#kattdo

The thing was, you had been totally professional about it, kept your cool, did as you were told… well mostly.

Like the professional you were, you were the one holding the clipboard to your chest like a shield. You had answered emails. You had coordinated craft services and kept the water station stocked, confirmed the car service for his team, and even double-checked the lighting setups with the photographer and done every single tedious task your job required of you—all while Harry Styles ran laps on a desert highway in nothing but five inches of printed fabric and a pair of Nikes.

The running magazine shoot had been booked for months. The standard editorial, you had been told. Fitness-focused; the typical lifestyle angle your team usually offers. What nobody had mentioned—what nobody had “warned” you about—was the creative direction. Which was, apparently, make him look like a fantasy you would have at mile seven of an overheated treadmill run when your brain starts doing weird things from all the oxygen deprivation.

He had been good-natured about all of it. Grinning through the shoe changes, cracking jokes between setups, doing that thing where he would stretch his arms over his head between takes, where every tendon in his torso would shift under the ink, and you would have to physically look at the horizon line and think about anything else but the “v” running into his waistband, anything else but the fucking bulge that filled the front of his shorts.

Over the course of the day, you had maybe exchanged fifteen words with him directly, nothing major, just the “Hi, nice to meet you.” “Water?” “Sunscreen’s on the table.” “Your team’s in the trailer whenever you need them.” Keeping every interaction clipped and efficient because you were a professional, and also because every time he looked at you, you forgot how your mouth was supposed to work.

But here’s the truth and what nobody wants to fucking tell you about a twelve-hour shoot in the desert: When it finally ends. Everyone packs up. The crew disconnects cables and collapses the reflectors—all the while the photographer is shaking hands with their client, saying goodbye, and jets off to their rental because the job is done. Then someone has to do the final check-in. Someone has to knock on the talent’s trailer, confirm the schedule’s wrapped, and ask if they need anything else.

And that someone was you.

Outside his trailer, you knocked twice, listening as the sound echoed. His manager, Jeff, opens the door, already mid-sentence to someone on the phone, and waves you in without breaking stride. The trailer was small and bright, the AC cranked to accommodate the glistening sweat streaking the body of the client. Harry was sitting on the low bench against the wall, still in those ridiculous shorts, a towel draped over his shoulders, his hair damp and pushed back. He was holding one of those yellow Nikes, untied in his lap, and was pulling at the laces absently when you walked in.

“Hey,” he said, glancing up, completely casual, like he hadn’t been posing half-naked in the glow of the golden hour light for the better part of the early evening while you slowly lost your grip on reality.

“Hey. Just doing the final rounds.” You told him, trying to keep your voice steady, eyes on the clipboard. “The crew’s wrapping up, and the cars are confirmed for seven. Is there anything you or your team might need before we close out?”

That’s when you felt the vibration of the hollow ground, Jeff pacing toward the door, phone still pressed to his ear, mouthing “I’ll be right back” to no one in particular. You stepped aside, making room for him to get by, taking a few steps closer toward Harry. Harry’s stylist was already zipping a garment bag, and the hair guy—whose name you had forgotten three times today—was packing his kit into a rolling case.

“I think we’re good,” Harry said, watching his team filter toward the door in a choreographed exit, you guessed they were used to. “Jeff’s sorting out the details on our end… looks like everyone’s heading out.” He answered, eyeing his crew.

“Thanks, guys. See you tomorrow. Great day out there,” He added.

That’s when the stylist squeezed past you with a “great working with you” smile playing at his lips as the hair guy followed, pushing you closer to Harry. Jeff was waiting at the door, opening it as he ducked out with a “back in ten, H,” hand covering the mouth of the phone, but you could tell by the look on his face that it was clearly going to be longer than ten. The door clicked shut behind them, and all at once the trailer went silent in a pressurized way, enveloping you in the type of silence that filled your ears with the beating of your own heartbeat, leaving you both in only the hum of the AC unit and the soft chatter of whatever was cooling down outside with the crew.

And then it was just you. And him. And the lingering visual torture of watching him run in slow motion as the photographer yelled, “Yes, exactly that, don’t stop,” while youinternalized every word, wishing it was you shouting that same line back at Harry while he was inside you.

Harry leaned back against the wall and looked at you for a long moment, maybe for the first time all day, really taking you in. This wasn’t a glance. Not the polite, mid-shoot half-smile you had gotten during the water breaks. This was a real, full, and unhurried look. His eyes moved over your face like he was doing his own version of what you had been doing behind the safety of a clipboard all afternoon, and you swallowed hard, afraid to move a muscle.

“It’s been a long day, yeah? Everyone was very professional, considering I’ve had to be in these short shorts all day,” he joked with a laugh, but you were too caught up in the way he said ‘professional’, the way it drifted with his British drawl, making your stomach flip.

“Yeah, you’d be surprised what we see, but it’s literally my job, no big deal.”

“Mhm.” He hummed, dropping the shoe to the floor, and it thudded softly, making your heart race. “So professional that you barely looked at me.” He mused, sending you a smirk.

You pushed a laugh through your nose, the sound breathy as you shifted your gaze to your feet, feeling shy suddenly, “Trust me…I looked at you plenty. Everyone was looking at you. That was the point of the shoot.” You finished looking back up. 

“But not like that though…” he said, his voice dipping lower. “It just kind of felt like you kept looking at me like you were trying not to, or something.”

Out of nowhere, the AC made a loud gasping sound, as if it were struggling to keep up with the heat, causing you to jump. But you didn’t say anything because he was right, and you both knew it. That’s when you realized how small the trailer was and how very close you were, Harry still not wearing a shirt, even though the clothes he was going to change into were sitting right next to him.

“I was being professional,” you said again, forcing the words past your dry throat.

“Yeah.” He sat forward, elbows on his knees, and you watched as the towel slipped off one shoulder, yet his eyes never left yours. “And now the shoot’s over…” He told you with a smile, dimples dipping, sucking you in even further. 

That’s when you made your choice, reading the room, and you set the clipboard down on the counter—the feeling almost ceremonial, like putting down a weapon, ready to surrender.

“It is.” You whispered, trying not to lose your fucking mind.

“And everyone’s gone.” He added.

“Well, everyone in here is gone.” You agreed, your pussy clenching on nothing, clit pulsing. 

He smiled again, noticing the shift in your posture, probably, “So what did you actually want when you were avoiding my gaze all day?”

Fuck, you were about to lie when the honest answer was obviously him. Immediately. On every fucking surface of this trailer. You knew in your mind that the professional answer should have been “nothing, goodnight, see you never…” But that wasn’t what came out of your mouth:

“One thing,” You answered, confident this time, returning the smile. His eyebrows lifted then, interest piquing his curiosity.

Impatient, you didn’t wait for his response, and you crossed the few feet between, closing the distance. His hands flew to your hips before you had fully stopped moving, pulling you down into his lap in one fluid motion, his hand instant like maybe he had been thinking about this since the moment you walked through that trailer door. Your knees hit the bench on either side of him as his fingers dug into the fabric at your waist, and fuck, it was all a rush, his mouth so close, tilted up, his bottom lip parted slightly—

“Been thinking about this since like—hour two,” he pushed against the corner of your mouth, lips hovering. His breath was warm as you breathed in the smell of sunscreen and the dry heat of his clean sweat.

“Minute one for me,” you confessed with a laugh, and then he kissed you, all patience going out the fucking window.

