Her fingers moved lower to his abs and then finally the waistband of his swimming shorts. That’s when Harry snapped out of it.
His eyes opened and he inhaled a sharp breath. He was painfully hard and Eden’s delicate touches didn’t necessarily help his cock twitching, “What are you doing?”
“I want to touch you.” Eden panted, opening her eyes finally. She looked drunk on her orgasm and Harry huffed, “Told you before, I don’t care about what you want. This is on my terms.”
“Harry, I want to touch you.” Eden repeated. His jaw tensed as he used both hands this time. His fingers came down on her cheek in a slap, making Eden gasp before he grabbed her chin and held up a finger of his other hand, “No.” He repeated.
Eden hardly seemed fazed by his slap, her cheek stinging deliciously. Her entire body trembled as Harry held her up by her chin and held up his finger in front of her in warning. But Eden didn’t feel too warned, ignoring him once more as she opened her lips and sunk down on his finger to suck it into her mouth.
Harry’s eyes glazed over in lust as he watched, Eden with drunk eyes and her cheeks hollowing out around his digit. She took him all the way, tongue swirling around before she moaned. Harry snapped out of it again after a moment, grabbing her throat instead to yank her up. She gasped as he squeezed her throat warningly, “Eden.” He hissed.
“I want to please you.” She wheezed out, making Harry choke her harder. Her eyes closed as she fought for air in the best way, her head growing dizzy as she still sat on his lap. Her hands clawed at his chest. Harry released at the right point, leaving Eden with a headrush so strong she near fainted.
“You still want to please me?” Harry taunted, “I’ll make you choke on my cock like that.”
Eden softly coughed, still held up by Harry’s hand around her throat as she managed to nod, “Yes – please.”
He smirked wickedly, shoving her off his lap. Eden stumbled a bit as Harry laid outstretched on the sunbed, swallowing as he reached for his cock in his shorts, pulling himself out. Eden felt weak on her legs when she watched him jerking off slowly, and she found herself on her knees at the end of the sunbed after a minute.
The hot tiles burned her knees but she didn’t care one bit, stroking her hands up Harry’s shins to urge him to scoot closer to her. He did, pulling his cock in slow motions as he inched closer to Eden. He decided to give her a moment and do her own thing before fucking her throat, but Eden seemed to have other plans.
Harry’s eyes widened when she stuck out her tongue to lick up her own release left on his thigh. She licked over his tiger tattoo before hovering over his hard length, spitting back onto him.
“Fuck.” Harry whimpered, throwing his head back. Eden took the lubricated head of his dick between her lips, tasting the mixture of them together before sucking on him. She made him see stars in a matter of seconds, her mouth tight around the swollen tip of him as she flicked her tongue over his slit continuously.
Everything in Eden’s movements showed Harry how fucking desperate she was to have him like this. He had her in the palm of his hand, she’d do everything for him. It’s what he wanted, it’s the challenge he liked. Taming her, shutting up that bratty mouth of hers and control her.
“Deeper.” He ordered. Eden batted her lashes at him, sucking on his tip only. Harry had pink cheeks from how heavily he was breathing. Eden popped off, licking her spit-slicked lips, “Make me.”
Harry clenched his jaw, “You’re fucking unbelievable.” He grabbed the back of her neck to force her down. Eden’s eyes widened slightly as he pushed her all the way. Her eyes pinched shut at the burn in her throat as he made her take him deeper. Harry had an impressive length and Eden sucked in a breath through her nose as her airway was restricted.
“There we go, that’s it.” Harry exhaled in bliss, feeling the tightness of Eden’s throat as she contracted around him, throat closing up with a gag from how deep he was. Harry licked his dry lips, “This what you wanted, hm? Wanted it to hurt? Wanted me to fucking bruise your throat? Finally shutting up that smart mouth of yours.” He snarled, using a grip on her hair to pull her off.
Eden coughed and wheezed, lines of spit falling from her lips and webbing between his tip and her mouth. Her eyes watered and Harry stared at her, smirking softly, “You look pretty like this, Eden. Fucking destroyed cockwhore, so desperate for me.”
Eden licked her lips as she gathered herself, her throat already raw. She put her hands behind her back and shot him a nod. Harry huffed out a chuckle at her eagerness, “Fuck, you’re a dream. Pinch my hip if I need to stop.”
Eden nodded and opened her mouth, allowing Harry to push her down again. It was the nastiest blowjob he had ever gotten. Eden was just a mouth for him to use, not stopping him once as he thrusted up to fuck her throat while holding her head down. Tears leaked down her cheeks as she choked and gurgled on him. Harry’s moans were hidden by the bite on his lip, “Yes, all the way, take me all the way… fuck, feels so good.” He praised her, “Good fucking girl, such a tight throat for me.”
Eden hardly heard him, her vision blurred with tears and her jaw and throat aching as Harry used her and ruined her. She’d bruise and be sore and be without a voice, but it’s what he wanted and she let him want it. She let him take it. The elastic band between them had just exploded and now she was here on her knees, sucking him off with her father in the house next door.
She managed to open her eyes, seeing Harry blissed-out. His face was scrunched up in pleasure, every muscle in his body flexed as he held both hands in her hair to pump her up and down on him. His mouth was open in breathy moans whenever he hit the back of her throat and soon enough, he harshly bit his lip, “Fuck – Eden, ‘m almost there.”
Eden didn’t even have the chance to ask him if he wanted to cum in her mouth or on her face or on her tits, he finished before she could blink. Him being almost there apparently meant he was literally right there. With just one more thrust up in her mouth, Harry threw his head back and came deep inside of Eden’s throat.
Her airway was restricted, spurts and spurts of his hot cum filling up her mouth and her throat. Eden wheezed and coughed, but Harry held her there. Only when she violently slapped his hip, did he open his eyes and let her go. Eden disengaged immediately, ears ringing with panic as she felt most – if not all – of his release spilling down her chin, down her throat and onto her chest as she stumbled back and fought for a breath.
Her cheeks were pink, her head dizzy and her throat sore as she coughed. Her arms trembled holding her up and her chest heaved in short, quick breaths after being choked by him. Harry hardly seemed to care, laying on his back on the sunbed with his head tipped back and his eyes closed, ragged breaths escaping his mouth.
Eden continued coughing, catching her breath as her chest burned and her tongue felt thick.
With Eden’s mouth leaving him so suddenly, Harry’s hand wrapped around himself again. Hissing in sensitivity, he gently stroked himself in the aftermath of his orgasm. Torturing himself almost. Eden stared as his thighs twitched and he seemed on the verge of pain and discomfort, pumping softly to get the final drops of cum out before he literally shuddered and finally disengaged.
He lazily blinked his eyes open, flannel hanging open over his chest, “You okay?” He checked, panting.
Eden managed to nod, “Yeah.” She rasped, her voice raw and her throat aching. Harry fought his smirk at her wrecked state and pushed up on his elbows, “C’mere.” He patted his thighs and Eden slowly climbed up her feet while Harry tucked himself back into his shorts.
Her legs shook from the lack of oxygen as she sat down on Harry’s thighs again to straddle him. His hands easily found her hips to pull her a little closer. His eyes gazed over her face. Red rimmed and wet eyes, swollen lips and his release basically everywhere. Harry loved it, painting her like this. Claiming her. She hadn’t exactly managed to swallow much and most of his cum was running down her chin, the column of her throat and glistening on her chest.
“Ragazza sporca.” He whispered, leaning forward to let his tongue drag over her skin. Eden’s brain near exploded when she watched him, his tongue running below her collarbone to taste himself. He hummed, licking up everywhere he could reach and swallowing down his own release.
“Close your eyes.” Harry whispered. Eden panted and did as he asked, closing her eyes. She flinched in surprise when he spat on her face, spit mixed with cum dripping down her cheeks. Eden opened her eyes again, realizing he told her to close them as to not get cum in her eyes. It was thoughtful on the one hand, but Harry had a wicked smirk on his face as he watched her so filthy.
He licked his lips and squeezed her thigh, “Così carino.” He murmured, eyes slowly dragging up her entire form.
Eden seemed at a loss for words and Harry chuckled, his eyes sparkling. She was surprised when he put his hand on the back of her neck and pulled her in, crashing their lips together. There was pure filth between them and when Harry’s tongue pushed into her mouth, Eden reacted by bringing her arms around his neck.
Her fingers cradled his jaw to tip him back, pressing herself all the way against him. She had to say the kiss surprised her. Passion radiated between them, but Eden it was just an aftermath of whatever sexual had just happened between them. It was lust. A craving. Two consenting adults wanted to rip each other’s clothes off and there was nothing wrong with that.
“Fucking sexy.” Harry lowly commented, eyes darting over Eden’s face where his cum was still streaking down. Eden grinned softly before darting her tongue out to lick over her bottom lip, tasting him a little bit. Harry bit his lip as he watched her swallow.
Eden looked smug with herself, being able to wreck him at least a tiny bit even if she was the ruined one. Because even if she had an orgasm not even fifteen minutes prior, she wanted more. She was throbbing. Her fingers trembled as she refrained from pushing him down and riding him properly. Right here.
But on the other hand, she didn’t feel like being rejected all over again. The begging was fun, the playing was fun, as long as she knew someone would inevitably give in at the end. And with Harry, she wasn’t sure.
So Eden got up and ran a hand through her messy hair before turning around and heading back towards the pool. Harry raised his brows, watching her as she walked away, “Eden, don’t you dare.” He warned, his jaw dropping when she dove back into the pool. He jumped up his feet, “Eden! My dogs swim in that water!” He referred to his release transferring from his skin into that water.
Eden came up to the surface with a giggle, “Oops.”
***
It was a few hours later – when Eden felt like toast – when she decided to head back over to her father’s house.
Her and Harry had been lounging around the pool in the sun, hidden by the trees. They had been mostly in silence, sharing a few words here and there but nothing big or revealing. Eden had the feeling both her and him didn’t really mind. They didn’t exactly need to know one another or put up this façade that there was anything more here than sex.
Maybe it would even burst the bubble. Maybe they’d realize they actually don’t like one another and then all magic would disappear. So they didn’t say much, simply enjoyed the comfortable silence between them as the crickets made noise enough.
“Thank you for letting me stay for a bit.” Eden was gathering her things and Harry looked at her from his laying down position on his sunbed.
Truth was, he would’ve dragged her into the house if his dick was up for it. But he simply wasn’t. He ached, so sensitive still from her blowjob that it would physically hurt his balls to have sex right now. Eden looked absolutely delicious and the memory of her face with his cum painting her, entered Harry’s brain.
She had looked like absolute sex. A sight so erotic he wasn’t sure if he had ever witnessed anything like it before. Most women got shy or overly slutty when he came on their faces. They either hid, or made it a very over the top show of wanting it in their mouths.
Eden had simply looked… comfortable almost. It was fucking sexy. And she had sucked him dry. He had abused her throat, but even if he was fucking up into her mouth she had still managed to actually suck and use her tongue.
Harry shifted slightly in his position, dragging his eyes up her form. Now that he’d had a taste, he for sure knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away anymore. The forbidden fruit he had taken a little bite out of, needed to be devoured. And he knew she wanted him to.
It’s why he had found himself slightly surprised when Eden hadn’t made a single flirtatious remark in the past few hours. It was just the two of them here and in all their past encounters, she had been all over him. She had seduced him, pulled out all the moves to get his attention. And now she had him all to herself and Eden didn’t try to get him to blush even once.
Harry wondered if what they had done was enough for her. Or if he had maybe done something wrong.
“Sure.” He cleared his throat, getting up too as he put his hands on his hips, waiting as she gathered her things. Harry offered her a small smile, “Let me know if you need to cool down again.”
“Well – uh…” Eden flicked her eyes to her father’s house before pressing her lips together, “I might be going back to the UK sooner than anticipated.”
“What?” Harry frowned, “Why?”
She breathed out a chuckle, “Because I don’t feel too welcome here. A-And maybe I should just bite the bullet and start looking for jobs instead of running away.” The argument with her father was fresh on her mind. He wanted her to stay away from Harry and all but near slut shamed her for seeking his company.
And here she had been, riding his thigh and giving him a blowjob. Eden knew she had a free sexual life that would disgust some if not most, but somehow it stung that her father though that about her. Eden tried to be a bad bitch most of the times and faked it until she made it, but her façade could drop in the blink of an eye when someone close to her commented on her like that.
“So, uh – yeah.” She shrugged, “it was nice meeting you, I suppose.”
“Hey, wait.” Harry frowned, “You’ve barely seen anything from around here, you haven’t explored. You can’t just… leave.”
“I mean, it’s not like I’m gonna be out of here tomorrow but I don’t think I’m gonna stay all summer.” She shrugged.
“You should.”
Eden turned her head to look at him and narrowed her eyes as Harry ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, “You know, I could show you around some more. Just spend the day with me tomorrow. There’s this… art thing I wanted to see, we can take the car.”
Eden continued frowning as she crossed her arms in front of her chest, “What are you doing?”
Harry exhaled a breath, “What?”
“What are you doing?” Eden repeated, shrugging her shoulders, “You don’t have to… fucking take me out or anything. We both knew what this was. I’m not expecting you to be this nice guy all of a sudden. Yeah, I sucked your dick, I don’t need a medal for it.” She shrugged again, “Let’s just… leave it.”
Harry huffed and shook his head, “I’m not thanking you because you gave me a blowjob. ‘M just… trying to have you enjoy your summer. This place is nice, you know? Fell in love with it when I first visited and haven’t left since. You definitely haven’t seen it that way. And besides, you should take some time before you start working. You busted your ass in college and got your degree, so take the win and enjoy your time off. You’ll work for the next fuckin’ forty years of your life.”
Eden stared at him, both their stances showing some defence. She took a breath and slowly sighed it back out, “Yeah. Okay.”
“Yeah? You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to. Just enjoy Italy for a bit.” He shrugged, “I think you’ll regret it if you don’t.”
Eden felt surprised. This was probably the most Harry had spoken to her in ever. She timidly nodded, “Right.”
“Come by tomorrow around ten.” He stood behind her and patted her ass, “Off you go.”