His hand came up to the back of your neck, and he pulled you in with his whole grip, his mouth hot and open, burning with the peppermint gum he had been chewing between setups. You made a sound against his teeth, a sound that slipped with no shame, no fear, and he swallowed it as his other hand slid under the back of your shirt, palm flat and dry against your spine, slowly moving up the damp skin of your back.

He was getting hard beneath you—dick already beginning to press through those tiny shorts; hiding absolutely nothing, no sense of ambiguity left, just the hard bulge of his shorts and your mouths moving. Curious, you shifted your hips, moving just enough to test the waters. His breath caught, fingers tightening on your neck, and he pulled you down hard, lifting his hips just enough to make contact with the heated apex of your thighs. 

“That—Fuck—” He breathed into your mouth. “Do that again.”

So you did it again. Slowly rolling your hips forward, dragging across the length pressing through the thin fabric, and he dropped his head back against the wall, exposing the sweaty crook of his throat, all that tan skin and the edges of ink, and you kissed it—mouth opened and messy. His pulse was hammering under your lips, and you jutted out your tongue, greedy for him, and licked a strip just to taste the salt slowly drying there, needy to hear him gasp.

“We should—” He swallowed. “Fuck—the door. Is it locked?”

That’s when you stood, Harry rising with you, hands never leaving your waist as he followed. Then you flipped the latch, the clicking loud in the quiet, and when you turned to face him, his eyes went dark.

“So efficient, love,” He smiled.

“It’s literally my job.” You shot back. 

He grinned, then he flipped you, moving one arm around your waist, pivoting so your back hit the bench as he moved over you—and god, up close like this, the scale of him was insane. Shoulders blocking out the overhead light, arms braced on either side of your head, tattoos everywhere, as the chain around his neck swung forward and brushed over your cheek.

“Tell me what you want,” he forced, kissing down your jaw, your neck, to the collar of your shirt, his hand sliding up your thigh. “Be specific, love. I want you to be sure.”

“I don’t think you need directions.” You giggled when his breath hit your neck, and you lifted your hips, trying to meet his body.

You listened as he clicked his tongue, “No…” He answered, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your leggings. “I need to hear you say it.”

Deprived of his mouth, you pulled him down by the chain, pulling with a delicate hand, not wanting to break it. He came easily, grinning against your mouth, and you bit his lower lip, feeling his whole body react; feeling the shudder that ran through his torso as his hips pressed into yours involuntarily, and fuck, you could feel all of him now, his cock thick and insistent through those stupid little shorts.

“I want you,” you finally said, right against his ear, “to stop being polite...”

He didn’t need to be told twice. In one desperate, frantic motion, he shoved his hands into your waistband and peeled your leggings down, taking your underwear with them so fast it burned a friction stripe high up on your thigh. You yelped, the tug burning across your skin as you moved with him in shock, the pain a delicious sting blooming behind your eyes, turning you into something wild. Harry moved his mouth to yours, sealing any other sound behind your lips as he began to kiss you, his hands coasting over your ass, spreading you open, fingers cold and rough.

“Jesus—fuck” he breathed to himself, as you squirmed under his touch, your nerves caught between laughter and hunger. You curled your knees on either side of his hips and lifted your pelvis. With the motion, his hard-on shifted into you, pressing flush through a single layer of that ridiculous runner’s nylon, teasing you. Trying to brace your elbow on the bench to sort your breathing, you thought you had a moment. But before you could regain your equilibrium, he hooked a hand under your knee and bent it even higher, cranking your body open so wide it was almost fucking embarrassing—like you were a plaything under his touch, Harry completely in control.

For a second, you thought He could have just yanked his shorts down, but he didn’t. Instead, he teased you even further, making a show of it. His hand reached between your bodies, palming his length through the shorts, like he wanted you to see, just for a second, though, like he needed to tame the calm that you had ruined when you turned him into an animal. But that didn’t last long, and before you knew it, he was ripping down the front of his shorts, the band snapping off the head of his cock as his thick length thudded against your pussy.

You didn’t realize how huge he was until it was there, flush against you, the skin so silky and perfect it made you bite your lip. “Is that for me?” you said, or tried to, but your brain was stuck on a loading screen, the heat flashing red behind your eyes.

He grinned down at you and kissed your cheek, then your mouth. “You sure?” he whispered, voice rough.

And even though you nodded, he stressed the question again, “No, say it.”

“Yes—” you gasped, the sound desperate between you, like you had been holding your breath since the sun came up.

As you sucked in a breath, he lined himself up and pressed in. It wasn’t gentle, just a slick, hot punch of pressure that made every thought you had ever had dissolve into a saturated form of pain and pleasure. Your nails raked his back, marks scoring along his shoulder blades as he split into you, thick and slow, filling you so tight that your vision splintered as he kissed the side of your face, lips brushing your eyelashes. As if a kiss could make it all better, but your only reaction was to moan out, your pussy clamping around haulting him from pushing any faster. 

“You have to keep quiet,” he whispered, letting out a strangled laugh.

Here you were pinned to the trailer’s bench as the outside world went on. It was a crazy concept, the act of staying quiet; you could hear the crunch of boots and a distant clang of metal, the shouts of the crew packing up. But inside the trailer, it was just your ragged breathing and the trim percussion of the AC, as the sound of him fucking into you played out with every steady, deep stroke he pushed, your walls finally loosening enough to let him in.

Harry’s hands clasped around your hips, fingers digging in to keep you from shifting the whole bench every time he bottomed out. He pulled you flush against him, your thighs probably bruising as the tips of his fingers left evidence for later when this was all said and done. His cock was deep now, so deep you could feel it prodding behind your navel, making you clench around him, and he groaned, low and helpless as you sank your teeth into his shoulder to keep from screaming.

Sucking in a hard breath as the pleasure hit, you inhaled him—every inch of sweat and musk, and whatever was left of the desert’s sunlight burning off his skin—the raw sourness of salt caught in his collarbone. The smell of him wiped your fucking thoughts away, like he was rewriting your brain at creature level, past logic, past the veneer of dry professionalism. Your legs trembled around his hips, each breath an almost-whimper you tried to choke back as he rolled in deep, pulling out slow so your slick would catch him and then slamming home so it knocked another moan out of you. 

Every time he pressed in, your pussy grew wetter, the wetness audible and filthy, your slick coating his cock and everything under your ass, soaking into the cheap pleather of the bench so the next thrust was a slide, a messy wet slide—the slap of skin on skin growing sharp enough to drown out the noise of the crew outside. If they walked by, if they even paused for a second outside the thin metal shell of the trailer, they would know, instantly, because there was nothing left to the imagination.

It made you hunger for more, that risk, that possibility of exposure. The pressure of him inside you forced a low, ugly ahh out of your mouth, and you made the mistake of glancing up at his face—he was watching your reaction with a bottomless satisfaction, tongue darting out to lick the sweat off his top lip. “Fuck—that pussys getting so wet for me, love,” he huffed, one hand kneading the meat of your thigh, keeping you splayed for him. 

His words had you shuddering; every single word from his mouth landed somewhere between a promise and a demand that you knew he was going to keep. He leaned forward, pressing his chest to yours, and you felt a fresh spill of sweat off his shoulder and into the hollow of your throat. You wanted to taste it everywhere, to leave your mouthprint on every stretch of skin.

That’s when his hips snapped harder, like now he wanted to see if it would break you. The friction of your clit against his pelvis was lightning, shrill little bursts that made your sight flash white at the edges. Without even knowing when it happened, you had started to babble, short high gasps and a string of “oh fuck, oh fuck, yes, yes, don’t stop, please—” until Harry’s hand clamped over your mouth. Hard. Not playful, not careful—just his wide palm, fingers spanning across your cheek, nearly covering your whole jaw as he stifled the sound of your shameful surrender.

“Got to be quiet now. You’re so fucking loud it’s going to get us caught,” he hissed against your ear. The hand over your mouth muffled any words you had left, so he used the leverage to angle your head back, exposing your throat so he could bite his way down, marking you with no intention of hiding it later. You bucked into him, and he laughed, the sound low in his throat as he fucked you deeper, grinding his cock in small circles to force every last inch into you.

It was so much at once, like you could feel him everywhere. Feel the force of each hit, the slap of his balls, the stretch of him knocking you even further open every time he bottomed out. You felt the carved edges of his hips grinding into you, the rip of his abs tight and flexed, your own core clenched and spasming around him until every muscle in your body was electric, a bright, stinging stroke of sensation that didn’t let up or let you breathe, it just kept building, and building—

And there was something else—a hard rapping—three sharp knocks on the door, the kind that said the moment was over as every cell in your body tensed, the sound snapping through the inside of the trailer, and you froze, eyes wide, limbs locked, his cock still pressed so far inside your pussy it felt like there was no way you could hide it, not if you tried.

Harry’s hand stayed pressed against your mouth, his body going rigid, his knuckles white-hot, grip tight around your jaw. He didn’t slow, didn’t even pretend to stop, just nudged his face into your neck, lips right at your earlobe.

“Don’t move,” he hissed under his breath. His hips stilled, but the grip on your body was absolute, holding you planted to the spot, your cunt still spasming around him as you tried to recover your mind enough so that you weren’t a shrieking mess.

Another knock, this time softer, like the knocker was trying to be polite but also kind of annoyed. “H?” came the unmistakably familiar voice muffling through the thin metal: it was Jeff, his fucking manager, sounding exasperated and defeated already. “You decent?”

You made a squeak under his palm, humiliation boiling over every inch of your skin, but Harry did not miss a fucking step. Instead of pulling out, he bucked his hips slowly and carefully, just enough to keep you throbbing, to keep you full and desperate. That’s when his eyes met yours, and he smiled, his grin wicked.

“We’re here,” he called, so calm it could have killed you. Like he was just lounging, scrolling his phone, not impaling you to a sticky pleather bench with every inch of his famous, gorgeous cock. “Jeff. Give us a second.”

“We’re?” Jeff echoed, clearly clocking the “we,” but Harry just kept his body locked around yours, daring you to even twitch.

“I’m with…” he trailed off, clearly thinking. “One of the crew. Don’t come in, just wait.” His hand stroked your cheek in a parody of comfort, his thumb tracing your jaw while his cock pulsed relentlessly inside you, refusing to give you back your dignity or composure.

Jeff sighed, and you heard footsteps shuffle away, but not far, just a few paces from the door, and the moment he was gone, Harry let out a soft, hot laugh.

“Didn’t stop, did I?” he teased. His hand shifted, tracing down to your throat, his fingers loose but possessive, as if he could press in and feel himself through you. “Knew you liked the risk. Could feel it—fuck—you were close, weren’t you?”

You exhaled a hard breath through your nose, nodding your head, already teetering toward that edge again, because holy fuck, this man was sick and twisted, but you needed this, needed to finish what you both had started. You sputtered out a laugh under his palm, feeling your own pulse in your fingertips as you reached up and grabbed him by the nape, fingernails digging just enough to make him twitch. 

When his hand fell away, you told him, “Keep going,” or tried to—but your voice was a raw whisper, and he heard you. His lips crashed into yours, everything rough and messy as his hips restarted their rhythm with a slow grind that ramped so quickly you couldn’t keep up. Every pressure point in your body was lit, every drag of his dick a reminder that this was actually happening, a fantasy so intoxicating you hardly registered the pain, just the need.

“Don’t hold back,” he said, voice choked. “Come with me. Want you to—fuck—want you to let go.” Then he ground into you, each thrust more urgent, his hand snaking between your bodies to rub your clit as the slick sound filled the space, his fingers drawing tight, ruthless circles, driving you crazy.

You tried to lock it down, tried to stay quiet, knowing any noise now would be fully hearable for whoever was left outside this box, but when the orgasm hit, the noise ripped out of your lungs, a strobing white noise behind your eyes that blurred the world. The muscles of your pussy clamped down hard, fluttering so tight you felt him lose all composure, his body jolting as he shot inside you, every spasm pushing you further into the bench. You felt the second it hit him, the way his whole body arched, his breath falling apart, his voice just a hot, desperate groan as he emptied himself into you, fucking you so deep you almost made him stop just to slow the overwhelming rush sweeping your body.

Between your thighs, a slow warmth spread, leaking as he squirmed and pumped the last of his load into you, leaving you limp, yet completely alive, and you let your head fall back as a hysterical laugh bounced from your chest. But he didn’t stop you, just kept kissing your face, the side of your jaw, and down to the curve of your shoulder.

The trailer went silent again, the only sound both of you gasping and the whooshing of the AC, together in an unreality so intense it felt like an afterimage burned onto your retina. Sweat cooled in the cruxes of your skin; you could feel the sticky collapse of your bodies, his cock softening inside you as your heart hammered.

“Damn,” you forced, not knowing what else was left to say.

Harry leaned back just enough to look at you, the wildness gone from his face, replaced by a tender, dopey smile and the kind of open affection that would make you laugh if you weren’t lying there ruined.

 “You good?” he asked, brushing your hair from your forehead with a thumb.

You nodded and laughed, your hands still shaking as you touched his arm, tracing a lazy pattern over the inked-sweat skin of his biceps. “Better now,” you said, “but I think you broke the bench.”

He rasped out a laugh, glancing down at the battered vinyl. “They had it coming.” Then he pressed his forehead to yours and stayed there a long minute, like he couldn’t remember how to move or maybe didn’t want to. 

“I think I just nearly lost my mind when Jeff knocked at the door.” You told him, coming up to your elbows.

“Same, I think we both did…” he answered, testing his range of motion with two gentle hitches of his hips, making you wince and then giggle again. “Just means you’ll remember me next time you sit on this broken bench.”

“Like I’ll ever forget this,” you said, closing your eyes and letting the aftershocks fan out over your skin like the mirage of heat still radiating off the desert outside. You could already feel the soreness. The way you would have to clench your thighs at the memory, days from now, weeks from now, every time you caught a whiff of sunscreen, or the phantom echo of his sweat on your palms.

Although you should have rushed, Harry waited a minute, breathing in the same hush with you, then pulled out slow, careful, like he wanted to make sure you could take every last pulse. He fumbled with his shorts, wiping the mess from your thighs with what must have been the red t-shirt slung across the table, and you watched in a weirdly tender awe as he tried to clean you up with more care than you would have expected, considering the fact that this was only just a quick fuck, that nothing would come from it.

You were only half-situated, pulling your leggings up over sticky skin when there was a third, softer knock at the trailer door. This time, Jeff’s voice was all business, barely keeping a lid on his impatience. “We need you in ten, Harry. Car’s here. I’m ready to go.” 