Eden shook her head to herself with a chuckle before doing as told. She didn’t climb the fence this time but simply walked out of the front of the house and back into her father’s house. And later that night, she didn’t give Harry a show through the window. She simply closed her blinds, noticing the lights off in his bedroom but on downstairs.
She figured he was on his couch or something, watching something. Or perhaps he was out and left the lights on for the dogs. Or he just forgot.
Getting him out of his head, Eden went to bed and fell asleep easily.
And when she woke up the next morning, she almost forgot she had met up with Harry. At nine thirty, Eden ran through the house to get ready and grab some coffee. Her father was working in the garden at this hour and Colleen and her had some small talk in the kitchen.
Eden didn’t let anything slip about her plans for the day. She simply said she’d go explore on her own and walk down the hill, perhaps catch a train.
At ten a.m. on the dot, she sneakily ran over to Harry’s house to ring his bell. He opened up wearing shorts that showed off his tiger tattoo that Eden knew all too well. Pairing it with another wide button-up which was halfway open and a bucket hat on his head, Harry nodded at her, “Morning.”
“Hi.” Eden smiled, the short sundress on her body flowing in the air. It was a nice temperature at this hour of the day. Harry wore worn-off Vans on his feet and had sunglasses in the v-neck of his shirt, a tote bag around his arm, “Brought some fruit for the drive. You hungry?”
“I just had some toast, maybe later.” Eden awkwardly fiddled with her fingers before pressing her lips together, “Can we – uh, go? I don’t want my dad or Colleen to see me here.”
“Why not?” Harry frowned, grabbing his keys and leaving his dogs for the day. They had food, water and a secluded part of his garden to their use, plus the cold tiles of Harry’s airconditioned house.
Eden huffed and shrugged, “Apparently you’re a bad influence.”
“I’d say you’re the bad influence on me.” He smirked before locking up his front door. He then shortly dipped his head to press his lips to Eden’s temple, “Y’look pretty.”
“Stop.” She rolled her eyes, “Don’t do that.”
“What, give you a compliment?” Harry questioned, walking besides Eden to guide her towards his car. It was a rather old car, a pale blue with no roof and an old leather steering wheel. Eden found herself impressed with the vintage look of the car and put her stuff in the backseat, opening up the passenger door to climb in. Harry stood at the driver’s side, holding up the keys, “Do you have a license?”
Her face lit up at what she thought he was suggesting, “Yes.”
“Wanna try?” He smiled and Eden squeaked, “Yes!” She bubbled, jumping over the gear box to get behind the wheel, “Oh wait… other side of the road.”
“Yeah, but it’s easy. You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”
Eden bit her lip, adjusting the seat a bit, “Yeah, okay, I’ll try.” She accepted the keys and with a wide grin on her face, they were on the road in no time. Eden found herself relaxing in the car, her short brown hair flowing in the wind even if she put in a little scarf. The sun climbed up in the sky, warming their skin. No music was on as Eden followed the directions Harry gave her.
They drove past the little town at the bottom of the hill and drove further, onto the highway and little coastroads that overlooked the sea. Waves crashed into the rocks and Eden couldn’t wait to take a dip later. She had a feeling they’d come close to water and brought a two-piece in her bag.
Harry eventually had her driving into a bit of a larger city where he let her drive through little streets that he seemingly knew like the back of his hand, “This is the largest sort of city close by.” He explained, “There’s cheap parking in there, if you take a left.”
“Here?” Eden pointed and he hummed, “Yep,” his hand found its way to her bare thigh as he gave a gentle squeeze, “’s good. Did you enjoy driving?”
Her skin burned as Eden tried to focus on parking into the space Harry showed her. She swallowed dryly, moving her feet to brake, shift and accelerate, “Mhm. It’s a nice car.”
“Sure is.” He agreed, “Fits you.”
Eden didn’t really respond, unsure of how to take his sudden compliments. Eventually they got out of the car and walked around for a bit, Eden not really knowing what the plan for the day was. She simply went with it and followed Harry around. They stopped for some bruschetta and cold water to hydrate before Harry pushed his sunglasses up in his hair and stared at Eden from across the little rounded table.
His facial hair was slightly longer than the day before, a moustache decorating his top lip and making him look slightly older. It was sexy, Eden thought. She kept her eyes low and finished up her little lunch while feeling his gaze on her, “Why are you staring at me? Do I have something between my teeth?”
He chuckled, leaning his chin on his hand, elbow popped up on the table, “Nope. You just look beautiful.”
Eden rolled her eyes, “Stop flirting.”
“Why? You can flirt with me and I can’t flirt with you?”
“I haven’t been flirting with you. We’re just… acquaintances.” Eden shrugged. Harry raised one eyebrow, “True. You haven’t flirted with me since yesterday. Since we… had sex.”
“We didn’t have sex.” Eden corrected him, “I grinded on your leg and gave you a blowie.”
The corners of Harry’s mouth curled up into a small smirk at the easiness of Eden’s foul mouth, “That’s true. But I’m curious… is that just it? We fooled around and you’re done with me now?”
Eden stared back at him, “What’s the matter, did I hurt your feelings?”
“Ouch.” Harry chuckled, shaking his head, “No, I’d just like to know.”
Eden leaned forward on the table, “You know when I asked you if men and women throw themselves at you and you said yes? You really can’t stand it when someone doesn’t throw themselves at you, hm?”
“Think you bruised my ego?”
She puckered her lips in thought and shrugged, “Sounds like it.”
“Well, if I remember correctly… you were the one begging for my cock.”
“True, I was. But… Well, it’s off-putting if you keep rejecting me all the time. I’m a little desperate but not that desperate. No means no. And you said no.” She shrugged. Harry frowned, “I didn’t say no, I said maybe later.”
Eden rolled her eyes again, “Look, let’s just forget about it. It happened, we both enjoyed it and now we just move on. No biggie.”
“So you don’t want me anymore?” Harry checked and Eden chuckled, “Nope, I’m good. Unless you’re offering yourself on a silver platter… Just saying I don’t wanna work for it anymore. So… maybe it’s your turn to seduce me if you’re that desperate for it.” Her voice ended in a purr and Harry stared at her, his stomach clenching and his face growing hot.
Eden looked at him over the rim of her glass, “Finally ready to tell me where we’re going?”
He cleared his throat, running his finger over his moustache, “Yeah, it’s – uh… an art expo here. From Marino Mazzacurati. He’s a s-“
“A sculptor, right?” Eden finished the words for him and Harry flicked his eyes up, “Yes.” He watched as Eden’s face lit up with a slight twinkle in her eye. A dimple popped in her cheek as she flashed her pearly white teeth. His heart slammed in his chest as she just looked so… pretty.
Her skin was radiant and she had that little scarf in her hair. Her prominent collarbones were accentuated by the thin straps of the floral, white dress she wore. It was simple but so cute.
“So you know him?”
Eden smiled and nodded eagerly, “Yes, I do. I-I’ve studied some of his stuff during college. That’s sick.”
“Yeah, I bought two tickets online last night.” Harry shrugged and Eden arched up an eyebrow, “You did? That’s… sweet.”
“Mhm.”
“Okay. I’m excited.” Eden smiled, “Can we go now?”