The ache between your legs had already sunk into your bones, your body broken open and loose, and you used what was left of your balance to push off the bench as Harry righted his shorts and ran a hand through his hair. For a second, there was an odd anti-climax, like neither of you really knew what to do with yourselves now that the animalistic urge was gone. Maybe, you thought, it was supposed to be awkward. Maybe that was okay.

Then he shrugged your lanyard back over your neck, picked the clipboard up for you, and held it out like a peace offering of some sort, and you blinked, taking it, and for the first time since you clocked in, you realized you had put your own name tag on upside down.

“You need a ride to town?” he asked, like that was something people did, like you had just finished any regular debrief, like your body wasn’t still occupied by the ghost of what he had just done to it. 

The crazy thing was, you shook your head no, your mouth dry, and there was a realization that struck you both, reality finally setting in. “I have to stay until the last person is gone,” you told him, “But thank you, and thank you for…

He laughed, shaking his head, “Don’t finish that sentence… I get it…” He answered, pulling a clean shirt over his head.

“We’re both professionals, yeah?” He added. 

“Yeah…” you replied, feeling yourself getting drawn back in, “Professionals.”

Then he reached for your hand and brought it to your mouth, “Maybe I’ll see you around…” 

Feeling shy at the gesture, you bit your lip, “Maybe the next time you see me, I’ll be the one behind the camera.”

He raised a brow at that, lowering your hand as he held it tight, “Well then, I guess until next time…hoping that’s one day soon.” He breathed, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

“Yeah…Until next time…” You repeated. When he finally let go of your hand, he walked to the door. You watched him unlock it, then take his first step out, peeking over his shoulder one last time before he was out and shutting the door behind him.

And as you stood there, mind reeling over everything that just happened, you realized you were going to make that dream come true no matter what it took, and here was your motivation. Because maybe all you needed was a quick fuck in a trailer to relight that fire within, and as you looked down at your upside-down name tag, you laughed, thinking, “Holy shit… I just fucked Harry Styles.”

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We're both a little tipsy from the afterparty with my family and a few close friends, but the real high is this, us, alone at last. I turn to you, my hands already reaching out, pulling you close by the waist. "God, love, you have no idea what it means that you were there tonight," I murmur, my voice low and rough from all the singing. Your body molds against mine, soft and warm, and I can feel the heat radiating off you. We've kept us private, our relationship tucked away from the spotlight, but moments like this make it worth every secret glance and hidden touch. You smile up at me, that sweet, lovely smile that always undoes me, an wrap your arms around my neck. "You were incredible, Harry. I mean it, the way you owned that stage, I couldn't take my eyes off you."

Your words hit me right in the chest, stirring that familiar warmth. I lean down, pressing my lips to yours in a kiss that's meant to be soft at first, a thank you. But the adrenaline's got me wired, and your taste—sweet from the champagne we sipped—pulls me in deeper. My hands slide up your back, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling slightly as I tilt your head, deepening the kiss. You sigh into my mouth, and it's like a spark igniting. We stumble a bit, laughing against each other's lips as I guide us further into the room. The suite's luxurious, plush carpets, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city lights, but right now, it's all background noise. "Missed you during the set," I admit between kisses, my breath hot against your skin. "Kept looking out and imagining you in the crowd, screaming my name." You giggle, your hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer. "I was. And now I just want to scream it for real."

That does it. The banter's playful, but the undercurrent of tension builds fast. I'm clingy tonight, more than usual, my body pressing against yours like I can't get close enough. I hug you tight, burying my face in your neck, inhaling the scent of your perfume mixed with the sweat from dancing at the afterparty. "I'm so fucking proud of you." You whisper, as I nib at your earlobe. Your response is a soft moan, your fingers tracing down my chest. "So proud. You deserve everything." My heart swells, but so does the need low in my gut. I pull back just enough to look at you, my eyes dark with want. "Come on, let's get you out of these clothes. I need to feel you." I take your hand, leading you towards the bathroom, the sexual tension coiling tighter with every step. The show's energy lingers, but this is ours now, intimate, building like the best kind of song.

The bathroom door swings open, revealing the massive glass shower, steam already waiting if we turn it on. But first, you. I back you against the marble counter, my hands roaming your sides as our mouths crash together again. The kiss is hungrier now, tongues sliding, teeth grazing. I can feel your heartbeat racing under my palm when I cup your breast through your top. "Beautiful girl," I praise, my voice husky. "Always so responsive for me." You arch into my touch, whimpering softly, and it sends a thrill straight to my cock. Slowly, I tug at the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head. You help, your eyes locked on mine, that soft expression in your gaze making this feel even more connected. Your bra comes next, black lace that hugs your curves perfectly, and I unhook it with practiced ease, letting it fall. "Look at you," I breathe, my thumbs brushing your nipples, watching them pebble under my touch. You shiver, biting your lip. "Harry..."

Your turn to undress me. Your fingers work my buttons, sliding my shirt off my shoulders, and I shrug it away. The air's cool against my skin, but your hands are warm as they explore my chest, tracing the tattoos you know by heart. "I love touching you like this," you say, your voice breathy. "Your hands... God, I need your hands on me so bad." You've always had a thing for my hands, I know it too well, and it makes me grin as I cup your face, kissing you deeply. We peel away the rest, your skirt, my trousers, underwear discarded in a trail. Naked now, skin to skin, the tension's thick, loaded. I turn on the shower, the water cascading hot and inviting.

Steam fills the room as I pull you under the spray with me. The water hits us, warm rivulets running down our bodies, and I press you against the tiled wall, my mouth on yours. "I'm so needy for you tonight," I confess, my hands gripping your hips. You melt into me, your cuddly softness a perfect contrast to my building urgency. Our kisses slow under the water, exploratory. I trail my lips down your neck, sucking gently, then harder, marking you just a little because I can. You gasp, your hands in my wet hair, pulling me closer. "Feels so good," you murmur, and I smile against your skin. "Yeah? Tell me what you want, love." My fingers skim your sides, teasing the undersides of your breasts before I lean down and take one nipple into my mouth, sucking lightly. You moan, loud like always, your body arching. I switch sides, biting softly, my tongue swirling. Your hands roam my back, nails digging in just enough to make me groan.

"Harry, please..." The plea in your voice has me almost dropping to my knees for a moment, but no, not yet. I stand, pressing my body flush against yours, my hard cock trapped between us. You reach down, wrapping your hand around me, stroking slow and firm, your thumb brushing the tip just the way I love. Fuck, that feels incredible. "Just like that," I groan, my forehead against yours. "Your hand on my cock... perfect." Emboldened, I slide my hand between your thighs, fingers finding your slick folds. You're soaked already, arousal mixing with the water. I circle your clit teasingly, then dip one finger inside you. You cry out, your jerking hand faltering for a second. "Oh God, yes."

We find a rhythm—me fingering you deep and slow, curling to hit that spot that makes you tremble, you pumping my cock with that responsive grip. Our mouths meet in messy kisses, bites on lips and shoulders building the fire. "Taste so sweet already," I whisper, adding a second finger, thrusting them in time with your strokes. Your moans echo off the tiles, completely unrestrained, feeding my ego. "You're doing so well, love. Making me feel so good."

My mind is racing, how lucky I am, how your compassion and softness ground me after the chaos of my job, how beautiful you are, how much you deserve the world. The adrenaline mixes with this intimacy, making every touch electric. I can't wait anymore. With a growl, I lift you up, your legs wrapping around my waist instinctively. Your arms loop around my neck, and I pin you against the wall, the water pounding my back. My cock nudges your entrance, and I thrust in hard, burying myself to the hilt. You scream my name—"HARRY!"—and it's music to my ears. I grab your ass, squeezing the soft flesh as I start pounding into you, rough and deep. Each thrust slams you against the tiles, our bodies slick and sliding.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," I grunt, my mouth claiming yours in a bruising kiss. You kiss back fiercely, your tongue tangling with mine, moans swallowed between us. I angle my hips, hitting deeper, the head of my cock dragging deliciously against your walls. Your nails rake my shoulders, and I love it—the mix of sweet and wild in you. "So good for me, love. Taking my cock so well." Praise spills from me naturally, watching your face contort in pleasure.

The build is slow, I draw it out, thrusting hard but varying the pace, grinding against your clit on every other stroke. Water cascades over us, heightening every sensation: the slap of skin, your gasps, the way your pussy clenches around me. "Don't stop," you beg, your voice breaking. "I won't, baby. Gonna make you feel every inch." I reply, and I mean it. My hands knead your ass, pulling you down harder onto me. The tension coils tight in my gut, but I hold back, wanting to savor this. But then your walls flutter, close but not there yet, and it pushes me over. "Shit, I'm gonna come," I warn, thrusts turning erratic, deep and punishing. You whimper, "Come inside me, Harry, please." That does it. I bury myself deep one last time, spilling hot into you with a guttural moan, my body shuddering. Waves of pleasure crash over me, your pussy milking every drop as I ride it out, kissing your neck sloppily.

Panting, I pull out and ease you down gently, my legs a bit shaky. But you're not done, your eyes are dark, needy, and I know what I have to do. "My turn to take care of you," I say softly, dropping to my knees before you can protest. The water streams down your body, and I spread your legs with gentle hands, eyes locked on your swollen pussy. It's beautiful—puffy from my cock, lips glistening with your arousal and my cum leaking out in thick rivulets. "Look at that," I murmur, reverent. "So full of me." My fingers trace your folds, mixing our releases, slick and warm. You tremble, a soft whine escaping. "Harry... please."

I glance up, meeting your gaze. "Gonna taste us together, love. You deserve to come so hard." Dipping my head, I flatten my tongue against you, lapping slow from entrance to clit. The flavor hits me, salty from my cum, sweet-tangy from you, and it's intoxicating. I moan against you, the vibration making you buck. I devour you methodically, tongue delving inside to scoop more of our mixed essence, then circling your clit with firm pressure. Your hands fist in my hair, pulling as you cry out, "Oh fuck, yes, right there!" I praise between licks: "Taste so good, baby. Sweetest pussy I've ever had." My fingers join in, two sliding deep, while my mouth sucks your clit. The sounds are obscene, wet slurps, your cries echoing.

I build it slow, drawing out every sensation, the way your thighs quiver around my head, the pulse of your arousal on my tongue. Oh, how much I love making you feel like this, your responsiveness is such a gift. "Come for me," I urge, voice muffled. "Let go, love. I've got you." Your body tenses, pussy grinding against my mouth, and then you shatter. A scream rips from your throat as you squirt, hot and forceful, soaking my tongue and chin. I don't pull away, lapping through it, letting you ride the waves until you're shaking, boneless. Finally, you slump against the wall, and I rise, wrapping you in my arms. "So beautiful when you come like that," I whisper, kissing your forehead.

The afterglow's soft, loving. I grab the shampoo, turning you gently. "Let me wash your hair." My fingers massage your scalp, suds foaming as I rinse, then soap your body, caressing every curve with care. "You tasted incredible, you know that? Us together, perfect." You lean into me, cuddly and spent. "I love you so much."

We rinse off, and I wrap your hair in a fluffy towel before slipping into bathrobes. "Up you go," I say, scooping you into my arms bridal-style. You laugh softly, nuzzling my neck as I carry you to the bed.

Taglist: @lizsogolden @harrysredshortshorts @avensgreenvans @maudie-duan @carolinaastyles @sparklejumpropequeen1113 @pops234 @lomlcamy

Truth be told, I’ve been feeling quite odd for the last few weeks. An incessant stirring in my chest that’s main goal is to keep me on edge. Something I can’t put my finger on, but have a mild inkling of what it could be—what could be causing it. And it’s not something I’d like to admit to myself, let alone aloud. But it’s slowly becoming something I can’t ignore.

Maybe I can get out of the office early today? Drive down to the bar, alone—like the loser I’ve recently become—and find the first willing victim to help resolve my…problem. See if that will quiet the dull throbbing in my head and the restless jittering in my bones. A nice fuck to take my mind off of it all. Because that’s all it will do; take my mind off of it. I’m certain, come the next morning, the ache will return.

I stay awake at night fearing that you’re the only one that can completely silence it all. It was you who ignited these feelings after all.

One month. That’s how long it’s been since that fateful night in the elevator. The one I haven’t stepped foot in since. Luckily, my calves have stopped burning from the stairs now after exclusively using them for so long. One whole month and I still can’t shake the images—the sounds and feelings—from my brain. Maybe that’s why I haven’t gotten laid since.

I’ve taken notice of prospects, don’t get me wrong. Trying has become my new motto, and it’s all I seem to do these days. Even though none of those attempts to try lead anywhere. I get close sometimes. Buy a pretty girl a drink at the bar, make casual flirtatious comments, even extend an offer back at my place. But the second the word ‘yes’ leaves their lips, all I hear is your moans of the same word. The ones I made you scream over and over in that cramped space. The most unromantic setting in the world has quickly become the most erotic to me in my head.

Damn… Now I’m sitting at half-mast in the middle of the workday. Great.

What am I meant to do when distractions don’t work anymore? What am I meant to do when my number one distraction is sitting in a cubicle not 100 feet away?

One of the reasons my feelings toward this whole fucked up situation are so confusing is because of your lack of reaction.

You come into work everyday like nothing ever happened. Like I didn’t have you screaming beneath me, begging for more. You continue wearing those godforsaken pencil skirts like you have no clue what they do to me. I can still feel the fabric of it under my fingertips as I hiked it over your hips. You sit at your desk, do your work, and seem completely unbothered. You even have the audacity to continue using the elevator. It’s aggravatingly annoying.

Why aren’t you just as wrecked as I am? Riddled with the memories of skin on skin? Why aren’t you barging into my office and begging for more? Was it truly only so memorable for me? Will I ever be able to shake you from my system? Move on?

A thought strikes me.

What if the only reason I’m so stuck on this one encounter is because you’re not? Maybe if I got my answers, cleared the steamy air between us, it would all go away? I could finally be free of it all. The visuals, the sounds, the feelings. All of it; gone. Hopefully that’s the answer, because it’s my last resort.

I find myself leaping up out of my chair without a second thought, unable to spend another single second in the uncomfortable unknown. Words flurry around in my head as I head for my office door, planning out which to use to make my questions come off correctly. You could reject speaking to me all together. But that’d only be if you knew what I needed to speak with you about. I guess I’ll just have to lie.

Familiar sounds of typing and murmurs float through the air as I step out onto the office floor. Light conversations happening all around, work getting done, and yet I’m here on a mission. One no one knows about. One no one can know about.

“Can I see you in my office?” are the first words out of my mouth as soon as I round your cubicle, hushed and secretive, meant just for you. Your eyes flick to my face, surprise evident in your gaze. It’s like I can see the cogs turning in your head, mulling over every possible answer for this random visit from me. It occurs to me that you might think you’re getting fired for what transpired between us, so I add, “I’d like to go over some…reports with you.”