Harry chuckled, “Yeah, let me just pay first.” He was ready to get up and Eden frowned, “You don’t have to pay for me.”
“I want to.” Harry shrugged as he scraped his chair back. Eden simply stared at him, watching as he walked up to the cash register and handled their bill in Italian. Soon after, both walked the narrow streets again on their way to the art gallery. Sweat pearled at Harry’s hairline due to the heat as they sought to walk in the shadows to avoid sun and burn up even more.
“This is it.” Harry breathed, taking off his sunnies again now that they were in the coolness of the art gallery. It was rather deserted as the two entered and watched the sculptures.
Eden tilted her head to the side, looking at a certain piece in a large room. She heard footsteps behind her, Harry coming to stand nearly with his chest against her back. The hair in her neck raised as he breathed down, “It’s quite rare how he managed to represent cubism, expressionism and realism.” He spoke.
Eden’s throat bobbed in a thick swallow, “Mhm. He started out as a gravestone sculptor in his f-“
“Father’s company, I know.” Harry spoke and Eden could hear the smile in his voice. They were silent for a moment until Harry spoke, “Do you like this one?”
“It’s part of the Wrestlers collection, right?”
“Lottatori,” Harry corrected her in the proper Italian, “is what we call it here.”
Eden breathed out a chuckle and stepped aside, moving onto the next piece, “Did you learn Italian when you moved here or did you know it beforehand?”
“I knew a few words beforehand, but I really submerged myself in it when I decided to move here. Even when I was still in London and I hadn’t made the move yet – but knew I was going to - , I was reading books and stuff in Italian, or watching movies with no subtitles. And then moving here… it’s such a small town that really not that many locals speak English.” He explained, once again standing behind Eden.
Eden didn’t respond and Harry’s lip twitched up in a small smile, “I’ve been complimented on my Italian by the locals, by the way.”
“Yeah, you sound good.” Eden murmured and Harry’s smirk grew slightly, “I remember you liking it.”
Eden’s face turned hot at the mention of his Italian dirty talk the day before. She gathered herself, Harry unable to see her face. She flinched ever so slightly when his hand came up from behind her, reaching around to gently grab her chin, “You have to look at it from this angle.” He murmured, tilting her chin slightly.
She held her breath as she let him reposition her gaze, seeing the sculpture from a different angle to have it make sense. She puffed out a small breath of air, “Oh. I see.”
They moved on again, Eden stopping at the next one, “This is Little Caesar, right?” She questioned before her eyes zeroed in on the little information tag by the sculpture. “Yes,” Harry confirmed from behind her, “pretty sure it’s a replica though. If I’m not mistaken, his original one was sold.”
Eden slowly nodded. Her muscles tensed when she felt Harry’s hand on her hip from behind, giving a gentle squeeze through the thin fabric of her sundress, “C’mon.” He nudged her to the side, keeping his hand on her to guide her to the next piece.
This time, he placed both hands on her hips, standing closely behind her and peering at the sculpture over her shoulder. When Harry didn’t feel her pulling away, he went as far as slipping his arms around her form to pull her into him.
With her back against his chest, he encaged her. Eden exhaled a breath and relaxed into him. Harry hummed at the feeling, “’S good. Lean back.”
Eden heart thrashed in her chest as she did, breathing shakily. Harry’s hand slipped slightly higher until he palmed her breast over the dress, giving a squeeze to her chest before reaching higher to cup her jaw again and tilt her to the side.
His lips came down on hers easily and Eden whimpered in surprise, tensing up.
Harry kept it modest and even slightly teasing, giving a soft yet deep and long kiss to Eden’s lips before pulling back. She chased him slightly, needing more but Harry didn’t give in. He had a slight smirk on his lips and then used his fingers on her chin to direct her eyes back to the art, “That’s where you’re supposed to be looking, mia dolcezza.”
Eden flushed pink as she blinked a few times, staring at the sculpture again even if her legs felt weak. She felt grateful for Harry’s arms around her, and he smirked wider upon feeling her instability.
Continuing the teasing touches, they made their way through the gallery. Eden tried to get the control back though, so every time Harry tried to kiss her, she pulled back right before his lips touched hers.
It was a game. For the both of them.
And Harry had a feeling that it would be, which is why he had something planned for the afternoon. A boat ride, a yacht, just the two of them. Out in the ocean, there were no curious eyes, no one to disturb them.
Eden felt on a fluffy cloud when Harry drove them towards the coast and the harbour. She couldn’t even explain her giddiness upon seeing the boat, which Harry steered. She laid on the deck while staring at him. Their sexual tension was high, the boat rocking to the waves as they were surrounded by blue water.
“This is insane.” Eden mumbled. Harry dropped the anchor as he joined Eden on the deck, sun warming their skin. He closed his eyes and hummed, tilting his head up to the rays, “Liking Italy a bit better already?”
She chuckled, “For sure. I could get used to this.”
“A rich gentleman taking you out? You know what that’s called, right?” He teased.
“As if you wouldn’t jump on the opportunity to be my sugar daddy.”
Harry threw his head back in a laugh, “No comment.” He then glanced at her, “Want some wine?”
“Oh! Yes, for sure.” Eden grinned, “Oh my god, this is perfect. I wanna stay here forever.”
Harry chuckled and got up again, ditching his button-up and using his time below deck to quickly put on his swimming shorts and grab a bottle of pink wine and two glasses.
Sunglasses on his nose, he went back to the deck to give Eden her glass. He found her slipping off the sundress as she was on her knees, and he stopped in his tracks.
She was in her underwear, just a small thong and a lace bralette covering her private parts. He could see her nipples through the lace, and the tiny thong did nothing to conceal her. Eden arched her back, making it a show of taking the dress off before their eyes locked. She smiled softly to herself, seeing Harry with his jaw on the floor.
Getting up, Eden sought her balance on the wobbly boat, “Can I change downstairs?” She checked, “I brought a bikini.”
Harry’s throat felt dry before he forced himself to nod, “Y-Yeah.”
“Okay.” She sweetly smiled. It gave Harry a few minutes to gather himself, and when she returned she was in a bikini as pink as the wine he poured. It hugged her tightly, showing her nipples through the little triangles covering her up with an equally small piece of fabric acting as her bottoms.
“Thank you.” She accepted the glass Harry offered her before they took their spots on the deck, sipping some wine. Both were lounging on a fluffy towel, soaking in the sun. Harry couldn’t keep his eyes of her body while Eden tried her best to keep her eyes off his.
The tattoos, the tan, the chest hair… He was just irresistible. Is she wasn’t so proud and stubborn, she would’ve jumped him. But Eden had the upper hand and she wanted to enjoy it – even if she knew deep down she’d crumple if he even gave her the smallest amount of attention.
And when the silence took over and Eden drank her wine, she could just imagine herself slowly riding him here on this deck. Harry blissed out beneath her as she’d rock her hips into him, feeling him deep inside her. The sun would be going down, engulfing them in an orange hue as she’d grind to the motions of the waves and make his toes curl in pleasure.
Goosebumps rose over her legs before she cleared her throat, “I’m gonna take a dip.” She announced. Harry watched as Eden got up and stretched her arms, “You too?”
“Yeah.” Harry nodded, “I need some cooling down.”