You clear your throat, nodding hesitantly as you push away from your desk to stand. I don’t move an inch as you do, leaving your hip to nearly brush my hand. I pray my shuttering breath wasn’t as loud as it felt, and I damn myself for even reacting like that over something so minuscule.

But it's monumental in relation to how my body has reacted in the past month. And it was only for you. Fuck.

The sound of our footsteps, mine heavy and determined, yours light and weary, are added to the atmospheric sounds around us. I have to hope that no one around can sense the same tension I’m feeling as we travel to my office. And I pray that you can’t feel the burning gaze of my eyes on your backside. It’s distracting—sue me!

When the door to my office closes behind us, you obediently take a seat in one of my guest chairs. As I waltz to my side, I watch as you cross your legs politely. My reaction to it is anything but. The feeling of my cock twitching inside of my pants as your skirt rides up your thighs gives away how I’m truly feeling about it. Luckily, my large desk covers me as I adjust myself when I sit down.

“So, these…reports?” you’re the first one to speak, making all of this too real.

I flounder for a second, realizing that you’re here for a meeting that doesn’t exist. I’m forced to come up with something fast. Something to bide my time until I can bring up the real reason you’re here. So, naturally, I reach into my filing cabinet and grab a random folder full of papers that don’t pertain to anything. But as soon as the papers smack onto my desk, a plan forms in my head.

“I need you to look these over for me.” My palm lays flat against the manila folder, not pushing it toward you an inch. Your eyes flick from my hand to my eyes, a hesitancy in your subtle movements that makes the hair stand up on my arms. My hand leaves the folder for just a second, and you immediately go to reach for it, to bring it closer to yourself. My hand slams down over it, keeping it right where it is. “You need to look these over for me…got it?”

I see it then. The way your lips part slightly, bringing in more air for your shallow breaths. You're getting the hint. Now I just have to hope that you take the bait.

It plays out like a choreographed dance. You lean forward as I lean back. One moment you’re sitting in the chair across from me, and the next, you’re bending at the hips, hovering over my desk. Your eyes haven’t left mine. My eyebrows lift in challenge, hands gripping my chairs arms like it’s a liferaft, and you don’t crack. But you do fold. Eyes casting downward to the nonsense documents below you. I take that as my chance.

I’m out of my chair in the matter of a second, striding around my desk like I’m a man on a mission. And I am. I don’t even check a look back at you to make sure you’re still where I left you. For some reason, deep down, I know you haven’t moved an inch. Not as I reach the front of my office and shut all the blinds. Not as I head for the door and click the lock. Not even as I come right up behind you, hips pressing against your ass—you still don’t move. But your breath hitches, and I know I’ve won.

“Tell me to stop…” I reach down to grab a handful of your hips, feeling like I could black out from the familiarity. You don’t respond, though. You don’t tell me to stop, you don’t push me away—but you don’t tell me to keep going.

I bend over your body, covering you like a sheet until my face is nestled in the crook of your neck. I breathe against your skin there, watching goosebumps rise in the wake. My body churns. But I repeat, “Tell me to stop.”

“D-Don’t stop…” you whisper, breathy and uncontrolled.

And that was all I needed to hear.

I straighten up behind you and give no warning before my hand cracks down on your ass. You yelp, jolting forward from the impact. A rumbling hum growls deep in my chest, my hand smoothing over the fabric of your skirt before gripping your hips with a vice hold in both my hands. I move you for my own viewing pleasure. Pulling you away and tugging you back, mimicking the act of you gliding on and off of my cock. It makes me feel insane.

“God… I’ve missed your body. This fucking ass of yours—shit.” I thrust my hips against said ass, groaning at the feel. “Tell me I’m not crazy. Tell me you missed this too.”

My hips have a mind of their own as they continue grinding against your ass, making you squirm against my desk.

“You’re not crazy…” you whisper again, another confession straight to my gut.

“Fuck…” I sigh, watching my bulge glide between you crease of your ass cheeks in that godforsaken pencil skirt. “You know what you wearing these skirts does to me, baby?” I grip your hips tighter for emphasis. You just crane your neck back, peering at me over your shoulder with a small smirk on your lips. Telling me that you know exactly what you’re doing by wearing them. “Oh, you’re cruel…” I laugh lightly, spanking you again to prove my point. “You know I’m gonna have to punish you for that, baby.”

“I know…” Your words are just a breath, teasing me and pulling me deeper and deeper into your spell. I’m hooked. Have been since that first time I took you. Clearly.

I mirror your smirk, though mine is much more dangerous. A promise of my words hidden in the lines of my lips.

And there’s no warning when I slam my hips against yours from behind. The rough motion has your pelvis hitting the edge of my desk with a brutal force, making the whole thing shake. Pencils fall to the floor, papers floating down in their escape, but nothing's broken—yet.

“Have you fucked anyone since me, baby?” I hold my breath as I wait for your answer, selfishly hoping that you say no. Lord knows I couldn’t get it up for anyone else. It might actually wreck me if you say yes.

“N-no,” you finally reply, shaky, like you didn’t want to admit it.

I hum, pleased with your answer. “Good girl… Were you waiting for this? Waiting for my cock to fill you up again?” You nod, but I don’t push for your words this time. I’m too fucking antsy. I need to get my hands on you. Need to feel you beneath my fingertips. Feel your warmth wrapped around my cock.

My fingers reach for the zipper of your skirt, deciding I want it off this time. I want to see all of you. I drag it down slowly, the sound of it mixing with your labored breaths. Once it’s undone, I push the waistband of it down past your hips until it’s pooled on the floor around your heels. My gaze drags up from there, those black stilettos making your legs look like they go on for miles. Sheer black tights encase you, and my fingertip drags along the stitching on the back. Up, up, and up… Leading me right where you want me.

I cup your heat with my whole hand, gripping it like it’s mine—because it is.

“God, you’re warm. Can only imagine the mess you’ve made of yourself already.” I slap your pussy, watching you jolt. I smile to myself, fully taking in the scene of you spread out like this for me. But I need more.

Before you can protest, my hands fist into the sheer material of your tights and pull. Ripping them right down the middle and finally giving me access to your ass. Of course, I spank it. The bare flesh turning red right before my eyes. My fingers hook into the tiny scrap of fabric you call panties, groaning at the sight of it nestled between your cheeks, and tug it to the side. Finally, getting the view I’ve been quite literally dreaming about for a month. Can’t even count how many times I had to rub one out in the shower before coming into work just from the memory.

And there it is, in all of its glory.

Your perfect, beautifully pink pussy on display just for me. It glistens in the fluorescent lighting, giving away how turned on you are. My cock strains against my slacks, begging to bury itself deep inside. But I can’t just yet. I need this to last. Who knows when I’ll get you like this again.

I smooth my hand down from your ass cheek in between your legs, cupping your heat once again, only this time, you’re completely bare. My middle finger gets enveloped by your folds, nestled in your slit like a hug. I slowly rock my hand back and forth over your entire sex, feeling you shiver beneath my touch.

“Has your pussy missed me? Been aching for me?”

“Yes,” you reply quickly, breathless and needy. It makes something in me settle, knowing I can still get you like this. A mess in my hands.

“Bet this pretty, little cunt missed feeling full.” All you can do is whine in response, especially since my fingers are now dragging up and down between your folds. Your wetness coats my digits with every swipe. I lean down over you again until my breath hits your ear. “This pussy—“ I drag my fingers down to your entrance, “—is mine.”

The final word is emphasized with my two fingers ramming inside of you. I don’t wait for you to adjust. I don’t even wait for you to swallow your gasp back in. My fingers work skillfully and quick, fucking into you at a relentless pace. You scream out when the twist of them brushes against that spongy muscle deep inside, but you quickly slap a hand over your mouth.

“Don’t want anyone to hear you, baby? Don’t want them to know how good I make you feel?” I slow my fingers, letting the twist and curl of them do most of the work. You shake your head, whining against your palm. It shouldn’t anger me that you want to keep quiet, it’s you being sensible so we don’t both lose our jobs. But I want to hear you. Want to hear those pretty noises you make when I’m making you feel so good, making you lose your mind. It’s a battle in my head, but I don’t want to push your boundaries on this. So, I settle for hearing your muffled cries.

I drag my fingers out of your hole slowly, letting you feel every bit of pleasure before I take it all away. You whine and wriggle around, begging for my fingers again. I’ve got to be honest, the sight of your hips moving, seeking me out—your pussy dripping and clenching in a plea—almost makes me fold. But I stand my ground.

I reach forward and twist your hair around my hand, yanking your head up from the desk. “You wanna keep quiet, baby? Cause I know a good way of shutting you up…” Your dark gaze connects with mine, your panting breaths spurring me on. I lift one eyebrow in question, and all you can do is nod.

I yank on your hair again. “Up,” I demand, pulling you up to stand straight. I do a once over of you like this. Standing before me in a rustled blouse, ripped pantyhose and crooked panties. You look like the most beautiful mess I’ve ever seen. “On your knees, baby.”

You hesitate for a second, questioning the seriousness of my instructions. I make my request solid when I tug your head backward with my grip still on your head. “I said on your knees.”

Finally, you sink down, sitting back on your heels below me. I can’t help but moan at the sight of you like this. “Unbutton your top.”

This time, you follow without question, working the buttons of your top undone until it flows open, giving me a glimpse of your breasts. I can already see how hard your nipples are through the thin cups, pebbled and needy just for me. I can’t wait to make those titties bounce while you ride my dick again.

“Tell me, baby… Do you like sucking dick?” You look thrown off by question, momentarily stunned by the bluntness. “Don’t worry, baby… You’re gonna love sucking mine.”

I keep your head in place with my hand still tangled in your hair, but my other hand starts working at my belt and pants. I’m a little frenzied, already halfway gone just from the sight of your anticipation. So much so that I don’t even push my pants down all the way. Just enough to let my cock spill out, hard and aching for that pretty mouth of yours.

“See what you do to me? Been rock hard since the last time.” And that’s not an overexaggeration. “Now, open that mouth of yours and let me fuck it.”

I watch you swallow hard, imagining the feel of that exact action when my cock is deep in your throat. But then your lips are popping open, wide and ready to pleasure me however I want. Your tongue hangs out eagerly for a taste. I hold my length in my free hand, pumping it a few times while just staring at you. I step just a fraction closer, enough to let me place the tip of my cock on your tongue. I tap it against it, letting you get used to the weight and girth before slowly pushing in.

Your lips mold around me, stretched and tight. I groan—loudly—at the feel. The warmth and wetness of your mouth is almost as good as your pussy. “Fuck, baby… Suck me tighter.”

You hollow out your cheeks, suctioning me in with a grip I choke on a breath over. And then it’s game over for both of us.

I tighten my grip on your hair and force you forward, forcing my cock deeper down your throat. You gag and choke around me, eyes already watering, but I keep you there, relishing in the tightening muscle milking me. When your eyes go wide, I give you some grace, pulling you off completely so you can suck in a sharp breath. A string of saliva connects your lips to my tip, and it’s a mesmerizing sight. I wipe below your eyes with my free hand, catching the tears before they can spill.

“Ready, baby?” I ask, voice husky and low. “Cause that was just the warm up. Open.”

You take a deep breath before opening your mouth again, and I don’t even wait to slide my cock deep inside. The warmth of you surrounds me once again making me moan, head titling back in pleasure. Even more so when your tongue swirls around me. “Fuck…”

I keep your head still as my hips start to move. With every roll of my hips, the tip of my dick hits deep in the base of your throat. You almost take all of me down. Your eyes never stray from mine as I fuck your mouth, wide and glassy. I smirk down at you between groans, my final warning before letting loose.

I thrust into your mouth with more force, hearing you gurgle and gag around me every time I hit your reflex. Your throat tightens, clenching around me perfectly. Fuck, you’re a sight like this. Mouth full and stretched with my cock between your lips. Eyes watery and wide as you moan around me. Your hands land on my thighs, digging into my slacks to ground yourself. I growl, my hips moving faster and faster. The sounds you make are insane. The wet sounds of your saliva, the choking when I slip too deep, and your moans—god, your moans.

“Think you can take me deeper?” I question, stilling my hips so you can have a second to breathe. And when you nod, all bets are off.

I let you take the lead this time, sitting up a little higher on your knees. You grip onto my thighs tighter as you slowly take me deeper and deeper. I can’t help the shaky moans that leave me as I watch, eyes still connected with mine. I feel my tip go past the curve of your throat and down into your esophagus. You swallow and I nearly come right then and there. And with just a few more steadying, sharp breaths through your nose, you guide me down the rest of the way. Until the tip of your nose is buried in the hair at my navel.

“Holy f-fuck…” I gasp, shaking from the pleasure of just this. I slowly tilt your chin up, not enough to make you uncomfortable in this position, but just enough to see your throat. And there it is. The bulge of my cock deep down under your skin. I am completely ruined for anyone else. Tears slip out of your eyes as you repeatedly gag, and that’s when I pull you off.

You rest back on your heels, sucking in a sharp breath and coughing harshly. I’m still stuck in my daze, watching you try to compose yourself. I fist my cock, pumping myself at the sight of you. Wiping under your eyes, cleaning up the saliva from your chin, and taking in unsteady breaths. You have no idea the effect you have on me. Once you’ve finally composed yourself enough, you notice me stroking myself. You try to lean forward and take me back into your mouth, but I halt you.

“No… You’re just gonna watch.” My hand works a little bit faster, brushing over my tip to spread my pre-cum over myself. “Take your shirt off.” You listen without any question, shrugging your open blouse off and letting it fall to the floor behind you. Sitting there with your hands in your lap, just your bra and panties. So fucking sexy. “Take your bra off, too. Wanna see you, baby. Wanna see those tits.”

You smile shyly—odd, since you shamelessly had my dick down your throat not a minute ago—but comply. Reaching behind yourself, you unclasp your bra and let it fall. Your breasts pour out, a beautiful sight. I groan, tightening my grip on myself. You reposition the way you're sitting to get a little more comfortable, but the movement just makes your tits jiggle and bounce.

“Fuck,” I curse, pumping myself faster. My muscles grow tight as more moans spill from my lips. Your eyes are trained on my hand, watching me stroke myself, listening intently to my low sounds of pleasure.

You think I don’t notice, but I do. You think your hand slowly slipping between your clenched thighs can fly under the radar, but it can’t. I groan, low and deep in my throat as I watch you slowly start to touch yourself. “Let me watch…” I murmur.

And you obey.