Eden chuckled and put her glass inside of the little cabin before making a short run off to the side and diving into the cold water. Harry watched her disappear before she rose up a bit of a distance away, quickly followed as Harry too jumped in.
The bright sunlight reflected off the surface of the ocean and Eden smiled widely, throwing herself back to float in the endless pool of salt water. She heard soft splashing nearby and it came as no surprise to her to feel Harry’s hands on her waist, pulling her into him.
Eden giggled as his arms wrapped around her form, and with both of them no longer kicking up, they submerged. Eden closed her eyes, her teeth showing underwater as sound died down. Harry’s hands moved to her ass underwater, and it came as no surprise to Eden to feel a pucker of his lips against her own before he pulled them back up.
He coughed slightly and when Eden opened her eyes, she was met with a grinning Harry. He playfully splashed some water her way before diving back underwater to swim a lap around the boat. Eden climbed back up on the ladder in the meantime, dropping down onto the deck with a sigh to let herself dry.
Harry joined her a few moments later, water dripping down his abs as he let out a breath, “That felt great.” He commented, plopping down on his towel next to Eden, who hummed, “It did.”
Silence took over for a minute, Eden nibbling her lip until she sat up. Her wet hair dripped down her back but the scorching sun was drying her up quickly. She glanced at Harry, “Can you put sunscreen on me?”
Harry blinked his eyes open, “What?” He sat up, “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”
Eden sent him a sweet smile, “Good. Thank you.” And before Harry’s eyes, she reached behind her to undo her bikini, ripping the top piece off of her body. Harry swallowed thickly when Eden was left topless, his eyes shamelessly dropping to her soft tits.
His cock jumped in his swimming shorts as Eden rolled around to lay down on her front. Harry got the hint, reaching into one of the bags for some sunscreen before he hovered over her. Squirting the product in his hands, he started rubbing it into her warm skin.
Eden closed her eyes when he gave her a slight massage, the fingertips pressing into some sore spots on her back as he made his way down her back to the dimples all the way at the bottom.
And he didn’t stop there. Eden bit her lip when his hands were on her ass cheeks. She knew her bikini bottoms were more of a thong than anything else, and that most of her flesh was exposed. Harry took his advantage, getting his hands on her, “Wouldn’t want you to burn this pretty little peach.” He murmured.
Eden softly hummed and he continued massaging her ass cheeks. Harry had his lip between his teeth as he stared at her plump behind, “D’you like it?” He asked. After a few seconds of silence, Harry glanced at Eden’s face to see her eyes closed. He clenched his jaw, bringing his hand back to deliver a sharp slap to her right cheek.
Eden yelped as she felt the sharp sting, immediately opening her eyes. Harry grabbed a fistful of her ass cheek in his palm, “I asked you a question.”
“Yes.” She breathed out, “Y-Yes, I like it.”
Harry hummed before pulling her hip, forcing Eden to roll over. Her tits bounced from the movement and Harry licked his lip, staring down at her again. Spreading more sunscreen around his palms, he wasted no time in placing his hands on her boobs to massage in the product. Eden held her breath, staring at Harry as he seemed mesmerized by her chest.
He kneaded softly before brushing his thumbs over her nipples, hardening them in a matter of seconds. He didn’t seem to mind that he used way too much product, covering Eden’s breasts in a white sheen of sunscreen.
“So filthy.” He mumbled, leaning down to let spit land on her chest from between his puckered lips. Eden moaned softly, feeling the warmth of his saliva on her skin before he spread that around too. His eyes looked glazed over, drunkenly staring at Eden as her tits glistened in his spit.
“Your turn.” Eden breathed, locking her leg around his thigh to flip them around. Harry’s eyes were wide in surprise when Eden climbed on top of him. Her hair was wild and untamed and she placed her palms on his bare chest, pushing her own tits together. Harry couldn’t keep his eyes away, breathing shakily at the erotic sight.
His hard cock was trapped in his swimming shorts, but he had no doubt Eden was aware of his erection. And that she was aware that she was the cause for it. She loved it, knowing she had a certain power over him.
Harry stared up at her, illuminated by sunlight. His hands immediately smoothed over her thighs as she straddled him, sitting snugly up against his cock. “Sembri radiosa.” He mumbled, “come il sole.”
Eden breathed sharply as the Italian words tumbled from his mouth. Spreading the sunscreen between her palms, she then started rubbing the product into Harry’s chest. Subconsciously, her hips rocked into him simultaneously as the way she was moving her hands.
“Fuck.” Harry sighed, dropping his head back and closing his eyes, giving Eden full control over his body. She stroked over his chest, up to his shoulders and then down his abs. He felt her shuffling down and then her hands were on his thighs. Moving higher, she pushed the fabric of his shorts up until stopping before reaching his dick.
Silently asking for permission, Harry realized. He kept his eyes closed, giving Eden equally silent permission by lifting his hips. She hesitated for a moment before sliding down the waistband of his shorts to free his cock.
“God – fuck.” Harry cursed, his fists balling when Eden’s hand wrapped around his throbbing dick. He was wet in precum, forcing himself to open his eyes and push up on his elbows to at least see the sight in front of him. Eden, topless, stroking him from base to tip with a twist in her wrist.
She had her lip between her teeth, “You’re big.” She commented. Harry huffed out a chuckle, “Yeah. You still want it?”
“Mhm.” She nibbled her lip before releasing it with a pop, “It’s gonna hurt. I want it to hurt.”
Harry groaned and quickly grabbed her, pushing her on her back on the deck before his fingers fumbled with her bottoms. Eden assisted him, lifting her hips too so she could be as naked as him. Harry shuffled out of his shorts and pushed Eden’s legs to the side to spread her for him.
The boat rocked on the ocean as he stared down her bare cunt, wet in arousal as her lips were spread for him. He could see every fucking inch, hungrily licking his lips, “I can’t fucking wait.” He groaned.
“J-Just fuck me.” Eden choked out. She submissively brought her hands up over her head to give Harry all the room and space he needed, arching out her chest for him. He spat down again, using his fingers to spread it around her nipples as he breathed harshly, “It’s gonna hurt.” He warned.
Eden just nodded, “I know, make it hurt – please. I need it hard.”
“God, you’re such a fucking whore.” Harry bit, guiding himself to her. His tip caught with her entrance and Eden mewled, shuddering at the pressure. Harry stared down at where they touched, not pushing in more than just an inch, “Like that?”
“Fuck, yes!” Eden moaned. Harry panted out, “You’re so wet.” He whispered, watching as he pulled his tip back out, shining in her arousal. He dragged his cock up her slit, pressing into her clit. Eden shuddered and writhed more. A blurt of precum pearled her clit and Harry fucking lost it. Without more thought, he pushed inside of Eden in one swift motion.
She let out a high-pitched moan, clenching her thighs at the intrusion. It stung and hurt, but in a way so delicious her eyes rolled back. He was big, stretching her. And deep. So fucking deep.
“Fuck, baby, haven’t even started and you’re creaming over my cock.” He taunted, although Harry’s voice slightly trembled too as he tried to hold himself together. Eden was wet and warm, and after letting her adjust for a bit, he could feel her completely melting and relaxing.
“That’s good.” Harry praised, “That feels so fucking good… what a good, wet girl you are.”
Eden bit her lip and moaned, bucking back into him. Harry kept her legs wide open before he drew back and slammed back in. A gasp was stuck in Eden’s throat as her eyes bulged at the pressure, and Harry could only watch in awe as her tits bounced.
They were naked on the deck of a public boat, but no one was around them. The boat rocked a little and the sun was hot on Harry’s back as he sat on the heels of his feet with Eden in front of him.
He was fucking her raw, but neither cared. His cock was wet in her arousal, pulling back before pushing back in. Eden squeaked with every thrust, her eyes watering.
After a few minutes of easing Eden into it, Harry got more comfortable. He leaned one hand next to her head, pushing her leg up with the other so her knee was against her shoulder and she was split wider for him.
“God – Harry…” Eden whimpered, “harder, please… harder.”
“Harder?” He panted, “You’re a fucking whore.”
Her eyes were screwed shut, “I am.”
“Tell me how often you’ve done this, huh?” He fucked her harder, his skin slapping against hers, “How often have you fucking seduced a man to spoil you and then fuck you like this?”
Eden couldn’t respond and Harry grew impatient again, raising his hand to slap her cheek, “Tell me.”
“I-I d-“ Eden gasped, crying out as Harry angled himself differently and screwed into her harder, “Such a dumb whore for cock.” He spit, “needing a rich, older guy to put you in your spot, hm? Need me to feel good. Need me to fucking destroy your cunt like this.”
Harry grabbed her hair to cock her head back harshly, Eden stretched out as she still refrained from using her hands. She had an adventurous sex life before, but she had never been fucked like this. On a boat, after just having a day full of tension altogether. And it just snapped. The touching just got out of hand and now here she was, with a man balls deep inside of her.
“Gonna let me feel this pussy cum for me?” Harry panted, popping his thumb in his mouth before pressing down on her clit. Eden shook and mewled as he drew tight circles, at the same time his cock kept brushing into her g-spot over and over again.
“H-Harry – oh my god…”
“Feels good?”
She threw her head back with a moan as her tummy tightened, “Y-Yes, I’m gonna cum… Oh my god, you’re gonna make me cum.”,,
Harry held his breath when he felt it, her walls pulsating around him as her body trembled. Eden cried out curses, her hands finally attempting to reach for him. Harry caught her hands easily, lacing their fingers together as he pushed them back over her head and completely hovered over her. His hips didn’t let up, continuing to fuck into her in sharp, short pulses.
He watched Eden’s eyes water, the way her brow scrunched up in pleasure, the way her lips gaped. He spat in her open mouth and saw the way his saliva pooled on her tongue before she choked and coughed slightly.
Her orgasm seemed endless, Eden unable to get any air to her lungs as Harry relentlessly fucked her. And when she was on the verge of passing out, he pulled out sharply. Eden whimpered and shook as Harry grabbed her hip and rolled her around again. She was on her stomach, feeling his hands on her hips as he pulled her up. She leaned on her elbows as he pushed her knees to the side and slid into her again.
“God, y’feel so fucking good…” He moaned.
Eden couldn’t do anything but whine, feeling as her knees bruised from the hard deck, same as her elbows as she scooted up with each hard thrust of Harry’s hips. She was on the constant brink of pain and pleasure, letting him use her like a fucktoy but she wanted nothing else.
She was trembling, her lungs burning as she couldn’t seem to get a decent breath in. All the air got knocked out of her whenever his hips collided with her ass. Harry stared at the jiggle in her ass cheeks, holding his palms on her. Eden sunk down through her arms more to arch out, completely pushing back against him as soft whimpers filled his ears.
“Such a good, wet cunt.” Harry praised, slowing down just a tad as he felt his heartbeat violently hammering. He pulled out even, giving his cock a break before he leaned down behind her. Spitting down between her ass cheeks, Eden’s eyes rolled back when she felt his tongue wiggling through her pussy lips.
“Oh – fuck… yes!” She moaned, “Harry – oh my god.”
His tongue was salacious, slipping down to her budding clit to give a soft suck before moving back up. When he buried his tongue between her ass cheeks, Eden violently bit her lip to keep from screaming out. He kept her nice and spread, licking over her rim and eating her out with no shame in sight.
Spitting down once more, Harry straightened up again. His hand took a hold of his cock, which he slid between her cheeks to tap over the tight ring of muscles. Eden choked out puffs of air mixed with whimpers as she pushed back against him, “P-Please… I need it.”
“I know you do.” Harry cooed, watching his wet cock sliding against her tightest entrance, “I know, you need me so bad… You’d let me do anything, hm? So fucking greedy.” He slapped his tip against her hold and Eden buckled through her arms, near biting down her own arm to suppress her whines. Harry watched her shake and shudder as he went further, teasing with the idea of intrusion as he placed his tip against her hole and threatened to push in.
“Y-Yes, Harry… Please.” Eden deliriously begged and he hummed, “Look at that, you’d let me fuck your ass. You really want it to hurt, don’t you?”
“Uh-h-huh.” Eden stammered, tears leaking down her cheeks as she felt herself going insane in anticipation. Her arousal was running down her thighs and she couldn’t remember ever being this turned on in her life. “You think you could take me?” Harry taunted, “Baby, I’ve already destroyed your tight cunt… you wouldn’t be able to walk.”
He couldn’t believe it. Unprepped and unprotected, she’d just let him use her. All of her. He knew that if he pushed her further, she’d truly let him fuck her there. But Harry still felt a sense of responsibility and at least a sense of care. She’d truly be in pain if he did that and even if she claimed she liked it when it hurt, he wasn’t sure if she realized what she was asking for.
“Little, ruined cumslut.” He tutted, “Go on, ride me. Show me how much you need me.” He pulled away completely, laying down on his back on the deck as Eden forced her limbs to move to straddle him. Her movements were uncoordinated, amusing Harry as she trembled and sniffled. His smiled faltered when she took a hold of him, jerking him off for a few seconds before positioning him at her entrance.
The warmth of her pussy welcomed him again, Harry tipping his head back as his toes curled and he gripped her thighs. Eden took him slowly, inch by inch as he disappeared inside of her soft, wet pussy until their thighs touched.
“D-Doesn’t even feel like you’ve ever been fucked before.” He croaked, “Not by a real man, at least.”
Eden chuckled to herself, drunk on his words as she started grinding. Tears sprung to her eyes immediately at how perfect everything felt. Her tummy jumped in excitement when he continued brushing over her spongy spot up her front wall, sitting so snugly inside of her it was like they were meant for each other.
“Shit.” She sighed, leaning her head back as her hands braced themselves on his thighs behind her. Harry couldn’t help but just stare at the erotic sight in front of him. Eden working herself on top of him, her muscles working to keep her hips rocking. Her nipples hard, her stomach flexing as she rode him slowly and deeply. She bit down on her lip to keep her moans down and he just… couldn’t look away. Not even if he wanted. He couldn’t even blink.
They had been staring at art most of the day but nothing had made him feel like this did. She was just such a sight for sore eyes. So, so fucking sexy.