You lean back onto your free hand and let your legs spread for me. I moan, watching you move your panties to the side and expose yourself to me again. Your pussy is still red and wet from when I pounded it with my fingers earlier, and that just goes straight to my dick. I squeeze the base of my dick to try and get a grip on myself, but as soon as your fingers slip in between your folds, I don’t even try to restrain myself anymore.

“Fuck, yeah, baby… Touch yourself.” I watch you slowly rub your clit, wishing it was my fingers playing with that bud instead. I can’t take my eyes off your pussy, it’s physically impossible. The way your folds spread as your fingers speed up, your clit swelling with sensitivity—it’s intoxicating. I slowly sink down onto my knees in front of you, getting a closer view of the show. You moan lowly, leaning back farther onto your elbows as your fingers grow frantic. I don’t even notice the speed in which I’m stroking myself until the sound of my strangled grunts hits my ears. I let myself fall forward, trapping you beneath me with one hand next to your head. “You’re close. I can tell… Does touching myself get you off, baby?”

“Yes— Yes!” you whine, back arching toward me. Your fingers keep swirling yourself, pressing down harder.

“Fuck, you’re so sexy… Spread your lips. Let me see that tight hole, baby.”

You stop rubbing yourself for just a second so I can get a glimpse of your entrance, leaking down toward your ass and clenching around nothing. My mouth waters at the sight, growing overly impatient to be inside of you. My hand works faster and faster over myself until I’m breathless and panting above you. The daze of pleasure creeps up on me slowly, hearing your moans filter through my ears as you rub yourself again.

“I’m gonna—fuck! I’m gonna cum! Gonna cum all over your pussy.” My balls tighten as my teeth dig into my bottom lip. You squirm beneath me, trying to catch up. My eyes can’t choose a place to look. Your face, twinged with pleasure, needy and wrecked. Your tits, bouncing with each jerk of your hips. Or your pussy, spread and wet, just for me. The moment you pull your lips apart to rub deeper, I bust.

“Oh— G-God, fuck,” I moan, hips jerking my length into my hand as I come undone. Ribbons of white shooting out, painting itself all over your pussy. Coated in it. Such a mess. You shriek a moan and I’m back in the moment.

My fingers move without any thought, pushing your hand out of the way and swiping through your folds to collect my cum.

And then I’m ramming it deep inside your cunt.

I watch my fingers dive deep into you, my mess squelching along your walls. You thrash against the floor, overstimulated by all the sensations. So what do I do? I kick it up a notch.

I lower myself until I’m practically laying on my stomach, the perfect vantage point. Leaning in, I flick my tongue over your sensitive clit, making you scream. I smile into your cunt as you toss your arm over your mouth and bite down like a gag. My fingers curl toward your g-spot, my lips suck your bud into my mouth, and my hand reaches up to palm your breast. Every place you could get pleasure from, I’m stimulating it.

One pinch of your nipple, one swirl of my tongue, and one more long press deep inside of you, and you’re coming undone. Your hips writhe against my face and I accept it, letting you coat me in our mixed juices. I slowly pull my fingers out and hear you whine, making up for it by placing a kiss to your throbbing clit. That makes you jolt. But then I’m kissing my way up your body. Your pelvis, your hips, your stomach, your ribs, your sternum, your breasts, your collarbones, your neck, your jaw, and finally your lips.

Your arms wrap around my neck as you deepen the kiss, seeking out the taste of yourself on my tongue. I groan into your mouth, scooping my arms underneath you and helping you sit up. I pull back from your mouth to instead place two softer kisses against each of your cheeks.

“You alright?”

“Yeah…” you breathe, soft and still a bit shaky.

I scoop you up in my arms and stand on my wobbly legs, carrying you over to my desk. Setting you down on the edge of it, I take a small step back just to admire you. Completely bare for me and absolutely beautiful. I can’t help but lean in for a firm kiss. You smile against my lips and it makes my heart lurch. It’s almost too soft, having to remind myself that that isn’t what this is.

No matter what my traitorous brain is telling me.

So, instead, I think with my dick.

I take both of your thighs from around my waist and lift them up and over my shoulders. It stretches your muscles tight, making you lean back onto your elbows on the desk, sending more shit onto the floor. I stare down at your body instead of your face, deeming that the easiest option to avoid that heavy feeling again. The swell of your breasts, the curve of your waist, the fullness of your thighs, and the pinkness of your cunt. It’s a sight I’d happily choose to stare at for the rest of my life.

Well, shit. That didn’t work.

“What’re you doing?” you speak, questioning my frozen gaze, laughter evident in your voice.

“Nothin’… You’re just absolutely gorgeous,” my voice is low, quiet, and I mean every fucking word.

“Shut up,” you laugh, a light in your eyes.

“Oh? Getting mouthy on me now, are you?” I tease. “You know what mouthy girls get?”

I grab the base of my cock and use my hold to drag my tip through your drenched folds. You gasp, but try to hide the reaction. It just makes me smirk.

“What do they get?” you egg me on, already needy and breathless again.

And my restraint snaps.

I spear myself into you, bottoming out in the first stroke. You choke on a moan, back already arching up into the air. Masterpiece.

“They get fucked.”

Your short laugh gets cut off by a whining noise when my hips start to move me inside of you. Rolling and thrusting, giving no chance for a breath. My hands move from your waist to your ass, lifting it off the desk and gripping both cheeks. I watch as your tits bounce with every thrust, transfixed. I already know I’m not gonna last. Especially when you’re reaching up to palm yourself.

I slam into you harder, making the desk shake in tandem with your legs. The sound of our skin slapping together is like music to my ears.

“God, you take me so well, baby…” I groan, watching the scene between us. The ease in which my cock slips in and out of your heat, like it was made to fit here. “So fucking tight. So perfect.”

“Fuck! Right there!” you yell, and I listen, always when it’s said in that tone.

I continue hitting you deep inside, not straying from the spot that made you scream. You start to squirm against the desk, desperate for more. So, I drag one of my hands back to your front and let it slip between your legs, rubbing slow strokes over your clit. Your pussy clenches around me and I know you’re close.

“Gonna come, baby? Gonna come all over my cock like a good girl?” I taunt, hips picking up speed as my own pleasure chases me down.

“Y-yes…” Your back arches, hips grind, and eyes nearly roll back.

“Good. Cause I’m gonna fill you up so good, baby, I’ll be dripping from you for the next week.”

I start to grunt as it becomes a struggle not to lose my tempo, pleasure taking over. But I need to make sure you cum first. I rub your clit faster, watching as your hips lift and writhe against my thrusts.

“Come for me… Let me watch you.”

Your eyes slowly blink open and connect with mine, jaw slack with whimpers escaping you. And with one more thrust, you’re done for. Silent screams, convulsing muscles, and your cunt squeezing the hell out of me. I have to brace my hands on the desk beside your hips as my pleasure slaps me in the face. Strangled moans leave my lips as my hips stutter, my cock pulsing inside of you as I fill you to the brim. Your pussy continues to clench around me, beckoning me to stay forever and milking me dry.

Once I’ve come back to earth, I grab onto your shoulders and lift your back up off the desk. You’re like a ragdoll at this point. You look like you just got a good fucking—which you did. Slowly, your arms come to circle around my neck. I hum in contentment, a bad sign.

I lean in and brush my lips against your neck, feeling you shiver in my hold. My lips ghost a path up to your ear. “You’re mine now…”

“I already was,” you whisper back.

Fuck.

*BEEP*

“Mr. Styles, I have a Mr. Winters on line 3 for you.”