His fingers found her clit again, Eden gasping in sensitivity when she could feel him touching her. Teasing. Flicking. Playing with her. She shuddered before slowly opening her eyes. Harry was bathing in the yellow sunlight, lit up completely but his eyes were on where they touched. Eden continued rocking her pelvis into him as his fingertips toyed with her nerves.
“D-Do you want me to cum again?” She breathed, fingers digging into his thighs when her entire body tingled in delight. Harry smirked, “Fuck, yes. You want my cum so bad, hm? Need to be fucking filled like a whore. You need it so bad.”
“I n-need it so bad.” Eden confirmed in a stuttering gasp, throwing her head back as the beginnings of her orgasm started. Her hips fell out of rhythm as she trembled in pleasure, Harry holding a steady hand on her hip as his free hand continued playing her clit.
And just like with her first orgasm, he didn’t stop once she shuddered and cried out, he kept her going. Even when Eden tried to push his hand away with her eyes screwed shut. Harry didn’t oblige, instead wrapping an arm around her torso to pull her down. Her hands braced themselves as his cock slipped from her.
“H-Harry…” Eden slurred when his fingers abandoned her clit but moved to her opening, plunging two inside of her to replace his cock. While her body was dealing with the aftermaths of her second orgasm, Harry began building the third.
Eden’s knees could hardly keep herself up when his fingers curled, and curled, and curled to massage her swollen g-spot until she gasped and cried and begged. He stared at her intently as he played her like only he knew how to. He knew a woman’s body well and was easy at picking up signals to figure out what they wanted or how they liked it.
Eden liked it rough and she liked to be pushed, so when she writhed in discomfort of an orgasm this long wrecking her body, he didn’t let up. “C’mon.” He panted, “Give me another one, hm?” Her arousal ran over his knuckles as he licked his lip, “Make it wet. Do what you do best and soak me.”
“I-“ Eden gasped, fully dropping her face into the crook of Harry’s neck as she slumped against him. Drops of creamy arousal fell from her, wetting his hand and part of his lap as she had a wet orgasm. Her body ached and felt tired all over, and her brain felt hazy.
“Fuck, good girl.” Harry kept fucking his fingers inside of her to keep it going until Eeden fully whimpered and protested. He was slow in sliding his fingers out, bringing them to his lips to savour that sweet taste. His tongue swirled around his digits as Eden laid motionless on top of him. He felt her ragged breaths into his neck, their sweaty bodies pressed together as she was cradled up on his lap.
Harry took a moment to catch his breath before nudging her to roll around again. She thudded on her back and he saw the pink in her cheeks, the fatigue in her eyes and the bliss written all over her face. He chuckled softly while hovering over her again, using his hands to split her knees.
With a kiss to her lips, Harry guided inside her again. Eden tensed and winced, but Harry hardly cared. The pressure at the bottom of his spine overwhelmed him greatly, and he needed to cum inside of her. “Fuck.” He breathed, their lips brushing together. He held her hands again, up over her head as Eden pliantly let him slam inside of her.
It was uncomfortable and she was sore, but the look in his eyes convinced her more than ever to let him have this. He looked animalistic and desperate at the same time. Like he needed this orgasm but only with her. Like it mattered that it was her he was finishing inside of and no one else.
“Baby.” He croaked, tipping his head back with a tightly clenched jaw. His eyes screwed shut, brows knitted together in pleasure as he panted out and fucked her deep. “’M gonna fill you up so good.” He rasped.
“Uh-huh.” Eden nodded, “Please, I need it all. Need you to stuff me.”
“Holy fuck.” Harry cursed in disbelief. He tried to keep his eyes open as he sped up more, harshly thrusting into Eden and gazing into her irises. His forehead dropped on hers as his orgasm started, noses brushing together. Harry moaned shakily, tensing completely. He grabbed her hands tighter, his knuckles turning white as he curled his toes and pushed as deep inside of her as he could, “Oh my fucking god.” He whimpered, “F-Fuck.”
Eden gasped as she felt him pulsing, his orgasm spurting out of him to coat her insides in a white, sticky mess. His hair flopped over his forehead as his jaw opened and he desperately gasped, “Eden – I’m… holy fuck.” He squeaked, voice cracking as he continued coming inside of her. She could feel his release leaking down the sides of his shaft, dripping down her pussy.
The sight had aroused her so much once more, and Harry was limp on top of her as he finally finished. His cock twitched against her walls and after some nagging from Eden, Harry managed to lift his head.
“Scoot up.” She whispered. He blinked twice, “What?”
She shot him a look, “Scoot up.” She near pushed him off and then tapped her chest, “Here.”
Harry’s legs felt weak as he slipped out of her before doing as she asked. He could hardly think straight, and even less now that he was straddling her chest and Eden got to cleaning him up. Harry bit his lip as her tongue gently ran over his softening cock. He was slick and wet in both their orgasms, and she tasted the mix of them thoroughly by giving a gentle blowjob in aftercare.
“Shit, babe… ‘s so good.” He threw his head back in a breathy moan when he felt her angling up his softened prick to lick at his base and eventually his balls. Harry felt delirious in sensitivity. It was so painful but so good and delicious at the same time. He constantly had to bite his tongue, knowing he was a second away from begging her to stop but also wanted her to continue more than anything.
And then he felt her hands on his cheeks, urging him up higher. Harry felt the stinging behind his lids at the pleasure she wanted him to receive. His tired body did as she asked, and he felt her tongue on his rim next.
“Eden…” He moaned, trembling on his knees as he hovered over her face and she ate him out. His hand lazily stroked his half-hard cock, so twitchy and red from the hard fuck he had just done. Eden hummed, pushing her tongue inside of him to eat him out. Harry whined, shaking as he sped up his hand, tugging on his own cock and angling up to give Eden room to breathe through her nose. She’d bump into his heavy balls every once in a while, also licking that part of his body.
Even after the orgasm, he was still so ready to give more. And she could feel it. Sucking his balls into her mouth, she could feel him pulsing and near grinding down onto her mouth. Harry was overstimulated and sensitive, and quickly scooted back when he felt like he’d cum again. It was near impossible and his cock felt like he was about to explode. It worried him just a touch, the touch of his own hand felt burning hot as he squeezed around his base. Eden submissively stuck out her tongue but knew Harry had no intentions on finishing in her mouth.
He came on her face again, just a few blurts of milky come painting over her face and not a single drop actually landing on her waiting tongue. Harry cried out, shaking all over as he emptied himself once more. He had never had two orgasms this close to one another, and for a moment he truly feared he was about to pass out.
Eden hummed, stroking her hands up over his chest as Harry continued hovering over her. Eventually she assisted in laying him down next to her. He breathed heavily, sprawled out completely with Eden next to him. She laid on her side, gently playing with the chest hair on his sternum to calm him down. His cock was spent and laying soft between the fern tattoos on his hips.
Both didn’t say a word until Harry thickly swallowed, “Well, that happened.”
“It did.” Eden chuckled.
He turned his head to the side to watch her, an easy smile on her lips as she stared back at him. She had used her hand to wipe off some of his release but hadn’t been completely thorough. He suspected she just didn’t care all that much.
“Still thinking of moving back?” He checked.
Eden bit her lip to fight her smile, “Well… I don’t know. You might’ve convinced me.”
“It was the art expo, wasn’t it?” Harry teased and Eden burst out into a giggle, Harry’s heart warming at the sound. He pulled at her arm, getting her to lay her arms over his chest and lean over him a little bit. He tucked her hair behind her ear, “I promise that if you stay… I’ll fuck you like that every day.”
“Every day?” Eden huffed, “Yeah, no, I’m not surviving that.”
He smirked, “I thought you liked it rough?”
“I do, but not every single day.” She got a bit more comfortable, her fingertip tracing over his eyebrow, “If you want to fuck me every single day, you’re going to have to be a bit… slower. Gentler.”
“Gentler?”
“Mhm. Don’t tell me you don’t know how to be a gentleman.” She smiled and Harry returned it, “Just made you cum three times, I’d say I know how to be a gentleman.”
“Harry.” Eden giggled, shaking her head to himself. He chuckled along, clearing his throat, “No, I get it. I’ll be gentler, promise. In fact…” He took her arm again and rolled them over, hovering over her again, “why don’t I show you how gentle I can be?”
Eden frowned until her eyes widened, Harry lips on her chest before he shimmied down between her legs, “Harry,” She gasped, “no, I can’t.”
“Shh,” He cooed, the hold on her thighs making Eden part her legs as Harry fit his shoulders between them, “let me return the favour, yeah?”
The words were stuck in her throat, and Eden dropped down on her back when his tongue flicked through her slit. She held her breath, the mix of pain and pleasure shooting through her. And where Eden feared it’d be mostly pain, she was proven wrong. Harry was slow and soft, his tongue gently licking through her folds to lick up any of their releases.
He kissed the inside of her thighs, even softly running his wet tongue over her pained clit until pushing her thighs up a little higher to give himself more access. His tongue pushed inside her pussy, flexing and sucking to get every single drop of their mixed orgasms. He hummed with closed eyes, hearing the way Eden softly moaned. Her fingers in his hair encouraged him, and her body arched to move with the pulses of his tongue.
When there was nothing left to clean up, Harry lifted his head with a lazy smirk, “How’s that for gentle?”
Eden laid blissed out, a lazy grin on her lips as she chuckled, “So good.” She murmured, her body lax and unable to move. Her limbs felt heavy, and Harry felt the same way, laying down next to her again. His hand found her waist, and for the rest of the afternoon there was always some contact.
Even when they jumped in the ocean for another swim, he stayed close. They teased and whispered to each other, giving gentle kisses. He squeezed her ass softly whenever she was in reach and Eden often had her arms around his neck.
They didn’t talk much, both of them just not feeling the need to.
This was physical, and they knew it. Harry could feel something in his chest whenever she was near, but it wasn’t enough.
It wasn’t enough at the end of the summer to ask her to stay. So he watched her leave.
For the past few weeks, they had spent a lot of time together. Harry and Eden got to know each other on a superficial level. She didn’t feel the need to share every detail about her life and he didn’t ask. Their dynamic was good, until it wasn’t. Until Harry wanted more.
He felt something but didn’t know what it was. So it’d be unfair to ask her to stay for something he couldn’t promise or guarantee. Perhaps he only felt like he liked her because he knew she’d leave again. Perhaps if she stayed, he’d get sick of her and then he’d feel guilty.
So Eden was at his place one final time, putting her clothes on again after they had rolled around his sheets for the past hour. She zipped up her shorts and tucked her hair behind her ear, sending him a smile. Harry buttoned up his shirt again as he returned it.
Her hair was wet from the shower she just had in his bathroom. Even if they had sex multiple times a day, Eden always insisted on having a quick shower afterwards. Mostly to clean up his release as Harry always insisted in coming inside of her. After they had established a no-condom rule and Eden briefly opened up about how she was unable to carry children, he was quickly on board.
They were only sleeping with each other and since a pregnancy scare wasn’t in the cards for them, there was no reason to deprive them of the pure pleasure of having raw sex.
And if he didn’t come inside of her, he’d come on her face or her tits. Never in her mouth. He loved it too much, watching his release drip down her body.
They were a great match, sexually, and it proved in neither of them being able to keep their hands off of one another in the past few weeks.
Eden had to admit she hardly spent time with her father over the course of the summer. She was more around Harry’s place than anything, sneaking over in the middle of the night without alerting anyone. Her father assumed she made friends somewhere, not knowing she spent most of her nights next door in the neighbour’s bed.
Harry knew that once she left he’d still find bobby pins and parts of her scattered around his house. Her shampoo in his shower, her favourite tea in his cabinet, the dog toys she purchased for Sadie and Lola one day, her panties in his laundry. And her scent in his sheets.
She’d cuddle into Harry at night, the hot Italian air not stopping her from seeking the warmth of his body as she curled herself around him. He’d stir awake to roll around, grip her waist to tug her into his chest. And then they woke up with Eden breathing into his neck, her legs locked around his hips.
He had to admit the bed would feel big without her here.
But she was leaving. Today. Eden had been searching for jobs and finally got an offer back in London. She started in a few days and had to set some stuff up back at home, so she booked a flight. Harry could argue that she could work somewhere around here too with a degree like hers, but refrained from asking her.
His chest ached when they were at his front door. Eden closed up the final button of her top before Harry pouted in delight, batting her hands away to undo it again. She giggled as he leaned down to press a kiss to the swell of her breast, “Cancel your flight.” He mumbled into her warm skin. He pushed her against the door and dropped his hands to her ass, kneading her cheeks over the denim of her shorts.
“Harry,” Eden giggled, “I can’t.”
“You can.” He argued, brushing his nose over her collarbone before he kissed her jaw and eventually her lips. She closed her eyes, knitting her fingers in his hair as they kissed softly for a moment against his front door. Sadie and Lola were on the couch, watching the pair intently.
Harry tried to smile as they pulled back, but just couldn’t. He swallowed thickly, realizing he’d fucking miss her once she left. The lump in his throat felt tight and he didn’t know what to do besides kiss her again. Differently this time, and Eden felt it too. She was breathless and spinning as he passionately roamed his tongue around her mouth and fitted his body around hers.
He didn’t want to pull back but had to, gasping for a breath. Swallowing thickly, Harry brushed his nose against hers, “Don’t forget to text me when you land.”
Eden smiled, shaking her head, “I won’t. And I might be back sooner than you think.”
“Yeah?” There was a tinge of hope in his voice and Eden bit her lip, smiling, “Mhm. You know how close I am to my dad. And Colleen.”
He heard the teasing in his voice and breathily chuckled at her joke, “Sure. Your dad and Colleen.” He nodded.
“And the dogs. I’d miss them too much.” Eden continued.
Harry smirked and pecked her lips once more, “Anything else you’d miss?”
“I could think of a few things.” Eden whispered.
Harry smiled and stared into her eyes, “If you’re ever visiting your dad again… don’t be a stranger.”
Eden bit her lip with a smile, “What if I’m in a very committed, serious relationship by then?” She teased.
Harry chuckled, palming her ass to give a squeeze. His lips brushed hers as he smirked softly, “Bring him.”
//
sOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO do i need to write a part 2 to this orrrrrrrrrrrrr??
